“Damn, it worked.”
Kalen felt the rumble moments after the lights went out in the warehouse. He sat in the dark, cushioned by a pile of pillows, cradling the sleeping Merry in his arms.
Where is she? It’s been three hours, and she was supposed to be back in two.
Unpleasant images flashed through his head. Images of an unstable bomb detonating when Sue moved too quickly. Images of a bomb exploding prematurely when she placed it. Images of her being spotted by a guard and shot, followed by a bomb blowing when she fell.
Kalen wanted to stay positive, but he couldn’t get the images out of his head.
Where the hell is she?
He hugged Merry even tighter.
“I am trying!” Planetary Governor PanWendil wailed. “I will have the money for you shortly, but I need more time!”
“I gave you a deadline,” Captain Tro responded with ice in his voice. “Emphasis on dead. Have the money ready in three minutes, or suffer the consequences.”
He muted the connection. “How much longer until the missile is ready to fire?” He asked his pilot.
“At least six minutes, Captain. Missile Chief Warren says they are just moving the missile from the tube to the missile loading bay. That will take approximately one minute, followed by another three minutes to load it on the gravity sled and transport it to the starboard bay, and then another two to three minutes to transfer the missile to the bay and load it in the tube.”
Tro grimaced. “Tell him to hurry. If the money has not been transferred in three minutes, we must be able to fire.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Your time is up, governor,” Captain Tro intoned into the holo pickup. “I have not received your authorization. I hope you have prepared a suitable condolence notification for the families of all the victims of your foot-dragging.
“No, wait!” PanWendil screamed. “You did not give me enough time! Our systems are slow. We cannot operate that quickly! Just a few more minutes. That is all I ask. A few minutes. You will have your money.”
Tro looked to MosVeksal, off-camera, who shook her head to indicate that the missile was not yet ready to fire. She held up three fingers.
“I will consider your request. I suggest you transmit that authorization quickly, before my patience runs out.”
“It is done!” PanWendil. His sweaty face and the feverish glint in his ruby eyes revealed the stress under which he had operated, with the fate of thousands, if not millions, depending on the successful completion of his task.
“The money has been transferred to the bank as you requested.” He slumped back in his chair, spent.
Captain Tro turned to MosVeksal. “Do we have confirmation?”
“Aye, Captain. The money was transferred and I have received the binding authorization. We can transfer the money from any Planetary Bank of Sestra branch to any other bank.”
Tro nodded at the governor’s image. “Congratulations, governor, you have saved the ten thousand people of BalTora. Do not attempt to block the transfer in any way, or we will be back.”
Governor PanWendil nodded and sighed in relief.
“However,” Tro continued, “there is the small matter that you failed to transfer the money in the allotted time. You were four minutes late. There must be some sort of penalty for your failure, as a lesson.” He turned his head again. “Pilot, is there a city on the planet with a population of approximately four thousand—one thousand for each minute late?”
“Aye, Captain. The town of OrVani.”
The governor’s face went pale; his antennae drooped. “No. You cannot. You would not! Please!”
Tro ignored him. “Pilot, target the city.”
“Targeted.”
Governor PanWendil screamed, “No-o-o-o-o! It is not their fault. They are innocent! Take me. It was my fault alone. Kill me, but spare them.”
“Fire.”
“Aye. Firing.”
Captain Feshen Tro at last turned back to the governor. “No governor, I want you to live—so you can tell other system governors and company CEOs what the penalty is for being even a few minutes late in paying what I demand. I expect that this will not happen again in the future.”
“Impact in forty-five,” MosVeksal called out.
“Oh, sweet Glon,” PanWendil whispered, breaking down in tears.
PhoMesfil wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his tunic sleeve and rested for a moment, leaning on his hoe. A high keening sound had caught his attention. At first, he thought it was merely a tweeldan buzzing around his head. But as the sound grew in intensity he knew otherwise. Squinting against the afternoon sun, he looked up and spotted the contrail streaking across the sky from left to right at an insane rate of speed.
That cannot be an aircar. Not that fast. It must be a meteor, or a spaceship. But it is entering the atmosphere much too fast for a ship. Can it slow down before it burns up? How many people are aboard?
He continued to watch as the angle of descent steepened. The keening had turned into a rumble and the rumble progressed to a roar as the object continued to fall, coming closer, ever closer to Pho’s farm just outside of town.
The object hadn’t reddened from heat. It is too small to be a spaceship, but it seems to have a force field around it.
Still, even a force field will not protect it on impact. It is falling much too fast for that.
Pho continued to watch, even as he began to worry that it was coming uncomfortably close to town.
Should I warn someone? But what would I tell them? I don’t know where it will hit. It might be north, south, east, or west of town. What if I send them in exactly the wrong direction?
By the time he finished the thought, it was already too late. The falling object was only seconds from impact.
Glon save us! It is going to hit town!
Pho was mistaken.
The missile detonated 160 meters up. For PhoMesfil and the other citizens in and around OrVani, the end came in a blinding flash of light.
“Oh, sweet Glon,” PanWendil repeated in a whisper.
