by David Weber
“I understand,” Elsie said, her shoulders slumping as she bowed her head. “Must we do it now?”
“Right now,” Paco said, scowling. Damn her, anyway. Now he was going to have to figure out how and where to hide a body until the Red Hands left with their crates. He couldn’t very well shove her out a lock—things that were together in orbit tended to stay that way. Better to let the pirates deal with her, somewhere between picking up their cargo, ferrying it to their hidden ship, and heading out to the hyper limit. They would have a whole universe worth of empty space to drop a body in.
On the other hand, asking for a favor like that could be a very bad idea. If he let it slip that someone had overheard their conversation there was a good chance he would join her in the long float into infinity.
He would just have to lock her in the office for now, give the Red Hands their stuff, and then figure out what the hell to do with her.
At least she would have her religion to comfort her when she saw death coming. Maybe there was even a God out there somewhere who would actually take her in or something.
“Let’s go,” he said, gesturing with the gun. “The office is this way.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, her shoulders still slumped with dejection. She stumbled toward him, her feet dragging on the floor. As she passed, her foot caught on something, and she started to topple forward. Reflexively, Paco reached out and grabbed her arm with his free hand to steady her.
The last thing he saw before the lights went out was her other forearm as it slammed into the side of his head.
* * *
She had the crates lined up in the staging area when the shuttle arrived. The men who came out of it were large, rough-looking, and well-armed.
And suspicious. Highly suspicious.
“Who are you?” the one in the lead demanded as he strode up to her.
“Elsie Dorrman,” she said, tapping her ID badge. “Paco’s a bit indisposed, so he sent me to meet you.”
“Did he, now,” the man said, flicking a glance over her shoulder. “And you are…?”
“I already told you: Elsie. I’m Paco’s partner.”
“He never mentioned a partner.”
She shrugged. “I’m new.”
“How new?”
“Oh—” She consulted her chrono. “As of fifteen minutes ago. That was when Paco found out, anyway. I’ve known for a year.”
“Yeah?” The man’s hand dropped to the butt of his sidearm.
“Oh, relax,” she said scornfully. “The crates are right here, with whatever you’ve got in them; you’re here; and your ship’s location could be pulled from the nav log in two minutes. If I was a cop or part of a rival gang we wouldn’t still be talking.”
“Sure,” the man said suspiciously. “Bosc? Check the seals on the crates, will you? Then open one.”
It took them three minutes to check all the seals, then pop one open and paw through the upper layer of contents. During that entire time the man just stared silently at the woman. Rather like some first dates she’d had, she thought dryly.
“Looks good,” Bosc reported. “Nothing missing or tampered with. You want me to seal it back up?”
“Yeah, and then get everything aboard.” He cocked his head. “I assume you unlocked the gantry so we could use it?”
She waved toward the big crane hanging from the ceiling above the crates. “Help yourself.”
One of the other pirates was already in the control booth, and she watched in silence as he snagged the first crate and lowered it into the container. “So I guess we’re dealing with you now?” the boss asked as the second crate began its own journey downward.
“If you want to keep using this warehouse, sure,” she said. “If not, that’s okay, too. I figured this to be just a one-off until I got a whiff of who Paco was dealing with. If you want to keep going, just let me know—you can keep using Paco’s uni-link number.” She held out her hand, palm upward. “But whatever you decide, I’ll take my payment for this job now.”
For another long moment, he just gazed at her. Then, snorting a little chuckle, he pulled out a chip and tossed it toward her. “You’ve got brass, Elsie—I’ll give you that. We’ll be in touch. Maybe.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” she said, deftly catching the chip and slipping it into her pocket. “Maybe.”
He gave her a tight smile and turned back to the shuttle. Ten minutes later, with all six crates safely inside the container, they sealed the hatch and headed back to their shuttle. She watched through the side viewport as they maneuvered to the container, wrapped the locking arms around it, then headed out.
