by M S Murdock
There was an uncomfortable silence on the Free Enterprise’s bridge.
Konii’s lips curved in amusement. “I apologize for my lapse in taste,” he said, but there was no sincerity in the statement.
Barney’s right hand started forward, but he stopped it. Captain Rogers had his own ideas of discipline. For some reason Barney was unable to fathom, tearing a crew member’s head off for a breach of etiquette was not included in it. “You’re on report,” said Barney, feeling the threat a lame substitute for mayhem. The flicker of amusement in Konii’s eyes died.
Rogers was an unknown, except for the fact that he had bested Barney in single combat-no mean feat. Konii was not afraid, but he did not relish standing on boggy ground.
“Got it!” said Baring-Gould. “Cherenko’s sent word he’ll meet the tug at the seaboard landing strip.”
“That’ll keep him busy,” said Barney. “We go.” He turned to Baring-Gould. “Keep the star field on, planet-side. We’ll take the far shuttle.”
“I still don’t see how you’re planning to run Galveston’s sensors,” said Baring-Gould.
Barney’s chuckle rumbled again. “Why, we’ll follow the tug down.”
Barney, Konii, and three crewmen crowded into the shuttle. It was a triangular craft, designed on Luna, but meant for atmospheric as well as space flight. Its capacity was six crewmen, but Barney’s size made it a tight fit for five. He grunted as he wedged himself into the pilot’s seat. “Strap in,” he said. “We’re due for launch in . . . one minute.” He adjusted his restraints to the maximum, and they barely locked over his massive chest.
Konii had systems up and was fingering the controls. “All set, Captain. Launch in minus forty-five.”
“That’ll put us on the tug?”
“Duplicate trajectory,” Konii confirmed. “We’ll be on the off side of that piece of space junk you insisted on dragging here.”
“Right.”
Barney braced himself against the shuttle’s floor Struts as the Free Enterprise’s docking bay doors Opened. Before they were fully retracted, the shuttle had begun its run down the launch track. Barney thought of the asteroid miner he had cheated to win the shuttle, and praised his own foresight.
“Here we go!” said Konii, and the ship shot into space. Tug out of Galveston space dock on parallel course.”
“We’ve got thirty seconds before we’ll be cloaked by the derelict,” said Barney. “That was as close as could bring the Free Enterprise, even under camouflage.” He glanced out the starboard port at the gently wavering star field that was his ship’s disguise. Konii was fussing with the controls. Under his manipulations, the shuttle lifted its nose and sailed like a bird. The derelict appeared to starboard, and Konii sent the shuttle skittering to her. It was a kind of electronic camouflage that required precise timing and absolute control, especially entering atmosphere, and Konii concentrated on his instruments.
The tug made a routine grab for the derelict and caught it, then set off across space, setting itself and the derelict Scout up for a landing trajectory to the seaboard. The shuttle followed its lead.
The three ships dropped into the Earth’s atmosphere. Konii felt the weight of it catch the shuttle’s stubby wings and cautiously adjusted the engines for atmospheric flight. They sank lower and lower, the tug bringing its cargo down on a pressure blanket that forced Konii to concentrate, lest the shuttle be displaced by it. “Two hundred meters,” Konii reported.
“That’s it!” said Barney. “Level off!”
The three crewmen were white under their impassive expressions. Flying two hundred meters above the face of the Earth was not something yet within their experience, but they knew its dangers. Barney smiled. The ship lifted its nose. “Point seven,” said Barney, and Konii obliged, sending the ship away from the tug at a totally unsafe speed.
“Now where?” asked Konii.
“The marina,” said Barney.
“With this thing?”
“It’s what we’ve got,” said Barney reasonably.
“I hate to point this out, Captain, but it doesn’t float.”
“Check your chart. There’s a square in front of the private docks, the ones owned by RAM’s executive branch. Set down there.”
Konii looked at Barney through narrowed eyes. “If you knew about Cherenko’s cache, why didn’t we take it before now?”
