I nodded. Of course I knew, though this was not the time to discuss my amorous past. My memory was suffering overload from other, more immediate cognitive centers. Dread of the unknown excited the primitive portion of my brain. I smelled fear. No, that sour odor was emanating from the restaurant. Naturally they served food for every species who visited Smithereen, and that included dainties for those who liked their meals less than fresh. One of those had just come out of the preparation area toward a waiting diner. My banquet dinner considered the sudden intrusion of the unpalatable aroma and threatened to depart via the easiest route. I fought it down again. Better to keep my mind focused upon the visual and aural input, absorbing the street scene, observing the escape routes that we had marked out in the architectural rendering—always provided that the shop owners had not done their own unlicensed renovations. I doubted—I hoped none would be found in the restaurant.
Beside me, Plet continued to attempt to summon the station manager, the Wedjet or Parsons. The station manager’s Wichu assistant hung up on us every time we called. So far no wireless transmissions had succeeded in breaking through to Parsons’s viewpad or to the compiler that would take our messages offworld to the ship. We continued receiving the “Your Data is Very Important to Us” recording, the bane of every intelligent being who had ever had the misfortune to fall prey to the inhuman voice mail system galaxywide.
“Your message has been placed in the queue and will be sent with the next possible data packet. Please check your inbox again later for confirmation. Your data is very important to us. Your message . . .”
It’s all on us, I realized, straining to see through the blast-glass of the restaurant’s front wall. We were the only hope to bring these felons in.
“Pawade!” announced a high-pitched voice near my knee.
I jumped. A tot of two or three years of age pointed at me gleefully from the hoverchair that his maternal unit was pushing. I gave him a weak smile.
“Yes, baby, parade,” said his mother, giving a sharp look at my archaic weapons and at the file of mismatched uniforms behind me. “Taking up the whole street. Some people!”
“I beg your pardon, madam,” I said, doffing my hat to her. “A necessary exercise.”
“Hmph!” She marched away. The baby waved at me gleefully.
“There they are,” Filzon whispered, his voice echoing in my earpiece, which had been tuned to the militia’s assigned frequency. As long as we were close together, the signal was stronger than the magnetite’s interference. He grabbed my arm and dragged me close to the open door. He poked a surreptitious finger, and I followed its vector. “There!”
“That is our crew?”
“Yup,” Filzon said. “Every one of them is off that ship that you saw. They paid for their, uh . . .”
“Entertainment?” I supplied.
“Uh, yeah, with a credit chit from the ship. Backed it up with the license from the Holborn Empire, belongs to the Harmony Exchange Foundation. They said. So they don’t know we’re looking for them! What do we do first?” He regarded me with large, hopeful eyes.
I surveyed the crew. Only three of the twenty members of the pirate vessel were human. The rest were Uctu, Croctoid, and one Solinian, a reptilian whose bulk made Croctoids look like geckos, and the gecko-like Uctus like garter snakes. I swallowed hard. But we were now committed to action. I scanned the restaurant. Oatmeal and Son was a very large establishment. The restaurant was approximately two-thirds full. Most of the other patrons were seated as far away from the party from the pirate vessel as possible. As a Wichu slid to a controlled stop beside the Solinian with a platter filled with raw meat, I understood why. The Solinian didn’t wait for it to be lowered before him, but snagged a handful of dripping, red flesh and stuffed it into his clamplike jaws. I gulped.
“Plet,” I said, “please give me the overview of this area. I want to make certain we won’t be surprised from behind.”
With a disapproving sigh, she activated the appropriate section of the map and sent it to all of us. I perused it and nodded thoughtfully.
“This is absurd,” she whispered irritatedly. “Look at the size of them. How can we surround them without putting the other diners at risk? Families are sitting all around them.”
“They are relatively isolated,” I said. “We must move nonchalantly into the establishment, casually surround them and cut off their escape. Then I will inform them that they are under arrest.”
“Are you joking?” she hissed. “How?”
