"Fixed! It's stuck on the front of that ship in a fixed frame. Or installed fixed inside. Dumb thing can't move, SPACE COPS 161
otherwise we'd be all over this part of space at the moment," Joss said, and chuckled a bit. It was not Joss's usual chuckle. It made Evan look hard at his partner, and shudder a little. "They can only fire straight forward."
"Whereas we, of course—"
"You watch," Joss said, hands dancing over his console.
"The best part is, he can't run."
"Can't he?"
"Not as fast as we can. Come on, Nosey honey," Joss said, "come on. . . ."
The ship began to vibrate. "Good thing Mell found what she did," Joss said conversationally. "Just about now, we'd be pretty dead. Either here, or further back, before we got here. We must be getting close to what's going on, Evan, my lad, because somebody's getting pretty eager to kill us."
"There must be another way to find out you're right," Evan said, still fumbling for the straps as Joss tossed them in another strange and unexpected direction.
"Probably," Joss said, grinning, "but would it be this much fun?" He started to hum something Evan couldn't identify.
"Na na na na na na na na naaaaa ..."
The man's lost it, Evan thought. "Should I recognize that?" he asked, trying to sound conversational.
"Probably not," Joss said, very cheerfully. "It's what you sing when you're driving your go-cart down Dead Man's Hill, and the wheels are threatening to come off. Na na na na na na na na naaaaaa ..."
Joss went off into a rather truncated version of the William Tell Overture. Evan breathed out. If it works for him as well as praying does for me, he thought, / shouldn 't complain. . . .
The ship shuddered again as the iondrivers rattled more emphatically in their mounts. "All right," Joss said softly, "all right, you poor son of a bitch. Now, then." The ship shook again, but in a different way this time, as if something had kicked it in the side, hard.
162 SPACE COPS
"Missile away," Joss said. "Five seconds."
He flung the ship in yet another direction. More blue fire went by the front plex, again so close that the braiding of the tuned lasers was clearly visible. It's actually very pretty, Evan thought—and abruptly, the beam cut off.
Joss crowed with delight. "That's his power plant," he cried. "Perfect surgical strike. Now let's see what happens."
The whine of Nosey's engines' began to back down a bit. "Unidentified vessel," Joss said again to the comm, as he turned the ship, "prepare to be boarded. Any further fire will result in punitive action."
Evan looked at Joss, a little concerned. "You wouldn't blow them up, would you?"
"Would you prefer spanking?" Joss asked, and then laughed. "Of course not, you asshole. I like a good fight, but these people are evidence, whoever they are—"
A blinding flash lit up the plex. It was autopolarizing, but even so, both of them had to turn their heads away. Only a moment later they found themselves looking at a blooming, burning cloud.
"Shit on a shingle," Joss said, glancing at his console. "Dirty. They were carrying atomics, too. But at least I didn't do it. They would have gone up right away."
"How's our shielding?" Evan asked.
"Oh, we can take it. But goddam it," Joss said as he looked at the comms board again, and his face fell, "that last shot of his got the relay. Damn, damn, damn!"
"Did you get anything from it at all?"
"Not a syllable. Oh, damn it to eff all!"
Evan sat there shaking his head for a moment. "Well," he said finally, "one thing we can be sure of, now. We have definitely been heading in the right direction."
"Yes," Joss said. "But dammit all, do you know how much that cable cost me?"
To this, Evan could think of no reply.
"Oh, well," Joss said after a few moments, "let's get SPACE COPS 163
home. I want to file a report. And then I want to think. And then I want to ask some questions."
"Such as?"
"Such as who knew we were coming out here," Joss said. "I didn't tell Cecile."
"Well, obviously George knew."
"Yes, and he bugged out right and proper, didn't he?" Joss said, sitting back in his chair.
Evan was outraged. "You told him to!"
"He didn't fire a shot to help us, Evan. When we get back, I'd better find that that boy didn't even have a peashooter on board, or I'm going to start carrying on cranky. And who else knew?"
