The final tally was twenty-eight lifeboats, three workboats, four Captain's gigs, and even a gaudy admiral's barge. Two of the workboats were badly worn, but the third was cannibalized to repair them. They were to be assigned to mine placement duties. The four captain's gigs were actually better suited to their purposes than the lifeboats, as they were smaller, with higher-performance inertial drives. Beneath its gaudy gingerbread, the admiral's barge also proved to have a high performance inertial drive, and stripping out the nonessentials only enhanced its agility.
There was an argument about the Strengl. Rama pronounced it salvageable, and was certain a suitable inertial drive could be found. However, finding it on the ground and moving it to orbit for repair would be two different things. Rama decided that once they could get a Din-class in a condition to safely land and take off, the Strengl could be loaded aboard. However, moving the ship from the yard to the port apron would be a major project in itself.
Cale thought it was more trouble than it would be worth when completed, but Zant was determined. He bribed several of the Vishnu techs to work overtime on one of the Din-class ships slated to be base ships. then he and three Vishnu techs used a lifeboat to go down to the ground yard and find and repair Nabel's old but serviceable tow tractor, and jack up the Strengl in readiness to move it.
Finally Rama pronounced the Din-class ready to try landing and taking off. By this time, everyone, including Cale, wanted Zant to succeed with the fighter. When they went down to retrieve it, Cale and Dee formed a guard escort, with military-style blasters. An even dozen Vishnu techs had volunteered to assist in the project.
The Din-class, with the faded name Minetoo painted on her scratched antirad coating responded well to power and control. One of the Vishnu techs landed her smoothly and gently. Ferrying ships to and from orbit was routine for these workers.
If anyone were watching, Cale thought, it must have looked like an invasion. The huge cargo doors dropped, creating ramps, and the volunteers swarmed down the ramps enthusiastically. Cale was a bit concerned about the local residents, but none showed themselves.
Slowly, slowly the tow tractor moved the unwieldy spaceship through the yard, volunteers clearing the pathway ahead. They were moving slower than a funeral procession, and it took over three hours to reach the port apron and Minetoo.
The Vishnu techs were experts at moving ships. As they approached Minetoo, an "I" beam Cale didn't even know existed on a Din-class extended itself, and a very heavy winch crawled out along it. When they reached the foot of the ramp, a hook dropped from the winch and one of the Vishnu techs climbed the outside of the Strengl and connected the hook to a concealed loop on the fighter.
The winch hummed, and the Strengl lifted seemingly effortlessly. A cable was hooked to a landing jack, and all the techs climbed into the Din-class's capacious hold and started pulling the fighter in, while Cale stood openmouthed. He couldn't believe that mere human muscle was moving such a large burden. Finally, the Strengl was inside the hold, and being anchored down to padeyes by heavy chains. The strange "I" beam retracted into the ship, and the cargo hatches closed.
Once in orbit it was decided that they could work on the Strengl as easily in Minetoo as anywhere else, so Zant found himself suiting up and jumping from Pride to Minetoo every day, watching carefully as 'his' ship was repaired.
Finally, it was ready. Zant fairly danced with impatience as 'his' new toy was readied. He wore a skinsuit space suit of the type worn by professional spaceboat racers, and held a helmet under his arm. When attached to the clips around his neck, the suit was as effective a space suit as the huge, clumsy rigger's suits worn for heavy construction. Due to their inability to deal with the absolute zero of space for prolonged periods, however, skinsuits were not considered suitable for long-term wear under vacuum conditions. Rather, they were considered emergency equipment for people unable to wear a common utility suit in confined spaces. Confined spaces like the cockpit of a Strengl fighter, for instance.
This was a test of a rebuilt ship; Zant was taking no chances. He would be suited, and he even had a pure oxygen bottle in case he began to 'gray out' during a high-G maneuver.
At last, the preflight checks were over, and Zant wriggled his way into the tiny cockpit. The ship was over 50 meters long, but it was so crammed with weaponry and electronics that the space left for the pilot was claustrophobic.