“Too risky,” said Barney.
“Is it any less risky now?” asked Konii.
“Captain needs it,” said Barney, as if that put an end to the matter.
The shuttle shot into the marina like a lightning bolt, scattering sea birds as it went.
“Coming up on target.”
“Set her down,” said Barney tersely. “Now.”
“Now? Like a rock?”
“Like a rock.”
Konii sliced off the shuttle’s forward power and kicked in the landing thrusters. For a sickening moment it sank unchecked, then the thrusters supported it and it powered down to Earth approximately twenty-four meters from the center of the square. A bronze sculpture marked the area as RAM’s own. It was set on a concrete base poured into a twisted pyramid.
The shuttle was still two meters up when Barney threw open the hatch door and jumped. He was immediately followed by the three crewmen, two of them clutching laser rifles, and one holding a flak gun capable of sending out a blast of chaff that would confuse enemy lasers for a full minute. They fanned out behind Barney as he lumbered over to the monument.
As he reached the structure, an echoing siren sounded in the distance. “Terrines,” he muttered grasping the base of the statue. A plaque on the barn informed him it had been erected in honor of RAM’s founder, Simund Holzerhein, and forbade tampering, Barney ignored this admonition. He set all his strength, natural and cybernetic, against the metal.
At first nothing happened then the statue began to slide on the concrete base. The sirens screamed louder as the Terrines closed in. One of the crewmen, his ears keener than his fellows, looked up, startled. “Dragonfly, three o’clock,” he called.
Barney grunted, gave a heave, and the statue crashed slowly to the ground. Where its base had rested was a shallow hole. Inside it was a circular wooden box. Barney scooped it up and ran as the Terrine heliplane sighted the shuttle and swooped in on it, guns blazing.
Barney threw himself into the shuttle’s open hatch as the square erupted in Terrines. He tossed the box into the pilot’s seat. His men were close on his heels. He reached back and dragged the last of the crewmen in. “Go!” he shouted at Konii, and the shuttle scooted forward.
The dragonfly pulled up, afraid of hitting its ground support, then immediately resumed its pursuit.
“Once we’re clear, that dragonfly will be on us,” said Konii.
“That’s why we brought this,” said Barney, wrenching a meter-long gyro launcher from its clips in the shuttle’s ceiling. He flipped open a storage box on the wall of the craft and extracted shells, lining them up on another box. He selected a shell, slipped it into the bazooka’s wicked mouth, and moved to the stern of the skittering craft. He hit a rear port release, shoved the bazooka through it, and propped it on his shoulder. Legs braced, Barney did not seem to feel the wild movements of the ship as Konii sent it tacking across the sea. He squinted down the sights of the weapon.
“Range now,” said Konii, one eye on the shuttle’s simple sensors.
Barney cranked the launch lever, and the bazooka spat a gyro shell. He picked up another shell, loaded his weapon, and fired again. Once fired, the shells’ own sensors sent them after their designated target. The first shell picked up the dragonfly, zeroed in on its location, and altered course. As it neared the Terrine heliplane, the pilot detected it. He erected an immediate shield of static, meant to confuse the Shell’s sensors. The shell again changed course, missing the plane by half a meter. Its detonation in the air rocked the craft, but did not damage it.
The second shell hit before the p
ilot realized it was there. As his sensors beeped a warning, his ship lost its tail. The dragonfly began to spin, buzzing like its namesake. Desperately the pilot tried to hold it, but it was no use. The heliplane whirled slowly downward. Terrines jumped from its doorways as it hit the water and exploded.
Konii made a sibilant sound through his teeth.
“Close,” confirmed Barney.
“Now we’ve got to get out of here,” said Konii.
“Head out to sea,” ordered his captain. “The trade winds shipping lane runs about a thousand kilometers off the coast. All we have to do is wait for something big to pass and hitch a ride.”
“Aye, Captain,” muttered Konii.
