A few gaudily-dressed youngsters seemed to be looking for trouble, but the two Diskers weren’t the kind they wanted.
Ping’s building had an actual human guarding the entrance. He looked up as Mitchie shoved on the locked door. “Authorized access only.”
Mitchie said, “This is Combined Fleet business. Open up.” Her jumpsuit was the Space Guard undress uniform. It had enough stripes and decorations to make it clear she was military, especially with Guo wearing a matching outfit.
“You need an invite from a resident.” The guard sat in a clear booth. It had a small opening for passing in forms or cards. It was more than wide enough for Mitchie’s pistol.
“Don’t you dare! You’re being recorded!” yelled the guard as he pressed against the back of the booth.
“Ten thousand people were just murdered with the whole world watching and the police didn’t do a thing. You think they’ll care about you? Besides, Combined Fleet orders override civilian law. It’s perfectly legal for me to kill you in the line of duty.”
The door popped open.
Once they were in the elevator Guo said, “You used to be more subtle than that.”
“You don’t like those methods. And I was in a hurry.”
“Just let me do the talking next time.” He hitched up his tool belt. “I’m sure they need something fixed.”
Ping’s apartment took up a quarter of the 48th floor. The door chime brought the voice of a flunky. “I’m sorry, the Stakeholder is not receiving visitors. I’ll be happy to take a message for him.”
“This is Commander Long on Combined Fleet business. Open up.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
Guo’s hand caught Mitchie’s just above her holster.
“Let me,” he said.
A pouch on the opposite side of the tool belt from the hammer produced a plastic box with metal rods tucked into its underside. Guo unfolded them and touched them gently to the door jamb. Pressing the big red button caused a pop and a whiff of smoke.
“Fusion fire safety regulations require all locks to fail open,” he said. He pushed open the door and waved Mitchie in.
The flunky was elegantly robed in Traditionalist style. His flusterment would have drawn severe criticism from any Confucian Revival master. “You can’t come in here! The Stakeholder isn’t seeing anyone. He’s ill. You must leave!”
The front room was finely appointed with cushions, seats, and tables set out for conversation groups and individual meditations. The walls held ancient artworks spaced far enough apart to let each one be admired without distraction from the others. Guo recognized one as a calligraphed rendition of a Warring States Era poem.
Two carved wooden arches decorated doorways leading farther into the apartment. Mitchie chose the left.
The flunky scurried to block her way. Her boot flicked out. The flunky fell to the floor, clutching his knee and screaming.
“Shut up,” she said.
The screams became whimpers.
The apartment didn’t take long to search. Two secretaries and a legislative aide were herded back to join the flunky. Despite the many comfortable servant quarters there were no cooks, maids, or valets.
Mitchie focused on the aide. “Hong, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said the young man. “And I know who you are. The Stakeholder told us all about you.” He tried to be defiant but his voice quavered on the end of it.
“Good. That saves us some time. Where is the Stakeholder?”
“None of us will tell you anything.” Hong looked up at the chandelier to avoid meeting Mitchie’s eyes.
She stepped forward and stood tip-toe to whisper in his ear. “You know what I can do. You know what I will do. You’re going to talk. So why be miserable when it won’t change anything?”
Hong swallowed. Looked at his feet. Looked at the prone flunky, still whimpering. “He’s not here.”
“I figured that out already.”
“He left yesterday morning. He wouldn’t tell me where he was going. Said it was better if I didn’t know.”
The secretaries showed a mix of anger and relief at this confession. Mitchie decided he was telling the truth. “Fine. Y’all sit over there.”
Guo spread his datasheet out on a table and began some searches.
Mitchie called Guen to break the news. The young stakeholder was getting better at using profanity. I guess I’m a bad influence. After venting Guen used her as a sounding board for who else could represent the Traditionalists on the Order Committee.
“Ha! Got him,” said Guo.
“We might be able to catch him,” said Mitchie. “But get the other guys anyway.” She disconnected and stepped over to Guo’s table. “What?”
