Junkyard Dogs 1: The Scrapyard Incident

by Phillip Nolte

  "Do you think it might still work?"

  "I won't be knowin' for sure until I try it, but it just might. These be intended to work in the heat of battle and the cold of space and they're bein' built to take a lot of abuse. We may just need to be gettin' some power in here."

  Fortunately, as Carlisle had pointed out earlier, the old destroyer wasn't a particularly large ship. Even winding a power line around and through the four hatches between the utility sled and the emergency life support module would only require about 30 meters or so of electrical cable. Hawkins wound cable off from a reel on the aft portion of the sled and, with Carlisle's help, snaked it through to the maintenance pylon. The damage to the ship's hull actually worked to their advantage as they were able to run their rigged power cable into the life support module through the damaged area of the hull and didn't have to interfere with the airlock function by running a loose cable through it.

  "The module be hookin' up to ship's power through these connections here," said Hawkins, pointing to a small access panel on the module. "If you please, Lass, could you be shinin' your suit lights right here and be stayin' still for a couple minutes while I be gettin' this hooked up?"

  "No problem, Hawk," she replied. She stabilized any further movement by grasping the edge of the opening and aimed her suit lights at the area in question. "Is this okay?"

  "That be great! This should only be takin' a few minutes."

  He removed an access cover and loosened the screws that held the original cable in place. Paying careful attention to the pattern of the wires, he stripped several individual wires in the cable they had snaked in and connected them to the module.

  "Okay, now we'll be goin' out and hookin' this up to the sled and see if this old support module still be workin'."

  They went back out to the sled where Hawkins cut the makeshift cable to length and stripped the same colored wires as he had done in the maintenance area. He then carefully hooked them up to a power board, reexamined his work, and looked at Carlisle. "With your permission, Lass, you'll be stayin' here and flippin' this breaker when I be givin' the word," he said. "But be ready to flip it off in a hurry if I say so."

  "This switch, Tamara...turn it on when he signals...turn it off if he hollers..." She looked at Hawkins. "Okay, got it," she said. He could hear her softly repeat the instructions to herself as he made his way back to the maintenance area.

  Hawkins called her on the suit radio a couple of minutes later.

  "Okay, Ensign, flip the switch."

  Carlisle closed the breaker and, to her relief, didn't get an immediate warning from Hawkins. About a minute later he called her again.

  "I'll be damned!" he said. "It looks like it might be workin'! These things are bein' pretty much automatic. All we got to do is go inside and be closin' some hatches. The system should direct air into the sealed areas and shut down the ventilation in any part where there be leaks."

  He came back out to the sled and examined the readouts.

  "From the power drain, it be lookin' like the heat be workin' too. Let's be goin' in and shuttin' some hatches!"

  They headed back up to the bridge and on their way back out closed off an area that included seven compartments, the largest of which was the bridge itself. The life support system seemed to be working, but an hour or so would probably be needed before the sealed area would be habitable and even more time would be needed before it became comfortable. The Rover I would have to remain connected to the life support module so Carlisle called Harris to request transportation back to the tracking station.

  "We may have gotten lucky, Lieutenant," she said. "It looks like the emergency life support systems are working, but the area won't be ready for us for at least a couple of hours. Can you come over and pick me up?"

  "Yeah," Harris replied, "I've got this console pretty well ready to go now. I'll be over in about half an hour."

  Harris arrived five minutes early and accompanied the other two survivors on a quick inspection tour. They did not try to enter the newly-pressurized area, but the gauge on the inside of the airlock indicated a very encouraging, and rising, level of pressure inside the sealed area. It was getting warmer inside as well.

  Hawkins stayed with the destroyer to continue monitoring the pressurization while the two officers went back to make preparations for the pending move.

  Chapter 20

  New Ceylon Orbital Station, Smuggler's Lair, October 6, 2598.

