Vicky Peterwald: Target

by Mike Shepherd

  “So you say. Sergeant, search the place.”

  So much for professional courtesy and respecting the word of a fellow officer. Then again, on second thought, no Marine would consider the Imperial Guard their equal. And for different reasons, no doubt the Guard felt the same way.

  There was more commotion that apparently led nowhere. Then came the inevitable.

  “Open the casket.”

  “That is Brigadier General Colenberg, our honored dead,” the captain bit out.

  “So you say. I’ll see for myself.”

  “The brigadier died during interrogation by a security consultant. It is not a pretty sight. His family did not embalm the body for religious reasons, and they want a closed-casket service.”

  “Guard officers do not have squeamish stomachs, like some people. No doubt he got what he deserved for the crimes he committed. Open the casket, or I will have it opened.”

  Was that Guard officer under orders to start a rebellion right here in this room?

  Vicky considered the situation. That might be the plan. If the Navy shot at the Guard, the Empress could move in fast with her power and suppress the Navy quickly while it was unprepared for what hit it. And if they found Vicky’s dead body in the cross fire, well, so much the better.

  There was a long, pregnant, or maybe more accurately deadly, pause. When the captain spoke, his words were cold but crisp. “Honor Guard, Atten’hut.”

  Vicky heard the snap of men coming smartly to attention.

  “Honor Guard, Recover the flag.”

  More light came in through Vicky’s breathing holes as the flag was lifted, then smartly folded down to the sergeant at the foot of the coffin.

  “Open it,” the Guard officer demanded.

  Again there was a pause. Then the captain said. “Command Sergeant Major, please open the top of the casket.”

  That took a bit of doing. The sergeant major seemed to fumble the latch repeatedly in his gloved hands.

  “Take the damn gloves off,” demanded the Guard officer.

  The top half of the coffin opened. Vicky got a whiff of fresher air.

  Someone stomped over to the coffin. “Open the rest of it.”

  That took less time.

  Now the coffin swayed as the Guard officer lifted first the feet, then the head. Finally, he rocked the body to the left and right. Vicky could feel the tension growing more and more explosive in the room.

  If these sergeants were drawn from the brigadier’s command, the idiot Guard officer was messing with their beloved commander right in front of his loyal NCOs.

  Had the Guardsman been ordered to do his best to spark the rebellion today?

  Vicky had to remind herself to breathe slowly and softly.

  “Clearly, that is Brigadier General Colenberg and not a woman,” the captain snapped. “Will you now leave us to our grief?”

  “Why would you Marines shed a tear for a common crook?”

  “Are men in Greenfeld no longer innocent until proven guilty?” the captain bit out.

  “He should have told the Empress’s security consultants what they wanted to know.”

  There was no answer to that. None that didn’t involve full civil war. The captain let the Guard officer have the last word. Vicky listened as heavy boots left.

  She’d bet money that the last several of them were backing out, machine pistols at the ready.

  A long minute went by as a lot of angry men got their breath back and closed the casket.

  “Honor Guard. Render flag honors to the dead.”

  The flag was returned to lie over the casket, and Vicky found herself with less light.

  “You okay in there?” the captain asked.

  “Yes,” Vicky whispered. Then added, “Thanks, Captain, for not doing what they wanted you to do.”

  “Those sons ah bitches have a lot coming to them.”

  “But not today, Captain. Not when they’re asking for it. Wanting it. Ready for it, and we aren’t.”

  “Too true, Your Grace. Too true.”

  Vicky found herself wanting to doze off. Tired as she was, she fought the urge. It wouldn’t do to have snores coming from a coffin. Flag-draped or otherwise.

  When the ferry arrived at the station, the Marines waited until the rush was over, then slow-marched the casket as they rolled it through the main deck and off to a waiting hearse.

  The drive to the Navy-base chapel on the station was slow but uninterrupted.