She watched until the glow of their drive had disappeared from the small viewport beside the hatch. Then, she retraced her steps back into the main part of the warehouse, heaving a sigh of relief. It had been touch-and-go there, first with the embarrassing foot scuff that had alerted Paco while she was sealing the last crate’s hidden compartment, and then with the hastily improvised role she’d had to throw together to play for the pirates.
But it had worked. So far.
And now, in the relative anonymity of the warehouse, she finally pulled out her uni-link and keyed it on. “Owl One to Owl,” she said tersely. “Owlets have left the nest. Mouse hunt is on; repeat, mouse hunt is on.”
“Mouse hunt, copy,” the woman on the other end said, just as tersely.
“I’ll be there in fifteen,” the woman said, peeling off her jumpsuit with one hand to reveal the innocuous civilian clothing beneath it. “Out.”
Two minutes later, she was in the lift heading for her shuttle. The Solway authorities would be highly displeased if they knew she was here, and even angrier if they knew she and her colleagues were about to dig into the kickback structure that had served them so well with so many pirates, marauders, and under-the-radar mercs over the years.
But she wasn’t worried. The Republic of Haven Navy didn’t answer to anyone on Solway. SCAFE, the 303rd Special Commando Assault Force, Expeditionary answered to only one person.
And the Red Hands were going down today. Major Elsie Dorrman, hand-picked for this job by Brigadier Jean Massingill herself, was absolutely damn sure of that.
* * *
It took the RHNS Terrier almost two hours after making it past Solway’s hyper limit and into the Alpha band to find Bloodlust.
“Finally,” Ambassador-at-large Louis Joffre said from behind Massingill’s station when CIC finally confirmed that the ship in the distance was indeed their target pirate vessel. “I was afraid they’d gotten away.”
“There was never any chance of that,” Massingill assured him, keeping her own relief out of her voice. Elsie Dorrman was adept at everything having to do with cargoes, pirates, and bureaucracies, and Lieutenant Bastonge’s forty-man platoon was one of the best teams in the 303rd, but in any military operation there was the chance that something would go horribly wrong.
In this case, that clearly hadn’t happened. Bloodlust was sitting quietly in the middle of nowhere, her wedge down, her nodes cold. With a couple of nodes out of commission, and her hyperdrive having presumably succumbed to Bastonge’s doorbuster—
The com pinged. “Owl Two to Owl,” Bastonge’s voice came from the speaker. “Mouse is trapped. Repeat: mouse is trapped.”
—and with Bloodlust’s com system successfully tapped into, the 303rd was officially in the catbird seat.
Massingill smiled, her first genuine smile since the team arrived in Solway space six days ago. “Owl copy,” she said. “Stand by.”
“So that’s it?” Joffre asked. “It’s over?”
“It’s about to be,” Massingill assured him. “Com?”
The com officer nodded. “Ready, Ma’am.”
Massingill adjusted her uniform collar with one hand and tapped the mic switch with the other. “Pirate ship Bloodlust, this is Brigadier Jean Massingill aboard the Republic of Haven Fast-Transport Ship Terrier. I’m the commander of the men who have
infiltrated your ship and disabled your impellers and hyperdrive.” She considered. “Actually, considering the firepower my commandos brought aboard, your hyperdrive probably isn’t so much disabled as it is a collection of charred metal shavings on the deck.”
She paused, waiting for the usual outrage and denials. But the Bloodlust’s captain had apparently decided to skip that page.
“So here’s the deal,” she continued. “You’ll immediately shut down your reactor, just to make sure nobody tries anything rash. Then you’ll gather your crew in your impeller rooms and prepare to receive boarders. More boarders, I should say.”
“This is Captain Blaine of the Cornucopia,” a dark voice came. Apparently, he’d finally found the standard script. “I don’t know who you think you are, Terrier, but the Solway Enforcers are not going to be happy at this flagrant abuse of their jurisdictional authority. In point of fact, it is you who are committing piracy—”
Massingill let him finish his rant. Sometimes they believed their protests meant something. Usually they just wanted to get it on someone’s record.