Barney picked up the jewel box and wedged himself back into the pilot’s seat. He buckled the restraints and tugged at them to be sure they were secure. He ran a competent eye over Konii’s maneuver, then let him fly the ship. He looked down at the box in his hand, grasped the top and bottom sections, and pulled. The computer lock on the front of the box screeched then broke, and the box popped open. It was lined with soft, dark fabric. Sparking against its rich background was a rainbow of cut gems.
Konii looked over at the display, his eyes eager, “How did you know about that?” he asked.
Barney looked at the wealth in his hands. He snapped the box shut. “That’s another story,” he answered. “What’s our estimated time of arrival?”
“Nineteen point three-nine minutes,” replied Konii.
“Step on it,” said Barney.
Chapter 20
Barney sent the round wooden box spinning across the table. Buck caught it and looked up at the pirate. “Any problems?” he asked.
Barney shook his head.
Buck opened the box, noticing the damaged lock, but saying nothing. The gems winked at him. Buck turned the open box around. “How about it, Doc? Is it enough?”
Huer, his holographic image shivering along the right edge, where the projector in Buck’s quarters had a faulty imager, leaned over. “You’ll have to spread them out so I can get an accurate scan.” he said.
Buck obligingly upended the box onto the smoky translucence of the table. He spread the jewels out carefully.
Huer examined the stones, scanning each one for cut brilliance, and size. “You have approximately two hundred thousand credits-about three hundred fifty thousand dolas-in your terms, about one and one-half million dollars-worth of gems. Three fourths of that will pay Ardala’s price.”
“That’s pretty steep,” Buck said flatly.
“Ardala has a large appetite,” said Wilma.
“This should keep her happy for a while.”
“I am afraid not,” said Huer. “Greed seems to be part of her basic programming. However, there is no need to overindulge her.” He extended a holographic hand over a portion of the gems. “These are sufficient.”
Buck carefully removed the stones not under Huer’s hand. He divided them into three piles, one larger than the rest. The large pile he pushed toward Barney. “Divide it up,” he said. “See that everyone gets his share.” The pirate immediately accepted his reward and lumbered from the room. The second pile Buck picked up. “Give me your hand,” he said to Wilma. When she complied, he dropped the gems into it. “For NEO,” he said. The smallest pile he scooped up and put back in the box.
“And those?” queried Wilma, her full lips curving into an easy smile.
“For emergencies,” replied Buck. “Doc, I think it’s time to deal. Can Ardala trace us here?”
“Not if I scramble the transmission. Not unless she really wants to.”
“Then I think I’d like to speak to the lady.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” Wilma’s low voice held a hint of challenge.
“Maybe not. If she traces the source of the transmission, it could jeopardize Salvation. But then, our presence here puts the station in jeopardy. Besides, she doesn’t need to know who I am.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Wilma.
“I can easily disguise your appearance by superimposing an image of my creation over your own. Think of it as using your resources,” said Huer, running a finger across his neat mustache.
“OK, let’s do it,” said Buck.
Wilma examined the room, looking for anything that would identify it to Ardala’s computers. The walls were empty, there were no company logos in evidence, and Buck was not wearing his flight suit. Instead he wore an oak-leaf-brown coverall that complemented his hair and fit his trim figure perfectly. The fine lines of scarlet piping that carried the suit’s electronics followed his contours. Wilma found him a pleasing sight, and she was sure Ardala would as well. That might be an asset. “I can’t see anything that would give you away. On a computer link it will be obvious you are transmitting from an orbiting station, because of the construction, but there are thousands. Ardala will have a time of it if she tries to track you down.”
“Let’s play ball,” said Buck.
“I thought you were going to speak with Ardala.” Huer was still assimilating Buck’s particular brand of English.
“I am. That is, if you’ll set up the transmission.”
"‘With pleasure. A few minor adjustments in your transmitted image will make you a stranger to your own family.”
