Take The Star Road (The Maxwell Saga)

by Peter Grant

  "I get it, Sir. Thanks."

  Captain Volschenk's voice came over the speakers once more. "Bridge to all compartments, stand by for hyper-jump in sixty seconds. I say again, stand by for hyper-jump in sixty seconds." Chimes sounded for five seconds, pitched to penetrate ambient noise, providing audible warning of the approaching jump throughout the ship.

  Steve was used to hyper-jumps by now, but still couldn't suppress the smile of anticipation on his face. The intricacies of the operation fascinated him. Right now, the ship's navigation computers - three of them, each a stand-alone unit but working in concert with the others, located one in the bows, one amidships and one in the stern, in an attempt to avoid more than one being damaged by any incident - were working together to hold the ship rigidly on her precisely calculated course. The immense capacitor ring was charged with tens of millions of volt-amperes of current in its cells. The auxiliary gravity generator that maintained the ship's internal gravity during hyper-jumps would be spooling up in preparation to take over the load.

  "Bridge to all compartments, hyper-jump in thirty seconds, I say again, hyper-jump in thirty seconds."

  The gravitic drive, normally propelling the ship at her cruising speed of 0.05C, five per cent of light speed, shut down. Steve felt the subtle momentary shift in his weight as the auxiliary gravity generator took over. He knew the gravitic drive would be switching to hyper-jump mode, ready to generate an artificial wormhole, and glanced at the Engineer Officer's control board. A temperature gauge showed the drive's internal temperature to be a steady fifty degrees centigrade. He could hear the pumps in the drive compartment spooling up to maximum flow, circulating the coolant fluid from the gravitic drive unit through radiators on the outside of the hull. The near-absolute-zero of space stripped most of the heat from it before the pumps sent it back to the drive.

  Captain Volschenk didn't provide a further countdown, but activated the chimes again at the fifteen-second mark. They sounded each second with an irritating ping! Steve couldn't help feeling sympathy for anyone off watch trying to sleep through them. They were designed to make that impossible, reminding sleepers to check the retaining nets over their bunks, which would hold them in place if any sudden maneuvers were necessary upon exiting the hyper-jump.

  Steve watched the countdown clock on the forward bulkhead of the engineering compartment. At ten seconds before the hyper-jump, he both heard and felt the capacitor ring relays open and close with a series of loud thumps, their pre-programmed sequence selecting the cells that would be used in this jump and shutting out the rest. The clock counted down to zero. For the last three seconds, the ping! of the chime was replaced with the aaa-OOO-gah! of a strident klaxon.

  The lights dimmed momentarily as millions of volt-amps of current were dumped instantaneously from the selected cells of the capacitor ring into the gravitic drive. The drive's external aerials responded by generating a toroidal gravitic field just ahead of the bow, which pulled the ship into it with immense force. It was powerful enough to reduce vessel and crew to their component atoms if anything went wrong... but nothing did. Steve heard the intense whine from the inertial compensator in the drive compartment as it took up the strain, dumping the crushing gravitic forces generated during the jump into the gravity sump of the dark matter that permeated the universe, reducing their felt effect to no more than a momentarily discomforting tug at the stomachs of Cabot's crew. In the viewscreen at the front of the compartment, the brightness of distant stars blurred, to be renewed in a moment as the external cameras adjusted to their new field of vision. A formerly distant star now loomed much more brightly ahead of them as the dissipating wormhole spat out the ship almost a light year ahead of its previous position.

  Steve glanced at the control board, and saw that the internal temperature of the gravitic drive had been flash-raised to over three hundred degrees by the enormous current unleashed into it. The coolant pumps continued their high-pitched whine under full load, stripping the excess heat from the drive as quickly as they could. The unit would still function normally in intra-system mode, but he knew it would take several hours to cool sufficiently to make another hyper-jump. During that time the ship's reactor would recharge the cells used for the previous hyper-jump, and her navigation computers would work out her current position and the trajectory desired for her next jump, if one was necessary.

