by Peter Grant
What should I do? he thought, half-panicked, half-resigned. We cannot fight them – we have no weapons! He cudgeled his brain for a moment. Well, if they are in a mood to listen, I can at least bargain with them for our lives. There were over two hundred co-opted spacers from Keda on board, and a couple of dozen former merchant officers and spacers. None of them were fanatics, and he was sure none of them were eager to die. If he offered the invaders the remainder of the Brotherhood’s gold in exchange for the lives of his crew, they might live to see another day. There was also what Pal Sejdiu had hinted, in his last message. Perhaps surrender was no longer so unthinkable an option under the circumstances, particularly now that there were no surviving hard-liners in armed vessels to prevent it.
He returned to his command console. “Command to Helm, drive to ten per cent power, take us out of orbit. We are not going to wait for those ships to fire on us. We will go out to them and surrender. There is no point in dying uselessly, accomplishing nothing.”
The helmsman’s knees almost buckled in relief at the thought that he might not have to die today. “A-aye aye, sir! T-thank you, sir!”
He thrust the power slider forward. Grudgingly, creakingly, Bashkim Bregija began to move.
In his cutter, following the big ship, Lieutenant Nikolla watched the two engagements on the Plot display feed he’d linked to his console. He gasped in shock and horror to see both Brotherhood vessels disappear as their power failed, cutting off their emissions signature. Where his brother’s ship had been, the starburst icon of a thermonuclear explosion bloomed briefly, then faded out.
He wiped tears from his eyes. You did not fail the test, brother! You died for our Patriarch, just as he died for you! Now it is my turn to follow your example. I shall keep faith with you! I shall not let the enemy get their greedy hands on our gold!
He turned to the nuclear demolition charge that the Engineer Officer had placed in the load bed of the cutter. It would destroy the refinery ship utterly, and reduce the gold aboard her to so many atoms and molecules, useless to their enemies. He inserted a key into the cover over the weapon’s control panel, and opened it. Flicking on the power switch, he was greeted with a demand for a passcode. He fished in his trouser pockets, but couldn’t find it. For a moment he felt panic, but then remembered he’d put it in a pocket of his uniform jacket, which now hung on the back of the pilot’s chair. He hurried over to retrieve the code. As he did so, he glanced through the viewscreen at the big refinery ship. It was right where he expected, three kilometers ahead of him.
He entered the code, and followed the prompts on the weapon’s panel as it led him through a series of steps to prepare it for use. He forced himself to proceed slowly and carefully, double-checking every stage, to make sure he’d gotten everything right. At last he was greeted with a time display, and a demand to set the delay period. The instructions informed him that the delay could not be set to less than fifteen minutes, although the bomb could be detonated instantaneously if necessary by entering another code. He shook his head. He would first have to steer the cutter to the center of the refinery ship, then land it on her hull, to make sure she was completely destroyed. He set the timer to fifteen minutes, then activated it. The display beeped, then began counting down. 14:59… 14:58… 14:57…
He straightened up, sighing, and glanced through the viewscreen. To his utter horror, the ship was gone! While he had been working on the demolition charge, it had disappeared!
Frantically, he scrambled back to the pilot’s console, scanning its sensor display feverishly. He cursed aloud as he saw Bashkim Bregija’s icon, already a hundred kilometers away, moving out from the planet, turning toward the oncoming enemy.
He rammed the power slider forward to its maximum setting. The cutter jerked into life, accelerating fast… but its gravitic drive had been designed for short-range journeys between ship and ship, or ship and space station. Its maximum design speed was no more than one per cent of Cee, and the refinery ship was already creeping toward that velocity. He turned after her, straining every sinew in his body, as if pushing his craft along by willpower alone. However, Bashkim Bregija was still accelerating; more slowly, to be sure, but she had a head start on him, and a vastly more powerful drive.
