Junkyard Dogs series Omnibus

by Phillip Nolte

  Hawkins, unharmed by the pulse beam blast by virtue of being inside the heavily armored turret with the added protection of the makeshift protective coating the defenders had applied, urgently made his way out through the damaged part of the ship to check on Harris. The Rover I had gone completely dead, all of the electronics most likely fried to a crisp by the pulse beam impact. Harris remained tethered to the sled, floating upside down near the control console, but he was not responding to calls on the suit radio and did not appear to be moving. Hawkins shined his suit lights though the face plate on Harris's helmet and, to his immense relief, thought he could detect breathing.

  Carlisle arrived a minute or so later and helped him move the immobile form of their companion over to the Rover II. She deftly maneuvered the Rover II over near the airlock door and waited, her heart in her throat, while Hawkins unhooked the cable that had connected the old ship to the Rover I and connected a similar cable from the Rover II.

  "This sled ain't quite so powerful as the other one," he said as he went about making the connections, "but it be enough to run life support, for a while at least."

  The airlock cycled and, as soon as the pressure equalized, they maneuvered Harris in the bulky armor into the service room. They removed Harris' helmet and went about the process of getting him out of the heavy suit. He groaned weakly and his eyes fluttered open as he regained consciousness while they were completing the process. Carlisle, beside herself with relief, hugged him tightly. In response, Harris closed his eyes again.

  "Careful, Lass, you don't want t' be smotherin' him!"

  She relaxed her embrace.

  "What? No, Hawk, don't stop her," Harris joked weakly, "Ensign, I order you to continue what you were doing!"

  She smiled down at him, but did not resume any further attempt to smother him.

  "What happened?" asked Harris, beginning to gain some strength, "I saw the bow of the enemy ship coming toward us and then...nothing."

  "We were takin' a pulse bolt, Lieutenant. I'd nay believe it if I had na' seen it for myself; that reaction fluid we gooped on be stoppin' it."

  "That was one of the most amazing things I've ever seen," said Carlisle.

  "And then what?"

  "We got the bastard, Lieutenant. Our last shot be goin' right down his throat. Must've hit him all but perfect. The ship just...disappeared."

  Harris remembered more as his recovery continued.

  "There was a guy in battle armor...Tamara? That trick with the booster..." He shook his head appreciatively, and then frowned. "No, that's not quite right... there were two of them. What about the other guy?"

  "He made the mistake of coming into the cargo bay after me."

  "He came after you? Into the cargo bay? In battle armor? What did you do?"

  "Don't forget I have my own battle armor. I took his pulse rifle away from him and shot him with it," she said matter-of-factly.

  "Remind me not to get on your bad side! We'll want to hear all about it."

  They swapped stories and congratulated one another for the better part of half an hour before one of them remembered their prisoner. Hawkins retrieved him from confinement.

  Caleb Jordan wasn't nearly as happy as they were about the destruction of the second ship. The last he knew, his wife had been on that ship. Not knowing what else to do, they restrained him over on the starboard side of the bridge. With their permission he took a tattered pocket Bible from somewhere out of his coverall and consoled himself by reading various passages from it and praying softly. Sometimes he would weep silently for a few minutes before going back to his reading.

  Carlisle busied herself going through the ship's computer and copying all of the Terrier's log files. With the Meridian Ambassador's ship due anytime, Harris made frequent checks through the bridge periscope in the direction of the system's Whitney jump point.

  Chapter 53

  New Ceylon Orbital Station, spoke one stairwell, October 9, 2598.

  Oskar Kresge waited for the full half hour and a little more before the expected message from the terrorist leader came through on the captured communicator.

  "This is Ezra Hellfire Brimstone calling for Commander Kresge. Are you there, Commander?"

  Kresge kept the man waiting for about twenty seconds.

  Try to remain calm and don't lose your temper, he told himself.

  "Kresge here, what do you want?"

  "You are to be commended for the competency of your counterattack, Commander. Too bad it wasn't quite good enough."

  "We'll see. I'm not done yet."

  "Actually, Commander, you are done. You see, not only do I have the Governor and his family, I have another even more persuasive reason for you to leave us in peace."

  "And what might that be?"

  "I'll get to that in a minute, Commander, first I wish to discuss my demands."

  "I'll discuss them with you, but I won't guarantee that anything will come of it."

  "You haven't heard me out yet."

  "Alright, what do you want?"

  "I wish to speak to the Meridian Ambassador as soon as you make contact with him."

  "That would be a pretty good trick, since you and your hooligans destroyed all the communications equipment!"

  "A detail, Commander, surely a diverse group such as yours has someone with the expertise to restore communications?"

  "I'll admit that we're working on it."

  "Good, Commander. I'll also need a hyper-capable ship with a month's provisions."

  "Why should I listen to anything you have to say?" said Kresge, allowing a little of his frustration to surface. "You hit the Reclamation Center with a sneak attack and followed that up with a similarly despicable attack here. I don't know how many of my friends and neighbors you've killed, but it's way too many."

  "Cooperate, Commander, or I guarantee that there will be even more."

  "How do you figure that?"

  Brimstone hesitated for effect before making his next announcement.

