by Dale Olausen
Coincidentally, the space around it was what was known as a crossroads area – a sector of normal space which contained an unusually high number of different omega-coordinates. It was possible to jump to many different parts of the galaxy from one of such areas, and spacecraft pilots frequently used them as shortcuts. The Firedragon crossroads, however, was not often utilized, for an obvious reason.
“Look, Coryn,” Steph said, indicating the image of the dangerous star on a viso-screen. “The old firebreather is very quiet at the moment, and doesn’t appear any different from any old harmless star – well, neutron star, anyway.”
It was true. The star hung there in space, pulsing like a metronome, every 8.43 seconds. The eye could not detect the dangerously twisted magnetic field lines that were near the breaking point, and could reconfigure at any instant, releasing incredible, pent-up energy.
“Sure. It looks quiet, but that could change any second. Can you get us away from here before the fire reaches us if the thing starts belching?”
“Relax. You don’t have to worry about being burnt to a crisp in any fire,” Steph replied.
“I don’t?”, Coryn replied, eyebrows arched.
“No, the real worry is being irradiated by gamma rays,” Steph said with a deadpan expression. “Our shielding wouldn’t stop them for long – a few seconds, maybe a minute. And it’s impossible to outrun them in normal space.”
“So we’re screwed if it decides to belch.”
“That’s just it.” The pilot looked smug. “It just so happens that when I was in training I made friends with an odd fellow – he was fascinated by this star.” He tapped a finger on the viso-screen image of the dragon. “Jaime made a very careful study of the star and its flares, or belches, if you like. His pet computer and he found out some interesting things while they fooled around with the data: there is a pattern to the dragon’s breathing, and the intervals between flares can be calculated fairly accurately.”
Steph stared intently at the Agent who was listening carefully to every word.
“The pattern that Jaime worked out was fed into the Camin’s computer before we left Mallora – I did it myself while I waited for her to be supplied. According to the calculations, we’re safe right now, and for the next hour and a half, Standard. That gives us just enough time to reach our next coordinates. After that jump we’ll be spending only an hour and a quarter in normal space, and the final hop will put us right inside Kordea’s backyard.”
Coryn remained silent for a moment.
“It sounds remarkably good,” he agreed finally. “Just so long as this Jaime of yours knew his stuff.”
“You needn’t doubt that,” retorted Steph coldly. “He’s a math and astrophysics genius. The service sent him back to school once they figured that out. He should be getting his PhD soon.”
“Fine,” Coryn responded, and there was a touch of scepticism in his tone, “our lives are in the hands of a grad student.
“But we’re already following your plan. It’s a superb one, if it works.” He threw an uneasy glance at the Firedragon’s image. “I hope the dragon doesn’t pick this particular time to break the pattern. I find it hard to trust the old beast.”
“Don’t you worry,” said the pilot, his cheerful mood returning. “As far as I know, that has never happened yet. But even if it does – I’ll have one eye on the beastie all the time, and there are lots of omega-coordinates around. This ship is a fast one and Jaime told me that we ought to see some micro-flares before anything big happens. I’ll have a minute or two before the serious radiation hits us. I’ll have us across the galaxy by then.”
All Coryn could do was to trust the other man’s judgment. Steph’s plan did have a diabolical beauty to it, that was certain. The Organization Hounds would never expect them to use this particular route to Kordea, and even if they did locate them here, would they have the audacity to chase them across the Firedragon’s skies? The Camin with its superior speed had a better chance of escaping any big flares than an ordinary ship did. Also, if the worst came to worst, Coryn grimly admitted to himself, it was better if the scoutship and its cargo fell prey to the gamma rays of the dragon, rather than be captured by the Hounds. That way, at least the Witches’ Stones and the unconscious girl would not fall into the outlaws’ hands.