  The casket was again unloaded by the honor guard and transferred to its wheeled dolly under the soft tears of mourners. Vicky heard the captain pass a few words with them.

  “There’s a wheel threatening to come loose. We need to take the remains to the back of the chapel for a few minutes to assure there are no problems during the service.”

  The widow tearfully agreed.

  So Vicky found herself out of sight, in the sacristy beside the sanctuary, being pulled out of her close confines.

  There was a woman Marine captain waiting for her. “Come with me. I have a few things for you.” And the two of them disappeared into the vacant chaplain’s office.

  The first thing the Marine did was extract a shipsuit from a bag, a gray one, not Navy blue or Greenfeld green, and toss it to Vicky.

  Vicky read the name on the right breast. “‘Paulus Ship Fitters. The best for the best.’ Anyone we know?” she asked.

  The Marine officer shrugged. “I’m doing what I was told. And I was told to ask no questions and forget everything I did five seconds after I did it, Your Grace.”

  “Smart policy,” Vicky agreed. In a moment, the borrowed coveralls were a heap on the floor, quickly followed by the clothes the colonel and his wife had given her. It took only a second to pull on the new, nonregulation shipsuit.

  “The rest of the stuff in the bag is what I think you’ll need for a week on the run. Toothbrush, soap, clean undies, a box of sanitary napkins just in case. You know.”

  “Thanks. You’re the first person I’ve met since this whole thing began to think of me as a woman with needs.”

  “And what you mean by ‘this whole thing’ is not part of my brief, ma’am, though if I can say so, we girls of the Corps are damn proud of the way you got those scumbags that murdered the captain. A lot of us liked that bounder.”

  “I’m sorry I could only avenge him,” Vicky said, and really felt it.

  “Here are some sunglasses and a baseball cap. You can put your weapon in the bag with the other stuff. That’s 4.5 mm, right? I got you a couple of extra boxes of ammunition and two magazines that should fit that thing.”

  “For someone who doesn’t know a thing about me and forgot it five seconds ago, you sure know what I want.”

  “We aim to please, Your Grace. Now, good luck and a fast voyage. Oh, and I was given this just before you got here.” She handed Vicky a slip of paper.

  “Put it in water, and it will tell you where to go next. There’s a water fountain in the passageway around behind the sanctuary. Now. I got to go,” she said, gathering up Vicky’s shed clothes and putting them in a bag that she produced from somewhere. “It’s been nice never meeting you.”

  And without a backward glance, Vicky’s angel was gone.

  Vicky checked her bag. It was full of nice things as well as another shipsuit and several changes of underwear that were in her size. There were three boxes of a hundred rounds each of 4.5 mm ammo and two sixty-round magazines. Vicky slipped her own automatic as well as her captured weapon in the bag and covered them with clothes, but made sure they were in easy reach.

  Ready to give the padre back his office, she slipped out and headed away from the mourning congregation through the back hallway. There indeed was a water fountain. She soaked the slip of paper and saw “Pier 12, D-103” appear.

  In the sanctuary, Vicky could hear a male voice, heavy with emotions, praise the character of the deceased brigadier. All Vicky could do was shake her head and promise his tortured soul venge
ance as she swallowed the paper and let herself out the back door of the chapel.

  Vicky left the Navy base by a minor gate. The Marine guard there studied her fake ID for a long moment, then waved her through. She avoided the station trolley and anyplace that might have good camera coverage. That left her walking the back alleys and side roads of the station. It took her a half hour more, but in an hour she stood at the escalator that would take her down to Pier 12. The map before her showed that side branches A, B, and C were large affairs where liners might dock. D was opposite C and looked tiny compared to the other three. Then again, it had some hundred and ten tie-downs.

  Here was the place small runabouts and yachts could tie up.

  Vicky passed up the elevator that would have whisked her down to the D level and took the stairs instead, figuring they were likely to be under less surveillance.

