Fast Eddie was coming back from Dennison’s World, and I was hoping he’d bring Cheeves with a contract for some lattices, which would go a long way toward solving my more immediate problems. He wasn’t due in until Friday, which is why it surprised me when Bucky called me during the middle of the night on Thursday.
“Hello, friend Ken?”
“Oh, hello, Bucky,” I said groggily. I looked at the clock. “Hold on. Let me get into some clothes and switch the visual on.” I threw on a T-shirt and some pants. When I switched on the video, I saw that Catarina was with him. “What gives? It’s not even morning yet.”
“Friend Ken. Fast Eddie has arrived earlier than expected, and I have both good news and bad news. The good news is that there are spare lattices on my world which can be shipped here.”
“That’s great. Thank Cheeves for me. By the way, where is Cheeves?”
Beaver’s whiskers twitched. He made a little coughing noise in his throat, folded his hands over his round, little belly, and turned to Catarina.
“That leads us to the bad news,” she said.
“They want cash up front, right? Oh, hell, I thought that might be a problem.”
“Not exactly, Ken,” Catarina said, looking at Beaver out of the corner of her eye.
“Well, yes,” Beaver said, rubbing his hands together briskly. “But as Bucky says, ‘In times of adversity, we must all pull on the rope together.’ “
“Bucky, what—is—the—problem?” I asked.
“Well, it seems that your destruction of the ship was reported to my father by several of my demi-brothers in a most hostile manner, and deprived as he is of my sagacious counsel, he has reacted in a most belligerent manner,” Beaver explained.
Catarina interpreted. “Bucky’s doting daddy wants you and the rest of the Scupper’s crew strung up by your heels, and he’s sending an invasion fleet to do the stringing and make hash out of this planet generally.”
“In my capacity as ambassador, I must state that at least one of those two objectives is excessive under the circumstances,” Beaver added.
“Where is Cheeves?” I asked stupidly.
“I regret to say that my father has forbidden Cheeves to return and has ordered him to advise my demi-brother Genghis, who will be leading the punitive expedition. Cheeves expresses his regrets,” Bucky stated. He reached up with a handkerchief and wiped a tiny tear from his eye.
“The invasion fleet will consist of two armed merchantmen, a light cruiser, and one or more troop transports,” Catarina explained.
“My demi-brother Genghis was quite attached to my departed demi-brother Adolf,” Beaver observed. “He sent a message to the effect that he has personally sworn to execute you in a most revolting manner.”
“The two armed merchantmen are similar to the one that attacked us,” Catarina added in a quiet voice. “They probably mount a pair of missile launchers and twin twenty-millimetre cobalt lasers.”
“But you just said something about a light cruiser. Who in hell gave them a light cruiser?” I asked politely.
“We did, of course. It’s an obsolete Phoenix class. The Rodents purchased her as scrap. It was turned over disarmed to them, but they’ve refitted a lot of weaponry to her, and I’m guessing that she carries six missile launchers and eight laser cannon in twin mountings. Commander Hiro is jumping up and down at the prospect of repelling the invaders at cutlass-point.”
“With eight navy personnel, including me, and no ships?” I had a really horrible thought. “Do we have any antiship weaponry at all on this dirtball?”
“Oh, I’m sure something will turn up,” Beaver said.
“Commander Hiro wants to call out the planetary reserves. You and Clyde get dressed and report in to Piper.”
“Clyde must be in the bathroom. I hear him composing,” I said automatically, thinking about other things.
Catarina smiled, one of her real solar flares. “You tell Clyde that if he doesn’t get his tail in here, he’s going to be decomposing.”
“Aye-aye, ma’am,” I said automatically. A few seconds later, I started to wake up. “Please tell me this isn’t happening.”
“Well, if you insist. This isn’t happening,” Beaver told me solemnly.
When I arrived, Piper and Bunker were both there trying to make sense out of what Fast Eddie had to say. “Hello, Ken—you might as well listen,” Piper said, waving me to a seat.
Fast Eddie was pontificating. “Friend, you got problems. Seems like most hombres have the same kind of problems all over...”
