by M S Murdock
Huer’s computer-generated cheeks blushed. He blipped off Buck’s face screen to, Buck presumed, the Free Enterprise. Buck slowed his fighter as he approached the bay doors, flew through them, and landed in one of hundreds of empty stalls. Wilma and Washington berthed near him a few seconds later. The Free Enterprise, too large to fit in the bay, parked outside the station and jettisoned a shuttle. The craft flew into the bay and landed meters from the other ships. From the shuttle emerged a large, space-suit-clad figure, followed by two smaller ones. They rocketed from the shuttle, straight to an emergency bay door locking mechanism, and the large figure punched a button. The doors immediately closed, and oxygen flooded the bay.
“Thanks, Barney,” said Buck, as he, Wilma, and Washington finally opened their fighter cockpits.
“Any time,” came the rumbling reply. Barney and crew removed their helmets and disposed of them on the docking bay floor.
“Speaking of time,” said Wilma hurriedly, “we’ve got four minutes!” She had synchronized her wristchrono when Huer first announced the self-destruct mechanism.
“Spread out. Huer said the command center should be close. First one to find it gets a prize,” said Buck as he ran down a main corridor. Like his companions, he held a laser gun in one hand. With the other he pulled his Colt .45 from its holster for added insurance.
OOOOO
As Kane and his mercenaries flew slowly toward Mars, he opened a channel to Warhead International, then scrambled it. “This is Killer Kane. Request permission to speak with Harper Marcheson. Urgent.”
The line clicked in before Kane had finished speaking. “Marcheson here. What is it, Kane?”
“I’m afraid I wasn’t able to deliver your fighters Marcheson”
“What? I trusted you,” Marcheson snapped angrily. “Trust is a dangerous thing sometimes. However, in this instance I did not betray yours I suggest you scramble this communication at your end, and make sure you take it privately?”
Marcheson was angry, but he was no fool. Kane s request meant there had been trouble, and he obliged at once, shoeing two technicians from the room and closing the door. He coded the scramble from his end. The transmission was as tamperproof as twenty-fifth century technology could make it. “All right, Kane,” ”said Marcheson, “let’s have it.”
“I’m sorry to say we couldn’t deliver your vessels to Hauberk station. In a matter of moments, Hauberk station will no longer exist.”
“What? I knew RAM Central was in an uproar over Hauberk--there were rumors that its communications system had failed-but destroyed?”
Kane laughed coldly. “The communications system did fail--and the station is about to blow up.”
“Kane, this is top priority. I’m going to have to get RAM in on this.”
“That’s what I figured.”
“I want no communications, except between you and me.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve already sealed the children’s lips.”
Marcheson cut his line into RAM Central, and Kane waited patiently while the chairman of Warhead’s board of directors checked in with RAM’s patriarch, Simund Holzerhein.dos.
“What’s this about Hauberk being destroyed? Poppycock!” roared a deep, rumbling voice.
“Please identify yourself,” said Kane, deriving considerable pleasure from forcing RAM’s chairman to stick to radio procedure.
“This is Holzerhein! I want to know why you would say Hauberk is destroyed. A minor communications problem; and you’ve got rumors spreading across the solar system. Speak up!”
“This is Cornelius Kane. I say Hauberk will be destroyed in seconds, because I saw it coming to pieces.”
“Poppycock!” The downloaded personality seemed to have a limited vocabulary on this day. “You’re lying.”
“Why would I?” asked Kane.
Holzerhein erupted at Kane’s reply. “Because you frittered around and let some skirmish put you off delivering those spacecraft! I know your kind!”
“On the contrary, sir,” said Kane, his tone becoming deliberately more civil as Holzerhein fumed. Obviously Holzerhein had achieved his position through bullying and longevity. It certainly was not due to tact. “I have just spent an unproductive day trying to save Hauberk for the company, and this is the thanks I get!”
“Kane,” interposed Marcheson, his words carefully neutral. “Why don’t you tell us what happened?”
