The Privateer

by Zellmann, William

  ******

  The tech manning Diego Del Florio's sensor suite monitoring Santiago's jump point was bored. It was 0400 ship's time, and he had a seemingly eternal two more hours on watch. When he had been assigned to Del Florio a year ago, he'd been mildly disappointed not to have been assigned aboard a destroyer, but pleased that at least he had been assigned to a real warship, a frigate. The real disappointment had come when Del Florio had been picked to remain behind in the Santiago system instead of going to kick some Ilocano ass. The good news was that they were due to be rotated to Ilocan, to relieve one of the ships there. No one had really expected the war to last long enough for rotations to be necessary; but the Ilocano savages were stubborn, and so next month they would be going into combat!, well, at least to a combat zone. Rumor had it that all the fighting was on the ground, but they would still get combat pay and a combat zone medal.

  A needle on his panel stirred, and then jumped. Finally! Some traffic was emerging. Since those damned Ilocanos had found a way to mine the jump point, very few ships dared to transit.

  He frowned. Odd. The readings were almost right for a Beta-class; but they were far enough off to be confusing. Before he reported the emergence, he had better double-check.

  No, the readings were accurate; that was no Beta-class. Then what? The only thing that made sense was two ships in close company, with a slaved astrogation comp. But that meant . . .

  "Teniente!" He shouted.

  The Lieutenant who was Officer of the Watch roused from a lurid daydream. "What is it, Gomez?" he asked irritably.

  "An emergence, Teniente. It appears to be two ships in close company."

  The lieutenant jumped to his feet."But slaved comps are a combat procedure," he said. "Check your figures again."

  "I checked them three times, Teniente," Gomez, complained. He turned his attention back to his screens. "Teniente! There appear to be a number of small craft that weren't there before!"

  A chill ran down the lieutenant's spine. He whirled to the comm tech and snapped. "General Quarters! Sound the alarm. We are being attacked!"

  The drowsy morning watch joined the sleepy spacers rolling out of bunks in cursing their Captain as the alarm sounded. Another damned drill. And at this time of night! Then the Officer of the Watch's voice sounded excitedly from every speaker. "Battle Stations! Battle Stations! This is not a drill! I repeat, this is not a drill! All personnel to battle stations!", and panic erupted.

  The gunnery tech, still suspicious that it was only a drill, followed his procedures and raised the retractable five-shot missile launcher that comprised Del Florio's main battery and began charging the lasers in the ship's nose.

  The missile rack rose just in time to attract the attention of a nearby boat pilot, and a bolt from his laser fused the controls and cut the cables.

  Though the ships had to wait for their jump engines to spin down and their inertial drives to light off to power their shields and weapons, the boats had no such limitations. As soon as Ilocan's Revenge emerged, she opened her cargo doors, and eleven gunboats poured out, driving max toward the unprepared frigate.

  With her main armament destroyed, the boats turned their attention to the secondary weapons, the nose-mounted lasers. Laser bolts and quickfirer rockets sheeted toward the weapons emplacements. The design of Old-Empire-style frigates had not changed in centuries; the weapons locations were very well known. Both lasers became non-functional in seconds, and the boats turned their attention to antennas and sensor arrays.

  Meanwhile, Zant's Strengl had spun up its inertial drive, and headed for Del Florio's vulnerable inertial drive nozzles.

  By the time the confused crew had nearly all reached their battle stations, the battle was over. The weapons techs found there were no weapons left to operate and the engineering crew found her inertial drive inoperable.

  Meanwhile, the Captain had reached the bridge, just in time to hear a voice communication over the short-range comm on the Santiago military frequency.

  "We are privateers commissioned by the government of Ilocan," it said. "Your weapons and inertial drives are destroyed. Surrender or die."

  "There is no government of Ilocan," the Captain replied. "Ilocan is under the control of the Republic of Santiago."

  "I won't argue political niceties with you, Captain," the voice replied. "Boarders are inside your vessel as we speak. If they encounter any resistance, your ship and crew will be destroyed."