“The gossip channels are still going. Someone saw Ping boarding a torchship.” Guo played a video of Stakeholder Ping walking up a gangway.
“Yep, that’s him.”
He typed some more. “That ship lifted last night for Sukhoi.”
Mitchie promptly called Hiroshi.
“Yes, ma’am?” he answered.
“Anyone on shore leave?”
“No, we’re all on board.”
“Good. Prep for launch and a high acceleration run.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m heading back with the Mate. I want to lift as soon as I’m in my couch.”
“Aye-aye.”
The autocabs weren’t operating. Mitchie and Guo walked half an hour before finding someone who could be hired to take them to the spaceport. Riding in the backseat gave them time to think.
Guo asked, “Why are we chasing him?”
“Orders,” answered Mitchie. “We’re supposed to bring him back.”
“Since when do you let orders run your life?”
She looked out the window. The robotic factories passing by offered no change of topic. “It’s what’s left.”
“Mmmm?”
Mitchie met his eyes. “I have my revenge. I have true love. We have more money than we know what to do with. I have a ship of my own. That’s everything I’ve ever wanted. So I might as well obey orders. I don’t have any reason not to.”
Guo pulled her in for a snuggle.
Slightly muffled by his shoulder, she said, “Besides, Ping is such an asshole any plan he comes up with we should wreck on general principles.”
He laughed. “I’ll go along with that.”
The port did have autocabs running within the fence.
“It’s good to be home,” said Mitchie as she climbed the cargo hold ladder.
“Agreed,” said Guo from a few rungs below.
Hiroshi was on the radio with Traffic Control when Mitchie entered the bridge.
“This is a Combined Fleet mission. We are launching. So divert your damned traffic or we will blow your shipload of orphans to hell.”
He waited a few moments.
“Thank you, Control. Joshua Chamberlain acknowledges clear for immediate launch.” He switched to PA. “Up ship!”
Fifteen gravs pushed Mitchie firmly into her couch. “Orphans?”
“From the chatter I overheard it was a tanker hauling plastics feedstock. I was going for intimidation value.” Hiroshi thought a moment. “You’re a bad influence.”
Mitchie laughed. “If you’re tired of me we should get you a command of your own.”
“And miss out on all the excitement of this ship? Never.”
Her tone turned more serious. “You’re more experienced than a lot of destroyer skippers. If you’re willing to work a Bonny ship I could probably swing you a light cruiser.”
“I appreciate the confidence, ma’am. But warship commanders have to sleep alone.”
“There’s that.” She was stretching the regs to operate Joshua Chamberlain as a civilian ship. Technically she should have been declared an auxiliary.
“So what is the excitement?”
“We need to catch the freighter Zhang Jue before it reaches the Sukhoi gate.
”
Joshua Chamberlain, Pintoy System, acceleration 15 m/s2
“Merchant Ship Zhang Jue, cut thrust and prepare to be boarded,” Mitchie transmitted. “This is an order from the Combined Fleet.”
“Negative, Jay Cee,” answered the other freighter’s radioman. “We have too much velocity to transit the gate. Safety requires us to maintain deceleration.”
“You can hand over Stakeholder Ping and still have enough time to reach safe velocity. Cut thrust.” She glared at the other ship. It was clearly visible a few klicks away. She’d managed to match vectors without even pluming it, which had been an impressive demonstration for her pilots.
The Zhang Jue didn’t answer. Mitchie ordered, “Cut thrust or you will be fired upon.”
Still no answer. She turned off the microphone with a curse.
Co-pilot Mthembu said, “Um, ma’am? We don't have any ship-to-ship weapons.”
“Some of our defensive toys are multi-purpose, coxswain.” Mitchie activated the PA. “Captain to Mate. Take out their torch.”
In the cargo hold Guo supervised as three spacers hauled a countermissile into the airlock. It was nearly as long as they were, narrow enough for a hand to wrap around it, and still heavy enough to need all three. When it leaned against the outer hatch Guo said, “Finnegan, keep it in position. Rest of you, out.”
