Junkyard Dogs 1: The Scrapyard Incident

by Phillip Nolte

  "Yes, what is it?"

  "Are we planning on taking the station back from these guys?"

  "That would be a question for our military advisor." This last caught Kresge by surprise. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the man in the Federation Navy uniform is Commander Oskar Kresge from the Scrapyard. He will be advising us on military matters. Commander?"

  Kresge had only a moment or two to formulate a reply.

  "Thanks, Dan," he said. "In answer to the question: we don't know that yet. We need a lot more information and that will be the first order of business. I can tell you this: I would personally like to see every one of these -- invaders, pirates, terrorists, whatever they are -- I'd like to see them dead or captured and us back in charge. If you have any information that you think could be useful, see me immediately!"

  No one else had any questions for the moment.

  "Thank you for your attention," said Gibbons. "All of you who don't have assigned living space or haven't had anything to eat yet, go over to the area where the viewscreen has been set up and talk to one of these women. Dismissed!"

  Chapter 21

  UTFN Reclamation Center, Auxiliary Tracking Station, October 6, 2598.

  "Can you download the info on this tracking system and the inventory files onto your wrist computer, Ensign? It'd be a shame to lose all this data."

  Out in the scrapyard, Carlisle and Harris were continuing preparations to abandon the Auxiliary Tracking Station.

  "Shouldn't be any problem, I haven't used a fraction of its capacity."

  Carlisle set to work copying all the files that looked even remotely useful and a bunch more that didn't. While she worked, Harris picked up the thread of an earlier conversation.

  "Any further thoughts on what these raiders are trying to accomplish?" he asked.

  Carlisle tapped a string of commands on the tracking computer keyboard and then input a series of commands into her wrist computer, her right hand rapidly tapping the imaginary keys of the virtual keyboard in the air. She mumbled along with the instructions. "Reclamation Center Auxiliary Tracking station inventory and database...all files...initiate download...mark for further review...execute!" She looked at the monitor for a moment to ensure that her instructions were being carried out before turning her attention to Harris.

  "It depends, Sir" she replied finally. "If we assume that the ambassador is the target, then the question is: What do they want with him? Do they want a hostage for ransom? For exchange? Maybe they just want information? Will they torture him?"

  "Torture him?"

  "Yeah, you know, maybe somebody wants to settle an old score or something."

  "That makes sense; politicians usually make a few enemies on the way up."

  "Yeah, or maybe whoever it is just wants him dead."

  "So what is it?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine, but whatever it is, you can be sure they want to make a political statement of some kind, maybe even start something."

  "Why?"

  "Look at what they have: two ships, high quality weapons, and a fairly well-thought out plan of attack. No, these people are pretty well organized and pretty well equipped. They could probably get a very substantial ransom for an ambassador. That would help compensate them for the investment in equipment that they've made, maybe even bankroll further operations."

  "So you think it's political? Any idea who it could be?"

  "It could be any one of several factions. I might have something in the Meridian database on my wrist computer that could help narrow it down. If we ever get any down time, I'll check. It might not matter, the main thing that we need to do is to interfere with their plans. If we can warn the Ambassador's ship that something is up, we can ask these other questions later."

  Hawkins interrupted them over the suit radio.

  "Lieutenant Harris?"

  "Yes, Hawk?"

  "I be on the bridge of the Terrier with my helmet open. It still be a little cold, but otherwise it seems to be fine. There are bein' at least two intact bulkhead doors and two pressurized compartments between the area we'll be in and any kind of vacuum. I think it'll be alright. Be coming over."

  "Roger," said Harris. "Give us another hour or so."

  After Carlisle went over the tracking console database one more time to make sure they had everything she thought they might possibly need, the two of them loaded up the communications console, extra oxygen packs for their suits, and all of the food that they could find onto the Rover II. The console just barely fit through the standard-sized hatches of the tracking station and quite a lot of maneuvering was necessary to thread it out to the airlock area and the awaiting utility sled. After throwing a cargo net over their hoard and lashing everything down, they departed the tracking station.

