“Aye, Captain.”
The control room’s main doors slid open, and the bearlike form of Chief Petty Officer Tucker appeared. “You sent for me, Skipper?”
“Yes. Come join us.” Chairs were slid about, and Tucker eased his great bulk onto the station railing. He listened as the captain gave a swift overview of what had occurred, and his face grew graver by the second.
Consuela tried to concentrate, yet part of her mind still was held by the dream, if that was what it had been. She had found herself standing in front of a red-brick church, one she vaguely recognized but could not place. The broad stairs rising to an entry ringed by great columns and crowned by a towering steeple. The doors had been closed, and somehow she had known that the church was locked shut. She had stood there, a soft wind blowing against her face, no one else around, and sensed that there was a message waiting for her. Something important.
Then Dunlevy had rung for her, and the urgency had pulled her away so swiftly that she felt as though she straddled two realms, the one of her dream and the one before her now. And the message still eluded her.
“I have to agree with Guns, much as it pains me to do so,” Tucker said, when Arnol was finished with his recounting. “Two Imperial battleships arriving and demanding landing space is not the mark of an ordinary garrison inspection.”
“I agree.” Arnol reflected momentarily, then turned back to the officer manning the center console. “Do we have the in-system flight coordinates?”
“Just coming in now, Skipper.”
“Let me have them.”
There was a tense silence as Arnol reviewed the flight data. He looked up. “Petty Officer, you served time in the Solarus system, if I recall.”
“Aye, Skipper.” Tucker grimaced at the memory. “Duty officer on their rust bucket of a satellite refinery, promoted to master of the lunar landing station. Two of the longest years of my life.”
“What do you recall of the inner moon?”
“That’s where I was based.” Tucker’s broad features creased in a rueful grin. “Closest to a frontier port you’d ever care to find inside the Hegemony. Solarus mines turn out a high grade of iridium ore. There are also a few veins of gold, rich enough to send the rumors flying like sparks off a miner’s drill. Strikers from all over the system make for here, hoping to open up the lost lode and make their fortune.”
“A dangerous place, then.”
“More like wide open, if you see what I mean, Skipper. Dangerous only to the unwary. A wild place, that moon. Handles a lot of secondary cargo traffic for ships not willing to pay Solarus landing fees. Lot of coming and going.”
“That settles it, then.” Arnol’s tone took on the solid definition of command decision. “Guns, Tucker, I want you to ready your men.”
“Sir?”
“Our approach takes us within close range of their moon. On our convergence, we’re going to stray a bit closer still.”
Guns and Tucker exchanged astonished looks. Guns said, “You’re planning on off-loading us, Skipper?”
“We are supposed to be an unarmed mining vessel,” Arnol replied, his tone crisp now that the decision had been made. “We have to be prepared for an Imperial inspection. That means most of our warriors and our weapons must immediately be made to disappear. Tuck, a vessel our size will look odd without a transporter of its own. So you’ll take one and leave us the other. I want you to hand-pick your most seasoned troopers, Petty Officer. And fill the hold with weaponry. To the brim.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Guns, you’re going to have to disguise those attack pods. Will paint adhere to their surface?”
Their attack upon the pirate stronghold had been successful largely because of these fighter pods, or Blades, as they were known among the warriors. Constructed of the rare substance that was supposedly used only on Imperial battleships, the pods had cut through the pirate’s defenses like a knife through butter. But to have the Blades discovered on a supposedly unarmed mining vessel would have meant the doom of everyone on board, and seal Avanti’s fate.
“I can’t say if it would work or not, Captain,” Guns replied slowly. “I’ve never heard of anyone trying to paint elemental trinium before.”
“Do what you can. It is essential that all prying eyes see nothing more than an in-system transporter with a contingent of simple guard pods.” He inspected the two men, making sure they understood what he intended. “Just exactly what a mercenary outfit would possess.”