Zant threw Cale a wide grin, and then put on his helmet and closed the clamshell cockpit. Bystanders hurried to clear the hold as the Strengl's inertial engine began to spin up. As soon as the last person was out of the hold, the pumps began pumping the atmosphere into holding tanks. When the pressure equalled a low-grade vacuum, the cargo doors swung open.
With the inertial drive ready, Zant released the docking clamps, and the small fighter drifted gently into space in response to tiny blasts of the drive.
Once clear of Minetoo, Zant began feeding power to the drive, and was surprised how quickly he was pushed into the padding of his contoured seat. He watched as the acceleration gauge climbed at a much faster rate than the power gauge. He eased off the power and watched the acceleration gauge react, then suddenly slammed the throttle to its stop. He was driven deep into the seat, and quickly reached for the pure oxygen as the acceleration needle swung past 5G with no sign of slowing. He quickly pulled back on the throttle. If he'd had room, Zant would have been dancing with excitement. He'd never experienced such power before! He backed it down to 3G and began maneuverability tests. Unsurprisingly, the little ship seemed almost to respond to a thought. The slightest movement of the control produced a response; significant movement meant he was thrown about by side forces.
Zant was in love. Oh, he knew that technically the Strengl, like every other ship in the scrap yard, belonged to Cale. However, if Cale wouldn't sell him this beauty he'd . . . he'd, well, he'd beg!
Zant finally returned some four hours later, his fuel nearly exhausted. He didn't bother to return to Minetoo. He matched orbits with Pride, popped his canopy, squirmed out, and then jumped across to Pride's airlock.
"It's amazing!" he enthused. "Incredible. It's better than home-brewed sex! Well," he admitted, "almost as good as home-brewed sex."
Cale, having experienced Nabel's L'Rak, had a pretty good understanding of Zant's feelings. The rush of operating an ultra-high-performance machine was almost sexual in its intensity. He almost wished he could fly the Strengl, but he had other plans for him and Cheetah.
Then he remembered, and smiled. The Strengl might be Zant's baby, but he owned it! His smile became a broad grin.
Chapter 10
Finally, they were ready. The Vishnu workers had been as good as their word, hard working, uncomplaining, with ever-present smiles and a number of useful ideas. And Zant had not been pessimistic; it had taken them nearly a month.
Cale had become more interested in one of the most unusual vessels in the yard than in Zant's Strengl. Somewhere in its checkered past, someone had needed a mobile fortress. He or she took a Chata-class freighter, braced its interior with a forest of extra bracing, and installed a huge fusactor and a planetary defense laser. Several smaller fusactors had also been installed to power a dozen smaller, destroyer-sized lasers. Everything else had been stripped out except inertial and jump engines, basic life support, and simple living accommodations for what appeared to be about fifty crew. She had shields, but they were powered by the life-support fusactors, which would have to be switched back and forth between the two functions. Rama spent two long days inspecting the nameless vessel, and found her to be in remarkably good condition. Oh, her fusactors were dead, their fuel exhausted, but he suspected that fuel might very well be nearly all she would need.
They laboriously manhandled the massive fuel containers from Cheetah to the hulk, and the Vishnu techs partially refueled her. Then, with Cale and Dee fidgeting in their suits, Rama tried to light off the secondary fusactor controlling life support. There was no sound in the vacuum, o
f course, but Cale was certain he could barely feel a faint vibration begin. Various indicators came effortlessly to life, and Cale saw Rama's head nod in satisfaction inside his helmet. In moments, lights came on, and an excited Cale hugged Dee in excitement.
Rama's smile was calm. "Ah, but now we must see about the large weapons fusactor," he said calmly. However, it, too appeared completely functional, and Cale even fired a bolt from the huge planetary defense laser. These weapons were intended to be mounted on moons or planets. The fusactors powering them were as massive as the weapons themselves, generating megagigawatts of power to the huge laser projector. The one on the Chata-class nearly filled an entire cargo hold on the big freighter. It was not so much mounted in the hold, as built into it, welded to girders that functioned as badly needed bracing. The lasers were designed to be powerful enough to generate a beam that could penetrate a planetary atmosphere and still remain an effective anti-ship weapon. The beam itself was nearly a meter in diameter, and in space, would be effective at more than a light-minute's distance.
