Stand Against The Storm (The Maxwell Saga Book 4)

by Peter Grant

“I presume you very carefully omitted to ask him what he was planning?”

  “Er… yes, Sir.”

  “And you’ve no idea of the timing?”

  “No, Sir, but the rebels’ freighter is due to leave orbit within the hour, so I wouldn’t be surprised if we heard something real soon now.”

  July 11th 2850 GSC, in orbit

  Steve watched on the display screens in the hidden compartment as two Qianjin spacers collected a toolbox and moved towards the airlock separating the cargo shuttle from the big lifeboat. Bairam saw them moving and demanded, “Where ya goin’ with that?”

  “The lifeboat’s airlock control circuit needs attention,” Kwok explained from the pilot console. “Remember I told you I’d lock both sides open to allow free access between here and there?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “That’s causing problems with the lifeboat’s control software. It’s designed to allow the interlock to be disabled for short periods only, in an emergency. When we left both doors locked open for over an hour, it threw an electronic fit over it. I’ve told those two to disable the interlock sensor circuit, so it no longer knows the airlock’s permanently open. That’ll stop the alarm buzzer sounding on the console. I’ve muted it for now, but that’s dangerous, because if a real problem comes up we need to know about it at once. As soon as the circuit’s been disabled I can restore the alarm buzzer to normal operation, so it’ll warn us about any other problems that may arise.”

  Behind the partition, Steve grinned. Kwok had come up with a very plausible-sounding reason to dispatch spacers to the lifeboat. Fortunately, Bairam didn’t know that the interlock sensor circuit could easily have been disabled through the console’s software.

  The rebel leader thought for a moment, then nodded his head grudgingly. “Makes sense, I guess, but I wanna check that toolbox.”

  “Sure.” The spacer holding it laid it on the deck, unfastened its latches and opened its lid. “Help yourself.”

  Bairam pawed through the top tray and the three shallow drawers beneath it. “Dunno what half this stuff is,” he complained.

  “It’s all standard spacer gear,” Kwok informed him. “Nothing fancy or out of the ordinary.”

  “Well… OK. Get on with it.”

  “Thanks.”

  The spacer closed the drawers and lid and re-fastened the latches, then picked up the toolbox and headed through the airlock, followed by his comrade. Bairam followed to watch them as they removed the panel beneath the lifeboat’s control console and set to work. He was scowling as he came back into the cargo shuttle.

  “I shoulda brought one o’ our spacers aboard with me. I don’t like not knowin’ what they’re doin’ in there.”

  Kwok shrugged. “We’re hardly likely to sabotage anything when that would endanger us as well as you. You could always ask Turgay to send one of your spacers back here from the freighter. It could wait a bit longer for its cutter to make another round trip here before it leaves.”

  Bairam brightened at once. “Yeah! That’s a good idea.” He looked at the spacer curiously. “Y’know, I thought we was gonna have trouble with you Qianjin guys, but you’ve been OK. You’re actually tryin’ ta help.”

  “Why wouldn’t we? We’re convicts just like you are. If you’d asked us properly we’d have joined your rebellion, but a group of your people attacked us without bothering to find out where we stood. After that there was no way our leaders would trust you, no matter how much the rest of us liked what you were doing.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that. Wish it’d never happened. With a bunch o’ smart people like you to help us, we mighta done better. It might have been the Governor runnin’ away now instead of us.” He glanced at the time display on the pilot’s console. “Turgay should be here in ten minutes, right?”

  “Yes. He’s on course and on time.” Kwok indicated a screen that showed the relative positions of nearby spacecraft. One of the icons on the display was drawing steadily closer.

  “Thanks.” Bairam turned to face into the load compartment and called, “OK, hostages in their bunks! Guards, make sure no-one’s out in the aisles. Turgay will be here soon, an’ I don’t want anyone gettin’ in our way in case there’s any trouble.”

  He watched impatiently as the twenty hostages remaining in the cargo shuttle were herded to their bunks. The three-year-old girl who’d given trouble when she arrived was still deathly afraid of strangers, and hadn’t grown any more accustomed to the rebel guards. She began screaming and struggling, and her mother had to intervene. Eventually she climbed onto the bottom bunk with her, holding her, trying to calm her as best she could.