“Subtlety,” I insisted. “We must deploy ourselves subtly. Then, on my signal, we will move in. They don’t appear to be armed.”
Chan nodded. “They have to check their weapons at the port. You guys got a dispensation because you’re Navy.”
“Thank the powers for small favors.” I took a deep breath. “Very well, then. A few at a time, and . . .”
A voice blared out from behind me. “In or out, dammit! You trick-or-treaters can’t clog up the door of this place forever. Move it or lose it!”
I turned to confront the owner of the voice, and found myself facing an enormous, pale-furred Wichu female who towered a good head above me. She was accompanied by a litter of six massive youngsters with variegated fur, one of which was clinging to an exposed fuchsia nipple. “I beg your pardon, madam, but we are contemplating . . .”
“Contemplate on your own time! My kids are hungry! Move it!”
She shoved me through the doors of the restaurant. I stumbled in, tripping over my feet. When I straightened, I realized everyone was looking at me, including my quarry. They had stopped tearing and gulping gobbets of red flesh to stare. I averted my gaze, so as not to tip them off that they were the objects of my desire. Little hope existed that they thought otherwise. We had no choice but to act immediately. I had always heard that no plan survives contact with the enemy, and now I found it was true.
“Fan out and assume stations,” I ordered my troops over the communications link. Chan put both her hands together then outward. Whether or not her militia had drilled such exercises as “Separate into two files in a dining establishment and feign hunger,” they divided into two even packs and moved toward empty tables as though calorie replenishment was the sole reason for their presence. I admit that having two suits of powered armor creak in behind us rather stretched the credibility of the premise.
Plet and the other naval personnel kept right behind me. My heart quailed at confronting the enormous beings, but our duty was clear. Filzon had informed me that the Croctoid with the leathery brown skin in the white shipsuit was the leader. I marched toward him, my hand ready to draw my sidearm. My troops filled in around the party. The pirates could not fail to understand our motive, but remained seated. At my signal, the militia leveled their weapons.
“Captain Growteing?” I stated formally.
“Skreg off,” he said, not bothering to look up. Blood smeared his scaly jaws and clawed handpaws. I had never noticed before how unpleasant the burbling growl of a Croctoid sounded. “I’m eating.”
Undeterred, I continued.
“I am Ensign-Captain Thomas Kinago of the Imperium Navy. Your ship is one of a number that was reported missing and has been involved in acts of piracy. You and your crew are therefore requested to accompany me to a place of inquiry until such time as we can satisfy ourselves to what role you have played in its disappearance and misuse. You will all come with me now to the authorities.”
The humans in the party looked at me, and rose at once from their places, surprised at themselves.
“Satisfy yourself on your own time, softskin,” the captain snarled. He turned his head and glared at his crewmen. They sat down. He turned the evil eye toward my force. A few of them stepped backward, but resumed their stance, looking shamefaced at having retreated even a pace. I did not blame them, but duty called.
“Then I have no choice but to take you into custody,” I said, drawing my sidearm. “Troops! Take them!”
&
nbsp; The Solinian, a brute with shiny gold skin, leaned over and bit the barrel off my antique pistol with an astonishing crunch! I stared at the truncated stock. The Solinian grinned at me.
I gulped but drew my sword. “Surrender now!”
“Or what?” the captain asked.
I felt the ire of my ancestors rising within me at his defiance. I aimed the point of the blade directly at his left eye. “Or we will have to take you by force.”
My troops raised the weapons in their hands. The pirate crew kicked back their chairs and stood up. The banging and sliding noises alerted patrons in the restaurant, who looked up from their consumption of mass quantities and saw us arrayed against one another. Those with shrill voices screamed.
“Move in to capture!” I shouted. My troops moved forward, arms set to stun force.
From hidden pockets, from sleeves, from among the cascading scales on their heads, the pirate crew produced lethal-looking handguns with shortened barrels. Even as my brain bellowed out, “Where did those come from?” the captain snapped a thumb down and disconnected the safety on his. The whine of the power supply rose through levels of sound until my skull sang in harmony. He pointed the weapon toward my head. My heart pounded.