  A quick glance at the tell-tales showed that the emergency releases had been used to enter Del Florio's airlocks. The captain sighed. His crew was unarmed, and improvised weapons would be of little effect on suited, armed invaders. His shoulder slumped as he saw his career ending. "We surrender, under protest," he said slowly.

  "Good thing." The voice came from behind the Captain. He whirled to see a suited figure standing in the bridge hatch, a blaster in hand. Three others followed as the first entered. All four opened their faceplates as the leader reported "Bridge Secure," and one of his men headed straight for the comm station.

  The leader approached the Captain. "Capitan," he said in fluent Santiagan, "the first thing I need is for you to get on the speaker and announce the surrender. You will also order your people not to resist or interfere with mine."

  The Captain sighed again and nodded. As he turned to his command chair to make the announcements, the leader turned to the man who had pushed the comm tech from his station and was operating it with obvious familiarity. "Did they get a message out?" he asked in standard.

  The other shook his head as he replied in the same language. "No, sir. Not a peep. They thought it was a drill."

  The leader nodded. "Excellent. Engineering, what's your status?"

  "Not as good as it could be. Those damned Strengls have some nasty weapons! I estimate twenty hours to restore the inertial drives."

  The leader nodded. "Good. Get the Vishnu techs over here and get them to work. We'll earn more than a few credits for this day's work!"

  The Captain had finished his announcements, and turned with a frown. "Vishnu? Are they the ones supporting you?"

  The leader grinned. "Nope. These are strictly mercenaries. Now, Captain, I want you to prepare your crew to disembark; you will be going aboard another vessel as prisoners of war. You will not be mistreated, and you will be exchanged or released at the end of the war."

  The Captain nodded sadly. "One question, sir. What are 'privateers'?

  The man's grin widened even further. "Let's just say we've got a pirate's license!" he replied.

  Leaving several of the Vishnu techs and a small prize crew behind, Cheetah, Ilocan's Revenge and the Strengl headed inward toward the unsuspecting home planet.

  "Damn, Cale, Look at all those fat merchantmen!" Zant exclaimed as they approached Santiago and their sensors began to register.

  It was true. Dozens of merchant vessels, ranging from a big Beta-class freighter to Epsilon-class tramps orbited the planet, their captains unwilling to risk the reported minefields.

  Cale grinned and connected to Mong. "You were a merchant skipper," he said. "How many of those ships can we crew?"

  Cheetah had left the mine filled to capacity, with Cale, Dee, Zant, and nine supernumeraries who would become prize crews, if they were lucky. Crewing the frigate at the jump point had reduced her supernumeraries to six. Four other techs and crew had come from Ilocan's Revenge.

  Mong's answering grin was as predatory as Cale's. "We could perhaps grab that Beta-class monster," he replied, "but we'd have to strip the boat crews to man her, and I don't recommend it. We don't want to bother with the ships hanging around the orbital factories; they're empty and waiting for cargoes. No, I'd say we could afford to grab a Chata-class and one or two Din-classes. That will still leave us about five boat pilots, and with you and that strengl, we should be all right. We want the ships orbiting the farthest out; Santiago Control would have put the ships ready to depart as far out of the way as possible."

 
; Cale nodded. "Seems like a plan. Now, we don't want to damage these ships; we won't have time to make repairs. I'm hoping we can talk the crews into abandoning ship. No muss, no fuss, and a fat prize."

  Mong nodded. "If we can get them undamaged, we can use three to crew a Din-Class and five for a Chata-class. That means your six could crew two Din-classes, and I can crew a Chata-class."

  Cale turned to Zant. "This is where your Strengl will really pay off. Strengls are shown in every sensor tech's records; it will be identified at once. And no merchant ship, armed or not, wants to tangle with a Strengl. When we close, we'll launch you, and you can zip around, running practice attack vectors, and overall just looking like a bloodthirsty madman."

  "In other words," Dee put in, "just act normal. Every time you get in that thing you act like a bloodthirsty madman!"

  Zant raised an eyebrow at Cale. "Oh, I just do it to impress the girls," he said with a broad wink. Dee reddened, and Cale burst into laughter.

