by Peter Grant
“Slow down,” Steve ordered. “Let them think we’re going to obey.” Over his shoulder, he added, “Bartos, open your window and stand by. Hold your pistol below window level. As soon as we stop and these two come to our windows, we’ll hold them at gunpoint. Let Lieutenant Chetty do the talking. I don’t want to hurt them, but we daren’t allow them to arrest us – not when we’re wanted, dead or alive, by the rebels. We’ll take their guns and vehicle, and leave them here; but if your man makes any move to shoot at us, shoot him first.”
“Aye aye, sir!” The spacer’s tone was eager, confident.
Steve raised his voice. “Miss Soldahl, are you recording this?”
“Yes, I am,” he heard her voice from behind him.
“Good. Please do your best to capture the action. We may need it as evidence for our report.” He lowered his voice to a normal tone again. “Lieutenant Chetty, stop as we reach them. As soon as they’re at our windows, tell them in Hindi to stand still and take their hands off their rifles. Warn them that we’ll shoot if they make any hostile moves. If they offer resistance, accelerate away from them. Leave the fighting to Bartos and myself.”
“I – I will, sir.” Chetty’s voice trembled a little.
Steve felt for the grenades in the door pocket next to him. He clasped one between his knees, making sure the ring on the safety-pin pointed upward, falling readily to his hand. As he did so, the two police moved apart, so the taxi could pull up between them.
As they slowed to a crawl, the policeman on Steve’s side, wearing NCO’s stripes, called, “Vaheen ruk jao!” He looked more closely at Steve, and his eyes widened suddenly as he shouted, “Anajaanee! Videshiyon!” He grabbed for his carbine with both hands and began to raise and aim it.
Steve knew he had no choice at all. He lifted his pistol above the window frame and fired three shots at no more than arm’s length. His rounds tore into the man’s body. The policeman twisted around and tumbled to the ground with a cry of agony. Behind him, Steve heard two shots from Bartos’ pistol, and a similar reaction from the other policeman.
The two men in the police vehicle, about five meters ahead of the taxi, jerked upright. One grabbed a radio microphone, while the other reached for a carbine leaning against a seat. Chetty stamped on the accelerator, producing a sudden high-pitched whine from the taxi’s power pack. As he did so, Steve grabbed the ring and pulled the safety pin out of the grenade with his left hand; then he tossed the device into the open sliding door of the police van. He fired half a dozen shots at those inside as the taxi passed them, to keep their heads down and stop them shooting back.
The diplomats were crying out at the sudden violence, struggling in their seats. Steve heard the spacers shoving them down as he peered back into the gloom. One of the policemen made it as far as the doorway of the van. He was poised, ready to leap clear, when the grenade exploded behind him. He arched his back, screaming, and fell face first to the roadway, writhing in pain. The other policeman in the van shrieked once, a short, sharp cry of agony, then fell ominously silent.
Behind the police vehicle, Steve could see in the gathering darkness the faint blur of Aznar’s white van. As it passed the roadblock, Steve heard a single shot, followed by a burst of automatic fire. The van pulled clear, following them.
“What did that policeman say to us?” Steve asked Chetty.
The lieutenant’s voice trembled as he replied, “He said ‘Stop right there’, and then, ‘Strangers! Foreigners!’ He must have seen your lighter skin, and realized you weren’t one of us, sir.”
“I guess so. I’m sorry it came to shooting.”
“So am I, sir. He may have been misguided enough to obey Kodan Sastagan’s orders, but he was still my countryman.”
“Yes. This isn’t easy for you, I know. Thank you for your courage in helping us.”
“It’s not courage, really, sir. I know what the alternative will be for myself and my parents if I don’t help you. Those police would have shot us, like they would you, without a second thought. At least, this way, we have a chance to live.” He pointed ahead. “There’s the grove of trees, sir.”
Peering into the gloom, Steve saw a dark smudge on both sides of the road, about a kilometer ahead. “Good! Drive through it, and stop on the far side. Park on the shoulder.”
He slid his pistol back into its holster, then took out his satphone. It now showed a second light, indicating that the circuit to the cutter via the drone was operational. He pressed the button beneath the new light. “Maxwell to cutter, over.”