Steph returned to piloting and Coryn walked to the back of the craft to check on the passengers. The big cat was still asleep on the floor beside the couch and Sarah lay quietly, looking healthy in spite of being in a coma. To make sure that her recovery would continue Coryn gently manoeuvred the contents of a liquid energy concentrate package past her lips; the body accepted it passively, swallowing instinctively. Then he stopped to think about the pilot and his own welfare and filled a tray with various items from the food dispenser. He took it back to the control sector, to the star screen that was doubling as a table and called Steph over.
“How’s the girl?” the pilot inquired as he dug into the first of the self-heat food containers. His eyes kept flicking to the viso-screen on which the Firedragon’s image burned – apparently he did not feel as complacent about the star as the earlier impression he had given had suggested. It was, however, understandable. The dragon had a reputation.
“Very well, considering everything,” Coryn replied. “I got some energy concentrate into her – that ought to help keep her going until she can eat a real meal.”
“Any theories as to what’s the matter with her?”
The Agent shook his head.
“None, other than that I do tend to believe that it has something to do with the Stones. I’m hoping that we can get her safely to Kordea – if it’s the Stones the Witches should be able to do something for her.”
“Do you think they will? I mean – do you think the proud ladies can be persuaded to take the time and trouble to help a mere Terran?”
“They damn well better.” Coryn’s voice was harsh. “We’re bringing them their precious Stones, after all. The least they can do is put some of their damned magic to use, and revive Sarah. It’s the cursed Stones that got her into this mess in the first place.”
Steph stared at his angry face for a few seconds but did not comment. Instead, he diverted his attention, dividing it between the food he was eating, and the viso-screen image of the Firedragon.
The jangling of the ship’s alarm startled both men onto their feet.
“What the hell?”
Steph was already at the controls, flicking on all the viso-screens. The string of curses that he spat out while he studied them could only have come from a denizen of the fringe space station of ZAR. He touched a button to enlarge the image on one of the screens and a spacecraft loomed in front of Coryn’s disbelieving eyes.
“So!” The way Steph flung the word it sounded like another curse. “They decided to risk the dragon just to get at us! That’s how badly they want what we’ve got! But wait…” He pressed down on the enlarging button again, then refocused the image.
“I don’t recognize this type of ship; do you?” The anger in his voice gave way to surprise. He was a pilot; he knew his ships.
Coryn came to stand beside him while he studied the image closely. He had stored a lot of information about The Organization inside his head. He knew the kinds of ships that they were known to use. Now he tried to correlate this knowledge with what he was seeing. Most likely the ship would be either a raider or a fighter – but no, it did not look like either of those. Nor did it look like any other Organization ship with which he was familiar. All of them were either ships built inside the Confederation and bought by the outlaws, or copies of the same. This one was a smaller craft than those usually seen in Organization use; it was different, perhaps a scoutship….
A scoutship! Coryn’s face turned grey; he leaned closer yet to the screen, then straightened to stare at the pilot.
“Well?”
Coryn reached to grab hold of the nearest instrument panel before trusting himself to speak.
“Steph, that ship is an exact duplicate of the Camin”, he finally said in a low voice.
“Come now, that isn’t possible….” Steph turned his eyes back to the screen. “I’ll be damned,” he added in a whisper only seconds later. “You’re right.”
For a moment the two men stared at one another, not speaking.
Coryn broke the silence by laughing hollowly, and Steph backed into a seat to count on his fingers the advantages that they had lost.
“Scrap better speed and manoeuvrability,” he muttered, shaking his head. “We’ve no doubt made more omega-jumps than they have, so that edge is gone too. What else?”
Coryn ignored the question. His mind was elsewhere.
“I’d like to see Carovan’s face when he finds out that the Experimental Craft Division has been infiltrated,” he commented dryly. “Mind you, I should imagine that our non-friends have added a few touches to this design – like the latest in in-space weaponry.”
“I better check the situation.”
Steph looked gloomy as he stepped over to the computer and began to punch in questions. His face, as he squinted at the answers that lighted up on the screen in front of him, remained unhappy. Coryn came to stand by, too, although the numbers that the pilot was studying meant very little to him.
