"Sure be convenient," Jack agreed. He turned to the radio operator and ordered, "See if you can raise Beam Piper."
Lieutenant Peter White touched his earpiece and adjusted a dial on his console.
He established contact with the pinnace, and they had an enlightening conversation.
"Captain," White said, "this is HMSS Thetis. We understand you delivered a Princess to us."
"Yes. What’s the problem?"
"She… doesn’t seem to be on board."
"Repeat please?"
He didn’t, instead getting to the point. "Did you verify the identity of the ship you met?"
There was a long pause. "…The radio ID was all in order. You mean we handed off the Princess to the wrong ship?"
"I mean exactly that," Jack Flynn cut in.
"But the radio reported true, and the visual on our screens matched Thetis. Exactly."
"I’m sure it did."
"What can we do?"
"Nothing. This is our job now." Flynn made a cut-throat gesture, and White broke the connection.
Flynn turned to "Wild Bill", asking, "Pirates?"
Webbe nodded. "Catching a Space Princess would be quite a coup. She’d have all the answers they want."
"And only a first-timer would be so easy to catch," Jack said, not without a touch of derision.
Webbe frowned at the captain and turned his attention back to Io. "You still there, Jupiter?"
"Reading you five-by-five, Thetis."
"When we left, which way did we go?"
"Huh? Oh, I get it." A pause. "Outbound, and deosil. I'll have my man radio the departing orbit."
"Send it directly to our navigation station," Flynn put in. He turned and shouted down the main companionway, "Mister Karrol! Front and center!"
Patric Karrol, Executive Officer, co-pilot, and navigator, came on the hop from the Ward Room. He sketched a salute to the Captain.
"Take your station. We're about to be down-loaded an orbit. Plot us an intersect, and give it to Dave." David Armstrong, the Pilot, looked around from the wheel, as Jack said, "As soon as you get it, take us there as fast as you can. I'll be in the Galley."
Jack headed out, with Webbe at his heel. Dave turned back to the wheel, which was actually an assortment of dials, keys, and switches. Some traditions die hard.
THE SHIP'S GALLEY had long been the un-official thinkin' spot on Thetis. This was because it was the domain of the ship's best thinker, T. Garrison Morfett. Listed on the crew as Pharmacist's Mate (though there was no Pharmacist aboard), he acted as ship's doctor. Since there was little doctorin' to be done with a crew of only nine, he also had inherited the job of cook. Since he was also a student of science, he frequently had all the answers. Since he spent much of his time in the Galley, that was where they confabulated.
Maintenance man Ernie Scammera toiled over a sinkful of dirty dishes in the corner while the Captain, the Marshal, and the Pharmacist’s Mate – better known by his nickname, "the Professor" – explored the situation.
Flynn asked, "How can we trail a space ship?"
"No flight plan?"
"Just a starting orbit. No idea where they were going."
"Hmmm. Service ship, or private?"
"Private, I guess. Probably a pirate."
Morfett rubbed his jaw in thought. "Probably fusion drive: very dirty. It'll leave a particle trail. How long ago?"
"Coupla hours."
The Professor smiled. "A lead-pipe cinch, skipper. The ship's meteoroid scanners can pick up the particles as long as they're hot – which could be months.
"This soon, the particles will still be confined to the course of the ship. Too soon for much dispersion."
Webbe and Flynn exchanged glances. Morfett continued, "I'll need to fine tune the scanner. It'll take a few minutes, and I'll need John's help."
Flynn went to the intercom panel. "Mister Hale to the bridge."
The Professor leaned over to Webbe. "I thought he didn't want the Princess on board."
"He doesn't. But he's not about to let somebody else make the decision for him!"
Jack got an intercommed "Aye, aye" in response, and started out.
Webbe caught him in the companionway. "We'd better find that girl – the Old Man'll have our guts for garters if we've lost her."
Flynn sighed. "She may not be too happy with us, either."
INDEED, SHE WASN'T happy. But it wasn't the crew of Thetis at whom she was mad. It was her captors. She'd get to others later.