A short pause, then, “Cutter to Maxwell, go ahead, over.”
“We’ve just had to fight our way past a roadblock. There’s no further danger at present. We’ll be at the rendezvous in less than two minutes. What about you? Over.”
“We’re five minutes out, sir. Park on the north side of the woods. We’ll land on the road, clear of the trees. Over.”
“Good. Let’s make a fast getaway before more patrols can reach us. Over.”
“Will do, sir. Over.”
“Standing by.”
As the taxi came up to the woods, Steve glanced back one last time. The white van was still following in their wake. Behind it, a flicker of flame came from the police vehicle. The explosion must have started something burning inside it.
Chetty braked to a halt just inside the far edge of the treeline. Steve commanded, “Everyone out, quick! Get your briefcases and bags and assemble in front of the taxi. Leave everything else behind. Our cutter will be landing in a few minutes.” He turned to Spacer Bartos. “Bring your pistol. Unload it and make it safe before boarding the cutter.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Steve did the same with his pistol, sliding it into the holster he still wore over his now rumpled and dirty Number One uniform, and slipping the remaining grenade into a pocket. As he did so, the van drew up behind the taxi and its occupants piled out. He called, “Assemble in front of the taxi. Senior Chief, bring your rifle. Unload it before we board.” He heard Aznar acknowledge his order.
As Steve turned to join the others, his satphone buzzed. He took it from his pocket. “Maxwell, over.”
Senior Lieutenant Laforet’s voice came over the earpiece. “Sir, we’ve just picked up a radio call from the military base in Gangai. They say a police patrol was attacked by foreigners north of the city. One of its members called for help, but his transmission was cut off. They suspect it might be your party. They’ve instructed two assault shuttles to leave the city and investigate. Over.”
Steve cursed under his breath. “Understood, Number One. Thanks for the warning. The cutter should be here any moment. Stand by.” He switched channels. “Maxwell to cutter, where are you? Over.”
“We’re one minute out, sir. We have your vehicles in sight on our sensors, with people gathering in front of the foremost one. You should hear our thrusters now. Over.”
Steve cocked his head. Sure enough, there was a faint rumble to the north, growing louder by the second. “I hear you. There are two assault shuttles heading this way, about five minutes out. As soon as we’re aboard, lift off and head towards the sea. Don’t wait until we’re strapped in; just raise the ramp and go, moving as smoothly as possible at first, to give our spacers time to secure the diplomats in their seats. As soon as everyone’s strapped in, give it full throttle. Over.”
“Understood, sir. Landing in thirty seconds.”
“Standing by.” Steve switched back to the other channel. “Maxwell to Pickle, boarding in thirty seconds. I’ll use the cutter’s systems for further communications. Maxwell out on this channel.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but switched off his satphone as he hurried towards the others.
“Listen up! As soon as the cutter touches down, run for the rear ramp. Get aboard as fast as you can. Spacers, help the passengers to their seats and strap them in while the cutter takes off. We’ve got to evade more patrols heading this way.” There were some nervous gasps and exclamations from the
diplomats, but the spacers merely acknowledged.
Aznar came up, supporting one of the spacers. “One of the men on the ground fired at us as we went through that roadblock, sir. Dunnett was hit in the leg. I fired back, and hit the shooter.”
Steve took the spacer’s other arm, helping him along. “Sorry about that, Dunnett. How bad is it?”
“Not too bad, sir. Thompson can strap it up once we’re aboard the cutter.”
“Good man!”
A dark, bulky shape appeared out of the gloom, flaring as it braked to a halt on its reaction thrusters. Muffled, they produced only flickers of blue flame. The craft bounced on its gel-filled tires as it settled to the ground, already facing towards the coast. The rear ramp whined down into the dust cloud raised by the cutter’s arrival.
“Get aboard now! Move! Move!” Steve yelled.
The group ran towards the ramp. The spacers separated, two going up first, then turning to pull the diplomats and civilians after them and usher them to seats. The rest of the spacers waited for Steve, Lieutenant Chetty and his parents to follow them, then hurried aboard themselves. Aznar, last up the ramp, called to the pilot, “That’s everyone!”