“That was my original intention when I contacted you, sir. When we approached Hauberk station, it was under attack by NEO. . . .” Kane described everything that had occurred-putting himself in as good a light as possible.
When he had finished, Kane said, “Now that we are all agreed on the status of Hauberk, I would like instructions.”
“All right. This is security one. You are to proceed directly to Warhead for debriefing,” Holzerhein said.
“Uh-uh. I do not plan to be jailed for trying to protect your precious space station.” Kane knew how RAM executives worked.
“Kane,” Holzerhein said, “we can’t have this thing out as a NEO victory. We have to turn disaster to our advantage. RAM cannot have you and how many other mercenaries?”
"Fifteen.”
“--fifteen other mercenaries running around loose. You are much too dangerous. We need twenty-four hours. Then you are free to go.”
“I am free to go now. All I have to do is turn this ship around.”
“You do that and you’ll never work for a RAM subsidiary again.”
Kane laughed shortly. “I’ve been there before. Don’t try to frighten me.”
“Kane, the security of the company is at stake.”
“My security-and my credibility with men I may have to use again-is at stake.”
“Kane, you must bring these ships in.”
Kane was silent, letting Holzerhein stew. “All right,” he said at last, “on one condition.”
“Name it.”
The relief in Holzerhein’s voice amused Kane. “I would have made a fat profit from this deal if it hadn’t gone sour. Pay that, match it, and I’ll come in.”
“That’s almost a million dolas, Kane!” said Marcheson.
“This is no time to quibble over money, Marcheson. We’ll pay. Come in.”
“I’m supposed to take this on faith?” Kane asked.
Marcheson growled, but Holzerhein reached long electrical fingers through the lines to the nearest computer terminal and began accessing accounts. “I have just issued a cashier’s draft in the name of RAM Central to you. It is signed. Marcheson, verify this."
Marcheson went to a different terminal, accessed the files, and said, “He is telling the truth.”
Kane sighed. He knew they both could be lying, but he was tired. In the end, it would pay for RAM to keep him on, and he knew it. “I copy. Estimated time of arrival at Warhead space dock in two hundred five minutes.”
“We’ll be there to meet you.”
“With bells on, I’m sure,” muttered Kane under his breath.
“What?”
“I said, I’ll be there.”
Kane signed off and began to coast into the homestretch.
OOOOO
Buck was the first to find Hauberk’s command center. He had noticed that only the most important looking rooms had pressure seals on them. They led straight to his goal. “Here!” he called, alerting his friends to the fact. Reminding himself that time was of the essence, he burst into the room alone.
He saw, lounging in a chair on one side of the room and surrounded by half a dozen RAM loyalists, the gangly form of a Martian RAM director.
“Welcome. Captain Rogers, is it? Welcome to Armageddon. I am Seaforian, director of this station. I do hope you’ll stay awhile.” Seaforian laughed suddenly, a rising, bubbly tone that must have begun at his toes. The hair on Buck’s neck began to rise.
Through the doorway behind Buck came the rest of his party. They all stopped abruptly as the RAM loyalists all raised lasers and Buck he
ld out his arm.
“Oh, good. We’ve even more guests. All the better for a party, wouldn’t you say so, Captain?”
“We’ll have a party, all right, Seaforian, but you won’t be invited.” Buck was about to continue when Wilma prodded him from the back and whispered the time remaining until critical mass. “But it seems I’ve got a chore to do first,” he said “Anybody seen a certain computer keyboard?”
“Yes, there are several in this room of which you may choose,” said Seaforian in a mocking voice.
“Stop playing games, mister, and tell us where it is.” Wilma was getting more upset with every second that passed on her wristchrono.
“I am afraid I cannot possibly do that, madam,” Seaforian lied. “You see, only a few technicians on this station knew of its placement, and all of them have fled, spineless pond scum that they are” He raised a laser of his own from a pocket on the side of his chair.
“Over there!” cried Anton Hauptman, who dove from the pack of RAM officials and shot, pointblank, at Seaforian’s chest. As he landed on the floor, he pointed at a small, nondescript computer bank.