  “Damn kid!” Bairam muttered audibly, scowling.

  Kwok opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. The rebel leader was too wound up. Any objection or apparent resistance might trigger a reaction that could lead to anything – even murder.

  The speaker on the console crackled. “Bosun calling Boss.”

  Bairam grabbed the microphone with one hand while pulling a folded sheet of paper from a chest pocket with the other. He unfolded it as he raised the microphone to his lips. “Boss here.” He glanced at the paper. “Cloudy skies.”

  “Bosun here. Birds flyin’.”

  Bairam visibly relaxed. “Everything OK on your end?”

  “Just fine, Boss. We’re ready to go. Got the co-ordinates for us?”

  “I got ’em.”

  “OK. See you in five.”

  As Bairam replaced the microphone, Kwok looked at him. “Cloudy skies? Birds?”

  “Just phrases t’ let each other know we’re who we say we are an’ there’s no trouble. We got a list of ’em, an’ never use one more than once.” As he spoke Bairam took a pen from his pocket and crossed out two lines on the paper. “If Turgay had been taken prisoner an’ a bunch o’ Colonial Guards was on the way to attack us, he wouldn’t have used one of ’em. That way I’d have known something was wrong.”

  “Not a bad idea.”

  In the hidden compartment Steve tensed slightly. “Do you see what I see?” he softly asked Kinnear, sitting beside him.

  “Yeah,” the Gunnery Sergeant murmured, pointing at the display. “As soon as Bairam relaxed, so did his guards. It’s like they took their cue from him. They’ve slung their weapons again instead of holding them ready for use.”

  “Uh-huh. If you were one of them, and knew Turgay was coming in alone and safe, what would your reaction be when he came through the airlock?”

  “I’d want to watch. This may be the last time I see him for a couple of months, and he’s the last link to all the other rebels aboard the freighter, including all their families. Once they’ve gone, I’d be feeling mighty lonely.”

  “That’s the way I see it, too. If they want to watch, where will they have to go?”

  Kinnear glanced at him, eyes narrowing. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Look at the layout in there.” Steve traced a finger over a diagram showing how the tanks, lockers and bunks had been installed in the formerly cavernous cargo compartment. “The four guards in here are walking up and down the rows of bunks, but that means they can’t see the airlock. There’s only one place where they’ll be in line of sight of it – here.” He laid his finger on the diagram. “I’m willing to bet they’ll gather there to see Turgay as he comes through.”

  “Makes sense. What if one or two don’t?”

  “We’ll just have to do the best we can. I think this may be our best chance – maybe our only chance – to take them all down at once. If you come through that panel,” and he laid his finger on a point on the diagram, “you’ll have a clear line of fire from behind them at any guards standing there. They’ll have to unsling their weapons and turn around to shoot back at you – but they’re going to find themselves suddenly weightless, which will make that very difficult for them. While you take care of them, I can do the same to Bairam and Turgay if I come out here.” He indicated another panel.


  “What about the two guards in the lifeboat?”

  “We’ll have to leave them to the Qianjin spacers there. If they need help, we can provide it once our targets are down.”

  “And what if one of the guards survives and grabs a hostage, or starts shooting at them?”

  “We’ve got to stop them at minimum risk to the hostages, but that doesn’t – it can’t – mean no risk at all. We’ve known that all along. We’ll do our best to avoid casualties among the hostages, but that may not be possible. I’m hoping that shutting down the artificial gravity will give the guards so much to worry about that they won’t be able to shoot straight.”

  “D’you think any of them will surrender?”

  Steve shrugged. “That would be nice, but Bairam hand-picked these six out of all the rebels available to him. He’ll have chosen hard-cases like himself. I reckon we’ll have to stop them the hard way. Don’t take any chances with them.”

  “Guess so.”

  “All right, Gunny. Get set by your panel.” Steve held out his hand. “Good luck, buddy.”