  "Because I planted a nuclear explosive device on this station. I will detonate it if my demands aren't met."

  Kresge was silent, dumbfounded, for a very long moment.

  "You're bluffing!" he finally replied.

  "Perhaps, Commander, but do you really want to find out the hard way?"

  Chapter 54

  UTFN Reclamation Center, on board the wreck of FNS Terrier, October 9, 2598.

  The three Scrapyard survivors, still adjusting to the incalculable feeling of relief from the knowledge that they were no longer waiting for an attack to come, went about the business of preparing for the arrival of the Meridian Ambassador's ship into the New Ceylon system. Hawkins checked the jury-rigged Stage I communications console and found that it still operated properly. The console had been powered down when the Terrier had been hit by the pulse beam, so it shouldn't have taken any damage, but the crew was still greatly relieved to discover that the transmitter still worked. The power capabilities of the Rover II were up to the job, but just barely. The survivors would have to temporarily shut down life support while they powered up the console. They couldn't have both.

  Each of them made an attempt to console their prisoner, but they didn't know him very well and, if he was telling the truth, he had suffered a devastating loss -- at their hands -- and would be a long time recovering. The trio continued to keep watch through the Terrier's periscope in the direction of the Whitney Hyperlink point for the arrival of the Ambassador's ship. After a vigil that spanned several hours, Harris saw the flash of a ship coming out of Whitney transfer. After waiting a few minutes for the ship's personnel to recover from the shift out of hyper, he attempted contact.

  "This is Lieutenant Ryan Harris of the Federation Navy at the United Terran Federation Naval Reclamation Center calling the Meridian ambassador. This is an emergency." He repeated the message several times before a reply came.

  "This is Captain Nassar of the Meridian Imperial Ship Istanbul. What is your emergency?
"

  "We have fought off two attacks by armed cargo vessels manned by radicals from the Veritian Brotherhood. The main and auxiliary stations here in the Reclamation Center have been destroyed with heavy loss of life. Three of us are surviving on two decks of an old warship that we managed to pressurize. The Federation destroyer Boise, which was stationed near the planet, was destroyed in a similar sneak attack and we have reason to believe that the orbital station is in the hands of the Veritian Brotherhood."

  "The Veritian Brotherhood? Those jackals? How do you know?"

  "We captured an attacker after we destroyed one of their vessels."

  "You destroyed one of their vessels, how?"

  "Actually we destroyed both of them, but it's a long story, and I'll be glad to give you all the details when we have our situation stabilized. Our prisoner told us that they were plotting to capture the Ambassador. The details are unclear beyond that, except that a public execution was involved. We don't know for sure what their motives are, but they certainly want to disrupt your diplomatic mission. Maybe they even want to start a new war."

  "Naturally I will have to check your story."

  "We expected you would. In the meantime, do you have Stage II Whitney communications capability?"

  "This is a diplomatic ship of the Imperial government of Meridian, of course we have Stage II communications."

  "Could you please contact the Federation authorities at the Santana Nexus and have them send help? If I were you, I wouldn't go anywhere near the planet or the orbital station without a cruiser squadron, at least. We may have neutralized the threat somewhat, but we cannot know for certain whether or not these radicals have something else planned."

  "It will be our pleasure. I also agree that caution is justified. Do you request assistance, Lieutenant?"

  "Yes, thank you for asking. Our situation is far from stable. We're holding out in the wreck of an old destroyer. We powered up the emergency life support module with the power plant on one of our utility sleds. Unfortunately, our most powerful sled was damaged in the battle with the second ship and we are making do with the only other one we have left. To be truthful, we don't know how much longer our makeshift repairs are going to last. If you could come and pick us up, we would be much obliged."

  "Just a moment, Lieutenant." The moment stretched out to a half hour before Captain Nassar came back on. "Lieutenant Harris?"

  "Harris here."

  "Ah, yes... We were unable to make contact with anyone on the orbital station. Per your request, we contacted the Federation authorities on the Santana Nexus and they said they will have a contingent here within thirty-six hours. In the meantime we would be honored to assist you. How shall we find you?"

  "I wouldn't approach the Reclamation Center very closely with your ship, there are a lot of constructs and other junk that aren't where they're supposed be after all the activity of the last few days. You must have a cutter or something smaller on board."

  "That we do."

  "Let's just stay in contact. When you get close enough for a rendezvous we'll come out to meet you with our remaining sled. For the sake of safety I'd say twenty kilometers or so outside of the scrap cloud should give us a decent margin. There are four of us, three Federation Navy personnel and one prisoner."

  "That will work on our end, Lieutenant."

  "We'll look for your turnover signature and begin heading out when we see it."

  In preparation for the rendezvous, the survivors packed up their meager supply of items. After an hour had passed, Harris again went to checking the periscope every ten minutes or so. The jump point was only a few hours away, unlike the far more distant planet, so the wait wasn't going to be all that long, fortunately. Carlisle checked one more time to make sure she had all of the information from the ship's log downloaded to her wrist computer. After that she made another attempt to comfort their obviously grieving prisoner. She crossed the bridge to the spot where they had him secured. Jordan looked up from his Bible at her with sorrowful eyes.