  Besides, a working stiff like she appeared to be wouldn’t crowd the elbows of the paying customers and owners.

  Got to stay in my place, she lectured herself, wondering if she’d ever find out what her place really was.

  Damn it, girl, you’re the Grand Duchess Victoria. Your place is on top.

  Or dead.

  Vicky tried to concentrate on her surroundings and not foolish thoughts as she trotted down the steps.

  Cross Pier D was easy to find. Now berth 103, that was a problem.

  Vicky walked and walked out the D cross pier, passing scores of slips for boats large but getting smaller as the numbers slowly added up toward a hundred. Now she was passing decent-sized system runabouts, craft that might take a party out to circle the moon or even to one of the outer planets, if you didn’t mind the air getting a bit stale.

  None of them seemed suitable for a jump to the next system, much less two.

  “Have I got the number right?” she was just asking herself when she finally came to slip 103.

  The name on the slip sign said the Spaceadler was tied up below. The name was smudged and the paper it was written on worn and dog-eared. Apparently, the Spaceadler had been tied up at slip 103 for quite a while.

  The board below the name showed red. The Spaceadler was locked down tight and not ready for space.

  Vicky walked the rest of the distance to the end of Cross Pier D. That took her to slip 110. The other signs were just as tired and dog-eared. Apparently, this was where ships came to die.

  She turned back.

  There was the commander coming up the pier, whistling a jaunty tune and lugging a large seabag on his shoulder. No longer stoop-shouldered, he had somehow managed to shave and otherwise clean up his act. Now, he didn’t look half-bad. Indeed, not bad at all.

  Vicky allowed herself a smile. He smiled right back at her. So she slowed her pace and arrived back at the Spaceadler at the same time he did.

  CHAPTER 34

  “YOU’RE late,” she said.

  “You’re early, as usual,” he said right back, but with a wide grin. He was rather nice, if a bit too confident for Vicky’s tastes.

  That debate would get them nowhere, so she let it drop and went on to the next impossible thing on her to-do list. “You got a pass to get us in?” she asked.

  “I most certainly do,” he said, producing a card. He ran it through the reader at the bottom of the sign.

  The board continued to show red. NO ADMISSION.

  The locked door barring admission to slip 103 clicked open.

  So it was going to be like that, Vicky thought, and followed the commander into the spiral staircase down to the ship’s hatch.

  She closed the pier gate behind them and it clicked locked again.

  The spiral staircase was a tight fit for the commander and his large duffel. She let him lead the way and hung back herself. Clearly, Slip 103 was not the lap of luxury. Then again, there didn’t seem to be much traffic or security out this way, either.

  Given a choice of comfort and attention vs. some hard knocks while being ignored, Vicky would settle for the latter today.

  At the tiny brow, the commander dropped his seabag to the deck and pulled his security card out again. One swipe, and the ship’s hatch came open.

  The outside pier light still showed red.

  The commander held up his card and smiled. “Don’t you just love the magic we criminals and other miscreants can get away with these days?”

  “On most days,” Vicky said, “I’m a strong supporter of law and order. My daddy likes it that way. Today, I’ll cut you some slack.”

  “So nice of you, Your Grace. You do want to be rescued, don’t you?”

  “I chose rescue well ahead of the authorized rescue party, didn’t I?”

  “You do have that to your credit. Now, let’s stow our gear and see what some other little elves and lowlifes have left for our aid and comfort.”

  The ship was bigger than Vicky had expected. Aft there was a small thermonuclear reactor, complete with a magnetohydrodynamic electrical-generation system.

  Although the board on the dock had reported the reactor was cold steel, the board in engineering said it was hot and ready to go.

  “Interesting disconnect,” Vicky muttered.

  “Sometimes it’s nice when things aren’t what they seem,” the commander said.

  “Not around the palace,” Vicky growled.

  “We are far from that place and soon to get farther.”

  “Amen.”