  Kinnear shook it firmly. “And to you, Sir.”

  As he crawled towards the panel where he’d exit, Steve felt his heartbeat speeding up as his inner tension ratcheted higher. He activated his throat microphone, knowing Kwok and the spacers would be listening to their earbuds. He glanced at the time display, then said softly, “Green three. Green three.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Kwok tensed imperceptibly as Steve’s whispered warning came through his earbud. As casually as possible, he sat down in the pilot’s command chair. Glancing at the displays, he said to Bairam, “The cutter’s two minutes out. You’ll hear and feel a slight thump as it docks, and the shuttle will shake a little. Nothing to worry about.”

  “OK. Thanks for the heads-up.”

  Kwok nodded as his hand settled on the console, only a few centimeters from a slider control labeled ‘Internal gravity’. He watched as Bairam reached into the pouch attached to his belt and took out the white console controlling the detonators. He clipped it to a line looped around his belt, then held it in both hands as he moved towards the airlock door.

  ~ ~ ~

  In the lifeboat, the two spacers working at the base of its control console glanced at each other as they heard Steve’s warning. One reached for a nanotool and pressed its controls in a special sequence. The nanoparticles that had previously formed the shape of a wrench began to rearrange themselves, flowing down towards the handle and assembling into a short, stubby cylinder.

  “What ya doin?” a guard asked idly, looking at the tool as it reshaped itself.

  “I need a pry-bar to lever out a small fitting in there.”

  “Uh-huh. Fancy things, those nanotools. Never seen one before.”

  “They’re pretty handy. We use ’em all the time in space. Saves us having to carry a dozen different tools – we just tell a nanotool to form itself into whatever we need.”

  The other spacer stood. “I need to use the head.”

  “OK.” The guard glanced at his partner. “Ferit, walk him over there, would ya?”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s all right, guys. I’m a big boy now. I can do it all by myself!” The spacer adopted a child’s wheedling tone, and the guards chuckled.

  “Yeah, but the boss gave us orders, so we’ll do it the way he likes it.”

  “Fair enough.”

  The spacer and one guard walked across to the door of the heads. The guard held it slightly ajar as the spacer went inside, but didn’t watch closely as he went about his business. They’d done so at first, but had grown accustomed to the spacers over the past couple of days. That familiarity meant he didn’t see the spacer surreptitiously take two small handles from his pocket, extract a cord from inside one of them, and loop it around both handles. He slipped the garrote into his sleeve, adjusted his fly, and turned back to the door.

  The other guard, still standing by the console, idly watched the two as they went over to the heads. He didn’t look down at the other spacer, so he failed to notice the nanotool’s newly-formed cylinder flatten and begin to extend upward again, morphing into a sharp point at the tip of what was now recognizably a knife. To hide the last stages of the tool’s self-preparation as it formed the edges of the blade, the spacer bent forward as if working inside the console. He gathered his legs beneath himself, gripped the hilt of the nanotool knife and waited, tense, ready to explode into violent action.

  ~ ~ ~

  The arrival of the cutter, a utility craft that could accommodate thirty to forty spacers and up to fifty tons of general cargo, jolted the frame of the much larger cargo shuttle as it settled into the docking bay. Bairam braced himself against the gentle shaking and waited, watching the indicator lights over the inner airlock door. He knew that a boarding tube would be extending from the cargo shuttle, closing around the rim of the cutter’s rear hatch, and a pneumatic seal would be inflating to secure it. After a moment an orange light came on, showing that the cutter’s rear ramp had come down, allowing free access through the tube to the airlock from the smaller craft. A few seconds later a red light illuminated to show that pressures were being equalized. A short wait, then a buzzer sounded as the red light changed to green.

  Bairam held the console in his left hand, flipped up the protective cover over the ‘Fire’ button, and poised his right index finger over it as the airlock door slid open. Turgay stood in the frame, careful not to move. “It’s me, Boss,” he called. “No-one’s with me – just two spacers in the cutter. Everything’s OK.”

  “I hear ya. Come ahead.”

