“Goddamnit, girl, set the charges off with enough explosive force to separate the propulsion unit from the rest of the ship! Time it precisely so it goes off at the arc of the ship’s swing when we start the verniers, and it’ll act like a stone thrown from a slingshot!” Captain Tuit stepped up to Jennifer, put his arms around her and kissed her.
By now the rest of the crew had gathered on the bridge. “Okay, here’s how I’ll work it. Everyone’ll suit up prior to the blast. Passengers and crew not engaged in navigation or setting off the charges will secure the lifecraft. They’ll provide some extra protection when the big bomb goes off. Navigator and I will remain on the bridge.” He looked at Conorado. “Lew, I don’t suppose you know anything about demolitions, do you?”
Conorado smiled. “ ‘If it absolutely, positively has to be destroyed overnight, send in the Marines,’ ” he quoted the old adage.
“Lew, it’ll be a very dangerous operation. Whoever sets that thing off could go up with it. You’ll have to be suited up for the operation. If a fragment penetrates your suit, you’ll boil away like—”
“I know, Hank. I’ll need a lot of wire or cable and a power source and some stuff to make a detonator. I’ll also need a volunteer to assist me.”
“I volunteer,” Jennifer said without hesitation.
“No!” Both Conorado and Tuit shouted at the same time.
“It was my idea and I want to be the volunteer,” she said with determination.
“I should go too,” the navigator spoke up forcefully.
“No, absolutely not, Clem,” Jennifer said. “Your job is critical. Only you can handle the verniers well enough to spin this old crate around. It’s my idea, I want to go.”
“Me too,” another crewman who’d just come onto the bridge spoke up.
“Bob! You’re the only engineer I have left—” Captain Tuit began.
The engineer, Bob Storer, held up a hand. He was an older, husky individual with a military-style haircut. “I can help with the placement of the charges, Hank, and I can rig the detonation system Captain Conorado will need to set the charges off. And besides that, Captain, you don’t need a goddamned engineer on this ship anymore.”
Tuit was silent for a moment. “Okay,” he said, “the three of you get to work.”
The three quickly collected the propulsion charges from the ten lifecraft nearest the bridge and passenger compartments.
“These are set off electronically from the pilot’s console using a 1.5 amp system,” Storer explained. “I should be able to rig an electrical firing system to set them off in a series, using, say, three hundred meters of eighteen-gauge copper wire.”
Jennifer looked at Conorado and raised her eyebrows. “Glad we did bring you along, Bob,” she said.
“Okay, Bob, but we’ll need a dual firing system in case there’s a misfire on the first try. That’ll require two completely independent electrical systems, both of them capable of firing the charges. That will mean two detonators in each charge so that the firing of either circuit will detonate all the charges. Can you set it up?”
“Sure,” Storer replied. “We have two lifecraft we didn’t raid, considering number thirteen is in the propulsion unit, so I’ll use the propellant from one of those to rig the second set of detonators.”
Conorado hefted one of the propulsion charges. “Well, I’ll be—this is composition military stuff, Tetrytol, .75 kilograms per charge. Jesu, the detonation velocity of this stuff has got to be up somewhere near seven thousand meters a second! The navy uses compressed air to launch Essays. This stuff is powerful and dangerous. One good thing, though—they’ve got one set of built-in detonators. That’ll make your job a bit easier, Bob.”
“Well, the navy launches all the time,” Jennifer said. “We only do it once, and when we’re on our way, we don’t intend to come back.”
“It’s amazing what salvage crews can do these days,” Bob added.
Conorado let out a little laugh. “Good thing for us you civilians are so far behind the times. Bob, since we can’t access the computer, what do you remember about the structure of the conduit that connects the last storage compartment with the propulsion unit? What’s it made of?”
“Molycarbondum. It has the tensile strength of structural steel but one hundredth the weight.”
“So in reality we’re dealing with structural steel,” Conorado said. “All right. That’s something I understand. How much of it will we have to blow up to separate the conduit? I need to know how many struts we’ll need to cut through and the area of the flanges and webs to calculate how much of this stuff we’ll need.”
“There are five struts to a section,” Storer said, “but hell, I don’t have any idea what the area of the flanges and webs is.”