She wasn't sure where she was. She'd been clapped in irons as soon as she'd boarded the bogus ship, and not let out until they'd docked wherever they were now. She'd been marched down a companionway and into a cell. No windows, and cool but stale air circulating, which might mean a space station.
This was a fine welcome to Space. Less than a day and already in trouble. Well, if she was as good as the brass back in Hollywood thought she was, she’d be turning the tables soon.
She hoped they were right.
The sound of metal on metal caught Sandy's attention, and she looked up as the cell door opened.
It was a girl, hardly a teenager in fact. She was dressed in the manner of a space pirate, worried leather coat and pants, clunky running shoes, and too much cheap jewelry. Space pirates of the period had at some point become enamored of twentieth-century punk-rockers (or actually, the portrayals of punkers in old motion pictures). This one had eye make-up on wrong, and hair that was short in some spots, long in others. The pattern meant something, but Sandy didn't know what.
Sandy tensed as the girl came in. "Just relax, Roy." "Roy" was what the pirates always called Space Princesses. It was either short for "royal" or a reference to the ancient Judge Roy Bean, depending on whom you asked.
She held a tray full of food in one hand, awkwardly aiming a blaster with the other. The girl set the tray on the other end of Sandy's cot.
"Look," the Princess asked, "what's this all about?"
"Ye's arskin' t 'wrong person, Roy. Take i' up wi' Cap'n Morgas."
"Morgas?"
"Aye. T' chief a' our merry band. 'E'll be 'long purty soon, I reck'n." She backed out and closed the door on further conversation.
Sandy studied the meal the girl had left. Plastic-sealed food liberated from some freighter. She turned the packets over, studying them. No sign of punctures. So they weren't planning to poison or drug her. She might as well eat. Who could say when she'd get another chance?
But part way through the meal Sandy had a sudden thought. Why were they feeding her now? Probably because everybody was eating. And if the others were eating, their attention wouldn't be on a prisoner.
She still wore her uniform, and, with the jacket on, the glove and gauntlet seemed just a pair of gloves, and therefore attracted no special notice. Clearly Space Pirates didn’t know much about Princesses – which must be why they’d gone to the trouble of kidnapping her. They’d frisked her for weapons, but, finding no pistol, had overlooked the most powerful small arm the Star Service possessed.
Sandy raised her right hand and gazed at it speculatively. An idea was on the way.
She closed her fist and then slowly extended the forefinger. Then she stuck out her thumb and closed it down against her finger.
Instantly a bright beam of coherent green light shot out of the fingertip, a fine thread of photons. Startled, Sandy opened her hand. The beam died.
Sandy looked up. There was a small hole burned into the ceiling. The Princess smiled.
She went to the cell door and pointed her finger at the inside of the bolt. Squinting, she BLASEd the lock into slag.
A moment later Sandy was in the corridor. She tip-toed down the companionway back the way she'd come. A transverse corridor led off to her left. She stopped, peeked around the corner.
Light and sound came from an open door a few yards away. The clash of flatware, noises suitable to hogs at a trough. Yes, the pirates were feeding.
Sandy ducked across the
gap and headed for the end of the hall and an airlock door. Beyond it lay the dock where the fake Thetis had debarked her earlier. On the left was another open door. She went to it and looked inside.
It was a communications center of some sort. And, given the huge picture window opening on the ship dock, also the harbormaster's post.
There was a guy snoozing in a chair facing the window. Sandy started to make a finger-gun. Then she stopped. She just couldn't. Not to a human being. Even a pirate. But he had to be neutralized. How—?
There was a old-fashioned steel-shanked broom leaning in a corner. Sandy grabbed it, and cracked the pirate across the base of his skull. The man went down hard.
Sandy looked around for something with which to tie him up. Her gaze flicked past the bank of RADAR screens without registering what they displayed.
Way out at the edge of their range was a tiny blip. It would be an important blip for the new Princess.
THETIS WAS STILL a long ways out, and the crew still had no idea where they were heading. But the radiation trail was still hot and distinct.
The Professor leaned over the navigator's console, making Pat Karrol feel claustrophobic. He was watching the same view as the pilot. The velvet of space was being occulted by a great grey disc. It was the thick atmosphere of the planet Saturn, a cloud cover compacted into a stew by the tremendous gravity of the giant orb.