The viewscreen aboard Queen Anne’s Revenge showed the result of the missile strike. An eye-searing flash, dampened by the ship’s sensors, was followed by a moment of darkness as the sensors compensated, then by the trademark mushroom cloud. The pressure wave raced outward from the epicenter at supersonic speed, flattening buildings, igniting foliage, and incinerating those Sestrans unlucky enough to be outdoors in the vicinity. Within seconds, the town of OrVani ceased to exist.
The holo feed broadcast the scene to PanWendil’s office. He went silent.
“Now,” Captain Tro declared, “your debt is paid in full. For the time being. I shall return next month for a like payment. Do not keep me waiting then.”
Planetary Governor PanWendil stared back with a haunted look in his eyes, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to think.
“At least you can console yourself with the thought that by paying you saved six thousand of your citizens. I do hope you had no relatives in OrVani.”
Tro looked to MosVeksal. “Pilot, take us back to base.”
Kalen jerked awake. What was that?
The interior of the crate was, as was the warehouse, still pitch dark. Kalen strained to hear whatever it was that awoke him.
Nothing.
He listened harder, but all he heard was the sound of his breath, the beat of his pulse, and a soft somnambular sigh from Merry. Yet he knew there had to be something else.
In the intense silence, the scrape of the lid across the crate top was like a rifle shot. “Jesus!” He jumped, waking Merry.
“Wha—?”
“I am sorry I woke you, little one.” The voice came from above.
“Sue!” Kalen turned on the flashlight lying beside him. “Where have you been? You were due back hours ago.”
“Give me a moment.” She climbed into the crate and leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes with a sigh. “Someon
e has upgraded the security such that there are more frequencies to decipher on the door locks than there used to be. It took longer than expected to unlock some of the rooms. I had just planted the last bombs and left the junction room when a guard spotted me. I ran and he gave chase. Two more guards joined in. They almost cut me off, but I reached the maze. I ran for an hour, trying to lose them, able to see only what my flashlight illuminated. Then I spent several more hours finding my way back out. By then, first shift was in operation and people were everywhere. I was afraid they would catch me, but I suppose they were too busy trying to fix what we broke.”
“Welcome back.” Kalen smiled. “Judging by the fact that it’s still dark in here, I’d say we ‘done good’.”
His smile faded. “But it’s only the beginning. We have to do more. We can’t stop until we cripple this place.”
“Will this help?” Sue reached into a pocket inside her gown and pulled out a compact object.
Kalen shone his light on it. “A blaster! How—?”
Speaking with her eyes closed and her head back against the crate wall, Sue said, “Shortly after I left the maze, I turned a corner and spotted a guard at an intersection directing wheeled traffic. He had his back to me. I tiptoed up behind him, knocked him unconscious, and took his weapon. It was as simple as that.”
“Simple? Those guards outweigh me by a good fifty percent. It couldn’t have been as easy as all that.”
She shrugged. “I told you I would be useful.”
Captain Tro strode into the brig and glared at the prisoner in the first cell. He spoke through the intercom set into the transparent aluminum wall.
“Who in Jendor’s name are you—and why did you try to destroy my ship?”
Hal shrugged. “Does it matter? Aren’t you just going to kill me anyway?”
“Perhaps. Tell me why you set your weapon to minimum power before shooting the missile techs. Or why you stabbed the guard in the shoulder instead of killing him.”
Hal shrugged again. “I didn’t want to kill them. Just incapacitate them long enough to do what I had to do. I don’t like collateral damage.”
Tro frowned. “But would destroying the ship not kill them anyway?”
“I didn’t plan on blowing up the ship. I was going to try to destroy the nukes. But I ran out of time. Igniting the fuel in one of the missiles seemed like the best option at the time.”
“I see. So by stunning the missile techs you were attempting to complete your mission with the fewest possible casualties. Attempting to destroy the ship was a last resort.”
He paused for a moment in thought. “I ask again. Why? Why destroy the nukes?”
Hal snorted in derision. “Why? Because you’re a pack of murderous pirates who kill innocent people for money. I had to try to stop you. If that last missile tech hadn’t blindsided me with a wrench, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”
“So you are not a pirate. Then what are you?”
“Not that it matters, but I’m a Unity pilot. And maybe I didn’t blow up your ship, but at least I messed up your missile room and kept you from firing that nuke.”
“Ah. One of Penrod’s escapees, I presume.”
Captain Tro shook his head. “I am afraid you are under two misapprehensions, however. First, there is no Merchants’ Unity. Not any longer. After we destroyed your fleet, the Unity disbanded. As long as we stay away from the heavily populated, militarized systems, there is no one with the power or the will to stop us.”
He gave Hal a second to absorb that bit of bad news before continuing. “Second, we did fire the undamaged nuke. We had to move it to the other missile room to do so, but we managed. There is a smoking crater where a town used to be on the planet we just left. But we got our money.”
“Blood money.” Hal spoke with a hollow voice, devoid of emotion.
“Just so. I will leave you to ponder your multiple failures, while I decide what to do with you.”