Guns nodded slowly. “You want us to pretend that we are hiring ourselves out.”
“Maybe to one of the outlying miner asteroids,” Tucker offered.
“If worse comes to worse, yes.” Arnol hesitated, then went on slowly, “We must prepare for the off chance that this is more than coincidence, gentlemen. I want you to see if there is an alternate means for your traveling on to Yalla.”
Astonishment mounted to alarm. “Without you?”
“You will proceed without us only if necessary,” Arnol replied. “Still, it cannot hurt to prepare for the possibility. And see if an alternate means of getting our forces swiftly and secretly to Yalla might exist.”
They mulled that over in silence, until Guns pointed at Consuela and asked, “What about the lass here?”
“A good thought,” Arnol agreed. “She must go with you. Her presence on this journey is a secret. As you know, all records show her remaining as a guest of the Chancellor on Avanti. Try and keep it that way. And mind you keep your troopers on their best behavior.”
“No worry about that, Skipper,” Tucker agreed, with a wink for Consuela. “The lass here is their prize mascot.”
“Brought us the first successful attacks against pirates ever, far as I know,” Guns agreed. “She’ll be handled like spun glass, or I’ll be knowing the reason why.”
“I seem to recollect seeing a portable pilot’s training station among the stores to be transshipped on Solarus,” Tucker added.
Consuela brightened at the news. A pilot’s station was required to focus. Her special sensitivities allowed her to communicate with other stations. Equipping the transporter with a portable station meant she would be of some real use during this expedition.
“Excellent,” Arnol said. “You have my permission to appropriate it.” His gaze shifted from Consuela to Dunlevy and back. “For reasons of security, you two will be our only link. Even so, you must hold yourselves to minimum contact. I shall expect you to do everything possible to elude any monitoring.”
“Aye, Captain,” Dunlevy responded for them both. “We’ll make arrangements.”
“Very well.” He stood, drawing the others with him. “And be ready. There may very well be unwanted eyes watching us already.”
Be ready. The words seemed to explode within Consuela’s mind. That was the message she had been searching for within the dream. Again the image of the church with its closed doors loomed within her mind. But what did it mean?
“Only if they are really after us at all,” Guns added.
“We must hope for the best and prepare for the worst,” Arnol replied grimly. “Ready yourselves and your equipment. On the bounce.”
Chapter Two
Hours later, Consuela found Rick collapsed in a sweaty heap beside a pile of paint-covered rags, a steaming mug in one hand, a thick sandwich in the other. He scarcely had the strength to raise either arm. He watched her approach and said, “You almost look like one of us.”
Consuela raised her arms to show off the one-piece suit of pearl gray mesh. “It’s been so long since I’ve worn anything except scout robes that I feel a little, well, exposed.”
Guns chose that moment to walk over and deflate onto the pile of rags beside Rick. “If I have to look one more minute at what they’re doing to our babies I’m going to shoot somebody.”
“I thought of that too,” Rick said, “but I didn’t have the strength left.”
Consuela looked from one to the other. “What are you t
wo talking about?”
Guns accepted Rick’s offered mug, then cocked a thumb and said to Consuela, “Just have a gander around the corner there, if you’ve got a strong stomach.”
Consuela walked over, peeked into the main hold, and gaped. “What in the world?”
“Paint wouldn’t stick,” Rick said tiredly. “We tried.”
“Aye, they’ll be scraping gray gunk off the gunnels for ages to come,” Tucker agreed, walking over. The chief petty officer was coated in gray paint and sandy goo from head to toe. Even so, he managed a tired smile for Consuela. “Hello, lass. You look the proper spacer in that getup.”
But Consuela could not take her eyes off the Blades, the attack pods they had to camouflage. “But they look awful.”
Guns nodded once. “I think that about sums it up, don’t you, lad?”
“Sounds right to me,” Rick agreed.