Evan looked at Joss uneasily. "Well, Mell, of course—"
"Of course."
"Joss, are you out of your mind? What are you suggesting?"
"That somebody at the station," Joss said, "is feeding somebody out this-a-way information about where we're going to be. Evan, we weren't here five minutes before that ex-bozo showed up. Doesn't that evidence suggest something to you?"
Evan sat still and held onto his temper for a moment. "It does," he said finally, and very quietly, "but the evidence is circumstantial at best. And you know it."
Joss knew that tone of voice by now, and held his own peace for a moment. "All right," he said. "But Evan, it needs to be looked at nonetheless. You had better ask your lady friend a question or three."
Evan held still again, and then said, "I think that might be inappropriate, under the circumstances. Don't you? If you want to ask her something, do it yourself, Officer."
Joss was quiet for a couple of breaths. "I will," he said. "But it can wait a little while. First of all, let's get back to Willans and make sure that this little shakedown hasn't done more than shake us up."
164 SPACE COPS
IT WAS A LONG QUIET TRANSIT BACK TO THE
station, and neither man seemed especially willing to say anything to the other. The tension on board ship was unusual, and because of that, uncomfortable. It was Joss who finally broke the silence.
"You're coming with me," he said quietly, not giving orders, not even making a request. Just assuming that his buddy would do it without needing any more elaborate explanation. He was wrong.
"To where?" said Evan. There was something about the way he spoke, and the way he stared at Joss when he said the words so carefully, that had a challenge and a defiance in it. He knew where, and why, and to whom they were going, and he seemed to be waiting for Joss to come right out and say it.
"Mell's place." Joss tapped a few keys on the nearest console as if it were more something for him to do than anything relating to piloting the ship. He looked Evan straight in the eyes. "Because I want to be absolutely sure about your lady friend, and just right now, I'm not."
Evan felt himself expanding inwardly, the rush of blood or adrenaline or inhaled air that usually meant trouble for someone. The suit hid it, and he controlled the expression on his face, so that the only thing Joss might have noticed out of place was a slight hesitation in his partner's flow of speech. Then Evan, voice completely steady, said, "What's the point in that?"
"Come on, Officer Glyndower," and Joss said it right, glinn-doo 'wer, instead of his usual mangled mispronunciations,
"we've just been shot at by a ship whose crew can't answer questions, a ship that had no business being where we were, a ship that had double no business carrying that sort of weaponry. I think that since we've few enough suspects who might know the who and the where and the why, we should start with the one who's been closest to us both."
SPACE COPS 165
"I resent that, O'Bannion," said Evan. He did, too, really and truly, rather than the slight, easily controlled outrage that would have been more usual hi any of the several other circumstances. Maybe because, in those other circumstances, he could have been sure of his position as defendant. This time Evan wasn't sure at all. Maybe that was why he resented it so much, taking refuge in formal names and stiff-necked annoyance rather than letting Joss have his say.
And maybe both of them saw it in time.
Either way, Joss and Evan saw where the dialogue was headed, and both of them stopped
talking in the same moment.
The sudden quiet sounded even sillier than the slow, polite rising of voices, so that both men looked at one another, uncertain of how the next word or breath was likely to be received.
"Okay," said Evan. "The point to you, then. Did we take any damage that you can see, by the way?"
Joss shook his head. "No, but the diagnostics aren't equipped to assess the kind of damage I'm worried about. Do you have any idea how hot that damn braided beam is?"
"Hot enough to blister my ass, at least," he said.
Joss snorted. "I measured it at five hundred thousand C, or thereabouts. Trouble was, the hull sensors aren't built to handle that kind of thing. The estimate might have been low."
"Low," Evan breathed. Diw. . . . "That's hotter than the inside of most stars," he said.
"Just about all of them," said Joss. "The slightest contact would have boiled our hull off. Vacuum is a pretty effective insulator, but don't ever let one of those things touch you. It doesn't require anything like a direct hit, on man or vessel."