He turned and nodded to the guard to let him out.
Hal remained with his thoughts, none of them pleasant.
After a day alone, Hal had come to terms with his failure.
I did everything within my power to stop the pirates and it wasn’t enough. It’s not my fault those civilians died, it’s Tro’s and Penrod’s. They gave the orders, not me. My only failure was in not being fast enough, smart enough, tough enough—or something enough—to stop them.
Hal opened his eyes at the sound of a creak and a foot-scuff to find Captain Tro standing outside the open door of his cell, accompanied by two armed guards.
“Get up,” the captain commanded.
Hal stood.
“Approach the door and extend your arms.”
Hal complied and one guard shackled him while the other held a gun on him. “Is this where you make me walk the plank? Keelhaul me? Hang me from the yardarm?” As soon as Hal decided to forgive himself for the unforgivable sin of being merely human, his irrepressible sense of humor had returned.
He managed a wry smile. “Don’t I at least get a last meal before I’m executed? Maybe a blindfold and a cigarette? A hooker? Something? I’m partial to tall redheads, if you’re wondering. Preferably with big—”
“Move!” one of the guards ordered with a shove from behind.
Hal stumbled forward and then marched, the shackles clacking as he walked. He talked to keep his teeth from chattering. Risking his life in a fighter craft was one thing. True or not, he always felt like he was in control of the situation. If he made a mistake or the other guy got lucky, so be it. That’s war. And with his hands on the controls he was always too busy to be afraid.
But being marched off to slaughter—that was something else entirely. His control was gone, leaving only the uncertainty of his life or death. In battle, he always told himself that he was better than the other guy—that he would fly home victorious and the other guy would return in a body bag. But here he had no such confidence, no such assurance that he would prevail. This was the day his number was up, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He was alone and unarmed, hands and feet shackled together, being marched off to die, and there was no cavalry waiting just over the hill to come to his rescue. This was his Little Big Horn.
“Are we going to the fore airlock or the aft? I’m just wondering how much time I have to make peace with my maker before you blow me out into space.”
“Shut up, prisoner!” The guard trailing Hal cuffed the back of his head with the butt of his blaster—not hard enough to injure Hal, but plenty hard enough to get the point across.
Hal rubbed the spot, trying not to hit himself in the face with the shackle chains.
Less than a minute later the captain, the prisoner, and the two guards reached the forward airlock. The captain and lead guard stepped aside. The trailing guard unlocked Hal’s shackles and shoved him inside.
Hal’s eyes went wide as he heard the hatch seal itself behind him.
“There is no need to return you to Smuggler’s Cove for disposition,” Captain Tro’s voice came through the intercom. “I have decided to handle matters myself. You could have killed my people in the missile room, but you attempted to spare them. For that I am grateful. True, you did try to blow up the ship, but only as a last resort. And you did damage my ship, but not irreparably. You acted with honor.
“For that, I have decided to deny Penrod the pleasure of killing you.”
The external hatch began to cycle.
What? Instead of shooting me first to spare me the torture of explosive decompression, the bastard’s going to space me alive? That’s the reward I get for sparing his people?
Damn you to the deepest caverns of hell, Tro! I’ll be waiting there for you!
The outer hatch finished cycling and began to open.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Hal steeled himself against the expected out-rush of air, realizing how pointless it was. Even if I don’t get sucked out, I’m still dead.
The hatch opened and…a head poked through.
Huh? What the hell?
The Foren waved an orange tentacle at Hal. “Well, hurry up. I do not have all day. We must be off.”
“What? Who—?”
“Come along, come along. I have places to go and things to do. I cannot stand here waiting for you.”
“I—” Hal didn’t know what to say, so he shrugged and approached the Foren in the hatch. He looked back at the inner hatch, which was still sealed behind him. What the hell is going on here?
The Foren stepped aside to let Hal pass, and then he secured the hatch. For a moment Hal froze. It appeared he was standing in vacuum, which was impossible—not and still be breathing.
After a moment, his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and he realized that he was in a nearly transparent access tube connecting the Foren’s ship to Queen Anne’s Revenge. Above him hung a blue-brown planet dotted with lights in the portion shadowed by night. Below and to his right he saw nothing but stars. To his left was a space station in the distance, surrounded by ships seemingly the size of fireflies and buzzing around the station.
“Come, come,” the Foren called over his shoulder as he moved toward the open hatch at the other end. “No dallying.”
Hal followed, marveling as always how smoothly Foren flowed along on eight tentacles.
Once inside, the Foren sealed the hatch. He turned to his right and called back, “Follow me.”
Hal did as he was bid, still wondering what was going on.
They moved quickly down a passageway. The Foren turned left and entered through a doorway that slid open in front of him. Hal followed and found himself standing on the bridge of the ship.
It had nowhere near the grandeur of Adventurer’s bridge. The bridge of this ship was much smaller and dingier. It gave the impression of great age and long service. The front viewport was smaller than Adventurer’s, roughly two meters by three, and the central screen smaller yet.
My Other Car is a Spaceship Page 24
