William Keith Renegades Honor

by Renegade's Honor

  Lynch's bodyguard staggered but kept to his feet as he turned and slapped the button that opened the shuttle's side port. Hot gasses and dust swirled through the opening, mingled with an uncertain light. Then the big man grabbed Lynch by the arm, hauling him up off the deck where he'd fallen, and dragged him down the ramp.

  Jaime scrambled to his hands and knees, then nearly fell again as the pain redoubled. He touched the back of his head with one hand. It came away sticky with blood.

  Damn! He could see his prisoners now, scuttling across a debris-strewn field toward the main door of one of the largest buildings. There goes my lead to the Captain!

  Jaime had just managed to get to his feet again when another explosion smashed him to the deck once more.

  The Damadas struck on the east end of the crater floor, her hull penetrating the relatively flimsy storage buildings erected there, slicing through meter-thick ferriplast and packed rubble to the storage spaces dug out by TOG engineers just under the surface of the crater floor. By the time she struck, the entire ship was in flames. The massive complex of her gravitic fusion power plant and I-K drive generators tore free from mountings, smashing their way forward through bulkhead after bulkhead as though they were so much tissue paper. The drive core had already crashed through the ship and into the main, upper level cavern when it exploded.

  It was just plain bad luck that some fifty tons of the high explosive used to break up the stone floors of the Hell Pits were stored in that part of the cavern. Normally, plastic explosive is remarkably stable. It can be struck, dropped, and even burned without risk of detonation. The explosion of the Damadas's drive coils, however, imparted far more raw energy to the stacks of explosive than any mere fire.

  With that, the whole cavern exploded.

  The stolen shuttle dumped velocity in a surge of gravitic pulses, hovered, then descended toward the crater floor close to the cant-winged shuttle already on the ground. The crash of the Damadas's flaming wreckage less than a kilometer across the floor of the crater smashed the ship hard to port with a pressure wave as intense as that from a small nuclear device. The same wave then buffeted the shuttle with hurricane winds that threatened to wrench the wings from the hull and send the small craft spiraling across the crater rim and onto the rocks far below.

  Somehow, Kendric regained control of the craft. Somehow, he maintained control as the winds reversed, boiling back toward the mushrooming pillar of flame that marked the Damadas's funeral pyre.

  The shuttle already on the ground was damaged. Its portside landing gear had given way under the blast overpressure, and the left wing was bent and torn. Had that been the only damage, it would probably have flown still. Gravitic vehicles do not need streamlining or airfoils to fly if they have power and time.

  Kendric could see worse, however. Aft, high along the hull farings over the grav coil feeders, cowlings and hull plates had been plucked away like scraps of paper, exposing spaghetti tangles of wires and electrical conduits. Even from fifty meters in the air, it was clear that the shuttle would not fly again without major repairs—the sort of repairs only possible aboard a well-equipped repair tender or at a major starport repair facility.

  Kendric grounded his shuttle close to the crippled vehicle. Smoke from the burning wreckage cast a pall over the entire crater, but ground and shuttle hulls were fitfully illuminated by the raging flames.

  He punched the control that cycled open the starboard side hatch. "Stay put," he told T.C.. "I'll be right back!" He raced across the broken ground toward the damaged ship. Twice he had to stop, for the ground was swaying beneath his feet, a low, groaning, tremulous motion that was part movement and part vast, swelling sound.

  The damaged shuttle's side hatch was open, though the ramp was tilted at an uncomfortable angle with the ship's list to port. The only way he could make his way up the ramp was by hanging on hand over hand to the guard rail. It was dark on the flight deck, with the power systems and lighting obviously dead, but there was light enough filtering through open hatch and cockpit screen for him to see the body lying face-down on the deck. He stooped, turned the man over, and recognized him.

  What was the man's name? Douglass. That was it. Jaime Douglass... The young fighter pilot who had become Group Leader after Haldane died at Trothas.