Rama was smiling in satisfaction. "I will begin inspecting the engines, of course, but if they are in as good a condition as the weapons, I have no doubt the ship will be operable without major effort."
They discussed it, and decided that an outlying planet had probably built her during an emergency, never had to use her in battle, and sold her for scrap when the planet could afford a proper defense station. Cale was concerned but optimistic.
The news, though, was good. Rama proudly showed them around the Chaka-class, whose powerful main armament was now supported by several smaller lasers and three heavy Alliance-pattern quickfirers, effective even against battle cruisers, that had actually been added. “We’ve inspected her drives and engines,” Rama said, “And her life support is fully functional. However, there are a number of atmosphere leaks we haven’t been able to track down. It won’t be a problem for more than a month, but it should give the crew something to do.” In addition, of course, she would need a good cleaning.
Minetoo was also now ready, complete with armament. Originally, the Din-class had been designed as a combat cargo hauler. They had been designed to ground in the middle of a battle and resupply troops. They had strengthened frames and reinforced hulls to withstand the rigors of battle, and mounted either two medium laser turrets or a mix of lasers and quickfirers. They also featured oversized cargo doors to permit rapid unloading in combat environments.
The ships sold for surplus had their weapons removed, of course, and later purely commercial versions had never mounted them. However, the vast majority of the ubiquitous freighters still shared the strengthening and reinforcement that had made them a workhorse for nearly a thousand years.
This one had once been armed. Rama and his crew had salvaged laser turrets from two old Delta-class frigates that had turned out to virtually match the originals, and required very little adaptation. Even the battle comps and weapons station simply bolted in. “Good old military standardization!” Zant had exclaimed. Rama’s crew wasn’t finished, though. The cavernous forward cargo hold now contained two cruiser-sized quickfirers, mounted on tracks. By opening the huge cargo doors, they could be rolled out to protrude past the hull; not exactly an extra turret, but certainly the next-best thing. As a bonus, the hold could still hold an enormous amount of collapsium-plated ammunition for the weapons. The rear hold, of course, was reserved for the boats and simple facilities to work on them.
The layout was nearly duplicated in the last Din-class, though cruiser-sized lasers and a dedicated fusactor substituted for the quickfirers.
Cale and Zant were delighted. None of the vessels was a true warship, but all were large enough to be impressive on a viewscreen, and each of them packed enough firepower to overwhelm anything smaller than a frigate.
Finally, it was time for Cale, Dee, and Zant to return to Ilocan's 'Government in Exile'. Cale knew he was no salesman, and dreaded trying to convince bureaucrats that his plan could work. Nevertheless, he must have skilled in-system pilots to fly the boats, and crews for the 'base ships'; and the only place to get them was from the mine.
They took Minetoo, with one of the lifeboats and one of the gigs as cargo. Rama turned out to be qualified for interstellar operation of a Din-class, so he piloted the ship back to the atmosphere mine.
Their ship caused a bit of excitement. Since Minetoo was similar in size to the ships transporting the mined gases and elements, the Ilocanos failed to notice at first that it was a stranger. A flurry of excitement accompanied the realization, alleviated only when Cale finally succeeded in establishing contact with President Jessica Johns.
Irritation was still evident in the faces of the six executives comprising the 'Government in Exile' as Cale and Zant were seated in the lunchroom/lounge/conference room. Ster Mong, the Minister of Defense, looked particularly unhappy, which worried Cale. He was counting on Mong to support their idea.
Jessica kicked it off. "All right. You're back, and you say you have a way to break the stalemate. Let's hear it." Her tone was skeptical, and her expression not particularly friendly. Cale suspected that as the stalemate dragged on, frustration and fear of failure grew and fostered pessimism and skepticism.
Cale nodded. "Before we begin," he said, "Can we get someone in here who's an experienced in-system pilot?"
Mong waved a hand. "You've got one, son. Before I got into government, I was an atmosphere miner for over ten years. Get on with it."