  "Can I get you anything?" she asked.

  "Actually, some water would be nice, Ensign."

  Carlisle got a water tube and handed it to him. While he drank, she questioned him gently.

  "So you were in the Federation Navy?" she asked.

  His look remained one of misery, but he responded politely.

  "Yes, I was a gunnery engineer for a six-year stint."

  "When was that?"

  "I got out about fifteen years ago."

  "So what do you do now?"

  "I'm...," he said, hesitating for a moment before continuing, "...I was...a farmer on Heard's World. We grow grain and potatoes and grapes and I have a few cattle. It's a good life really..." He broke off.

  "I'm...I'm sorry about your wife, Caleb."

  Again he looked at her with those sorrowful eyes.

  "I don't blame you folks," he said. "You only did what you had to. We were lied to by a very wicked man. If there is anything I can do to help you...to make up for our terrible mistake, in God's name, I'll do it!"

  "Thanks, Caleb, we'll keep it in mind. Let us know if you need anything."

  "I...I thank you for your kindness, Ensign." The look he gave her was sincere. She left him to his reading

  ***

  The drive signature from the Istanbul's cutter indicating that the little Meridian ship had reached turnover appeared two hours after first contact. The Scrapyard defenders gently lashed their prisoner, back in his oversized set of battle armor, to the railing of the sled. With some regret, Hawkins disconnected the cable that had powered the faithful old Terrier, leaving her a dead hulk once more. Hawkins patted the side of the old ship affectionately just before they pulled away. Conversation was limited as they maneuvered their way out of the scrapyard.

  The prisoner seemed to withdraw further into himself. There certainly wasn't much for him to look forward to. His wife was probably dead and he was heading for a face-to-face meeting with the very same Ambassador that his terrorist companions had been attempting to kidnap. At the very least, he was looking at a long prison sentence or a mindwipe. Of course, there was always the possibility that the Federation would just decide to hand him over to the Meridian authorities.

  ***

  The Reclamation Rover II made rendezvous with the cutter from the Istanbul an hour and a half later.

  Chapter 55

  New Ceylon Orbital Station, Central Spindle, October 9, 2598.

  Peter Larkin finished killing off the last of the invading mutant carnivores on the forty-fourth level of "Mutant Carnivore Invaders" on his second time through the game. Sitting next to him, his younger sister Martha watched the high-resolution holographic display gleefully, her body shifting left and right in her efforts to help him avoid the attacks of the enemies and guide his shots to their targets. Her older brother was her unvarnished hero and the things he could do in the video games were a never-ending source of entertainment, and wonder, for her.

  Things had settled down a little since the hectic activities of "the move" as Peter thought of it. Everything had happened so fast, people running everywhere, lots of noise and excitement, gunshots, men in battle armor and then the long climb up the stairs to the spindle where there was no simulated gravity. Weightlessness was like second nature to the youngsters, they were eager participants in weightless physical education classes several times a week. Peter felt sorry for his mother, Valerie. She never had done well under zero gravity. She was having a hard time keeping anything down and had all but given up on eating anything for the time being. The "mutant invaders" as Peter had taken to calling their captors, were mostly keeping the adults separate from the children. Even though they pretty much left him and his sister alone, the terrorists were not very nice people and the leader, Ezra, was downright scary.

  Their battle armor sure was cool though.

  From Peter's perspective, his new game was great, but he had figured out how to battle the bad guys pretty early on an
d the novelty was beginning to wear off. The wrist computer he was using to play the game, however, was an entirely different matter. In his mind, the computer was the real prize. Time to try something else. He saved the game at the beginning of the forty-fifth level and went on to investigate some of the other awesome things that the super cool wrist computer could do.

  Peter went to the main menu of the computer interface and began to look over some of the features that he hadn't tried yet. There was nothing under "Contacts" or "Schedule" or "To Do" or any of another ten or fifteen different categories on the menu. Peter knew that these categories represented grown-up stuff that meant you had to put information into them before you could use them. Maybe he'd do that later. He selected another category that he hadn't tried yet, something called "HWCN."

  That got results. The computer immediately displayed a message:

  "Hello, Peter Larkin. Welcome to the Hartwell Wrist Comp Network. No other users are currently in range. Do you wish to be informed if this status changes?"

  Peter eagerly selected "yes." He then tried a couple of other categories, but gave up when he didn't find anything all that interesting and decided that he might as well take a break from the computer. At least for a while. He carefully removed the instrument from his wrist. Martha looked at him with expectant eyes.

  "Okay, you can play for a while," he said quietly. "Just be really careful, okay?"

  Martha eagerly held out her left arm and he slipped the device up around her tiny forearm. The automatic tensioning systems gently but firmly clamped the ultrasophisticated computer in place. The computer recognized the new user immediately.

  "Hello, Martha Larkin. Would you like to resume your game of Mutant Carnivore Invaders?"

  "Yes," she said out loud. The game booted back up in less than a second and she resumed playing at level three, hoping she would get all the mutants this time around and advance to level four. Her tongue curled up at the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on attacking the big, slow moving mutants and dodging their deliberate but deadly counterattacks.