“This is serious. Skip the editorial comments, Eddie, or I’ll pry you loose and stuff your circuit boards into a video recorder. What happened?” Piper asked.
“Well, all right, pardner. No need to be hostile. Long about Monday, I sashayed on in, gave them varmints the stuff, and then rode circuit for a spell waiting for them to figure replies to all the express mail. There must have been something in it that bothered them. Most goldarn chittering you ever did hear on the airwaves. Don’t know what it was about, though. Never paid much mind to what tenderfeet think. Anyway, when my time was up, I flat-out told them I had to git. You know how it is— neither nebula dust nor comets nor darkness of space shall keep the postman from his duly appointed rounds, and all that. Well, sir, do you know what they did? Those lily-livered skunks shot at me, and they didn’t even say ‘Draw.’ Well, I’ll tell you, I gave them what-for. The next time I mosey on down to that planet to deliver mail, why, no TV for those buckaroos!”
Fast Eddie could pass the Turing test; he’s as stupid as anybody I know.
“Hell and damnation,” Piper swore. “Thanks, Eddie.” She waved to Bunkie to cut the connection. “Bunkie, call up the naval movement schedules. Let’s get them decrypted and see if we can get a navy ship here in time.”
It took us about an hour, and there was nothing moving even close to Schuyler’s World. “No good. No ships,” Piper said. “Ken, take my car and drive over to the armoury. The Civil Guard here is pretty much low-grade dogmeat, but see what they’ve got to offer—how many men and whether they’ve got anything that can shoot at a spaceship. Their emergency number is disconnected, but somebody ought to be in there by now. Go, move it!”
Bunker whispered directions, and I went out the door to Piper’s car. The Schenectady Armoury was about twelve blocks away, and I made most of the lights. The building looked deserted, but the door was open, so I walked on in.
“Hello, is anybody here?”
“In here,” someone said from one of the outer offices. “Can I help you?”
I went and pushed open the door. A sad-looking guy with a lot of forehead showing was sitting in a chair with his feet up, doing the crossword puzzle. His eyes widened when he saw my uniform.
“Oh, hi. I thought you might be looking for the fire station across the street.” He swung around and stood up. “I’m Roger Kimball. I’m the full-time civilian technician here. The one and only technician—it’s a pretty small armoury.” He stuck out his hand and pumped mine. “Are you here on business? This is kind of exciting. You’re the first official visitor I’ve ever had.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I said. “I’m Ensign Ken MacKay, and I’m a reservist with the navy here. We have got a major problem. The Rodents have declared war, and they’re invading this planet next week. The navy doesn’t have a whole heck of a lot to stop them with, and I got sent over to see what you fellows have. Men, weapons. That sort of thing.”
Kimball whistled through his teeth. “That is a real problem,” he admitted.
“There really isn’t very much time to waste. What can we count on calling up from the Civil Guard?”
“Ensign, I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you. Hold on a minute.” He reached over and punched a number into his phone.
“Hey, Bubba? This is Rodg. Can you break away and come over to the armoury for a few minutes? I have a navy officer here I need you to talk to... That’s right, a real officer... He’s really from th
e navy... He says the Rats have declared war and are going to invade us next week... Yeah, Bubba, I know how many birds you got to look at this morning, but it’s important. Just get on over here now... Thanks, Bubba. Give my love to Esther and the kids... Bye, Bubba.”
He hung up the phone. “Corporal Briscoll’s on his way over. He’s a chicken inspector on the morning shift. He’ll be over here in a minute—he only works a block away. He’s secretary for the local guardsmen’s union.”
“Your Civil Guard’s got a union?” I asked dubiously.
Kimball nodded. “Believe me—we’ve got a union. Pull up a chair. Can I get you some coffee?”
“No, thanks. I’m not in a coffee mood. What does the Guard have here?” Just about every planet has a Civil Guard. Mostly, they’re considered planetary organisations—the planetary governments use them for disaster relief and things like that—but they are also part of the Confederation Reserve Forces, and Confederation government officials can call them into service to fight wars and things like that. Most Civil Guard outfits drill once a month and get together to train for a week or two in the summer.