“Brace! Brace!” came the order as Steve made his way forward to the spare seat next to the pilot, whom he recognized as Petty Officer First Class Franz. He grabbed at a support handle on the bulkhead as the ramp whined upwards, to close with a thunk! and a slight increase in cabin pressure as it sealed air-tight. Franz lifted the cutter on its reaction thrusters, moving forward slowly and smoothly, handling the sixty-ton craft as delicately as if she was trying to walk on eggs without breaking them.
Steve eased into the chair as he heard the spacers behind him thrusting the diplomats into their seats, belting them in, then taking their own places. As he fastened his seat harness, he heard Aznar call, “Everyone’s secure!” Without bothering to reply, Franz rammed the throttle through the gate. The cutter shot forward, its speed increasing rapidly. The pilot held it low to the ground as she headed for the coast.
“Well done, Franz!” Steve said as soon as he knew he wouldn’t break her concentration. “That was perfectly timed. Any sign of the shuttles?”
“They’re getting closer, sir,” the NCO replied, pointing to a display. It showed two icons moving out from the city towards the roadblock. “They’ll be there in two minutes, but we’ll be several kilometers away by then. In this low light, and this low to the ground, they won’t see us visually; and with all our stealth systems in operation, their sensors shouldn’t notice us.”
“Excellent! You’re recording their emissions for intelligence purposes?”
“Of course, sir.” The pilot sounded hurt, as if he was somehow belittling her to question something so obvious.
“Of course you are,” he said half-apologetically. He glanced across to the system console, where the second pilot, a Petty Officer Third Class, was sitting. Her eyes sparkled as she looked up and met his gaze. “Any trouble with planetary radar or lidar, Momsen?”
“No, sir. They’re at least three to four generations behind our systems. We can spoof them easily enough. I’ve recorded their signals, too.”
“Good. Franz, what’s your flight plan?”
“I’ll head out to sea for fifty clicks or so, sir, to get well clear of Gangai. Once we’re far enough out that other traffic in the area won’t be able to see us, on sensors or visually, I’ll climb to orbit; then we’ll head for the rendezvous with the ship. It should take us about seven hours, sir, moving slowly and carefully so that Orbcon and other satellite sensors don’t pick us up.”
Steve felt himself beginning to relax at last. They weren’t out of danger by a long way yet, but at least he was back in the familiar atmosphere of a spacecraft, albeit one of the smallest in existence. “All right. I’m going to check on a wounded spacer, then we’ll settle down for the transit. Thank you both very much.”
November 30, 2851 GSC, 03:30
The cutter slid into its bay in Pickle’s small craft dock. There was a slight jolt as the locking arms extending from the slip engaged their attachment points and pulled the smaller vessel snug against the stops. A trunk extended from the airlock and mated with the lip around its rear ramp, the seal around its rim inflating to make the passage airtight. Inside the cutter, a red light glowed, then turned orange, then blinked green as the trunk was pressurized and the mating process was completed.
“Connection established, sir,” Franz called, her voice weary. “Safe to disembark.” It had been a long spell on duty for her and her co-pilot.
“Thank you, Franz, Momsen,” Steve acknowledged as he stood. “That was very good work indeed.”
He nodded to the spacers as Franz opened the rear ramp. They ushered the diplomats and the journalist through the airlock into the lobby of the docking bay, where Senior Lieutenant Laforet was waiting for them. She’d brought a working party of spacers, who escorted them out of the bay into the main corridor, heading towards the passenger cabins.
Juliette snapped to attention as she saw him, and saluted smartly. “Welcome aboard, sir!”
He returned her salute. “Glad to be back, Number One. Well done! You’ve handled everything very tidily so far.” He noticed the drawn look on her face as his hand came down. “Is anything wrong?”
“Yes, sir. I respectfully suggest you see Warrant Officer Macneill immediately, even before we head for the system boundary. She’s discovered something that may drastically affect our plans, sir.”
“What is it?”
“With your permission, sir, I’d rather let her show you. It’ll be quicker and easier that way.”
“Very well.” He sighed. “No peace for the wicked, it seems!”