  He didn't like moving an unconscious man without knowing the extent of his injuries, but the seismic quake was building in intensity, setting the deck of the damaged shuttle to flexing with ominous, creaking pops and snapping sounds. He levered Douglass up and over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, then lurched his way out of the ship. Rather than risk carrying Douglass down the steeply sloped surface of the ramp, he had to lower the man to the ground by sliding him down the trembling incliner. Once down, he hoisted Douglass over his shoulder again and managed a heavy-footed sprint back to his own ship.

  Minutes later, the shuttle was shrieking through thinning atmosphere, as the sky turned from violet to black.

  "Kendric!" T.C. yelled from the co-pilot's console at his side. "Look at the aft screen!" She had tuned her main console viewer to an aft camera angle. The crest of the mountain behind them was obscured by gray smoke that mounted in a writhing, flame-shot mass. As they watched, the entire southern face of the mountain seemed to crumple, falling outward in a slow-motion cascade of debris, and Kendric saw the white glare of inner fires released. A succession of blasts pulsed in the fiery heart of the new volcano.

  The final blast was proof that nature could yet dwarf the destructive capabilities of Man. Though the shuttle had no instruments capable of measuring the power of the blast, monitoring stations elsewhere on Haetai-Aleph would eventually produce data indicating that this one explosion liberated on the order of 8 x 10'9 joules—the equivalent of 20,000 megatons of TNT, far more powerful than any nuclear device ever created by man.

  The Shockwave of the exploding mountain was a visible ring of compression racing at the speed of sound out from the mountain. Just behind the surface Shockwave, ground waves raced outward, transforming the terrain into a nightmare of destruction. Then the destruction was masked by clouds and distance and the curve of the moon's horizon. Kendric studied his instruments, then pointed out a blip of white light flickering on his main scanner. "They said ships, plural, were attacking," he said. "I'd be willing to bet that's another ship in the rescue force."

  "Someone certainly went to a lot of trouble to try to save you," said T.C., sounding impressed. "Is there something about you that you're not telling me?"

  He shrugged and grinned. "Just a poor provincial, trying to get along with all these slick Galactics. It isn't easy!"

  The target they were steering for was less than a thousand kilometers away now and rapidly growing closer.

  "We only have one last problem," he told T.C., "and that's the little matter of approaching them without them thinking we're hostile. They can't possibly know we're unarmed."

  "Can you call them on radio?"

  "Not with the interference from that." He jabbed a thumb toward the bloated, salmon-hued sphere of Haetai. "And both our microwave antenna and our communication laser are gone. They probably got swept away by the blast wave of that explosion."

  "How close will they let us get?"

  He reached high over his head and flicked several switches over. "Pretty close, I hope. I've just turned on our landing lights, navigational running lights, and every other exterior light switch I can find. With luck, they won't think that's a hostile act and it just might make them curious enough to look us over before shooting. Maybe we can make them curious enough to let us come alongside...or get close enough that we can screen our antenna with their hull and try ordinary radio."

  It was several minutes before T.C. spotted and pointed out a bright star moving against dimmer stars. Moments later, the star had taken on a definite long, lean, shark-finned shape. Kendric used a telephoto lens to expand the image on his console viewer, aiming at the aft hull where a number was visible in white p
aint against gray metal.

  He grinned. "I should have known. That, T.C., is a destroyer from my squadron. Her name is Gaidheal, and I'll bet you almost any sum y ou'd care to lay down that her commanding officer is one Commander Lenard Delmor Morganen."

  "A friend?"

  Kendric pulled thoughtfully at an ear. "I'm not sure. But if the Gaidheal is here, Lenard will be in her hotseat. I guarantee it. She used to be his ship."

  Navigational beacons pulsing with strobelight intensity, the shuttle continued to close with the destroyer. Elsewhere in the heavens about them, scanners showed the sky to be clear.

  "Kendric!" T.C. said suddenly. "Check your scanners!"

  "I see them." More blips were appearing, far astern this time. It was difficult to untangle the radar returns, but there were at least four small ships back there, possibly more. "The surviving fighters...or else they've been launched by another base on Haetai-Aleph."

  "Who are they after, us or your destroyer?"