Evan shook his head. "How are they doing that?"
"Pocket fusion, probably," Joss said. "But that's technology for you. Wouldn't the Space Forces just love those?"
166 SPACE COPS
"Not sure the Government would let them have them," Evan said softly. "Might give them ideas, might it not?"
"Somebody has ideas already. Evan, who are these people?"
Evan shook his head.
"It's not drugs," Joss said. "No one out here has the kind of money to attract the drag trade. What other kind of people have enough money to buy weapons like that? And how many other ships equipped like that are running around out here?"
Evan looked at Joss and thought for a moment. "One might make inquiries," he said, "through the SP, to see which of the big companies have sold weapons of this sort to whom recently."
Joss sighed. "They'll fight it," he said. "Dammit, most of them are based on Earth, out of our jurisdiction, and SP
subpoena powers won't work."
"They have offices," Evan said, his eyes glinting, "on the Moon. They might have copies in their computers of some of the records. Joss, we have to start somewhere-assuming that other methods of inquiry," and he frowned at Joss,
"don't pan out."
Joss frowned back for a second. Then his expression lightened. "It'd given Lucretia something to do besides complain about our expense account, wouldn't it?"
Evan was stricken at the thought that he hadn't even looked at his data pad for a couple of days now. He sat there in shock. Can he be right? he thought. And is she affecting my ability to function?
And oh, good God, how can I function without her?
"There's this, too," Joss said. "Even if the weapons manufacturers on the Moon have the records we're after, you know perfectly well that the end-use certificates will have been tampered with. We won't be left with any clear idea of who the braided lasers were really sold to, or where they went. They'll certainly have covered their tracks that well."
SPACE COPS 167
"But it will be a start," Evan said. "All we know at the moment is that someone out this way is doing something clandestine—and expensive, to judge by the presence of the weapon, if nothing else. And what do they want with weapons like that? What are they planning?"
Joss tapped briefly at the command console as a light came on indicating the Willans approach beacon. "And we can't drag our feet about this, either," Joss said as he worked. "They've run across us, now, getting close to whatever they're doing out there. Someone will try to cover it up."
"Or cover us up," Evan said, "six feet deep or so."
Joss nodded. "The sooner the better," he said. "Willans approach control, this is SP vessel Nosey. Is the airlock clear?"
"All clear, Mister Sop Honey," Cecile said. "Come on in."
"Cecile, do you ever sleep?" Joss said.
"Depends on who asks me." .
"Later, Cecile. We've got fish to fry. Is George back in?"
"Yup. Came in in a bit of a hurry."
"I just bet he did," Joss said, keeping his tone light; but Evan could see his face, and wasn't sure the tone would stay light when Joss found George. "Okay. Call Noel, will you, and tell him we need to see him in his office in ten minutes?''
"No sooner said than done. Willans out."
THEY FOUND HIM IN HIS OFFICE, ON TIME, AND
looking agitated. This suited Evan well enough for the time being; he was feeling rather agitated himself.
"Are you two all right?" Noel demanded, leaving off sorting through yet another pile of paper, and hurrying over to them. "George was just in here in kind of a state."
168 SPACE COPS
"I don't doubt it," Joss said, "since somebody with a nuclear laser just tried to put salt on his tail. And ours."
"A what??"
Joss told him. Noel sank down to sit on one of the piles of paper on his desk, and never even noticed.
"My God," he said, "Joss, you do know that his ship isn't armed?"
"I was hoping so. Never mind that, then. But Noel, someone on this station is feeding information to the people who have been causing your disappearances."
"What?"
"I have been collecting radar signatures of the ships that went missing," Joss said. "Your approach control has them on file in the computers as part of the docking management and recognition systems. The ship that attacked us exactly matches the radar signature of one of the ships that was reported missing a month and a half ago, and is not in your salvage pile. At least, to the best of my knowledge. I want that pile torn apart, Noel, so that I can go through my little list and cross off ships I know I don't have to worry about. Because apparently others of them are going to turn up to haunt us."