  "Well, that was smooth enough," the Engineer Officer observed with satisfaction. "This is your first visit to Vesta, isn't it, Maxwell?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "OK. That star ahead of us is Vesta Alpha, the primary star in this binary system." He pointed to the viewscreen. "It's orbited by seven planets, of which Vesta is the third, and the only habitable one. Vesta Beta is over that way, with three planets circling it, none of them habitable; but it's got a very large asteroid belt, which is much more dense than Vesta Alpha's, so it’s heavily mined. The Fleet's put its Sector Dockyard out there to take advantage of the raw materials extracted from the asteroids, and to build and repair its ships well clear of Vesta's heavy space traffic. If we pick up one of those charters you learned about, the Fleet will almost certainly send Cabot there to install the hospital pods and a second reactor. We'll wait on Vesta until the ship's ready - the Fleet's a bit touchy about allowing civilian spacers to swan around a sensitive installation like that. Can't blame them, of course."

  "Er... why not, Sir? I mean, why would they trust us to crew Cabot during a Fleet charter, yet not trust us to take her to their dockyard for the conversion process?"

  Tassin shrugged. "It's a basic principle of security - exclude everyone who doesn't actually need to know something or go somewhere, and make no exceptions. That way you automatically reduce the risk of something going wrong."

  Ignaz added, nodding, "Dale mentioned you plan to enlist in a couple of years. If you do, you'll start learning about security within your first week at Boot Camp. The Fleet's real anal-retentive about it. It has to be, of course; it's one of the bigger fleets in the settled galaxy. Plenty of folks would like to know about its ships, weapons, doctrines and operations."

  "You were Fleet too?" Steve asked.

  "I served a four-year enlistment in the Victrix sector, then mustered out as a Spacer First Class to go into the merchant service."

  "I'd like to hear more about it sometime."

  "Sure, we'll likely find time to talk between stars." The two grinned at each other.

  The gravitic drive hummed more loudly in the adjacent compartment. Tassin observed, "The Captain's increased power, so we must be heading for Vesta. It'll take a few hours for light-speed messages from us to reach Fleet HQ there, and for them to reply. If they want us, we'll be that much closer by the time they say so; and if they don't, it's a simple enough matter to get System Control to give us a straight-line course to the system boundary in the departure zone."

  ###

  The intercom chimed again several hours later, as Steve was preparing to go off watch.

  "All hands, this is the Captain. The Fleet has offered us a ninety-day charter to pick up almost two thousand juvenile casualties from Radetski and ferry them back here for advanced medical treatment. We'll make three round trips. It'll take about ten days to install the hospital pods, second reactor and additional systems. After that we'll train for a week with the hospital complement, then head for Radetski, finishing our working-up en route."

  "Aw-right!" Ignaz rubbed his hands together. "That'll be a nice little earner for the skipper. A time charter's usually more profitable than standard cargo rates. We've got a few very busy days ahead, though. We'll have to offload every bit of freight and strip our holds clean before they can install the hospital pods."

  "Yes, we'll have plenty to do," the Engineer Officer agreed. "Still, hard work hasn't killed any of us yet!"

  "There's always a first time, Sir," Steve observed darkly, drawing chuckles from the other two.

  Chapter 10: June 10th, 2837 GSC

  Cabot's cre
w endured three eighteen-hour work days to offload all her cargo. So pressing was the Fleet's need that it contracted with a civilian cargo handling firm to expedite the process. Several dozen robotic stevedores and ten shuttles from the L-1 Cargo Terminal handled her tightly-packed midships holds with their thousands of standard-size large containers. The ship's spacers concentrated on the forward holds, filled with smaller, non-standard containers and break-bulk cargo, which required greater care and attention.

  The crew was exhausted by the end of the third day, but a final hold remained. The Bosun rallied them. "All right, people. From our point of view, we saved the best to last - our crew trading storage in the forward starboard upper hold. The Fleet's reserved a thousand-cubic-meter compartment on the Cargo Terminal for our use. It'll hold up to twenty small fifty-cubic-meter containers. Each spacer will identify his or her trade goods, then we'll work together to crate them for transfer. Fleet security personnel will make sure there are no dangerous or contraband articles as we load them, then seal the container and give you a receipt code for your goods. You'll - yes, what is it, Murrin?"