“Then let’s get everything together and go back and measure the flanges and webs and set this damned stuff off,” Conorado said.
The total area of the flange and web for one strut came out to 58.5 square centimeters. Conorado calculated in his head. “I’m a bit rusty on this stuff, but I think we’ll need 1.5 kilograms to separate each strut. So we use all ten of these charges and we should be in business. Ah, one more thing. Distance. Depending on the size of the charge, you’ve got to put a certain distance between yourself and the explosion to avoid going up with the stuff. That’s a minimum of 274 meters on charges up to twelve kilograms. Can we set this thing off from that distance, Bob?”
“I don’t have enough wire! I had to double what I did have to make up the dual electrical firing systems. I could strip some more, but how much time do we have before that thing goes off?”
Conorado hesitated. “I don’t know, but we’ve got to figure it’ll go off any minute now. Hell, we can’t be more than an hour away from Luna’s orbit, and the damned thing’s probably timed to go off for maximum visual effect on the people watching from Earth. Okay. We’ll do it from right inside the storage bay. We can stack cargo between us and the blast.” He turned to Jennifer. “You keep in touch with the bridge, Jenny. Tell them we’re going to set the charges now and they should get ready to fire the jets on my command. We’ll suit up and secure ourselves once the charges are in place and ready to be fired.”
Both men were perspiring profusely before they finished rigging the charges. Meanwhile, using a front loader, Jennifer had stacked cargo containers in the form of a small square inside which they could fire the charges and expect some protection from the blast. They knew that as soon as the charges detonated, Minerva would automatically initiate emergency procedures to seal off the damaged compartment from the rest of the ship.
They crouched in the makeshift shelter. Conorado nodded at Jennifer, who was in touch with the bridge and her companions via the voice mike in her suit.
“Fire when ready, Captain!” She paused. “The verniers have been fired!”
“Mark!” Conorado shouted. Storer, a gloved hand paused above the detonator switch, began to count the seconds. They would mark the seconds, and if, due to a comm failure, the bridge did not give the signal to detonate the charges after fifteen seconds, they would set them off anyway.
At first there was no sensation of movement at all, but after five seconds the ship began to swing to her port. Ten seconds into the count the maneuver had become so pronounced the three bombers felt themselves pulled hard to the starboard quarter.
At precisely fifteen seconds into the maneuver Jennifer screamed “Fire!” The explosion was much more powerful than expected.
Lieutenant Commander Willa Stanton, on the bridge of the fast frigate CNSS Sergeant Major Richard Banks, had the Cambria in view. She had been told that terrorists had taken over the ship, murdered its crew and passengers, and were going to use it as a huge bomb to destroy Luna Station. She did not question her orders when given the assignment to destroy the Cambria, but what Fleet did not know was that Commander Stanton had once served under retired navy captain Tuit and she was well aware that he was captain of that vessel. Her feeli
ngs about her orders were mixed. What if Tuit and his people were still alive? she asked herself. Was there any other way to avoid disaster?
“Any success getting through to her?” she asked her communications officer. She had been told that Fleet had been trying for some time with no success to reach the Cambria, but Commander Stanton thought they might get a response now that her ship was close enough to have been detected by the cargo ship’s sensors.
“None, Captain. They’ve taken control of her communications system; otherwise, her computers are programmed to respond to emergency messages.”
“How long would it take to break the code and get through?”
“I’ve been trying, Captain—”
He’s a 4.0 officer! Commander Stanton thought.
“—but it’ll be too late before our system can break through. Fleet’s cryptanalysts could do it in no time,” he added wistfully.
Commander Stanton wondered again why Fleet had not already done just that. There were things about this mission that didn’t make sense to her. Her orders to destroy the cargo ship were clear and apparently legitimate. But she did not quite believe the story she had been given. And she knew her orders came from much higher up than CNO or even the Combined Chiefs. That ship was worth trillions. Were the people on board really dead? Were they infected with some dreadful alien plague? Had they been taken over by something?
Commander Stanton’s executive officer frowned. “Our orders are to shoot her, Captain, not try to talk them down,” he reminded her.
Commander Stanton sighed. “Gunnery officer, are we in range?”
“Aye, Captain, in range.”