  "Estrella de Santiago. Privateers commissioned by the government of Ilocan have captured your ship. You are surrounded by armed vessels, and any attempt to resist or escape will result in your destruction. The crew is ordered to suit up and exit the ship. Rescue officials will be notified of your locations, so you can be picked up. We are aware of the crew size of a Chata-class. You have ten minutes to evacuate, or we open fire."

  The reply came in heavily accented standard. "Please! Do not shoot! We will comply. But our suits have not been tested for a long time. We will need more than ten minutes to check them out."

  The raider's voice replied in excellent Santiagan. "Understood. It takes about ten minutes to check out a suit, and you have a crew of six. You have one hour, from now. One minute after that deadline, we open fire."

  "Si señor. Comprende."

  While the boats and Ilocan's Revenge waited for the crew of the Chata-class to abandon, Cale took Zant and Cheetah to a fat-looking Din-class, where the same technique was used.

  All of the communication with their victims had been on low-power intership comms. Santiago Control was trying to identify the new vessels, and figure out what they were doing; but their hails were being ignored. When the Chata-class had hung in orbit close to Estrella de Santiago, Control decided to send a cutter to investigate. The cutter reported a number of small craft in the vicinity, and reported their intent to board the silent Chata-class. No further reports were forthcoming, despite Control's demands and pleadings. A rising level of confusion began to manifest itself at Santiago Control.

  The first Din-class, the Dona Maria, had an efficient captain; her suit inspections were current. The crew made their ten-minute deadline with time to spare, and Cale's three prize crewmen swarmed aboard and began spinning up her inertial drives.

  The captain of the second Din-class, the Viajero, wanted to argue. Finally, Cale had Zant hover his Strengl directly in front of Viajero's main viewscreen sensor, nose on, while a computer voice counted down from ten minutes. The Strengl filling the entire viewscreen was a threat no one could ignore. The last crewman out, the Captain, made it with six seconds to spare.

  With all three prizes preparing to boost, Mong called Cale. "I suggest we get rid of the prisoners from the frigate," he said. "I see no sense in transporting them out of their home system, only to bring them back later."

  "Do you have enough suits?"

  Mong shook his head, but smiled. "Nope. But Santiago Control was kind enough to donate a cutter that will hold them all. With the boats gone, we can just bring the cutter into the hold, pressurize it, and load them up. They will be crowded for a while, but they're in orbit. They'll be fine."

  Cale thought about it. "It's a good idea, but don't turn them loose until we're ready to leave, and disable their comms and drive, but not their beacon."

  The prizes began to boost for the jump point, escorted by Ilocan's Revenge. Loaded, they were much slower than Cheetah. Cale, Zant, and their five remaining boats stayed behind to spread hate and discontent. Mong was reluctant to leave so quickly; he waited long enough to punch meter-diameter holes in several orbital factories before breaking orbit and hurrying to catch up with his convoy.

  There was no thought of bombarding the planet; they wanted to demoralize the Santies, not enrage them by inflicting unnecessary casualties.

  So they headed for the orbital factories, where their powerful lasers and quickfirers wreaked havoc among Santiago's production facilities. As they approached the first orbital station, Cale finally broadcast a message powerful enough to blanket Santiago's Worldnet, telling who they were, and what they intended. Finally, he closed with "Admiral Gonzalez-Villareal will soon have problems of his own. This war was entirely of Santiago's making, and thousands on Ilocan have died in it. If it does not end soon, the people of Santiago, not just its factories, will pay the price. You started this war, people of Santiago; now it is up to you to end it!"

  ******

  The President's council was in emergency session, and no one was happy.

  "You will have my resignation in the morning, señor Presidente," said Tomas Santos-Villareal, the Minister of Defense.

  The Minister of Trade was angry. "Bailing out on us already, eh, Tomas? Planning to get out from under before the roof caves in?"

  Tomas regarded the man in surprise. "Are you insane?" He demanded. "Do you honestly believe that any of us can possibly get 'out from under'? He looked around. "Do any of you honestly believe that our political careers are not over? If any of us ever runs for so much as dogcatcher, do any of you honestly believe your opponent will not throw this in your face? Face it, gentlemen, we are finished."