At first he closed the distance, to within fifty kilometers… but then his drive ran out of energy as its power was automatically siphoned off to the gravitic shield against small particles, energizing it to protect the cutter against collisions at higher speeds. In a small utility craft like the cutter, the engineering controls were not sophisticated enough to switch off the shield, redirecting all power to the drive. Slowly, steadily, the refinery ship began to pull away again.
Acid tears stung Xhafer’s eyes as he realized, I cannot catch her! I have failed my brother! I have failed the Patriarch! He lowered his head onto the pilot console and cried aloud in his agony of spirit.
He was still weeping when the counter on the demolition charge flickered to 00:00.
HCS LARKSPUR
“What the hell?”
The Plot operator’s startled exclamation drew the eyes of every person in the OpCen to his display. The starburst icon of a nuclear explosion appeared near the second planet, close behind the big ship as she moved out to meet them.
“What the devil was that?” Lieutenant-Commander Urquhart exclaimed.
“I’ve no idea,” Dave replied, shaking his head. “It looked like a small craft drive signature at first, following the big ship, but it might have been a powered space mine. Whatever it was, it doesn’t seem to have damaged that ship. She’s moving faster.”
Indeed, in his alarm at the massive explosion behind him, Commander Thanas had rammed his throttle through the gate, accelerating as quickly as possible. He reached for his microphone. “We surrender! We surrender! Stop shooting at us! The Brotherhood’s gold is in our holds! It is yours, if you let us live!”
The OpCen team on Larkspur’s bridge perked up as they heard the message on the standard emergency channel, their eyes sparkling at the thought of the bonuses they would earn for such a prize.
“What do you think, sir?” Urquhart asked cheerfully. “Should we accept her surrender?”
“If gold is involved, I daresay we should,” Dave agreed with a smile. “Tell her to shut down her drive and wait for our boarding party.”
Two days later, the commanding officers and executive officers of all the ships met in the conference room aboard the arsenal ship Payara II. It was big enough to accommodate everyone in comfort. They relaxed over coffee, cookies and pastries, congratulating each other on how well all their vessels had performed.
Dave called the meeting to order at last. “This won’t take long,” he promised. “I need to tell you about some decisions that have been made. First, let’s talk about the gold.” He paused, grinning, as loud cheers came from his audience. “There’s about ten billion francs worth aboard the refinery ship.” Whistles of surprise and exclamations of glee. “Obviously, we’ll divide it between both forces. Captain Liao and I have agreed to do so on the basis of the ships involved. There are four Qianjin vessels and seven from Hawkwood, so we’ve divided the gold into eleven equal shares by weight. Four shares will go back to Qianjin, and seven will return to Constanta.”
Captain Liao bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Thank you for making the division so painless,” he said. “That is a very fair solution, particularly since your ships fired, and must now replace, all the missiles used in the engagement. You may be sure that my report on how you planned and conducted this operation, and used your arsenal ships to such good effect, is going to attract a great deal of attention in our Fleet. It was a masterful display.” More pleased remarks came from the Hawkwood officers, along with applause from their Qianjin counterparts. “I should add that this is the richest haul of prize money ever taken by our Fleet. Our share will make everyone aboard our ships wealthy, even the lowest-ranked spacer. We are all, personally, very grateful to Hawkwood for invit
ing us to be a part of this operation. I daresay every ship in our service will be volunteering to serve with you in future.” Laughter and more applause.
Dave thanked him, then continued, “As far as the refinery ship is concerned, our engineers have surveyed her. Their unanimous opinion is that she’s too old and decrepit to safely make the journey to another star. Therefore, we’ll accommodate all her prisoners in the personnel pods aboard our arsenal ships. They started life as fast freighters, and more than half their hold space is still available. We have a personnel pod aboard each of them, to provide emergency accommodation – just what we need for the prisoners. We’ll transfer rations from the refinery ship to feed them, as well as anything that looks interesting or valuable. When that’s done, we’ll drop the refinery ship into the star.