  "Is the magnetic grappling system on this sled as easy to use as it looks?" asked Carlisle as they made their way over to the Terrier.

  "Yeah," replied Harris, "it's pretty straightforward. Just put one of the pads in contact with something that a magnet will stick to, turn on the grappling pad, and reel the cable tight. Just use this control set right here."

  Carlisle fiddled around with the system until they arrived at the Terrier.

  Chapter 22

  ...The so-called Sheik of Barsoom is known to be ruthless and violent as witnessed by the alarming number of atrocities that have been strongly connected with him and his followers. He and his group have taken credit for many more acts of terrorism and his penchant for boasting and exaggeration make him, if not a desirable figure, certainly one of the more colorful of the Muslim dissidents. His origins are not known with certainty, but credible accounts indicate that he is not the son of nobility as his title implies, but actually comes from more common origins. His whereabouts remain unknown, and interplanetary authorities consider him and members of his group to be armed, extremely dangerous, and very unpredictable. Recent holographs of the Sheik and a physical description are included in this pamphlet. If you have any information about the Sheik of Barsoom or his followers, please contact the United Federation Terrorism Task Force (UFTTF) at the number listed below. Your communication will remain strictly confidential...

  Hartwell Wrist Comp reference note highlighted for further review by Tamara Carlisle. Excerpt is from "Known Muslim Terrorists and Dissidents: Midyear Update." Short video download and hardcopy pamphlet prepared by the UFTTF for screening and distribution to travelers headed to the Meridian planetary system. No author is listed.

  Onboard Meridian Imperial Ship Istanbul, in transit to the Naccobus system, October 6, 2598.

  "Excellency?"

  Ambassador Mohammed Saad Saladin looked up from the dossier he was working on to acknowledge the interruption. It was the head of his personal bodyguard.

  "What is it, Hussein?"

  "It's your wife, Excellency."

  The Ambassador sighed, some of the formalities of his position, especially those that had to do with security, were unbelievably cumbersome at times.

  "Sondia? By all means show her in, Hussein."

  A few moments later the Ambassador's wife came into the work area of his chambers. There was an amused look on her beautiful and intelligent face as she greeted her husband. The Ambassador came to his feet.

  "Your guards are very effective, husband."

  He sighed. "They but do their duty, my love."

  "I know, I wouldn't have it any other way, but it does grow tedious at times."

  Her husband shrugged and kissed her on the cheek. Her sleek, shoulder-length, black hair was classically-styled, with the ends curved slightly inward and bangs straight-cut across her forehead. Her hair framed the perfect, light-olive skin of her oval face.

  "You look absolutely lovely today, my dear. Come, have a seat. I could use a break anyway."

  "It is kind of you to take some time for me."

  "Nonsense, you are by far the best advisor I have. Before I forget, your father sends his love."

  "You spoke with hi
m? When?"

  "I called him just before we jumped."

  "How did he look?"

  "I think the new medications are working. He looked well."

  "That is most comforting. Had the protests died down?"

  "He showed me some video from the news feed. It looks as though the protests were still going, but it also looked like there were fewer of the dissidents than usual. At least no one had been hurt."

  "Good, we don't need any more incidents like that riot in the capital last year."

  "I agree." He thought for a moment. "I'm certainly pleased to have the use of your special abilities for this mission, my dear."

  "As long as you remember that I can't tell what the truth is, only whether or not someone is lying. There is a difference."

  "It should be easy for you this time around," he said. "We will only be dealing with small groups of people after we reach the orbital station."

  "I certainly hope so. More than two or three people at a time taxes my abilities and my equipment." Her eyes, so dark they were almost black, flashed momentary anger. "Of course, these people are not so accomplished at lying as so many of ours are."