Luckily, Croctoids move more slowly than humans. By the time the barrel reached its target area, my head was no longer in the way. I ducked. The single shot of heated plasma ripped through the air, leaving a singed metallic odor. The restaurant’s patrons grabbed up their children and valuables and made for the front exit, screaming and swearing. They could not all pass through the portal at once. I could hear yells of anger and fear behind me as they shoved and butted one another to get out. I feared smaller civilians would be trampled, but my immediate concern was for my own survival. I chopped at the Croctoid with my sword. The blade knocked his arm upward but failed to draw blood. The captain turned, his reflexes thankfully not as fast as mine, and readied another shot. I danced backwards and tripped over a chair. The light gravity was all that kept me from breaking a rib on a table edge. Hot pellets zinged over my head. The pirates started firing back. Their weapons were set to deliver full force.
“Defend yourselves!” I cried.
My orders were scarcely necessary.
Chan’s people opened up close fire on the Croctoid captain. He staggered, but did not fall. His small, beady eyes glared hate at all of us. He and his people snapped off shots. A drinks machine burst, spraying us all with bright orange fluid. Under its cover, I lunged in, the point of my sword aiming for the tendon in his wrist. He switched hands and blasted at me again. I dodged. My troops flipped up tables and took cover behind them. Beakers and platters crashed to the floor, depositing huge piles of food and lakes of sticky colored liquid. The pirates upended tables for their own defense, though their large bulk left huge expanses of shipsuit and scaly backsides and tails exposed. The only ones who remained within the suddenly cleared area were the pirate captain and myself. We circled one another, one eye on the other’s weapon, one on the mess on the floor.
“Stun the enemy!” I shouted. The militia duly peppered the parts of the pirate crew they could see. The reptilians howled with rage, and returned fire. Sooner or later even their metabolisms would give way under repeated energy rounds. The captain fired at me. I ducked him easily. He roared in fury and came at me, shooting. I danced around him, looking for an opening. My sword was of little use; I could try to engage him in unarmed combat. I eyed him. It would be a challenge. I had the reach, but several times more muscles writhed within that scaly skin than I possessed in mine. I needed to keep away from him. Besides the powerful tail that was a weapon in itself, Croctoids liked to grasp an enemy against their bodies and roll with it upon the floor. Their distant ancestors drowned their prey in that fashion; on dry land, the effect was to crush and disorient. We circled one another as our forces pelted one another with energy charges.
Miraculously, none of the shots hissing through the air touched either of us. The restaurant facilities took the brunt. Images of vegetables and fruit that were affixed about the top edge of the walls fell, blackened and smoking. I felt in my pocket for the handful of plastic restraints the constables among the ad hoc force had handed out. The captain bracketed me with two shots. I dodged both, dreading the third. I’d have to figure out how to secure even one hand.
P-yow!
A blast from one of the enemy Geckos drilled right through a tabletop and severed the spring holding the legs out. Margolies fell under it, clutching his arm and swearing. Behind him, a nanicarriage trapped by the melee swerved this way and that to avoid the hot plasma bursts. The baby inside it started howling angrily.
“You have woken the baby! You inconsiderate biped!” The nanibot raised a laser pistol from its control center and opened fire on us. Its attack distracted the captain. I leaped away from him. The nanibot peppered us all with fire. A blue-skinned Uctu pirate fell, her midsection smoking. Her fellows retaliated, but the nanibot was better armored than they were. It laid down a barrage of covering shots and retreated into the midst of the crowd jamming the doorway. I dove for cover under half a smoldering table. I was in more danger from a non-combatant than I was from the enemy.
The simple capture was not going as I had envisioned it. I was ashamed of myself. I had placed innocent civilians in harm’s way. Kinagos, let alone Loches, must never put those they were sworn to protect under threat! I had to get the pirates out of the restaurant and into a more isolated location. But there were few places in a colony like Smithereen that fulfilled that criterion. And how to move them there?