Tucker explained, “A ship made of elemental trinium and not bearing Imperial Hegemony markers would raise the alarm from here to the Outer Rim.”
“I know that.” Consuela raised a protesting hand toward the Blades. “But that is—”
“A proper subterfuge,” he finished. Though he shared their fatigue, Tucker was obviously pleased with his handiwork. “We mixed up a batch of the same plasteel we use for sealing holes and building temporary supports, see, and then we blew it hard and fast over the pods. The stuff dries in seconds, so even though it didn’t stick to the surface, it formed a shell.” He glanced at the nearest Blade and amended, “Of a sort.”
“Sort of, is right,” Consuela agreed. The sleek black one-man attack ships were gone. In their place were sickly gray blobs of what appeared to be dried mud. They cascaded in frozen glops toward the floor, forming teardrop shapes. “How do the pilots get in?”
“Oh, we drilled a hole down toward the base.” Tucker could not completely hide his smile. “’Course, some pilots have more trouble climbing aboard than others.”
“I didn’t see you offering to play the space monkey,” Guns snapped.
“Ah, Guns, me lad,” Tucker said, letting his chuckle loose. “I wish you could have seen yourself wiggling in that first time, truly I do.”
Consuela pointed at the shape and demanded, “How do they see?”
“Ah, now, that’s not a problem, I’m happy to say.” Tucker turned back and gave the Blades a look of pure admiration. “They may be small, but those pups were built proper, I can tell you.”
“Nice to see you finally admitting to that fact,” Guns said.
“I’ve never had a problem with the Blades,” Tucker said, not turning around. “Just with some of the flyers.”
“When you put the shields on full, they stop everything.” Rick spoke to Consuela from his bulkhead perch, ignoring the banter of his superiors. “I mean everything, including light from the visible spectrum. So when they designed the viewing system, they figured out some way to extend the ‘eye’ out beyond the shield. Don’t ask me how, but they did. And the shields are farther out than that, that . . .”
“Disguise?” Tucker offered.
“Monstrosity,” Guns responded.
A voice from the central lift-well chose that moment to snap out, “Ten-hut!”
Despite the fatigue which had etched its way deeply into their features, Guns and Rick rose to their feet and stiffened as Captain Arnol strode into view. He glanced at their paint-spattered forms and said, “At ease. Do we have success?”
“Of a sort, Skipper,” Guns replied glumly.
“Aye, sir,” Tucker responded proudly. “Come have a look.”
Arnol marched around the bulkhead, looked into the main hold, and winced. “Was that necessary?”
“Afraid so, Skipper,” Guns said, his tone morose.
A flicker of mirth plucked at the edges of the captain’s mouth. He struggled for a moment, then managed to bring it under control. “Well, there is one thing for certain. No one is going to mistake them for Blades.”
“There are all sorts of craft used in-system where there are mining jockeys at work,” Tucker agreed. He waved a hand at the lumpy vessels and explained, “A fellow trying to hunt for gold or iridium on a wish and a tight budget will buy whatever is cheap and works. Oftentimes this is nothing more than a chunk of asteroid. They’ll hollow it out and fit it with a power plant, drive, and shields, and off they go.”
“Then you gentlemen should fit right in.” Another hint of a smile, then the captain’s habitual grimness settled back into place. “I have some news.”
“Can’t be good,” Guns said. “Not if it’s brought you down here.”
“It’s not, I’m afraid.” He turned to Tucker. “Have you selected your men?”
“Aye, Skipper. Everyone who’s got full warrior status or seen enough battle duty so it would appear on their records. Nineteen in all.”
“What about that portable pilot’s console you found in stores?”
“Just finishing with the hookup now, Skipper.”
“And the weapons?”
“The transport holds are crammed tight,” Tucker replied. “Everything else that would look odd on a vessel being transported across the Hegemony for delivery is netted and ready for jettison, if it comes to that.”