  Bairam lowered the cover over the ‘Fire’ button once more as the Bosun stepped inside, but didn’t release the console as they shook hands. Steve waited and watched, tense, hardly daring to breathe. He cast a glance at another display. Sure enough, all four guards had gathered where they could watch Turgay come aboard. Now only one more thing was needed before he could act.

  “Everything’s ready on the freighter, Boss,” his subordinate reported.

  “Good.” Bairam lifted his right hand and fumbled with the fasteners of his coverall. “I got the co-ordinates an’ instructions right here.” He frowned in irritation as he found he couldn’t get his right hand all the way into the right side of his clothing. The angle was wrong. He lowered the console, allowing it to hang at knee height from the line looped around his belt, then reached into his coverall with his left hand, taking out a folded piece of paper.

  Now! Steve thought to himself, and pressed the button next to the panel.

  With a thunderous crash of sound, the carefully pre-positioned line charges beneath the edge of every panel in the hidden compartment blew up simultaneously. They hadn’t dared use a lot of explosives for fear of rupturing the pressure hull, but there was just enough to blow out every panel and allow instant access to every part of the cargo shuttle without hurting those waiting in ambush.

  As the blast drew screams and shrieks from the hostages, Kwok pulled the slider control for the artificial gravity field all the way down to zero. Instantly the field disappeared, leaving everything and everyone in the cargo shuttle in free fall. Steve and Kinnear were expecting it, and had braced themselves against the shuttle’s framework; but the rebels didn’t have anything to support them as they tried to react.

  Kinnear was carrying a Colonial Guard submachinegun. It fired beads of metal powder, fused into a ceramic base, at hypersonic velocity and a very high cyclic rate. He didn’t bother to align its sights on a particular target; he simply locked his legs around an upright, tucked the butt of the weapon into his shoulder, held his aim at waist height and swept a continuous burst of fire across all four of the guards as they began to spin around towards him and reach for the weapons slung over their shoulders. The torrent of beads tore through them like a scythe, almost cutting them in half as he swept the muzzle left to right, then right to left, then left to right again. Some of the rounds missed the guards and hit
parts of the shuttle, but their ceramic base, designed for use aboard spacecraft, allowed them to break up on impact, preventing penetration of the hull or ricochets that might endanger others. Kinnear kept his finger on the firing button until the only movement visible was the twitch and shudder of impact as his rounds tore through the rebels’ lifeless bodies. They drifted, twisting, bumping into each other and the bunks and lockers nearby.

  As Kinnear opened fire, Steve lined a short, stubby carbine at Bairam and pressed the firing button. A burst of three rounds tore into the burly man’s chest, staggering him as he began to grab for the dangling console. Even as his feet left the floor and he began to float, twisting with the impact of the rounds, Bairam snatched at Turgay with his left hand, trying to steady himself against him while he drew his pulser with his right hand; but the old spacer was also drifting, his feet already clear of the floor. The rebel leader tugged the Bosun across his body, trying to shelter behind him. Steve swore in frustration as he changed his aim and sent a three-round burst into Turgay’s head, struggling to hold his carbine steady as his weightless body tried to twist in reaction to its recoil. The Bosun jerked, then went limp.

  Bairam fired, but he was still off-balance and way off target under the shock of his wounds and the pull of Turgay’s body against his. His shot went wide of Steve, slamming into the slider control for the artificial gravity field, shattering it, making Kwok jerk his hand away as it was spattered with fragments. As Turgay’s body drifted clear of him Bairam exposed part of his left shoulder, and Steve instantly put another three-round burst into it. Eyes glowing with hatred and insane fury, the rebel leader lowered his pulser, aiming at the console floating in mid-air just beyond the grasp of his now-useless left arm. Steve shifted his aim slightly and put a burst through Bairam’s head just as the rebel leader fired. His single shot smashed through the white casing of the console and erupted from its far side in a shower of plastic splinters and debris.

  As Bairam went limp, releasing his pulser, an orange light began to flash on the damaged console. Steve realized instantly what it meant. He knew with a sickening lurch in his stomach that he’d killed his opponent an instant too late.