  "No telling. They can't know who we are and may even think we're the hostile shuttle that must have been reported as landing during the battle back there. On the other hand, the Gaidheal up yonder must be making a much bigger blip than we are."

  "Can we reach your ship before they catch up?"

  "Good question. Do me a favor, T.C., and go aft and check up on Douglass. I strapped him in a hurry."

  "Sure."

  "We may have to do some very un-shuttlelike maneuvers pretty soon. If our grav compensators fail, I wouldn't like to smash him across the overhead."

  T.C. was gone for several minutes. When she returned and began strapping herself into her own seat, the destroyer was much larger, side-on and dangerous looking. Under camera magnification, they could make out the turrets of her multiple laser batteries swinging into line with their shuttle along both the ventral and dorsal decks.

  "We're in range," Kendric said. "If they haven't blasted us yet..."

  At that moment, the unexpected happened. Kendric had been braced for the possibility that the Gaidheal would open fire, had been preparing to hurl the shuttle to one side or the other in an attempt to throw the frigate's tracking computers off the scent long enough for him to try another approach. What he did not count on was the sudden, ghostly radiance of the Gaidheal's plasma drives suddenly flaring to life astern, as the slender ship began accelerating, outbound.

  "No!" Kendric yelled, and he almost pounded on the control panel in his frustration. "No! Don't leave now!"

  Still accelerating, the destroyer began to pull away on a completely different vector from the shuttle. Kendric did some rapid calculations in his head, then dropped any notion of trying to follow. The destroyer was pulling five Gs already and was at nearly right angles to the shuttle's line of flight. Because the shuttle could manage only four Gs of acceleration, and that for only a short time, it was not possible to try to pursue the destroyer.

  Kendric and T.C. watched the Gaidheal dwindle rapidly, until it was only a brilliant, fuzzy star where its I-K drive spewed photons and hydrogen plasma in the far distance. Kendric felt his eyes were burning, and brought a hand to his face. His fingers were wet when he brought the hand away. Beside him, T.C. took his other hand and gave it a squeeze.

  "We got this far, Ken," she said. "That's something."

  "Better to die here than in that mine, you mean?" He managed a smile. "You're right on that, I suppose, but I'm not ready to give it up yet." The smile broadened. "This here is supposed to be a rescue, lady, not a walk down the mountain!"

  Moments later, the Gaidheal's image vanished from his scanner screen, as four fast Imperial fighters closed from astern.

  Narbon (ISC 465-9112-2003) Spectral type: KO Mass: .78 Sol; Luminosity: .4 Sol; Diameter: .85 Sol Planetary System: 5 major bodies, three asteroid belts Planet II: Narbon Mean orbital radius: .64 AU Period: .58 years. Mass: 5.79 x 1027 gm (.97 Terra) Equatorial Diameter: 11352 km (.89 Terra) Density: 5.35 g/cm* (.97 Terra) Surface gravity: .86 G. Planet IV: Haetai Mean orbital radius 4.2 AU Period 9.75 year

  NAVIGATIONAL WARNING: Haetai-Aleph, the major inner moon of Planet IV, has been designated a restricted area. Ships must clear their approach with Haetai-Aleph Ground Authority before approach and landing.

  —Extract from Galactic Pilot's Manual, Terran Sector, Edition 36

  Vast and sullen, Haetai grew in the shuttle's cockpit windows, its atmosphere roiled by storms broad enough to swallow entire worlds the size of Alba.

  "We have two problems," Kendric told T.C. after completing a careful inventory of the shuttle's stores, fuel, and life-support capability, as detailed by the ship's computer. "First, we have to see about shaking our friends back there. After that, we have to decide what we're going to do next...where we're going to go."

  "I'll leave the escaping up to you," she said, smiling. "You've been doing a splendid job of it up to this point, and I'd hate to stop you now!"

  "Actually, I'm more worried about the second part of the problem," he said. "This ship is strictly an interplanetary job. We're stuck in this system, unless we can find something bigger, something that can make a T-space hop."

  "Where did this ship come from, then?"