“It already has,” Arnol said crisply. “We have received another communication. We are ordered to prepare to receive an official delegation from Imperial Command as soon as we land.”
The news settled over the group like a somber sheathe.
Guns was the first to speak. “Any idea why?”
“None.”
Guns nodded slowly. “We’ll need to be pushing off, then.”
“In a moment. Are the men gathered?”
“Ready and waiting, sir.” Tucker amended, “Though a mite worse for wear, if you know what I mean.”
“A weary and dirty appearance would not be bad in itself, for a team coming off mining work.” Arnol nodded toward the main hold. “Call them to order, Petty Officer. I want to say a few words.”
When the men were assembled, Arnol inspected them one at a time. He possessed the leader’s rare quality of making each man in turn feel singled out. “By now, you have heard why this operation has been required,” he began, his voice sharp and reaching to the farthest corner of the hold. “We have unwanted visitors approaching even as we speak. I do not know what this entails, nor what will happen once we make contact with the Hegemony commander. But this I do know. Whatever happens, the Avanti system is counting on us. Her people have invested years of work and a great deal of their dwindling wealth to get us this far.”
He stopped there, allowing the echo of his words to ring through the great hold. Again there was the searching of each face in turn, then, “Guns, Tucker, stand forth.”
Infected by the moment’s solemnity, the two grizzled veterans marched forward two steps, turned smartly, and saluted with identical sharp motions. “Guns, I am placing you in command. Tucker, you are acting number two.” Steel gray eyes bore into each man in turn. “I am also hereby ordering you both to set aside whatever contest there has been steaming between you, is that clear?”
There was a fair amount of coughing in the ranks as the two veterans snapped off, “Aye, aye, Captain.”
“I want you all to understand how serious this is. We have the hopes and needs of Avanti and her sister worlds riding with us. Make no mistake, we are their last chance. Even if the resources were available, they could never duplicate the secrecy that has surrounded this mission. The Imperium would be watching too closely.”
He waited through another silence, then snapped out, “Guns!”
“Aye, Skipper.”
“If for any reason we and the main vessel are diverted, I hereby order you to do whatever is necessary in order to successfully carry out your dual missions: Attack the pirates wherever you find them. Rescue the Talent Wander and return both him and Scout Consuela back to Avanti.”
“But Skipper—”
Arnol
leveled a gaze at Guns that would have melted steel. “Did you hear me?”
Guns snapped back to attention and cracked out, “Aye, Captain. Loud and clear.”
“Very well.” Arnol turned back to the team. “Whatever happens, whatever we face, you are hereby commanded to carry out your orders. And make heroes of us all.”
Chapter Three
The transport was a big bus with tiny side-windows and no wheels. Consuela kept telling herself that, and it helped. Otherwise she thought at times her heart would leap from her chest with excitement.
They had set up the pilot’s console alongside the communication officer’s station. The barrier separating the cockpit from the bus proper had been removed in order to make room for her. She sat directly behind the first officer. Her post was elevated slightly, as her chair was bolted to the console’s portable amplifier, and it to the floor. The perch granted her an uninterrupted view through the front portals. The spectacle unfolding before her was truly awesome.
The first officer swiveled around and said, “Coming up to the first mark, Scout.”
“Thank you.” Consuela tore her eyes away from the rising vista and fitted on the dampened headset. She swivelled the miniature control-console toward her and ran through the conning sequence as Dunlevy had explained.
The portable console was, according to Dunlevy, a rudimentary affair, meant only to assist in training more scouts than could be accommodated at some pilot’s station. It was common enough in larger ships and active ports, as many pilots did not have the patience to stand full watches with trainees. They now intended to use it for communication between Dunlevy, who had remained back on the main vessel, and themselves.
Yet when she powered up, she grimaced as the squeal of an almost unbearble noise filled her head. She placed two fingers to each temple and leaned over, striving to concentrate enough to send the proper message.
The Dream Voyagers Page 27