  Having worked out a few tentative ground rules, Kresge took an appraising look around the hideout on the fifth deck. "This place will be damned hard to find," he said, nodding his head in approval. His gaze came to rest on Gibbons. "Have we got any weapons?"

  "Not many," said Gibbons, shaking his head. "Some nightsticks and a few stun rods. No pulse beams. You get mindwiped if you use one while committing a crime." He looked pointedly at Irene. "In this business we occasionally need to rough somebody up, but I'm proud to say that my people have never killed anybody."

  Irene nodded but looked more than a little doubtful.

  "Commendable," was her terse reply.

  Over the next five or six hours, a few more small groups of people filtered into the hideout. Kresge, Irene, and a still-reluctant Daniel Gibbons requisitioned one of the sturdy tables and used it as the centerpiece for a temporary command area while they took a little time to question each of the refuges as soon after arrival as possible. Everyone had a slightly different take on what had happened and gradually an overall picture began to emerge.

  The personal communicators that nearly everyone carried, that were so much a part of everyday life for all of them, had ceased to function around a half hour after the raiders boarded the station. The raiders had either shut the network down or destroyed the equipment.

  Gibbons had Steuben rig up a viewscreen over in one corner of the hideout. People gathered there for the latest developments, such as they were. The initial announcement from the governor advising everyone to go to and stay in their quarters and requesting that Kresge and Irene to report to the governor's office was being rerun every five minutes or so. Gibbons commissioned a couple of older men to watch for any new announcements while he and Kresge continued to question people about what they had seen before they came to the hideout.

  Myra Collingsworth had been working right down the corridor from the governor's suites, as a salesperson at Doebermann's Specialties, when the attack had come. She had narrowly escaped.

  "They just broke down the door and shot Gordon Harmon," she said, still teary from the experience. "All he had was a stun rod and they shot him down right there in front of us. Then they grabbed the governor and started dragging him off. In the commotion, I slipped out the side door and I ran. One of them took a shot at me but he missed. This is just awful, we have to do something!"

  "We're doing what we can," said Irene, patting the distraught woman on the back and guiding her over to one of the tables where the other refuges were gathered. "Sit down over here and try to relax. We may need to ask you some more questions." Irene resumed her position at Kresge's side.

  The next refugee was a tall, very fit, balding man with an impressive moustache. Kresge performed introductions.

  "Daniel Gibbons, Irene Marshall, this is Clancy Davis-Moore." His companions shook the newcomer's hand. Kresge continued, "Glad you made it out, Clancy. What did you see?"

  "I was in one of the Galaxy Hotel suites with rooms on both the first and second levels, Commander. After I saw the attack on the destroyer, I turned off the lights and watched through an opening in the curtains. After about twenty minutes, I heard pulse rifles and then a troop of invaders came past the corridor window. I counted fifteen, maybe sixteen of them, all in battle armor, and another four or five that came behind, in regular space suits. I didn't dare wait any longer. I grabbed my stuff, went downstairs to the second deck, and headed for the nearest stairwell."

  "You're saying you saw somewhere around twenty raiders?" asked Kresge.r />
  "Yeah, that's about right. There was also one person in a smaller suit; maybe a woman. Sorry I don't have more information. I had to be careful, they were shooting people!"

  "Clancy Davis-Moore, from IBGS," said Irene, "if this attack hadn't come, you were supposed to be my last appointment today."

  "That's right, Ms. Marshall, to make sure I had all the permits and other legal documents that I needed for my trip to the planet. Looks like I won't be needing them for a while."

  "Permits?" asked Kresge. "What for?"

  "A rich man's hobby," said Davis-Moore. "I came here as the advance member of a group called Interstellar Big Game Stalkers or IBGS. We're a hunting club. We planned to go out into the Highlands and hunt some of the big game species native to the planet. I was headed down to the planet tomorrow to get the arrangements completed for the arrival of the rest of the group next week."

  "Big game hunters, eh?" asked Kresge.