Cale shrugged. "All right. As long as the Santies have control of the Ilocan system and the air above the planet, you cannot win. Ever. All you can hope for is for them to decide to quit; and for political reasons, any Santie official suggesting that is committing political suicide. "There's only one way Ilocan can win this war, and that is to deny Santiago free use of space."
"Great." Mong replied sourly. "Tell us something else we already knew."
"How about something you didn't know?" Zant put in. "How about a way to maybe win this damned war?" Glaring at all the Ilocanos, he gestured to Cale. "C'mon, Cale," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "These people don't want to hear about it. They'd rather sit here on this airless rock and complain to each other about how bad it is than do something about it."
Cale started to rise.
"Wait!" it was Jessica. "We're all a little discouraged and angry. But we represent our people." She glared around at her companions. "And we owe it to our people to consider any possibility. And to listen to any proposal. Please, continue with your presentation."
Cale felt warmth crawl up his face. "Well, er, I don't really have a prepared presentation. I'm not a salesman trying to sell you something, or a slicker trying to swindle you. I've invested three million Alliance credits in an idea I think will break the stalemate. But I need your help, and your peoples' help."
"Three million credits!" The shouter was a small, thin man. Cale didn't remember his name, but he'd been introduced as 'Minister of the Treasury'. "I suppose you expect us to reimburse you!"
Zant jumped to his feet. "I still think we should just go, Cale. These assholes aren't going to listen. They'd rather throw bullshit at you every five seconds!"
Jessica waved a hand impatiently. "Sire Jenfu. We will hear sire Rankin out, completely, and without further interruption." She glared around again. "Is that clear? At the next interruption, the interrupter will be evicted." She turned to Cale. "Please continue, sire Rankin."
"Yes. Madam," Cale replied, "but I would like to respond to the gentleman. Yes, I have invested three million Alliance credits. I am also aware that since I neither asked nor received permission from this body to do so, I am most likely not legally entitled to reimbursement. Strangely, however, I do not recall asking for it." The man flushed red and shifted uncomfortably, but remained silent.
"Now," Cale continued. "Obviously Ilocan has no interstellar presence with which to combat the Santies. Fortunately, I do. I own a ship salvage yard in another system. Yes, Minet
oo is one of mine. That's why she looks so ragged." A few chuckles rewarded this comment.
"When we left here last time, my friends and I discussed how we could help break the stalemate, and the obvious answer was to get Ilocan into space, and disrupt Santiago's supply lines.
"Now," he continued, "you cannot create a space force out of thin air, but it might be possible to create one out of salvaged ships. After cashing in most of my assets, we went to Vishnu and recruited orbital shipyard workers. I'm sure you are all aware of Vishnu's economic problems; that meant we could afford to hire highly skilled workers for a short-term job off-planet.
"Our Vishnu Project Manager reminded us that one cannot turn a Din-class into a warship in a month. However, he came up with a better idea, one we will be showing you shortly.
"In essence, what we've done is convert small craft into intrasystem fighters. They're a motley assortment, including converted lifeboats, workboats, gigs, and even an admiral's barge. But all of them now have lasers or quickfirers mounted on their centerline. None has sophisticated targeting systems; all have targeting grids etched into their canopies or viewscreens. We have thirty-two of them. That's one of the things we need from you: crews to pilot them.
"Almost half of my three million went to the Vishnu government to purchase mines. Lots of mines. Our idea is basically simple. We will mine the jump points to Santiago and Ilocan. When the Santies figure out what we've done, they'll send minesweepers to clear them. This is where the gunboats come in; they're to prevent the Santies from clearing the mines."
"What about innocent traffic to Santiago or Ilocan?" Evidently, Jessica did not consider her ban on interruptions to apply to her.
Cale shrugged. "Simple enough. We'll post beacons with a warning from the President of Ilocan informing them that the jump point is mined, and that if they proceed to trade with a belligerent, it is at their own risk. There is no 'innocent traffic' to Ilocan anyway; any traffic going there intends to deliver goods to the Santies. I'm reasonably certain that will meet the requirements of interstellar law. Besides, wouldn't you rather fight it out in court than with guns on Ilocan?"
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