Guo stepped into the airlock and closed the inner hatch. When the air was too thin to talk he leaned his helmet against Finnegan’s. “Keep it braced, I’m opening the hatch.”
Zhang Jue posed against the stars in the open hatchway, balanced on its torch plume. Guo tapped on the countermissile’s control display until it acknowledged its target. “Finnegan, I’m taking the bird. You take the hatch. As soon as the bird is clear, slam it.”
The mechanic nodded, the gesture clumsy in his spacesuit. As Guo took the weight of the countermissile Finnegan let go. He wrapped one hand around a bracket in the airlock, the other took the hatch’s handle.
Guo keyed his radio. “Cut thrust.” Suddenly he weighed a tenth what he normally did. His muscles protested as he sent the countermissile out with a mighty heave.
CLANG. SLAP. The airlock hatch closed an instant before the countermissile’s plume blasted Joshua Chamberlain’s hull.
“Oh, God, I hope I don’t ever have to do that again,” said Finnegan.
Guo laughed. “Kid, if you wanted to be safe, you asked for the wrong ship.”
“I didn’t ask for it. Chief said, ‘A freighter needs a new mechanic, grab your duffle.’”
“Tough.”
The bridge had a clear view of the countermissile. All Mitchie saw was a blue streak connecting the ships. The other ship was rising above her as it continued to thrust.
It hit the outer ring of Zhang Jue’s torch. The blue flame turned green and orange as fragments of metal burned in the plasma. The curtain of flame parted as nozzles ceased to fire, spinning the wounded ship with asymmetric thrust.
Mitchie braced for the partial plume to sweep over the Joshua Chamberlain, but the torch cut off as the ship was halfway through the first rotation. Yay for automatic cutoffs, she thought. Her ship needed mechanics to turn valves to shut down a damaged torch.
The comm box squawked with outrage. “You’ve killed us! You killed us all! Oh, God, we’re dead.”
She lifted her mike. “Zhang Jue, take the spin off your ship and prepare to abandon. We will take on all survivors.”
“What survivors? We’re going to overspeed the gate! We’re doomed!”
“There’s plenty of time to decelerate. Get the spin off and get everyone into bubbles so we can pick you up.”
The crippled ship’s thrusters fired, reducing the spin. Mitchie brought Joshua Chamberlain closer.
When the ship stabilized Mitchie ordered, “Get everyone into bubbles or suits. Open your upper airlock. We’ll come get you.”
By the jaded standards of Mitchie’s crew it was an easy retrieval. Spacer Ye took a line over and hooked all of them up to it. An easy tug had them drifting into Joshua Chamberlain’s cargo hold. As soon as the hold doors were closed Hiroshi fired the torch for a standard ten gravs.
Mitchie led the reception committee in the hold. The one in a spacesuit was a mechanic. His arms were vacctaped to his sides. Mitchie checked the bubbles until she found the captain. She unzipped it and dumped him onto the deck.
“Why aren’t you accelerating?” he demanded. “We’ll die if we hit the gate at this rate.”
Mitchie squatted down to look him in the eye. “Do you know who I am?”
He gasped. “You’re Michigan Long, the torturer and spy.”
“Close enough. For some other introductions, this is Bosun’s Mate Setta. She’s killed three men with that pistol. One took days to die. The guy with the hammer is Senior Chief Kwan. He crushes skulls. So if you don’t tell me what I want to know you’re going to suffer. If you annoy me enough you go out the airlock in your bubble. Clear?”
A spastic nod.
“Good. Where is Stakeholder Ping?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer.”
“I really don’t! He, he came on board, made sure people saw him do it. Then he got into a crate and was offloaded with some of our cargo. He didn’t lift with us.”
Mitchie glared at him.
“He didn’t! I swear!”
“Don’t piss yourself, we’ve had enough of that already.” She straightened up.
“You believe him, Captain?” asked Guo.
“Yep. It’s Ping’s kind of trick. Setta, get these guys some cushions for the hard boost.”