Seaforian, in the instant he had to act, raised his own laser and fired at the traitor. Buck fired as Well, sending a slug from his .45 into Seaforian’s chest. The bodies of both RAM supervisors erupted with the lasers’ energy surges, and their remains fell to the floor. As the base shook around them, the NEO and RAM forces jumped behind available cover and began firing.
Buck moved quickly, sliding a mirrored desk in front of him, to the computer bank that Hauptman had indicated. There was only one keyboard. Buck pulled a ticker tape, on which Huer had printed the Lazarus cede, from a pocket of his NEO jump suit. His fingers trembled slightly as they hovered over the keyboard. Sparks flew through the room and chunks of ceiling rained down as laser beams ricocheted off mirrored objects.
“Buck! One minute, ten seconds!” Wilma cried.
Buck held the ticker tape close to the keyboard, firmed his resolve, and entered the required twenty digits. For three seconds nothing happened. The station continued to shake. Buck reached up and pounded the computer bank once with his fist. “Come on, you bucket of bolts!” he yelled.
Everything stopped. The station’s trembling subsided. The sirens died. The RAM and NEO firefight halted. And Buck smiled.
“Kane was right, Wilma. It’s only a matter of time.” Buck stood cautiously, eyeing the three RAM loyalists who still lived. Though their own smart clothes had taken a beating, Wilma, Washington, Barney, and his two crewmen were unhurt. “Put down your guns and come out,” Buck said to the loyalists in his best Western accent. “Barney, lock ’em in your brig for now.”
“Aye, Cap’n, ” said Black Barney as he hustled the RAM officers from the room.
“Washington, get hold of your Eagles. ’Tell them we’ll meet them at home,” Buck said happily.
“Gladly, Captain,” said the NEO veteran, weary but relieved. He also left for the docking bay, leaving Buck and Wilma alone.
They sat in silence for several minutes on the floor of the crippled space station’s command center. Both were reveling in the silence. Finally Wilma stood and moved next to Buck. In the station’s sure solitude, she turned his head and kissed him.
“What was that for?” Buck asked.
“You were first to find the command post; you win a prize,” she said. Wilma smiled tiredly and a silver spark glinted from her light eyes.
“I sure did,” said Buck, returning her smile.
OOOOO
“Do you have further instructions, sir?” Marcheson asked Holzerhein’s hologram as they considered the loss of Hauberk.
“Yes. Hold Kane and his men until I arrive. I should not be more than ten minutes behind him. I will question them myself. See that we have privacy,”
“Of course, sir--”
Holzerhein flipped the communications channel cutting Marcheson’s words off. He turned to the three executives seated behind him.
“So it’s really true.” Jander Solien’s thin face was solemn He was second in seniority to Holzerhein on RAM Central’s board of directors. He was short for a Martian, and his steel-gray hair curled above his forehead in an obscene pompadour.
“It’s true.” Holzerhein’s rumble sounded deflated. “Whatever Kane is, he’s not a man to lie for no good purpose”
“Now we know for sure. The real question is, what are we going to do about it?” Michael Bittenhouse challenged. He was a junior member of the RAM hoard, elected a short Martian year ago. He responded eagerly to Holzerhein’s emergency summons for board members. He welcomed the chance to advance his position.
“We’re going to question those pilots,” said Holzerhein. “Then we will have some idea of how to proceed.”
“It is a major NEO victory. They’ve never tried anything like this,” said a fourth voice.
Holzerhein turned on the last member of the party, Roando Valmar. “You had best watch what you say,” he said.
“I am. There is no need for pretense between us. We know what this means.” Valmar held his directorship through a connection with the Martian royal family. He fancied himself devious--he was Ardala Valmar’s uncle.
“I see.” Holzerhein continued sarcastically, “We are now going to be treated to one of your lectures”
He was in no mood for Valmar’s speeches.
Valmar nodded.