  "That is certainly a cynical statement," said the Ambassador, somewhat surprised by the vehemence of her tone.

  "I'm sorry, Saad, it's just that everything seems to be so difficult these days."

  "I know, it gets complicated. The truth can become very difficult to discern. Those who believe in the lies they spew are the most dangerous." He paused for a moment seeking a change of subject even though he feared that the new discussion topic could prove to be at least as unsettling as the current one. "Which of the factions do you think we should fear the most, my dear?" he asked.

  His wife thought for a moment before replying. "Some of the more fundamentalist groups, those who would take us back to where we were five hundred years ago, are really frightening."

  "Fortunately, they are small in numbers."

  "Yes, but they have been large in their deeds a time or two recently!"

  "Your father seems to have found a compromise that has quieted them down."

  "For now."

  "Yes, for now. Who else could cause us problems?"

  "Even some of the moderates are very fervent in their cause."

  "Yes, Abdullah Khomani, for one, is very ambitious. Yet, I have spoken with him on several occasions. He is very intense in his beliefs, but I think he is an honest man who would not strive for power without due process. He is very intelligent and understands the needs of the times. He also believes in your father's reforms. He could cause trouble, but I don't think he would go outside legal means to do so. I have been considering an alliance with him; his views are not all that different from ours."

  "I must say that I agree with you. He can be quite charming and would be a strong ally. We must remember that it is the good of our people and not the good of us as individuals that should be our guiding light in these matters."

  "You sound a lot like your father."

  "That shouldn't surprise you, my love, he taught us both well."

  "That he did. Who else has you concerned?"

  "There are minority factions out there that we know little about, Saad," she said, concern on her lovely face. "I fear that one of them might attempt something radical; make some kind of grand gesture. Like the Sheik of Barsoom. Don't forget he has sworn to kill you. Few are the people who really frighten me but, my dear husband, that man is a lunatic! He is capable of anything!"

  "Aren't you glad my guards are so efficient?"

  Chapter 23

  UTFN Reclamation Center, onboard the wreck of FNS Terrier, October 6, 2598.

  Hawkins helped Carlisle and Harris unload and transfer their booty onto the destroyer. Bridge areas on military ships were never brightly lit and the emergency lighting, which was part of the emergency life support system, had automatically activated when the life support module had come online. The soft amber lighting wasn't all that different from normal bridge lighting levels. Harris went to work trying to get the communications console back online.

  "This is where the original communications console was before they removed it when they decommissioned the ship, Ensign," said Harris, pointing to the area in question, a console base with the workstation removed. Several loose wires sprouted out of the cabinet. "Check your schematics to see if you can find out which of these wires was supposed to power the transmitter and which of the cables connects to the Stage I antenna." Carlisle went into trance mode again as she interfaced with the schematics in her wrist computer.

  "Mark IV Orion...communications...Whitney Stage I connections...main power...main antenna...execute!"

  Harris poked around inside the console while she looked up the data he needed.

  "Here it is, Lieutenant." She gave him the wire colors.

  "Okay, got 'em. What about the antenna?"

  "There should be a coaxial cable coming into the console over on the right hand side for the antenna. Do you see it?"

  Harris shined a small hand torch inside the console.

  "Yeah, there it is. Hawk, give me hand with the transmitter."

  Harris and Hawkins guided the purloined transmitter onto the top of the empty base unit. It was a less than perfect fit, wide enough, but not long enough to cover the original opening. Hawkins managed to get two of the bolt holes to line up and used them to secure the replacement console. Harris crawled underneath to make the connections.

  "Be you thinkin' we can be makin' this work?" asked Hawkins, as he tightened the second of the two bolts.

  "I hope so," replied Carlisle. "We're assuming that they'll destroy the tracking station just like they did the main facility. Trouble is, there's still a lot of unknowns. If they have halfway decent sensor equipment, they may not be fooled into thinking that we were still onboard. I know it sounds a bit morbid, but if we were smart, we'd have put some bodies in there."