“Damn, damn, damn!” The pilot cleared the computer screen with an angry flick of a switch. “They’re coming at us obliquely. They’ll be within firing range before we reach the coordinates that I’ve been planning to use!”
“Alternate routes?” asked Coryn.
“None that are any good.” Steph was biting his lip. “Nothing I’d want to use unless our backs are really up against the wall. This route is great for our purposes – I wonder….”
His voice trailed off and he gazed speculatively at his shipmate.
“Ever work a defence screen?” he inquired hopefully.
Coryn shook his head.
“I’m a spy, not a soldier,” he protested. “But I was on the fencing team in university.”
“That might help.” Steph was almost beginning to look cheerful. “Anyway, we’ve enough time for you to pick up the basics. Come on.”
He led Coryn to a portion of the control sector which the Agent had not seen in use before. A group of small viso-screens covered a section of the wall, and each of the screens had been divided into squares by a grid. The panel in front of them was a hodge-podge of buttons, dials, knobs and switches.
Steph gestured at the whole.
“This is our defence panel,” he explained. “If the Camin was equipped with a high-powered defence screen we wouldn’t have to use this – the screen could easily handle a single attacker. But high-powered fields are nearly impossible to install on ships this small and it can’t be done at all without a big loss in speed and manoeuvrability. So, we don’t have one, and have to make do with a medium powered field, which works fine if there’s a person on board to handle the manual controls.”
“The idea is to draw energy away from those areas of the screen which are not under bombardment to those that are; to weaken the field in places so as to strengthen it in others. Got that? The viso-screens will show you where the attack is directed but you’ll have to control the flow with finger action – that’s what I’m going to teach you.”
He gave Coryn a thorough briefing as to what was what on the confusing panel and explained how the squares of the grids on the viso-screens related to the buttons on the panel. Then the Agent was treated to a demonstration of the procedure; he marvelled at the speed with which the pilot’s fingers flew over the controls, always landing on the correct button to fend off the supposed attack. Finally he himself was shoved into the seat in front of the panel and told to practice. He did so, working the controls slowly at first but picking up speed as the panel grew familiar to his fingers, and he began to have confidence in his own ability to locate the correct buttons. He would never be the whiz that Steph was with the thing, but he would manage. Anything that a small ship could toss at them he believed that he could handle.
Steph had left him to drill alone and was pleased with his progress when he came to check on it.
“You’re doing all right,” he said enthusiastically. “You’ve got the hang of it, and more speed than I dared to hope for. If you can do what you’re doing now under actual fire, we don’t have a thing to worry about.”
“Thanks,” Coryn replied, and laughed. “When I lose my looks and can’t be a spy anymore on account that I can’t make like an alyen, I’ll come and check out the Confederation Armed Forces. Maybe they’ll give me a job punching buttons on a defence panel!”
“Don’t count on it,” chuckled Steph. “This may be the closest the Confederation Armed Forces ever gets to real war.”
Coryn remembered the instructions that he had given to Max before leaving RES. He repressed a shudder.
“Let us hope so,” he said.
*****
When Coryn was satisfied that he was doing as well on the defence panel as could be expected at such short notice, he took a moment to check up on the occupants of the rear of the ship. Sarah’s body seemed to be holding its own; it was in no worse, if not better, shape, than it had been earlier. The cat had awakened and watched with alert eyes as the Agent looked the girl over. He was relieved to see the animal no longer asleep. He felt as if he was relinquishing Sarah into the beast’s care for the duration of the coming battle, and the subsequent omega-jump.
“If she makes it, it’ll be the cat’s doing,” he muttered to himself as he returned to the control sector. “and I’d give a lot to know how it does it.”
“Better get ready,” called Steph, interrupting Coryn’s thoughts. The pilot looked anxious. “They’re nearly in firing range.”