  The President shook his head. "No, we are not. And I will not accept your resignation, Tomas, until we do finish this debacle. We got our people into this; it is up to us to get them out, no matter what the personal cost."

  The Minister of the Treasury slammed a hand on the table. "This is ridiculous! We have spent billions on your idiot nephew's so-called 'Defense Force', and we are to be beaten by savages? We did not cause this, Tomas. Your idiot nephew and his crazy idea caused it!"

  Tomas shook his head. "No, Ernesto. My idiot nephew came up with a stupid idea, but the decision to adopt it was unanimous. As I recall, you were one of the most enthusiastic of us."

  "Pah!" the Minister replied. "A quick surprise attack," he mimicked the Admiral, "A week to seize Homesafe, and we own the planet and can start shipping our surplus population. We should have known it was too easy!"

  "Your hindsight is perfect, Ernesto." Tomas replied. "It is a shame your foresight is less so."

  "Stop it!" The President smacked the table. "Recriminations are stupid. We all voted for the war. The problem is what we do now."

  "No, señor Presidente," Tomas said. "The problem is what does Santiago do now?"

  "Pah!"" replied the Minister of Trade. "We are Santiago. Unless we tell them what to do, the Congresa will debate until the sun goes nova. No, it is up to us. Us failures. Tomas is right. Our careers are over. I fear we will go down in Santiago's history as fools and villains."

  "Yes," Tomas replied firmly. "Fools and villains. Let us face it. We are all professional politicians. Vote-grubbers of the first order. We have all manipulated the government of Santiago for our own benefit."

  "Speak for yourself," the Minister of the Treasury replied sourly. "I have always worked with the best interests of the people of Santiago in my heart and mind."

  The President waved a hand. "Nonsense, Ernesto. What about the Ricardo Power Plant deal? No, now is not the time for speeches. I suspect Tomas has an idea, and if so, I want to hear it."

  "Perhaps a suggestion, rather than an idea, señor Presidente," Tomas replied. "First, we must realize the true size of this debacle. We, everyone in this room, including you, señor Presidente, will be defeated in the elections in two years. Our careers are finished. This war will haunt us for the rest of our lives.

  "And yet," he continued, "if we can face that,
admit to ourselves that history will call us 'fools and villains', we may just be able to do something that will let us at least hold up our heads in our families, and perhaps even change that verdict of history."

  "And what is that?" the Minister of the Treasury said with broad sarcasm. "What is this marvelous action that will save us all?"

  Tomas ignored the sarcastic tone. "I think it is time for us to stop being politicians. We can no longer grub for votes or pander to the contributors; they no longer exist for us; and in two and a half years, we will all be gone from here. But if we care about our legacy in history, if we really care about Santiago, there is something we can do that no one else can."

  He did not wait for the obvious question. "We can stop being politicians," he repeated, "and start being statesmen. We are in a unique situation. Our careers are ruined, and we have no possibility of being reelected. In fact, I expect impeachment proceedings to be filed on several of us. However, we are all wealthy and remain the most powerful body on the planet; we are also skilled in all the tricks of politics. I doubt any of us fear impeachment. I suggest that for the time remaining to us, we cast aside all thought of personal gain, and simply act for the good of our planet."

  "Hmph. That is it? That's your grand idea?" the Minister of the Interior said incredulously. "Some idealistic nonsense? Bullshit! Oh," he continued savagely, "you're probably right about our careers. So what we should be doing is using every ounce of our power to get what we can, while we can! Statesmen? Ridiculous!"

  Tomas shook his head. "And if we do that, what then? The new council appoints investigators to come after us." He shook his head. "No, Ricardo, you might want to be the richest man in the central prison, but I'd rather spend my remaining years with a family that can respect me."

  "And I," the President put in, "would rather be remembered as a good man who made some mistakes than as a crooked politician who got caught with his hand in the till. All right, Tomas, suppose I agree. What do you suggest?"