  "That's not a bad idea," said Harris, from underneath the console, "but trying to get bodies off from the station, assuming we could even locate any of them, would be way too dangerous. It's moving way too erratically and, by now, it's getting too far away. We'll just have to take our chances."

  "I wish there were some way we could fight back," said Carlisle.

  "Aye, Lass, so do I. They ought not to be gettin' off so easy!"

  "Could we hook up one of the sleds to a big piece of wreckage and ram them?" asked Carlisle. "They aren't proper warships, after all, how tough can they be?"

  "They be lookin' like run o' the mill Bombardier medium cargo hulls, to me." said Hawkins.

  "Power's hooked up, now we just need to connect the antenna," announced Harris as he came out from under the console, trailing a coaxial cable behind him. "Looks like there might be enough slack in this cable to reach," he said as he pulled the cable taut. It was long enough by several centimeters. He plugged the cable into the appropriate receptacle and gave the threaded ferrule a series of twists. "Okay, Hawk, try powering up the console."

  Hawkins flipped the switch and the com came to life. Harris strapped into the seat in front of the unit and began making adjustments.

  "How tough is a Bombardier medium cargo ship, Hawk?" asked Carlisle.

  "They can be takin' a beating, but if you be hittin' 'em hard enough, they'll break. If you be hittin' 'em in the aft section, in the drive tubes..." He shook his head.

  "The trouble is, those two ships have at least cruiser-strength pulse beam weapons systems. I wonder how they managed that?" asked Harris.

  "I've been wondering about that too," said Carlisle.

  "The power drain would be somethin' fierce," suggested Hawkins.

  "Yeah, it would be," said Harris. He frowned. "There was something about the attack..." He continued to work the controls on the communications console. "This com unit should have recorded the video we got during the attack on the Boise. I need to look at something."

  He brought up the video in question and all t
hree of them studied it intently while he ran it through several times.

  "It's just as I thought," said Harris.

  "What?" asked Carlisle.

  "Do you remember how slowly and deliberately they were firing at the main facility out here?"

  "Yeah, it looked like they were in no hurry."

  "I think they were firing as quickly as they could. Take another look at this video of the attack on the Boise. It's the same pattern they used out here -- slow deliberate fire."

  "It be the power demand, ain't it, Lieutenant?"

  "Yes, Hawk, I'd say so."

  "Explain why that's important," said Carlisle.

  "Pulse beam projectors use a big capacitor bank to power the pulses," replied Harris. "Between pulses, the capacitors have to recharge back to a minimum level or the weapon won't fire. A cruiser has a huge power plant and part of the output is dedicated to the pulse weapons. They can charge and fire multiple pulse beam emplacements like these at five pulses or more per second."

  "But these are cargo ships," said Carlisle.

  "Exactly, and I'll bet these cargo ships don't have more than standard power plants in them. Even at full power, they can't recharge very fast at all. If you put a beam weapon that powerful on a ship with a civilian power plant, you'll have a lot of firepower, but your rate of fire will be relatively slow."

  "How slow?" asked Carlisle.

  "I don't know. Let's see if we can get some estimates from the video."

  The video was of poor quality, but some rough estimates were possible.

  "I make these to be about one shot every thirty seconds or so," said Harris, after running through the video several more times. "That's probably why they don't do much maneuvering when they're firing the weapon, they don't have any power to spare. They had to make their first shots at the Boise really count or they may have been in trouble."

  "How does that help us?" asked Carlisle.

  "I don't know," answered Harris, "but here's something else. Their beam weapons don't have a very wide angle of fire either. See this?" He froze the video and pointed to one of the attacking ships in front view. "They've mounted the pulse beam emplacement inside the front cargo bay. For all practical purposes, they have to turn the entire ship to aim the beam. Not only that, they'd have to disable their meteor shields."