  The surly spacer had raised his hand. "Why in hell's name are Fleet security snoops gonna be lookin' over our shoulders? Don't ya trust us?"

  The Bosun frowned. "It's got nothing to do with me, Murrin. Some of us are going to claim from the Fleet for losses on our private trades caused by this charter. The Paymaster needs to be sure that we actually have in our possession the goods for which we're claiming a loss. This is how the Fleet's chosen to verify that. Remember the old saying - 'he who pays the piper, calls the tune'. It's their money, so what they say, goes."

  "But that's like sayin' we're criminals, right at the start! Why won't they trust our paperwork, or have a cargo dispatcher do the certifyin'?"

  "Like I said, Murrin, that's not my decision. If you don't like it, take it up with the Fleet. Now stop wasting time!"

  He looked around the assembled spacers. "You'll need the receipt code from Fleet Security to claim your goods at the end of the charter, or negotiate a financial settlement with the Fleet for your losses, so don't lose it!" He turned to Steve. "Maxwell, you're the only member of the crew who's not yet trading on your own account, so I want you to run the console. The rest of us will deal with our trade goods."

  "Aye aye, Bosun."

  "All right, people. Let's get to work."

  Steve didn't have much to do at first. He sat behind the cargo console next to the hold airlock and watched as his crewmates spread out, spacesuits and helmets sealed against the vacuum of the hold, packing their trade goods into crates and boxes for ease of carrying. A cargo shuttle slid to a halt outside the open hold doors, offloaded twenty fifty-cubic-meter containers, and stood by to reload them. Steve used the hold's cargo-handling beams to stack them near the entrance, then moved four into position near the airlock for spacers to fill with their goods.

  A contingent of Fleet security personnel inspected each crate as it was packed, then loaded into a container. It slowed the loading process, but ensured that little escaped their notice. As each container was filled and sealed, Steve used tractor and pressor beams to move it back to the hold door, gaping open onto the emptiness of space, and replaced it with an empty unit. Far away through the open doors, he could see the long glowing bar that was Vesta's Cargo Terminal.

  He deposited the sixth full container on the growing stack by the door, moved an empty one back into the hold, then repositioned the beam unit over the next full container. He checked a display on the console, making sure that the container was unobstructed and ready to be shifted, then frowned. The security cameras showed something moving where no movement should be, behind the container. He zoomed the lens to show a magnified image. To his surprise, he saw a space-suited figure sliding something behind an electrical panel bolted to the hull frames and cross-members. The figure looked around furtively, then eased out from behind the container and walked over to a stack of cargo waiting to be loaded. Steve couldn't see who it was, but noted a dark patch on the upper left arm of the figure's spacesuit.

  He tapped at the console controls, copying the last minutes of security vid coverage to a separate file and spooling a copy of ongoing coverage to the same location, then activated his radio. "Cargo console to Bosun, over."

  His receiver crackled. "Bosun here, Maxwell. Go ahead."

  "Bosun, could you come to the console, please?"

  He could hear the irritation in Cardle's voice. "I'm busy with the security people right now. Can't it wait?"

  "Er... sorry, Bosun, but I think this is important."

  "It had better be! Wait one."

  After a moment, Steve saw the burly figure of the Bosun detach itself from a group of spacers and Fleet security personnel and come towards him. As he approached, Cardle snapped, "What is it, then?"

  Steve merely held one finger up before the face panel of his spacesuit, as if lifting it to his lips in a shushing gesture, and indicated the display screen on the console. The Bosun frowned thunderously, but made no further comment as he came around to Steve's side of the console. Steve activated the recording, and played back for the Bosun what he'd seen.

  Cardle's frown cleared at once. "Well, well, well," he murmured, then glanced at Steve. "You were right to call me. You did well to spot that." He looked up. "Tomkins!"

  A startled voice came over the radio. "Here, Bosun!"

  "Report to me at the cargo console."