I had not much time to work out this conundrum. They had already decided on their own to depart from this arena.
“Come on, you salamanders! Together!” the captain bellowed.
Ignoring the barrage of stun charges, the captain and his crew sprang out of their hiding place and rushed toward the jammed entrance. They started throwing humans, Geckos and Wichus right and left as if they were rag dolls. Drawing the antique sword from my belt, I sprang out from my hiding place.
“Smithereen militia, with me!” I cried.
I advanced and executed a handsome ballestra toward the pirate’s back. The point of my sword went through the fabric of his shipsuit, but bounced rather than penetrating the tough hide underneath.
“Ow!” The Croctoid turned on his heel and backhanded me with a whip of his tail. Shocked, I staggered into the arms of Bailly. My ear sang with the blow. I shook my head and assumed an en garde pose. The captain’s little eyes were hot. He leveled his pistol. “You worm!” He peppered the gray composite floor around me with hot blasts. Tiles melted into goo. Bailly and I retreated. Employing my best footwork, I managed to stay out of the line of fire, but I was running out of room. A hot ball of energy erupted near my ear. I smacked out the fire in my hair with my palm and rolled under a nearby table.
In the meanwhile, the militia was pulling pirates out of the crowd and attempting to disarm them. Naturally, the illicit crew was uncooperative. At close quarters, it was more difficult to aim pistols, but each of them possessed physical weaponry that was nearly as formidable. The Solinian dropped to all fours and wrapped itself around Plet’s legs. She fired round after round of stun charges into its knobby head, but it shook them off. At last, she plunged the heels of her hands into its eye sockets. Bellowing, it rolled over, taking her with it into the midst of broken tables and chairs. Was she all right? Fearing for her safety, I crawled toward the spot where they had disappeared, ready to assist, but suddenly she emerged, straightening her hair with one hand, looking as cool as ever. I could have applauded. The Solinian crawled out after her, its hands bound together, looking sheepish. I would put Plet in for a promotion as soon as we were back on board the Wedjet. As soon as it caught me looking, it gnawed the strap off with one bite and spat it at me.
The Croctoids lunged at faces and necks with their sharp, hooked claws raking the air. The Wedjet crew beings were less prepared, but the local mili
tiabeings dove in, proving themselves just as dirty fighters as their opponents. Knees to groins, fingers to eyes, elbows to the side of necks, all connected with thuds and crunches. Margolies clapped her hands over the sensitive ear holes of a Croctoid. It dropped to its knees, bawling. She smacked its jaws shut and wrapped a plastic strap around them. Its beady eyes widened with fury. It tried to gouge her with its claws. She kneed it in the belly and smashed down on its head with her joined fists. I rushed to help.
“Where are the authorities?” I bellowed into my audio pickup, as we each grabbed for a flailing claw.
Juhrman’s dry voice spoke into my ear. “Not interested in a little brawl. They’ll pick up the bodies when it’s all over.”
“What?” I was outraged.
“We can take care of it, sir,” said Hek-et-rahm, one of the local constabulary.
“Confound it, what is it with law enforcement today?” I demanded. “They’d have had me and my cousins in a cell before you can say ‘disturbing the peace’!”
A Gecko threw himself at me, falling over my sword. The captain raised his fist and smashed it toward my face. I leaped to the left. It impacted upon my right shoulder with the force of a flitter banging into a wall. I gasped at the pain.
“Self-correcting,” Chan said. I could hear the shrug in her voice. She backhanded a Croctoid with her stunner. Pointed teeth flew. It shook its head and snapped at her again, having plenty more to spare. “Let the unsavory elements take care of themselves. The people here know better than to hang out in alleys, and the ones who don’t aren’t gonna survive anyway.”
“What now, sir?” Plet’s breathless voice came in my ear as I scrambled to my feet. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her hanging onto the wrist of an Uctu, trying to snap a plastic restraint with the other hand.
The View from the Imperium Page 20