Noel nodded. "Right away."
"This evening at the latest. And there's the matter of finding out just who here is passing out information to the people who were shooting at us. And how they're doing it. And if possible, why. And there's someone I want to find." He described the skinny, scarred man who had been tampering with the ship that morning. "This is the lad who tried to do me in the other day in the salvage pile. He has about five friends who very conveniently helped him get away from me. They were organized. The sabotage was planned, and well planned. What they did to our ship, or would have done, would have killed us very dead. And doubtless solved all their problems for the moment. But I like being a problem.'' Joss grinned in a manner that suggested to Evan that he was getting ready to be more of one, somewhere else.
"Anyway, I want that man found and arrested. Pass the word around that there's a five thou-SPACE COPS 169
sand credit reward from the SP, payable immediately." Joss smiled slightly, as Evan inwardly cringed at the thought of what Lucretia was likely to say. Noel's eyes bugged a little. "Five thousand?" "I should think that would provoke some action," Evan said, "and action would seem to be something we need." "Right," Joss said. "Oh, and a one thousand credit bonus if the perp is brought in before eighteen hundred tonight. We may not be here when he's brought in, but we'll get to him as soon as we can. You work on him and soften him up in the meantime. Let him know that we're considering extended law in his case." Evan glanced up in approval. "Extended law" meant that a sop was ready to serve as judge, jury, and executioner to prevent a loss of order in a jurisdictional area. It was not invoked too often, but once an SP court had confirmed the correctness of the action, no other court had any power of appeal against what had been done. "Let's see; what else?" He thought for a moment. "That should do it for a moment. One thing, though, Noel—" "Anything."
"Why the hell are all the golf carts painted pink?" Noel stared at him for a moment, then laughed. "Oh! It's tradition.
Willans is a Swiss name, it turns out. The founding family came from Basel. In Basel City, they used to have a stock of city bicycles. Anybody could use them. If you needed to ride somewhere, you picked up a bike from one of several depots, or j
ust off the street, wherever you liked. When you were done with it, you left it for someone else to take.
They were all painted pink. When the Willanses came here, they did the same thing with the carts, that's all."
Joss shook his head. "All right," he said. "Evan?" "I think we need to go ask some people some questions," Evan said to Noel. "If you should chance to see Mell Fontenay, I'd appreciate it if you'd tell her we're looking for her." "Will do,"
Noel said.
170 SPACE COPS
EVAN LED THE WAY. HE KNEW IT WELL ENOUGH
by now, the twisty path through the corridors into the Old Town, where the ceilings grew lower, and the walls closer together, and the air got cool as the path sloped downward, letting them know they were tunneling into the rock. It was actually a very small area, relatively speaking, not more than half a mile across or so, but the tunnels twisted and curved, servicing the places where natural pockets in the stone had made it easy to cut cubic out of them.
"Down there," Evan said, "around the corner."
Joss nodded, his face expressionless. They came to Mell's door, an old-fashioned one, with a knob and a metal lock. Evan lifted his hand to knock.
Needlessly; the door was open.
"Mell?" Evan said, and looked in.
"Where is she?" someone screamed from inside, and a body hurtled out the door and hit Evan about chest-high. Normally he would have gone right over, but at the moment he was still wearing his suit—
community relations be damned, he had thought on getting out of the ship— and with the bracing from the built-in servos, the effect was rather the same as if George had jumped straight at a brick wall. For it was George. He bounced, stood there staggered for a moment, and then jumped at Evan again.
This time Evan caught him, as gently as possible, and held him away. George struggled in his grip, but it was of course completely useless. "Damn it all," George shouted, "this is your fault! Where is she?"
Evan shook George, not hard, then put him down hurriedly; there was something embarrassing about holding so strong and angry a man helpless, like a child. "Hush now, George," he said. "We don't know where she is, either. We were just coming to look for her. What's happened here?"
Kill Station Page 17