  The Bosun's Mate hurried over from where he'd been packing his trade goods into crates. At the Bosun's gestured command, Steve played back the recording for him.

  "Recognize that spacesuit?" Cardle asked.

  "Yes, Bosun. Only one's got a patch on it like that. It's - "

  "No names! This is an open circuit. I recognize it too. Let's go talk to him."

  The two walked over to another group of spacers. The Bosun said without preamble, "Murrin, what was in that package you hid behind the electrical panel?"

  "Huh?" Steve could hear startled apprehension in the spacer's voice. "I dunno what you're talkin' about!"

  "The hold's security cameras recorded you doing it. If you don't want to tell us what it was, we'll find out the hard way. Tomkins, go get it."

  "Aye aye, Bosun!"

  "Hey! You can't do that! It's private property!" Murrin protested.

  "You said you didn't know what I was talking about. If it's not yours, you've got no say in what we do with it; but if it is yours, you just lied to me. Which is it, Murrin?"

  "I - er - ah - that is... "

  Tomkins disappeared behind the container. He emerged almost immediately, hefting a soft brown package experimentally in his hands.

  "Can't say for sure through spacesuit gloves, but it feels like there's some sort of granular stuff in here, Bosun."

  "Anything you want to tell us about that, Murrin?"

  "I... I mean... oh, fuck you!" The spacer spun on his heel and made a break for the cargo doors, his magnetic work boots forcing him to move in a shambling, stumbling run.

  "All hands, stop him!" The Bosun's command rang out over the common channel.

  The crew tried to intercept their fleeing colleague, but his sudden move had caught everyone off-balance. Steve saw that the Fleet security personnel were clustered around the remaining open containers, and not in a position to intercept Murrin. Heart pounding, he selected a beam unit on the console, then slammed his joystick hard over to accelerate it along its rail towards the cargo door. As Murrin took a flying leap into space towards the open doors of the load compartment of the cargo shuttle, less than ten meters from the ship's hull, Steve activated a tractor beam. The spacer gave a startled yelp as his free-fall flight was dragged to a sudden halt.

  "I've hooked him like a fish on a line, Bosun," Steve called over the radio as he balanced the pull of the tractor beam against an equalizing push from a pressor. "He's not going anywhere."

  Murrin struggled futilely against the beams. "Let go, damn you!
"

  A chorus of laughter sounded over the channel as the crew took in the sight. "Well done, Maxwell!" the Bosun called. "You caught a big one, all right. Reel him in and we'll gaff him!"

  Steve landed the struggling spacer carefully inside the hold door. Three Fleet security personnel restrained his arms behind him with plastic ties around his spacesuited wrists.

  "Just where the hell did you think you were going, Murrin?" the Bosun asked. "Did you think you'd be safe aboard that shuttle? If so, you were wrong - Fleet security has jurisdiction over every ship or small craft in the system."

  The spacer stood mute, glaring.

  "Nothing to say? OK, if that's the way you want to play it, I'm going to give this package to the First Mate. She'll authorize these security guys to open it and check the contents. If it's something illegal, you know what'll happen next."

  "You can't do this to me!" Murrin's voice was hoarse, almost pleading. "I wouldn't have brought it here at all if we'd made our scheduled planetfalls! It's only 'cause o' that interferin' idjit Maxwell that the skipper heard about this charter, and came here instead! It's not my fault!"

  The Fleet personnel had listened with interest. One commented, "If it's illegal here, spacer, odds are it would have been illegal at the planet where you got it, and probably where you planned to sell it, too. That makes it 'your fault' coming and going, I'd say."

  "You got that right," Cardle confirmed. "Come on, Murrin, the game's up. You know that as well as I do. What is it?"

  The spacer's shoulders slumped. "It's... it's habdab."

  The Bosun's voice went cold. "That's an illegal drug, isn't it?"

  The Fleet security man answered again, his voice also suddenly icy. "It sure is! It's a composite narcotic, methamphetamine mixed with a synthetic drug from Potosi they call 'sucre'. It was named by a doctor, who said it gives addicts the 'screaming habdabs'. It's been in circulation for a couple of years in this Sector."