  "Yes, but that's only part of it. Obviously we're in it for the sport, but there's more to it than that. Some of the better specimens of the animals we harvest are sent back to the Smithsonian back on Old Earth for their xenobiology collection. I do hope I can be of some use to you."

  "Glad to have you with us, Clancy," said Kresge. "Looks like you had time to pack. What was so important that you had to bring it with you?"

  "Well, there's this." He pointed to the black hard case that he had so carefully carried with him out of his apartment and through the station.

  "And what exactly is that?"

  "It's a replica of a five-hundred year old sporting rifle from old Earth. They were still using projectile weapons exclusively back then. That's one of the main attractions of our club -- we hunt dangerous game animals with ancient weapons. It's quite sporting, really."

  "Let's have a look," said Kresge.

  Davis-Moore proudly slipped the rifle out of the case, opened the action, and handed the weapon to Kresge. A small group had gathered around. The rifle was a thing of exceptional and functional beauty, with a beautifully-engraved barrel and an ornately-carved stock made of real wood.

  "This is impressive," said Kresge, as he inspected it carefully. "You say it's a replica?"

  "Oh yes, there're no originals in this kind of condition. Assuming you could find one, a museum or a collector would pay a fortune for it."

  "I assume you have ammunition for it?"

  "Oh, yes. I've brought several hundred rounds. "Davis-Moore opened the small case with the shoulder strap to reveal rows of shiny brass cartridges, each a little over eight centimeters in length, "I know you've got other people waiting, but give me a couple of minutes and I'll show you how this thing works."

  "For this, I've got time," said Kresge.

  Just then Maggie Simmonds came over and pulled Irene aside. They talked briefly.

  "Oskar?" Irene called to him. "Maggie says we need to get the women organized. These people all have to sleep somewhere and we need to figure out how we're going to feed everybody. I'll get back with you later."

  "Okay," said Kresge, "let me know if you need anything." Irene nodded and headed over to an area where a group of about twenty women had gathered.

  Davis-Moore gave Kresge a run down on the ancient rifle replica.

  "This particular model was called a 30-06, after the type of ammunition it used. Weapons like this, with the self-contained cartridges, were used extensively on Old Earth for war and for hunting for at least three hundred years. Very powerful and very reliable. The cartridges go into this magazine here," he demonstrated, "and you extract a spent one and load a fresh one by working this mechanism." He worked several cartridges through the rifle. "They called this particular type of cartridge exchanger a bolt action. There were other mechanisms that changed cartridges faster, but these bolt actions were one of the most common and the most reliable."

  "How close do you have to be to hit your target?" asked Kresge.

  "Not very, really," said Davis-Moore. "I can put ten rounds into a ten centimeter circle at a hundred meters, but it's supposed to be deadly at over a thousand. Of course," he added, "the telescopic sight helps a lot.

  "Will it penetrate battle armor?"

  "I honestly don't know, Commander. We'd just have to try it."

  "Maybe you'll get a chance to find out. Things could get rough around here."

  "I am at your disposal, Commander."

  "You may get more than you bargained for, Clancy. Besides me, you're the only person who's come down here with any kind of real weapon, so far, and you're the only one who knows how to handle that antique. I have a small pulse pistol. I don't know how much good either weapon would be against battle armor."

  "Just like a big-game animal, the enemy must have weaknesses," said Davis-Moore. "We'll simply have to look for them." He carefully worked the bolt to empty the firing chamber and ejected the magazine containing the remaining cartridges before beginning to put the rifle back into the hard case.

  "Later," said Kresge. "We've got more people to talk to."

  "No problem," said Davis-Moore.

  Kresge and Gibbons continued with their interviews. The same routine was repeated with several more small bands until they realized that they had interviewed everyone. Kresge looked around for Irene and spotted her across the room, standing behind a group of women. A woman Kresge hadn't met yet was up in front and talking to the group at the moment. He headed in their direction.