"Damn." Morfett cursed.
Jack Flynn turned in his captain's chair. "Now what?"
"We've run out of trail."
"So where's the pirate?"
Karrol turned around. "Somewhere in that soup!" He gestured at the grey mass.
Morfett explained. "Plotting forward along the orbit, the ship dived straight into the Saturnian atmosphere!"
"But they'd be destroyed."
"Yeah. Which means they must've sheered off, skipping across the edge of the envelope. But this close to the planet, the radiation is all over the spectrum."
Dave Armstrong spoke from the pilot's chair. "Should I start a circle search?"
"Over the whole surface of Saturn?" Flynn groused, "We've got two chances of finding 'em now: slim, and none."
"Your orders, skipper?" Armstrong inquired.
"...Begin circle search," Flynn said with a sigh.
NOT FAR AWAY, galactically speaking, Allesandra Pendragon stood from the task of binding the guy she'd slugged. Now, what next?
She couldn't pilot a ship. Maybe she could signal one. She went to the radio console. Part of her training had been in Signal Corps school.
She looked over the dials and switches, hoping to find something familiar. When she did, there was good news and bad news: it was the Master Control, but it was key operated. And the key was—
"Lookin' fer t'is, Roy?" came a smarmy voice.
There was no other word for it, and as Sandy turned toward its source, she saw that the speaker matched his voice perfectly. He was heavy-set, with oily skin, stringy hair, and a matted beard. In contrast, he wore an elegant suit, leather boots and a silk shirt. A dagger, a pistol, and a blaster were tucked into a broad belt. He reacted as Allesandra gasped at the sight of him.
"Sorry about m 'appearance, Roy," he said in a somewhat heartier tone. "But ye's got t' be tough t' boss aroun' a crew a' pirates."
"You're Captain Morgas?"
"Aye. Did ye t'ink nobody'd be checkin' on yer cell?"
"I didn't think that far ahead."
Morgas laughed. Sandy shuddered.
"T'at's why we picked ye's, Roy. Only a rookie woulda fallen fer our trap."
Sandy's cheeks burned in shame. She looked away from the pirate. When she looked back, he had been joined by three of his fellows, including the girl from the cell. All held pistols.
"Now, jis’ be a good girl, Roy, an’ come along wi’ us."
She hoisted both hands in surrender.
Chapter Four
Surface Tension
PAT KARROL TURNED from his console to the pilot. "Dave, come about to the equatorial axis. I’ve plotted a course to weave back and forth."
Captain Jack Flynn looked up from his musings. "You got something?"
"The bogus ship is using Saturn to sling-shot around, or it’s using one of the moons for a base. Either way, it had to stay at zero degrees latitude to take advantage of the axial spin." Karrol looked over his shoulder at the Professor. "Why don’t you go to the radio and start scanning for radiation bursts? If the ship jumps away from the planet you could pick up the trail again."
Morfett nodded. "But keep watching for someplace it could land."
"Any moon it goes to will be above up."
Morfett shrugged. Of course it would be.
Thetis cruised around the curve of the gas giant, looking for a clew with every device the crew had – even their eyes and ears.
SANDY PENDRAGON HAD been marched back to the room they’d been using for a dining hall. Now the trestle tables had been moved to the sides, creating a large central open space.
Three pirates stayed behind, shoulder to shoulder, blocking the door. Two more flanked the Princess, standing well back. Two more walked ahead a dozen steps, and then sat on the deck, aiming blasters at her. Captain Morgas clambered up onto a table, and the girl who’d brought Sandy dinner now helped muscle a chair up for him.
Morgas got himself settled, slouching well back. He reached out a hand, and his girl passed him a mug of grog (still grog after all the centuries).
"Well, Roy," he said after a hearty draught of hooch. "How d’yer like our little hideout?"
Sandy glanced around. "It needs," she paused to throw a glance at the Captain’s girl, "a woman’s touch."
The girl glared. Morgas threw back his head and laughed a mighty laugh.
Sandy waited out the storm of merriment with exasperation, then asked, "Why did you kidnap me?"