Eventually, he ran dry. “I appreciate your legal and ethical concerns,” she said. “Let me point out the concerns you should be thinking about. With no impellers, you’re not going anywhere. With no hyperdrive, you’re stuck in the Alpha band while not going anywhere. Basically, you’re not going anywhere. Not before you run out of air or starve.”
She paused, waiting for more protests. But they didn’t come.
Not really surprising. By now Blaine would be fully aware of the damage his ship had sustained, and knew that if Terrier took off he and everyone aboard was dead.
“So here’s the deal,” Massingill said. “You can die, or you can surrender and let us take you in tow to Haven.”
“What about your men?” Blaine bit out, pulling out his final card. “You going to leave them to die, too?”
“Oh, I’m sure they’ve already picked out which shuttle they’ll be leaving in,” Massingill said. “None of that will change your own end game. You surrender, or you die, and either way, the Red Hands’ piracy stops forever.”
“And if we accede to your outrageous demands?”
“Your piracy still stops,” Massingill said. “But you’ll still be alive.”
“At least until the show trial has concluded?”
“There may not be a trial,” Massingill said. “There are always pre-trial interrogations, and often pre-trial deals to be made. In particular, we’re very interested in the details about your work with three other groups who’ve been working the Beowulf-Haven trade route.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’ll come to you,” Massingill said. “I hope so, anyway. Because if you can’t tell us anything, there’ll be nothing to do but move on to that show trial you mentioned.” She touched a switch on her board. “I’m launching my shuttles now. I suggest you prepare to receive them. Peaceably, of course.”
“Of course,” the captain said bitterly. “What other choice do we have?”
“Dying before dinner time,” Massingill said pointedly. “Good day, Captain. I’ll look forward to meeting you in person soon. Massingill out.”
She keyed the switch and turned to face Joffre. “Now it’s over,” she told him.
“Good,” Joffre said, puffing out a sigh of relief. “Though he’s right on one point. We could still be in trouble if Solway Enforcement catches us.”
“They won’t,” Massingill assured him, suppressing the impulse to roll her eyes. Back on Haven she’d argued long and hard against Joffre’s presence aboard her ship. Given that there was no way the local authorities could tumble to her team’s presence in the system, let alone catch them in the act of nailing the Red Hands’ main ship, there was no reason to saddle her with a diplomat.
But the upper brass—more likely the politicians above them—hadn’t seen it that way. They’d insisted that Joffre come along as an official Havenite representative, just in case Massingill troubled any waters that needed to be soothed.
A complete waste of time, as it turned out, most of that time Joffre’s. But the man had been decent enough company on the voyage, and he mostly reserved his questions for when Massingill wasn’t in the middle of something important.
Still, having a politician tag along on a purely military mission wasn’t a precedent she particularly liked. Hopefully, once the analysts in NavInt finished sorting through the leads, and the 303rd had stomped all the pirates and pirate bases they were able to locate, the political aspect would be filed away and forgotten.
“I hope not,” Joffre said. “As long as we have a moment, may I ask you a question?”
Again, Massingill managed not to roll her eyes. “Of course.”
“I believe I heard somewhere that you grew up on Manticore,” Joffre said. “I was wondering—”
“Actually, my husband and I grew up on Earth,” Massingill said. “We were recruited by Manticore twenty-five T-years ago, then emigrated to Haven ten T-years ago. That should all be in my file.”
“Ah,” Joffre said. “My apologies. That will teach me to read past the summary page. I was just wondering what you thought about the Star Kingdom’s recent one-two punch.”
Massingill turned away from him, not wanting to trust herself to hold a neutral expression. The sudden, violent attack on Manticore, followed by the equally sudden and violent deaths of King Edward and Crown Princess Sophie. The news had arrived at Solway a few weeks before the Terrier’s arrival, and there was still a sort of distant numbness in Massingill’s brain whenever she thought about it.