Buck smiled crookedly, breathed deeply, then Steeled himself for the coming interview.
“But do watch your step with Ardala. She is unbelievably ruthless,” Huer cautioned.
“The lady does have fangs,” said Wilma, slipping off the arm of the pale, overstuffed couch. “I’ll get out of scanner range.”
“Doc, I think this will go better if she thinks this is a private communication.”
“All right. Your transmission is coded. It should be “lining up . . . now.”
As he spoke, the image of a room lit by firelight appeared on the screen. Ardala was seated in her leather chair. The room was her office. She conducted all her transmissions from it. It housed her sophisticated computer network behind a bank of carved wooden doors. As the image coalesced, sharpening into perfect focus, Ardala’s beautiful face rose out of the darkness like night-blooming Martian jasmine. Her eyes slanted piquantly, as soft as summer, making nameless promises. Her luscious mouth was stained dark red, and somehow Buck found it unattractive. The color looked like blood.
“Ardala Valmar?” he asked, taking pains to be deferential.
Ardala inclined her lovely head in royal acknowledgment.
“I think we have business to discuss.”
“Oh?” asked Ardala. “I think not. I do not do business with people I do not know.”
Buck laughed. It was a crude snicker, and Wilma regarded him with surprise. “Come now, Miss Valmar. I know for a fact that you often deal with your customers by code number alone.” Huer had set up the interview through strictly mathematical channels. “I am giving you the unique opportunity of knowing your market . . . personally.”
Ardala lowered her eyelids and regarded Buck disdainfully. “I have no interest in knowing you.”
“Then why did you accept my call? Let us stop playing games.” Buck picked up the jewel box and opened it. The gems twinkled.
Ardala’s eyes opened. “I find your conversation more interesting than I first anticipated.”
“I thought you might.”
“What did you think those stones might purchase?” Buck started to reply, when a message began running along the bottom of the viewscreen. “I heard a major shipment was seen in the belt,” he said, trying to answer Ardala and read the message at the same time.
“HUER HERE,” read the message. “SCANNING ARDALA’S SALES LIST. . . . SHE HAS THE PLANS FOR HAUBERK’S SHIELDS!”
“That shipment has moved out,” replied Ardala.
“I am aware of that” said Buck smoothly. “I have an intimate and exclusive knowledge of that shipment. I was hoping that situation might continue for a while.”
“I have had one offer for the
details of the shipment.”
“I am aware of that as well.”
“That was you? Well, I believe I quoted a price.”
“And I believe I showed you collateral.” Ardala considered. “I see no reason to negotiate further. You have a sale.”
Buck shook his head. “No.”
“No? I can always sell my knowledge elsewhere.”
“True. But, as you said, I am at present the only interested party. I simply find your price high for the information I am buying.”
“You were quoted the price I require.”
“And I am telling you what I require. As you can see, I have the money. I do not mind spending it. However, I feel I should get more for my investment.”
Ardala could smell a con a kilometer away. “Like what?” she asked suspiciously.
“In my own small way, I, too, deal in information. I have a party interested in space shielding. I understand you have a set of schematics for sale.”
“Your information is accurate” she said grudgingly. The plans for Hauberk’s shields had been part of a package she extracted from a top RAM executive whose financial indiscretions made him vulnerable to her blackmail. The rest of the package had long since found markets, but no one wanted to touch Hauberk. It was too dangerous. She smiled, her blood-red mouth drawing together in the center. “I might be persuaded to let those plans go.”
“I thought you might,” said Buck.
“Of course, I shall require further compensation."
“I am afraid, Miss Valmar, that is impossible. As I said, I feel the jewels are adequate compensation for the extended package.”
Ardala sucked her lower lip. “You cannot expect to get something for nothing. I propose that we make an, exchange of information. You give me the jewels and your name-and I will give you what you require.”
Wilma covered her mouth to stifle her laughter. She knew Ardala’s interest was purely personal.
“My name? I fail to see what value that can have.”