Kimball looked at me. “Well, on paper, the Schuyler’s World Civil Guard consists of one independent combat infantry company based out of this armoury—the 536th ‘Weekend Warriors.’ “
“Who’s in command, and what do you mean, ‘on paper’?”
Kimball pursed his lips. “That’s kind of tough to say. Colonel Sheen is in command, if anyone is. We’re a little short on officers. We’re rated for four.”
“That’s not very many officers to have a colonel in command,” I commented.
“Colonel Sheen is essentially a political appointee,” Kimball said evasively.
“Well, I take it you don’t have a full complement of officers. How many do you have, and if Colonel Sheen isn’t running things, who is?”
“Well, actually we don’t have any other officers right now. They all resigned last year, and the governor and the legislature haven’t been able to agree on appointments. The governor and the legislature really don’t see eye-to-eye on most issues. The election ought to settle things one way or another. Oh, hello, Bubba.” He waved at the fat man who waddled in the door. “This is Ensign MacKay from the navy. This is serious. The Rats are going to invade us next week, and he wants to know what the Guard can do.”
Corporal Bubba was carrying around a second stomach and smelled of chicken. “Gee, that’s a problem.”
I was getting tired of hearing that line. “How long would it take to assemble your company?”
“Oh, gosh, sir. You’d have to send written notification to the union. That would mean a change in working conditions,” he said uncomfortably.
“Well, assuming we did that, how long would it take to assemble your company?” I asked. “You do have a company here.”
Kimball decided to save him embarrassment. “We’ve had to reorganise the Civil Guard company as a squad.”
“The other guys sort of quit,” Bubba admitted.
“When the legislature decided to annoy the governor by passing a bill to unionise the Civil Guard, they made it a closed shop,” Kimball explained. “This did not go over well with the officers and a lot of the rank and file. The governor and the legislature really don’t like each other very much.”
“How many Civil Guardsmen do you have left, Corporal?” I asked.
“Eleven—or is it twelve? I forget.” Briscoll scratched his head.
“Eleven,” Kimball said firmly.
“The other two hundred quit?”
“The goddamn fascists quit just so they wouldn’t have to pay union dues,” Bubba said. “I mean, why shouldn’t we collect dues from them? If they filed a grievance, we’d have had to represent them the same as if they were brothers in good standing. Blood-sucking toadies to exploitive oppressors is what I call them. Well, good riddance to them, I say. They weren’t good union material anyway. Uh, begging the ensign’s pardon, sir.”
“Well, eleven of you is better than nothing.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “How long would it take to assemble your squad?”
“What do you mean? Like, where would we serve?” Briscoll asked.
“Best to hit the Rats before they enter atmosphere, so if we can get hold of some space weapons—”
“Nope. No. No can do, sir,” Briscoll said, shaking his head. “Not out in space. It’s not part of our contract.”
“The legislature passed a rider to the union bill which provides that the Civil Guardsmen don’t have to serve off-planet, which means they can’t be compelled to leave the planet’s surface,” Kimball explained. “Unless, of course, the planet is invaded.”
“Besides which, we are on strike until our demands are met!” Bubba said fiercely. “We’re going to show those blood-sucking monopolistic capitalists a thing or three. The pay’s lousy, the working conditions are terrible—why, do you realise that we don’t even get overtime? It’s... it’s... it’s sheer exploitation of the working class!” He shook his fist. “We will overcome!”
“How long have you been out on strike?” I asked.
“What’s it been, five months now, Rodg?”
“About that,” Kimball agreed.
“We aren’t going to do nothing until our legitimate demands are met,” Bubba said firmly.
“Does that mean that you wouldn’t report if the navy called you up to defend your planet?” I asked mildly.
“What, and cross a picket line? No way, sir! My mother didn’t raise no scab!” he retorted. He looked at me suspiciously. “Is this some kind of ploy to interfere with our right to demand redress of our grievances?” He jabbed his finger. “Well, if it is, you can tell them from me that it won’t work! Labour will never bow its head to the dictates of the Master Class! Uh, begging the ensign’s pardon, sir.”