She had also spent a fair amount of that time planning how she would present a recommendation to her superiors that the Republic reach out to the Star Kingdom. She wasn’t sure what form that assistance should take: military aid, investigative aid, or heightened patrols in that area.
But it was going to be tricky. Nouveau Paris didn’t like sticking its nose into other nations’ affairs, nor did it like overstretching its resources, and any flavor of aid to Manticore could be perceived as both. The message to Solway had included few details, but Massingill could read between the lines and it was painfully clear that if Tamerlane had enough of a reserve force for a second attack, there would be virtually nothing Manticore could do to stop it.
“I think the Manticorans are a lot tougher than anyone realizes,” she told Joffre. “I’m also confident that the government will be able to come together and work through whatever Constitutional issues the death of the King and the Heir Apparent have created.”
“Yes,” Joffe murmured. “There’s an old saying about that. Something about a ship and a raft, but I don’t remember the details.”
“‘A monarchy is a merchantman which sails well, but will sometimes strike on a rock, and go to the bottom,’” Massingill quoted. “‘A republic is a raft which will never sink, but then your feet are always in the water.’ I don’t remember the source.”
“I’m impressed,” Joffe said. “I really am. I had no idea you were a scholar.”
“I’m not,” Massingill said. “Alvis ran into that quote when we were first considering emigrating to Manticore. I know they’re not the only monarchy out here, but it was still a bit of a concern for us. But they seem to have it under control.”
“Well, let’s hope they haven’t struck a rock on this one,” Joffe said. “They’ve been decent allies and friends over the years. I don’t necessarily agree with their system of government, but I’d hate to see it collapse.”
“Agreed.” Massingill raised her eyebrows. “Perhaps you’d be willing to put that sentiment into action.”
“What sort of action?” he countered, his expression shifting into the genial mask of a man who knows he’s about to be asked for a favor.
“Nothing drastic,” Massingill assured him. “I know you have a number of high-level contacts in the government. I thought you might be willing to suggest to them that Have
n and Manticore work together on whatever follow-up investigation or action is required.”
“Meaning you want Nouveau Paris to commit ships to Manticore’s defense?”
“It wouldn’t take much of a force,” Massingill said. “And it wouldn’t be for very long. Manticore has a strong industrial base, and I’m guessing they’ll be able to repair the damaged ships within a few months. I imagine they’re also pulling their mothballed vessels back to active duty as quickly as possible.”
“Mm.” Joffre pondered a moment. “That assumes the Manticorans would be willing to allow a group of foreign warships in orbit over their capital. They might not; and if they weren’t, our ships would have made a long trip for nothing.”
Massingill felt her lip twist. But he was right. She’d known Admiral Locatelli back in the day, and First Lord Cazenestro had always seemed like a reasonable sort. But the final decision on these things rested with the monarch, and the brand-new Queen Elizabeth was a complete unknown. “You’re right,” she conceded. “I suppose we have to wait for them to ask.”
“That’s generally best,” Joffre said. “Unfortunately, the time delay means that, even if they asked tomorrow, we couldn’t get them any help for nearly a year. Which is, of course, precisely the timeframe when they would most likely need us.”
“True,” Massingill said reluctantly. “I’m just hoping Nouveau Paris sent something as soon as they learned of the attack—if Manticore sent word to Solway they surely sent word to Haven. My fear is that they’re still dithering about it.”
“I realize politics can be frustrating,” Joffre said. “But knee-jerk reactions without proper consideration can be just as catastrophic. I note that when we pinpointed Solway as one of the Red Hands’ transfer points you didn’t just load up and charge into battle. You paused to think and plan and reconnoiter before you made your move.” He gestured toward the display. “And we see how all that prep work paid off.”
“I suppose,” Massingill said. “Not quite the same as loading a few ships we don’t need for our own defense and sending them to aid a friend.”