She smiled wearily. “There usually isn’t, sir. Trouble is, they make sure the rest of us have the same problem.”
“Who has the conn?”
“Junior Lieutenant Patel is Officer of the Deck at present, sir.”
“Very well. I’ll see Macneill, then meet you on the bridge, where we’ll plan our getaway. Meanwhile, issue utility clothing to the diplomats from the ship’s stores. They had to leave all of theirs planetside. We lost Peter Gallegros to a grenade, and we had to deal with a police roadblock before we lifted off. They saw both incidents, so some of them may need medical assistance to cope with the mental trauma. They’ve no experience in dealing with that sort of thing.”
“Aye aye, sir. If I may say so, not many of us on board have much experience with it. You’ve had more than most.” She nodded towards the row of medals clinking on the chest of his Number One uniform, now looking rather shabby after almost twenty-four hours on his body, and going through all the wear and tear of their escape.
“Be grateful you haven’t,” he replied soberly. “I’d rather not have had as much of it! Oh, one more thing. Lieutenant Chetty, a Devakai officer, and his parents are with us. He helped us escape, and brought his parents along because the Kotai will kill them if they get their hands on them. Give his parents a guest cabin, plus a second for him, and issue them clothing as well. He’ll have to translate for them, because they don’t speak Galactic Standard English. All three are to be restricted to the passenger quarters at present, until we can figure out how to deal with them.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
He left Juliette to deal with the others, and headed for the Intelligence Center. Warrant Officer Macneill was at her desk, her eyes drawn and tired, her face showing the strain of a long period without sleep.
“What’s up, Macneill?” he asked without preamble as he sat down.
“Sir, I broke the encryption on that database from the temple late yesterday afternoon. I’ve been going through it ever since then. One of its files was vid of Kodan Sastagan seeing off thousands of people on their way to the so-called ‘asteroid mining project’ aboard that freighter – and, sir, it gives us one hell of a headache. You’d better watch it for yourself.”
Steve waved his hand dismissively.
“There’s no time for that right now. We’ve got to get the hell out of here and get the delegation back to Lancaster. Give me the gist of it as concisely as you can.”
“Yes, sir – but I don’t think we’ll be going to Lancaster.” His eyebrows rose sharply as she continued, “Something over three thousand people paraded at the shipyard. They filled one of the maintenance areas to overflowing, and more had to be accommodated in the passageway outside, watching on vid monitors. About a thousand wore Army uniform, and were fully equipped for field service – rifles, packs, the lot. About half of them wore powered armor. Another couple of hundred were SPS spacers, also equipped for expeditionary service. The rest wore some sort of dun-colored utility coverall with a gold trishula insignia embroidered on the chest pocket.”
Steve said, “That’ll be where those ‘detached’ troops from the Planetary Self-Defense Force went. They shipped out aboard that freighter, along with their assault shuttles. Sounds like an entire battalion.”
“Yes, sir. Sastagan told them that even as he spoke, two thousand fighters were being smuggled onto Athi. They were coming in under cover of a meteor shower, which was caused by a bunch of small asteroids released by the ship that brought them. They were all small enough to burn up in the planet’s atmosphere. While they attracted all the attention, the fighters would be taken down to the surface on the far side of the planet, using cargo shuttles which would then be sunk off the coast to avoid detection. The fighters would disappear into previously prepared hideouts to await their arrival.”
Steve nodded slowly. “That’s one of the oldest tricks in space warfare; exit your last hyper-jump far enough from the system boundary – usually about four light-days – that your arrival signature is lost in the background radiation of space. After that, come in at max cruising velocity with your gravitic drive and all active sensors shut down. Most sensors track emissions signatures, so you probably won’t be detected. The odds of being picked up by radar or lidar are minuscule – they have a maximum effective range of only a million kilometers or so, and half that for precision. The biggest spaceship is like a tiny grain of dust compared to the vastness of an entire star system. The ship coasts through the system and keeps right on going out the other side, while shuttles undock and head for orbit using reaction thrusters, which don’t emit electromagnetic radiation. As everyone concentrates on the meteors, the shuttles sneak down a long way out to sea, then make their way to reception areas far from our ground forces.”