There didn’t seem to be very much else to say. “Thank you, Corporal. You’re dismissed,” I said politely.
“Uh, right, sir.” Bubba tramped out.
I noticed he was limping a little. “What’s wrong with his leg?”
“Bubba has a moderate handicap,” Kimball said dryly.
I shut my eyes and opened them. “This is a combat infantry company.”
“The legislature passed a bill applying the Civil Rights for the Handicapped Act to the Civil Guard. Unless the Civil Guard can show that Bubba is incapable of performing his duties and reasonable accommodations can’t be made for him, he gets to stay on. With the strike, no one is sure what Bubba’s duties are, least of all Bubba.”
“I know. The governor and the legislature don’t see eye-to-eye.”
“Corporal Briscoll is actually one of the moderates in the union,” Kimball volunteered. “We probably should have given him written notice before asking him over here, but I doubt he’ll file a grievance over it. As for getting the Guardsmen to serve, the union wouldn’t dream of exploiting this little crisis, but, ah...”
“Right,” I said.
“I thought it would be easier if I showed you,” he said apologetically.
“All right, what next? Can you get Colonel Sheen on the phone?”
Kimball nodded and punched in another number and motioned me around to where I could see. A girl answered.
Kimball asked her, “Doris, this is Guard business. Can you put Harvey on the line? It’s important.”
She nodded pertly, and the screen blanked. A moment later Colonel Sheen came on.
Sheen looked like a colonel—tall, aristocratic, frosted hair around the temples. The effect faded when he opened his mouth.
“Gee, Rodg. I wish you wouldn’t call me early in the morning like this.”
“Can’t help it, Harvey.” Kimball pointed to me. “This is Ensign MacKay from the navy. He’s here on official business.”
“Oh, my God!” Sheen put his hands to his mouth. “Nobody told me about any inspection!”
“No, sir,” I broke in. “I’m not here to inspect your command. The Rode
nts have declared war. They are going to invade this planet next week. I need to know what the Civil Guard can do.”
“Gee, that’s a problem,” Sheen said. “But I don’t know what I can do.” He sounded like Bernie in one of his less decisive moments.
“Sir, I’ve already talked to Corporal Briscoll. The question is whether we board him out or bring him up on charges.”
“Oh, gee. I couldn’t do that to Bubba. Why, he buys two half gallons of milk a week,” Sheen said feebly.
“Colonel Sheen runs a corner grocery store,” Kimball explained with a blank expression.
“Sir, I think we have to write off the current personnel in the Civil Guard then. But the Rats are going to invade, and we need men to stop them. Mr. Kimball tells me that there are a lot of former Guardsmen around who have resigned within the last week. I think we can rely on some of them. I need you to call them and get them to volunteer, and I also need you to get the governor to sign an emergency decree.”
Sheen was visibly distressed. “I. . .I couldn’t do that. Why, those men would be strike-breakers. I mean, the legislature would never approve. Couldn’t we wait until after the election?”
“Sir.” I stared at him. “The Rodents are coming next week.”
“I... I don’t know. Rodg, I need time to think. Let me call you back. Tonight or tomorrow...” The screen abruptly blanked.
“How long did he serve on active duty?” I asked thoughtfully.
Kimball scratched his head. “A couple of months as a lieutenant, I think. I should tell you that the legislature passed a bill forbidding the governor from exercising his emergency powers unless they pass a joint resolution approving it, and the legislature’s not in session. They call it the War Powers Act. I’m thinking that even if you could talk them into calling a special session, they’d have a hell of a time getting a quorum, what with the campaigning and the legislators in jail.”
“That’s fine. I’d just like to know who’s going to explain this to the Rats.” I eyed Kimball. “Are you any better off for weapons?”
“In a word, no.” He stood up and went over and opened up the vault to the arms room. He waved an arm, pointing out the contents. “When the M-20 rifles were declared obsolete, the legislature sold most of them off as sporting weapons. The gun clubs made a big deal about it. The legislature declined to appropriate money to replace them.” He grinned. “For some reason, sector naval headquarters moved most of the heavy stuff out and didn’t make replacing any of it a priority.”
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