“Then I’m leaving now,” said Holzerhein.
“Now, Mr. Holzerhein, don’t get ruffled,” said Solien. “You know Roando’s mind. He’s usually able to give us the overall picture.”
Solien’s attempt at placation merely drove Holzerhein’s anger. “I will listen,” he said frostily, “exactly three minutes. Then I am departing for Warhead.”
“Long enough,” said Valmar. “The obvious fact before us is the loss of Hauberk station, with all its technology.” Holzerhein growled, but Valmar continued, unperturbed. “The results of that loss are still to be seen, and will be, I believe, more far-reaching than we, at present, suspect. However, there is one immediate result that is patent to me.”
“Quit playing with words!” snapped Holzerhein.
“We must face the fact that with the loss of Hauberk, RAM abdicates its rule over Earth. Oh, we still control the planet, but we no longer have a strangle hold. There will be major insurrections.”
Holzerhein hit his holographic lips, stifling the retort he knew was a lie. Though he hated to admit it, Valmar spoke the truth.
“In effect,” finished Valmar, “Earth is free.“
Chapter 35
Message coming in, sir. From RAM Central. It’s coded and scrambled.”
“It’s about time!” Allester Chernenko spun his chair away from the window, where he had been sitting like a statue for the past two hours. He had stared at the hypnotizing movement of the peaceful ocean, his long face like stone. Sea gulls wheeled and ducked in the polluted Friscorg air in pursuit of food, but his eyes had not followed them. All hell was breaking loose, and Central refused to comment. Chernenko had sat, growing angrier by the moment.
Holzerhein’s face appeared on his screen, and his rumbling voice intoned, “Regent Chernenko.”
“Yes,” acknowledged Chernenko. “That is supposed to mean something. As regent, I am to be kept informed regarding RAM and all matters pertaining to Earth. The malfunctioning of Hauberk station is intimately connected with Earth, and I have not been told anything! I cannot administer in this manner.”
Holzerhein’s face became even more stern. Chernenko was a few rungs down from Holzerhein on RAM’s corporate ladder, but he always felt compelled to maintain the upper hand with the man. “It is because of your position, Chernenko, that you are being told anything at all. What I am about to relate is classified.”
“I shall treat it accordingly.”
“In response to your query about the malfunctioning of Hauberk space station, I must inform you that there is no malfunction.”
“On the contrary. Hauberk is no longer ours.”
“Not ours? I do not understand.”
“Gone,” said Holzerhein. “At first we thought it destroyed. Now we know that NEO has taken control.”
Cherenko’s anger paled in the face of this news. It was difficult to comprehend. Hauberk was one of the foundations of RAM’s control over Earth. Without it, the responsibility for administering energy, weaponry, and trade were entirely in his hands. It was a position of great power-if he could provide. Without the mechanical support of Hauberk, it would not be easy. “NEO?” he asked weakly.
“It was under attack by NEO. The most effective assault, by the way, NEO has ever planned.”
“But how? NEO doesn’t have the technology to mount such an attack.”
“Wrong,” said Holzerhein heavily. “Not long ago, a top secret shipment of the newest and fastest lighter Spacecraft we have was being ferried to Hauberk. It was stolen.”
“It is not NEO’s style.”
“Not in the past. Perhaps this is the future. If so, we must be prepared. We cannot lose another strategic post like Hauberk.”
“But I don’t understand,” said Chernenko, shaking his head. “I’ve been fighting NEO on a daily basis for years. It does not have the mentality-the confidence-to pull something like this off.”
“Maybe it’s that resurrected hero they’ve discovered.”
“Rogers? He was there? At last report, I had placed him in Chicagorg.”
“You had best tighten up on your intelligence, Regent,” said Holzerhein dryly. “He was leading them. I have it on good authority Deering was part of the group, but Rogers was leading the wing.”
“This is not encouraging.”
“Rogers may be the catalyst NEO has awaited. At any rate, the Hauberk affair will give them fuel for more destruction. You will not have an easy time of it.”