Morgas laughed again. "Yer Star Service 'as been runnin' us ragged all across t' system. I figgered if we c'd snatch a Princess, we could learn all the secrets of how t'ey operate.
"And you jes' graduated from t' Academy, didn' ye's?"
Sandy didn't deny it. But she cursed whatever spy had spilled the beans.
"We been workin' on t'is fer munt's. As soon's we intercepted the orders t' Cap'n Flynn, we pulled a raid t' bring him to a port where we c'd sabotage his ship.
"T' pickerel outsmarted us, t'ough. His ship didn' blow up, but we did delay him long enough t' pull our trick."
"So you phonied up a ship to match Thetis?" Sandy asked. When Morgas nodded, she added, "Seems like a lot of work to go to, just to end up with me."
Morgas laughed again. Sandy was already tiring of the sound of his laughter. "Ye'z'll be wort' it, Roy. We'll extrac' everyt'ing t' Academy put in yer head, and t'en we'll sell ye's t' t' slavers. Blondes still bring t' bes' price!"
Sandy shuddered again, unhappy with her hair color for the first time in her life. But the fear didn't last long: It was quickly replaced by anger.
Morgas ordered, "Take 'er t' t' Interrogation Room, boys," and turned to leave. The two pirates on her flanks advanced on her, while the two gunman stood up.
Sandy's hands were held away from her sides, as they had been since she'd turned to see Morgas. Now the right one moved. She made a finger pistol and swept the room!
THE GREEN BEAM sliced across the two gunmen, scorching a line across each. She’d tried to make the move as fast as possible, in hopes she wouldn’t kill them. Her hopes became as dead as the two men.
Even as the other pirates recoiled at the outburst, Sandy Pendragon moved, diving straight for Morgas and the console key still dangling from his wrist. But he jumped up, striking with the only weapon he had, the heavy pewter mug.
Sandy ducked, but the mug caught her shoulder. She got off another shot, turning Morgas’ counter-attack into a dive for cover.
She spun, once again firing her BLASER. The other pirates ducked and the ones in the doorway fled.
Sandy bolted for the exit,
swinging into the corridor and diving for the deck.
It was a good instinctive move: even as she skidded along the floor, a blaster beam shot over her head, splatting against the airlock hatch.
If she’d been paying attention, she’d have recognized that impact as the signature of a particle-beam weapon.
But she was concentrating on that side door, the one to the harbormaster’s office. She rolled into the office and regained her feet. She slammed the hatch, but realized with annoyance that the door had no lock. Pirates were already on the other side, and it wouldn’t take Morgas long to realize her weapon couldn’t have much of a power reserve.
"Stay back," she warned, "or I’ll shoot!"
Morgas’ voice came back to her, almost choking with laughter. "How many a’ us ken yez shoot, Roy. B’fore yez run outta power f’r yer little finger-gun?"
Well, she called that one. Why did she have to be so smart?
Of course, if she was smart, she wouldn’t be in this fix.
She looked around for some other weapon. The only thing around was that broom, its metal handle slightly bent from its previous use.
The hatch began to open, slowly and cautiously.
Sandy picked up the broom and held it over her left shoulder like a club. But as she did, her gauntlet reared up in front of her.
She smiled and lowered the broom.
Then, as the hatch opened and Morgas leered at her, she pointed her finger pistol at the great window.
As the BLASER beam pierced the glass, a hundred klaxons began to whine and a dozen pirates screamed in panic.
SPACE BEING A vacuum, those sounds couldn't reach Thetis, cruising nearby. The crew was still engaged in their hopeless search, watching the heavy fog-bank of Saturnian atmosphere below.
Armstrong abruptly touched off a ventral rocket, changing the boat's orbit. Flynn looked up from the viewscreen on the arm of his chair. "What was that for?"
The pilot explained, "Localized atmospheric disturbance at two o'clock, Skipper. Just dodging it."
Flynn nodded, returned to his search. But Morfett's attention was attracted. "What kind of atmospheric disturbance? Let me see it."
Planet Patrol: The Interplanetary Age (Star Service Book 1) Page 3