Coryn slid into the seat in front of the defence panel and in his mind swiftly went over all that Steph had taught him. Hands hovering over the buttons that he would have to operate, he stared at the viso-screens, nervously waiting for the first red slash indicating a cut-ray, to appear.
It came and his fingers responded, blocking its path to the ship with a reinforced section of the defence field. A second red slash joined the first; the enemy had two cut-rays. The two lines zigzagged back and forth incredibly fast – his fingers had to fly to keep up with them.
“Damn!”
Rough-talk from Space Station ZAR was assaulting his ears, but he had no leisure to heed it. But something must have gone wrong; Steph wouldn’t be cursing otherwise. His fingers kept right on working.
“The Firedragon’s started micro-flaring!” he heard the pilot yell. “A little ahead of schedule! I’ll have to force all the speed I can out of the ship! That means that I’ll have to draw power from the defence field – part of your left side’s gone! Hope the blazes you can manage without it!”
A patch of squares on the viso-screens in front of Coryn turned a pale red. Coryn struggled to correlate them with the controls under his finger – the buttons lined to them were useless now. The cut-rays – at least there were no more than two of them – were slashing back and forth so swiftly that he needed all his concentration to follow them.
It was amazing how quickly he adjusted. Within seconds he was instinctively avoiding the useless buttons, yet keeping a high-powered field between the rays and the ship. Only a small amount of the lethal energy ploughed through while he faltered; it was not enough to damage the craft.
A moment later he realized that the rays were moving in a predictable pattern. Was the enemy using computerized attack? His motions, as he fielded the rays grew automatic – his opponent almost trapped him. Suddenly one of the rays broke the pattern, jerking backwards in mid-sweep across the Camin’s right side; Coryn had to scramble to catch it. His tongue spat out curses that would have done Steph credit. He had fallen for the oldest trick there was! He had allowed himself to be lulled into complacency!
After that the battle became a contest between him and the person mann
ing the cut-ray controls of the other ship. The unknown enemy tried to keep the rays slashing so fast and so erratically that Coryn would not be able to keep pace with them. He, at his panel, kept his eyes on the red lines rushing across the viso-screens while his fingers performed a furious dance on the controls. His muscles were taking their orders directly from his eyes – there was not time to think, only to act.
Sometimes he was not quite quick enough and smatterings of the ray energy made it through the screen. Not enough to do any real harm, however, and he wasted no time worrying. Reality had narrowed down to the small space in front of him; the viso-screens and the buttons on the panel. His fingers must, absolutely must, keep pace with the slashes on the screens.
Abruptly the fight came to an end. Suddenly the speed of both the attacking rays faltered – a second later the viso-screens were bare of the red slashes. His hands hovered tensely over the buttons; was this another trick to test his skill and mettle? But no, the red lines stayed away and in a moment he dared to turn his eyes away from the screens and glance in the direction of the pilot.
Steph was standing up and staring, haggard-faced, at the largest of the viso-screens. It was a blaze of radiation. His fingers closed upon a switch.
“We’re jumping – now!”
Coryn’s unprepared consciousness exploded into a zillion bits that spread across a black void!
Chapter Twenty
The pieces of his being slowly dragged themselves together to form a whole again. Coryn became aware of himself, still seated rigidly, and erect, at the defence panel, his hands hovering over the keys that controlled the energy field that was the ship’s defence screen.
He slumped down into the chair, feeling dizzy and nauseous. His temples were pounding. The memory of what had happened returned, and he groaned – if he was this bad how had the rest of the craft’s occupants fared?
Steph had taken the jump while standing up. Coryn staggered out of the seat to go and see how the pilot was. He found him crumpled over a control panel but stirring; sighing with relief and making a great effort to get his muscles to obey his brain’s commands, Coryn pulled him off it, and into the nearest chair. That took all the energy he had, and he fell into the next chair himself. Steph’s’ face was grey with strain but he had opened his eyes, and seemed to be struggling to focus them on various objects in the room. Coryn wondered if he himself was looking any better.