  "Its registry is Diralen, Narbon II. Yonder gas giant is Planet IV in this system. Planet II, according to the computer listings, is Alban... uh, I guess you would say 'Terralike.'" He studied his computer display, skimming screen upon screen of tightly spaced descriptions and data listings. "A bit on the dry side. Air's pretty thin, but there are Human cities there, and Diralen is a major starport. The computer lists twenty-seven independent freight lines with facilities and trade factors at the port."

  T.C. bit at her lower lip between as she read over his shoulder. "You're planning to find a trader who will take you somewhere else? To another system?"

  Kendric turned from the screen and looked at her. "I don't plan to open a shop on Diralen's market square, no." He hesitated. "T.C....I was planning to find someone who would take us both, and yon fighter jock, too, of course. Did you have a particular destination in mind for yourself?"

  She shook her head. "Hey, I just got liberated an hour ago, remember? I haven't been thinking that far ahead!"

  He laughed. "Neither had I. But we'd better start giving it some thought... And I do mean 'we.' Do you mind letting me rescue you for a bit longer?"

  "Like I said, you're doing such a good job." He heard a catch in her voice, and quickly looked up at her again. "What's wrong, T.C.?"

  "Nothing. Well...I guess...oh, dammit, Ken...I'm afraid. I don't want to tag along and weigh you down, but I haven't the faintest idea what I'm going to do!"

  "Would I be out of line inviting you to come with me?" He studied her eyes a moment. "I'd like you to come."

  "I'll be in the way."

  He laughed. "That I seriously doubt! For a start, you can use the shuttle's computer to find out whatever it knows about Narbon II. This ship is registered there. You know the kind of thing—Do we have to file a flight plan? Ask for permission to land? Are they going to be checking with Haetai-Aleph and find out that Clovis is dead and that we're escaped slaves?" He shook his head. "It all ought to be in the ship's files, but I'm going to be busy. You told me once you knew computer records. Well, now's when you earn your keep!"

  "From friends...to partners," she said quietly.

  He reached over and took her hand. "Friends and partners, then."

  "Friends and partners." She held his hand briefly and smiled, but her eyes still carried a hint of fear. "Well, partner. What do you plan to do about our escort back there?"

  "Nothing, actually."

  "Oh?"

  "Won't need to. Spiculums have great acceleration—8 Gs if you push them. But their endurance isn't so hot. Those guys could have caught us some time ago, but I don't think they want to risk following us into that." He pointed forward. Haetai was a bloated, half-sphere now, filling a large portion of the cockpit window. The wispy black shadow of its ring looked more substa
ntial than it had from Aleph's surface. From here, it was a ruler-straight streak of night across the giant's equator, edged by flecks of reflected light.

  The shuttle hurtled toward that edge, as radar contacts began to appear on Kendric's scanner screen. Haetai's rings consisted of rock only, the methane and water ices having long since been blasted away by heat radiated from the superjovian planet. What remained was debris, carbon black shoals of rock circling the dull-glowing giant.

  The shadow grew, spreading across space. Then it became a blurred, transparent wall to starboard, through which the stars continued to shine as the shuttle flashed past the rings' orbital plane. Their speed was too great to discern individual chunks. Kendric dedicated himself to the scanner screen with almost fanatical devotion. T.C. worked on a separate computer channel to extract the information that Kendric had asked for, going aft from time to time to check on their unconscious passenger. She remained silent, however, to keep from breaking Kendric's concentration.

  At the speed the shuttle was traveling past those rock shoals, Human reflexes were woefully inadequate. Assisted by the shuttle's computers, however, and with the extended senses of its scanners, Kendric could add his own judgement and experience to the computers' decisions about how close the shuttle could come to that nearly invisible wall of hurtling rock. The danger lay in the fact that not every chunk of rock lay in the knife-edge thin plane of the rings. Gravitational perturbations, collisions, even random chance tended to throw isolated chunks clear of the rings into orbits—usually temporary—that passed through the plane at an angle. Most fragments would be shouldered aside by the craft's shields, but some would slip through. There was a small but terrifying chance that the shuttle would hit one of those errant chunks. At a speed measured in tens of kilometers per second, death would be spectacular and instantaneous.