Setta waved her deckhands forward. “We’re set, ma’am.”
Mitchie called the bridge on her handcomm. “Can we get enough side vector to miss the gate and stay in-system?”
“Fuck, no. Uh, ma’am,” blurted Hiroshi.
“Right. Take us to forty gravs as soon as we have the prisoners secured. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
“Don’t have time for that, ma’am.” The pilot switched to the PA. “All hands, secure for high acceleration in thirty seconds.”
In thirty seconds Mitchie would still be climbing up the ladder to the main deck. She cursed.
“Here you go, ma’am,” said Setta. She pulled the cord on a box and stepped back as it expanded into an acceleration mattress.
“Thanks.”
Guo was already in his. “So back to Pintoy after we jump?” he asked.
Mitchie lay down. “Maybe. I have to think through his options and see if we might be able to cut him off in another system.”
***
The roar of the torch went silent. Instead of three people lying on top of her Mitchie felt herself float.
Hiroshi’s voice came over the PA. “All hands, we are safely in the Sukhoi System.”
The prisoners traded expressions of relief and complaints about their captors.
Mitchie’s handcomm chirped. “Yes?”
“Where to, Skipper? Back to Pintoy?”
“No. Head for the Dirac gate. I think this shell game means Ping is planning something fancy. So he’ll head for Tiantan. It’s the base of his movement. Pick a station. We’ll dock there and check traffic records.”
She looked around at the prisoners. “And it’ll give us a chance to offload our guests.”
Capitol City, Pintoy, gravity 9.4 m/s2
“Where the hell are they?” demanded Stakeholder Vones.
“I took an evasive route to get here,” replied Guen. “So did the rest of us. We’ve already heard stories about having to double back to avoid a pack of rioters.” She waved at a pair of Stabilist stakeholders. “I’d expect someone to be delayed. This is exactly the sort of chaos we’re meeting to put a stop to.”
Murmurs of approval went around the room. Vones threw up his arms theatrically and went back to sit with his Structuralist comrades.
Guen hid a sigh of relief. I can’t keep them together much longer. Ever
yone’s too nervous.
Annie appeared in the doorway. Guen’s chief bodyguard pinched her chin to indicate urgent news. It would have worked better as a private signal if all thirty-some stakeholders hadn’t turned to stare at her.
“What’s the news, Annie?” said Guen.
Annie stood at attention. “Ma’am. Honorable Stakeholders. I regret to inform you that Stakeholders Singh, Martinez, and Chang have been killed.”
“How solid is this information?”
“The murderers uploaded video of the deaths.”
“Let’s see it,” demanded Vones.
Annie looked to Guen, who gave a confirming nod. She activated the conference room’s display.
The video opened on a kaleidoscopic group of stipend kids. Someone yelled, “Hey, I know that guy!” The camera swung to track a dozen men in suits running from one alley across the boulevard to another. The crowd stampeded toward them.
Two suits stopped in the opening of the alley as the rest ran. They disappeared under a pile of bodies. The camera went past them with the baying mob. The running suits made it two blocks before encountering a different band of stipend kids. Fear and fancy dress attracted predators like flies to sugar water. The men went down under stomping boots. By the time the camera wielder forced his way in for close-ups stakeholders and bodyguards were indistinguishable.
“That’s it,” said someone. “I’m going to my country house.”
“Country hell,” snapped Vones. “I’m getting off this planet.”
In a minute Guen was the only one sitting in the room.
“Orders, Miss?” said Annie.
Guen wiped her eyes. “You were right. This was a bad idea. I don’t know what to do now.”
Annie waited patiently.
“Okay. Let’s get out of here. Find a safe place.”
Annie nodded. “Have to move before one of those fools leads the mob back here. Then we need to get you some clothes.”
The stakeholder looked down. She’d chosen this dress to look more mature to the other politicians. The black silk was fully opaque but slinked across her curves in a way that was very revealing in the right light. In any light it was something no stipend kid could afford.
Torchship Captain Page 7