  From the nature of the questions that the woman was answering, it was immediately obvious to Kresge that the living arrangements and other domestic necessities for all of the people that had gathered in the hideaway were going to present some significant challenges. Two women had brought babes in arms and several others had brought toddlers. There were three or four teenagers. A few of the women had come with their husbands, but a goodly number had come without. Several of the married ones were distraught because they didn't know where their husbands were. Unaccompanied men were everywhere. At the very least, everyone needed a place to sleep and food to eat.

  Kresge went over next to Irene and put an arm around her waist. She stiffened slightly at his touch but didn't pull away.

  "How're things going over here?" he asked quietly.

  "This whole arrangement makes me really uncomfortable!" she responded, also quietly, but he could tell she was upset. "I know what I said about handling the legalities later, but most of these people are criminals! How do I go about working with them?"

  "Take it easy," said Kresge soothingly. He considered his reply carefully. "Let me put it to you this way: based on our interviews, the invaders killed somewhere around thirty people while taking over the station. At least five of them were members of Dan's group. Like it or not, Irene, we're all on the same team here. Right now I need you -- we all need you -- to pitch in and do your best. As you said, we'll just have to deal with the legalities later."

  Seeing that she still looked uncomfortable, he added. "These people can't be any more crooked than some of your current business contacts!"

  From her look, Kresge could tell she hadn't considered that angle. Finally she took a deep breath, gave him a somewhat exasperated smile, and nodded her head. Then she relaxed and put her head on his shoulder. Kresge decided that was his cue to change the subject.

  "How're things going with the living arrangements?"

  "I think we have a lot of people here who are going to need a lot of care!" she replied.

  "Who's that woman?" Kresge asked, referring to the slender, forty-ish brunette who was competently addressing the group.

  "That's Allison Steuben," Irene replied.

  "Steuben's wife?"

  "Yes, and he has a daughter around here somewhere too."

  "Can't wait to meet them both," said Kresge. "What's this?"

  Gibbons was standing up on the command table in the middle of the room. He spoke loudly to get everyone's attention.

  "All of you, gather around, I have some announcements to make."
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  Gibbons waited until all of them had done so and then motioned them to silence.

  "Most of you know me, but I'll introduce myself anyway. My name is Daniel Gibbons and I am the head of procurement for Doebermann's Specialities. I guess it's also no longer a secret that I have... other responsibilities." This last brought a few chuckles. "The haven you find yourselves in was not authorized by the station management. I'm not sure they even know about it." He looked at Irene and Kresge. "Until now, anyway. In light of what's happened, I think that's a very good thing. I wouldn't have apologized for this haven before, and I sure as hell won't after today."

  There was a small round of applause.

  "Next item: does anyone here have any idea of who it was that attacked us and why?"

  "I don't know about that," said one of the men, "but I was watching out of the big viewport up on deck three and I saw one of the two cargo ships blast off right after they unloaded about ten guys in battle armor into the upper cargo bay."

  "Which way were they headed?"

  "Kinda hard to tell; they circled around and I lost sight of them."

  "So they're down to one ship?"

  "That's what it looked like before I decided I'd better get out of there!"

  Kresge filed the information for later reflection.

  Gibbons continued. "Okay, more organizational matters. Maggie and Allison come on up here."

  The two women joined him on the table.

  "These women are in charge of organizing living arrangements and making sure that we all get fed. They will also be in charge of our medical needs. Take note! This is Maggie Simmonds and this is Allison Steuben. See them if you don't have these arrangements made as yet. As near as I can tell, there's plenty of room down here as well as plenty of food and water. If we don't have something we need, we can probably get it. Many of the people who helped create this sanctuary are the same ones that actually run the station. For heaven's sake, let's all use some common sense. No unauthorized wandering around. We don't want someone to get captured and give us all away."

  A hand went up in the back of the group.