“Sadly, we’ll have to do the same with Amanita. She was our first corvette, and saved our butts at the First Battle of Mycenae, but that’s water under the bridge now. Her capacitor ring is too badly damaged to allow her to hyper-jump. If we knew for sure what’s happened at New Skyros, we might leave her here, plus another corvette as escort, to await a repair ship; but we’ve no idea whether Captain Haldane’s task force has destroyed the Brotherhood squadron. If some or all of them arrive back here with their weapons intact, two corvettes won’t be able to defend themselves against them. Not even our whole squadron could be certain of that, since we’ve used more than half of the missiles aboard our arsenal ships.
“Therefore, I’ve made a command decision. We’ll strip Amanita of everything of value we can take off her without needing a dockyard. We’ll load it aboard our arsenal ships, then we’ll drop her hull into the star as well. I’m sure Commodore Cochrane will be very sorry to learn of her casualties, even more than her loss, but we’re bringing back enough gold to buy a dozen more corvettes to replace her – less our bonuses, of course.” More laughter.
“It’ll take us a week or so to get all that done. While we’re busy, I’ll send some of you to collect the other two drones we planted to keep an eye on Brotherhood activities here, and others to dismantle and load their surveillance satellite constellation. Its control console is aboard the refinery ship, which is very convenient – it means we’ve captured the whole thing. We can set it up somewhere else, and use it ourselves.” More cheers.
“The Brotherhood has a repair ship, too, and a couple more small freighters used to recover asteroids. They were all absent on other missions when we arrived. If they come back in time, we’ll snap them up. If they don’t, once they find out what’s happened, they’ll probably run for their lives, change the ships’ and their crews’ names, and try to find a new home somewhere else – unless and until their enemies catch up with them.
“All right, people. When everything’s finished, we’ll head for home. Thank you all very much for a good job, well done.”
As the officers helped themselves to more coffee and pastries, Captain Liao joined Captain Cousins at a viewscreen, looking out toward the refinery ship in close formation nearby. “It is a pity you cannot salvage her for your own use,” the Qianjin officer observed.
“Yes, but we can afford to buy a new one now, if the Commodore wants one.”
“And more corvettes.”
“Yes, or perhaps some of those super-destroyers you’re designing. They look very interesting.”
“Indeed. I foresee an ongoing exchange of views and information between our forces. We work well together, and we have learned to respect each other.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
They raised their coffee cups to each other in an informal toast.
27
Evacuation
PATOS
The spy team assembled quickly in response to their leader’s urgent message, gathering at the small, nondescript warehouse he’d rented in the industrial area. He was waiting for them.
“I’ve just received a message from Admiral Kwan. The Big Three will make their move in the small hours of tomorrow morning. We have to pack up and be off-planet before midnight.”
“Tonight?” one exclaimed. “But we have no ship in orbit! How did the message reach you? How will we get away?”
“Ask the Admiral about the message. He has ways and means we can only guess at. As for a ship, we don’t have one, but Hawkwood does.” He explained about the freighter Pasaré, which he’d already confirmed was in orbit. “She’s been ‘repairing a defect’ for several weeks. Her crew are ready to take aboard a few select refugees, to get them out of the way before the hammer comes down. She’ll take us, too. Drop whatever you’ve been doing, gather up all your sensitive equipment, and meet here by not later than eighteen. If you can’t bring something sensitive with you, make sure it’s so thoroughly destroyed that no-one can learn anything from it. In particular, no-one must be able to figure out that Qianjin’s had a spy operation on this planet for several years. We were never here, and we know nothing. Get it?” Solemn nods. “All right. On your way. I’ll see you tonight.”
As his team hurried out, he consulted Admiral Kwan’s message again. He dialed a comm code, waited for the tone, then tapped in the activation code the Admiral had provided. He did not speak, but simply ended the call.