  “You sound like you just came from church,” the commander said with a grin while he led her forward toward the bridge.

  “First time in so long I can’t remember. Dad didn’t have much need for clergy except when he wanted to get married,” she said, and scowled.

  “Just one of several things I don’t much care for about your family.”

  “You’ll get no backtalk from me on family matters,” Vicky said, then whistled. “What kind of ship is this?”

  “A very nice yacht,” the commander said.

  “And you know about it how?”

  “Well, you see, there was this guy I went to the academy with. He spent such good times with his dad on the Spaceadler that he thought being a Navy officer would be great. You may have noticed that there’s a bit of difference from being a pampered passenger and being a Navy officer.”

  “Once or twice or fifty times,” Vicky admitted.

  “His Navy career was no longer than it had to be, but he and I stay in touch, and I’ve been out on this boat with him a few times.”

  “Is he going to miss it?”

  “You may have gotten the impression from the sign dockside that the boat hasn’t been out in a while.”

  “Or longer,” Vicky agreed.

  “His dad died two years back. He and his kid sister want to sail the boat. His older brother and sister can’t wait to sell the boat. While the family argues, the ship stays tied up. Older sibs won’t let the younger kids take it out for fear they’ll dent it and knock down the sale price.”

  “So the boat sits alongside the pier and rots.”

  “Funny how that works.”

  “And the reactor is all hot and ready to go because . . . ?” Vicky asked.

  “When I got word that some spoiled high-society dame needed to bug out, I mentioned that I knew about this boat. What do you know? By the time we get up here, it’s got a full larder, a hot reactor, plenty of reaction mass. And nothing in the pier log says that anyone came near this boat, thank you very much.”

  “Neat trick,” Vicky allowed.

  “Us criminals and low-life thieves ain’t the only ones what can do magic tricks.”

  “So, we light the kettle and bug out of here.”

  “Not for a while. Not unless you want every defensive laser on this station to be aimed at us thirty seconds after we cast off our tie-downs.”

  “Then we’re going to hide out here until the whole mess I’m in blows over?”

  “Nope. We got to get out of here and get out soon.”

  “Gee, Commander, I’m all out of gue
sses. Enlighten this poor junior officer.”

  “You’re a lieutenant commander. Your junior-officer days are over. From now on, you got to work for a living.”

  “Oh dear, and I was just told today that no one above the rank of chief or Gunny worked for a living.”

  “Misinformation spread by the people who really run the Navy to confuse the rest of us.”

  “Commander, I’m way past due for some sleep. Have mercy on this lowly lieutenant commander and tell me what my future holds.”

  “To such a plaintive cry, I can only offer the truth.” That dangerous grin was back on his face. “During the midwatch, the light cruiser Rostock will depart for a far shore. Unusual for a Navy departure, it will make a close pass down Pier 12. At the same time, on the midwatch, the main traffic-control radar for High Anhalt station will go down for maintenance. It’s been giving trouble for quite some time. Got worse earlier today. So, I intend to take my departure from a pier that will still be reporting the Spaceadler in dock, and fly such a close formation with the Rostock that no one using the available radars will be any the wiser. Understand?”

  “You that good a pilot?”

  “I used to be. I’m a bit rusty after wasting my time recently with various miscreants, but hell, if you’ve shaved the paint off one ship, you never forget how to shave the paint off ships. Right?”

  “God help us.”

  “Well, you’re the one that just went to church. You’ll have to do the praying.”

  “Any chance I could do some sleeping?”

  “There are several cabins below. You take the owner’s cabin. It’s got a nice big bed.”

  “I’ll only need a small one.”

  “Suit yourself,” the commander said, and turned his attention to his control board. He pulled out a predeparture checklist and began to go down it.

  Vicky headed down the central stairwell. On the third deck, midway between the reactor and the bridge, she did indeed find a room with a large bed.

  She fell into it. She was debating taking her boots off but fell asleep before she could reach any decision.