Afrim was busy with a customer when his comm unit chirped at him. He ignored it until he’d taken her payment and escorted her to the door. “Thank you for your business, Mrs. Rexha. Remember, if your son doesn’t like that, you can bring it back to exchange for another, provided it’s in new condition with all its packaging intact.”
She smiled at him as he opened the door for her. “I’ll remember. Thank you.”
Letting the door swing closed, he walked back to the counter and reached for his comm unit. The caller was not identified, but a flashing light showed that there was a voice message. He clicked over to the message service… and froze as he heard a voice say simply, “It is time.”
“Oh, shit, Pal!” he muttered to himself. “You really meant it! You weren’t joking!”
Even as he spoke, he was moving. He hurried back to the front door, locked it, and reversed a hanging sign so that it read ‘Closed’. Next, he placed a couple of calls. To each person who responded, he said, “It is time. Meet me at the back of the shop. Ten minutes, if you can.” One man said he’d need more. “All right, fifteen, but cut it finer than that if you can. We are in a hurry.”
Ever since Pal had approached him, he’d kept an overnight bag packed and ready in the storeroom behind the shop. Now he collected it, and slipped into its outside pocket an envelope Pal had left for him. He took all the money from the till, plus his emergency stash of hard currency and a few gold taels, which he’d built up at Pal’s recommendation. He shut down the store computer, turned off the lights, and let himself out the rear door into the loading zone, locking it behind him.
One of his friends was already pulling up in his van. “Morning, Afrim,” he called as he stopped. “Is this what you warned us to be ready for?”
“It is. I still don’t know exactly what’s going on, but Pal Sejdiu said we needed to move fast if he sent word. He just did.”
“That’s good enough for me. What next?”
“Back up so I can get my van out, then we’ll wait for the others. You have what I asked you to bring?”
“I have. It’s in the back.”
“Good. I hope we won’t need it, but you never know.”
Another car pulled up, with an old man and a younger one inside. They waved, and Afrim hurried over.
“Thank you for hurrying. We have to pay a call on a couple about ten minutes from here. They’re going to come with us, along with their teenage son – and I mean, they’re coming whether they want to or not. If we have to persuade them the hard way, we’ll tie them up and put them in the back of one of the vans, where they can’t be seen.”
The driver rolled his eyes. “You don’t do things by halves, do you?”
“Hey, you know me.”
“Yes, I do!” Th
ey laughed. “All right. We’ll follow your lead.”
Afrim rang the doorbell of the upmarket house, looking around with appreciation at its garden, which was clearly a labor of love. Flower beds and displays ringed a smooth, evenly-cut lawn, and bird feeders hung from the branches of trees.
A woman answered the door. “Yes?”
“Are you Mrs. Tahiri?”
“I am. And you are?”
“I need to speak with you and your husband, ma’am. It’s about your daughter.”
“Aferdita? You have news of her?” Hope flared in her eyes.
“Ah… your husband, ma’am?”
“He’s in his office. Come in, quickly!” She turned away for a moment. “Gjon! This man says he has news of Aferdita!”
A male voice called from inside, “What?” Afrim heard footsteps hurrying closer as he went inside, pulling the front door partially closed behind him. An older man appeared, his face agitated. “Who are you? What can you tell us?”
“Sir, I need you and your wife to read this, please.” Afrim produced the envelope Pal had left with him, and handed it over.
The man ripped it open impatiently. A letter and a photograph fell out onto the floor. He snatched them up, glanced at the photograph, and gasped aloud. “It’s Aferdita!”
Pal had extracted the image from the vid of the wedding of his son to the young former spy. Her face was radiant with happiness as she looked straight into the camera. Her mother seized it from her husband, stared, and let out a cry. “She looks so joyful! Where is she? We have heard nothing from her for more than two years!”
Afrim shifted awkwardly. “Ma’am, please read the letter.”
Her husband unfolded it and read it aloud.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Tahiri,
I have very good news for you concerning your daughter. She is alive and well. However, I have been unable to convey it to you before now, due to circumstances beyond my control.