“Very well. Prepare to fire main battery.”
“Aye, Captain, main battery prepared to fire.”
“Hey!” the exec exclaimed. “What was that?”
A small bright flash erupted on the Banks’s viewscreens.
“She’s separated into two fragments!” he exclaimed. “Captain, that was a damned explosion! The smaller of the two fragments appears to be her propulsion unit.”
Commander Stanton stared at the screen for a moment. “Guns! Are you following what’s going on?”
“Aye, Captain, the target is in two parts now.”
“Lock on the smaller fragment.”
“Aye, target locked on.”
“Fire!”
The Cambria’s propulsion unit disappeared in a very big flash.
“Secure your battery.”
“Aye, battery secured.”
“XO, prepare a boarding party, two volunteers only, and take the con. I’m going to board that vessel.”
“Captain, you can’t do that! Our orders are to destroy that vessel, not board her!”
“I’m the officer on the scene and it’s my decision to board her. Get cracking.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” the XO reluctantly conceded. He turned to the chief of the boat. “Chief, prepare a boarding party to consist of the captain and two volunteers.”
“Aye aye, sir, prepare boarding party! I volunteer,” the chief, a grizzled old boatswain, added immediately.
“XO,” Commander Stanton laid a hand on his arm, “if I give the word, douse the Cambria immediately. Hank Tuit’s captain of that vessel. I served under him as an ensign thirty years ago. If there’s any chance he’s still alive, I’m going to find out. I have score to settle with that old bastard.” She grinned up at her executive officer. “I’ll settle up with the navy afterward.”
The first blast shook the Cambria forcefully but did not damage any of her structure forward of the sternmost storage area. Minerva went into apoplexy, however, shutting off the damaged area and reporting damage loudly to “Brother Lordsday.” When he did not respond, the system went dead again.
Captain Tuit ordered everyone to remain suited until he was sure there would be no secondary blast from the propulsion unit. Then he saw the bolt that lanced out from the Banks’s main battery. Again Minerva went wild, but after only a few seconds it was obvious there was no structural damage to the surviving part of the ship and her life support system was still functioning.
“Did the bomb go off?” the navigator asked, a hand to his head where he had slammed it into his console. The hand came away bloody.
“No, didn’t you see that? We’ve been fired on by a navy ship! I’ve seen it often enough to know! A goddamned frigate! What the hell?” He was both wildly elated and deadly certain they would be next.
Ambassador Franks, awkward in his spacesuit, staggered onto the bridge. “Captain, what is happening? Are we safe?” His voice sounded high and tinny over the suit’s communication system.
“I thought I told everyone to stay in place until I gave the word it was safe to unsuit?” Captain Tuit shouted. All he needed now was a damned civilian blundering around on his bridge.
“Sorry, Captain, but I—”
“Forget it,” Tuit relented. He’d need all the help he could get in the next few minutes. “The ship is all right, but I’ve got to find out what happened to Conorado’s team,” he said. “Conorado! Jennifer! Bob! Come in!” he said into his throat mike. There was no answer.
“Conorado’s emergency transponder is functioning, Captain!” the navigator shouted. “It’s down in what’s left of Compartment Five!” Maybe that’s all that’s functioning, he thought. That there were no signals from the other two transponders was not encouraging. But he left these thoughts unsaid.
“We can seal off Compartment Four and then go into Compartment Five and retrieve the, er, bring them back in . . .” Tuit’s voice trailed off. He doubted anyone survived the first explosion, much less the second one. Tuit turned to Franks. “Mr. Ambassador, can you work the comm unit here? Sit down at the con and I’ll show you. I’m leaving you in charge on the bridge, sir.”
“This is highly irregular, Captain!” Franks responded, but he eagerly sat in Tuit’s command chair.
“Mr. Ambassador,” Tuit said dryly, “everything’s ‘highly irregular’ about this voyage. I need you to keep in constant touch with us. I’m going to take all my crew to the fourth storage compartment, recover Captain Conorado, see if anybody survived the blast. You keep your eye on the viewscreen there. We might have visitors. Let me know if you see or hear anything. Don’t be worried, this ship ain’t gonna drift into anything, and if she does, there’s not a goddamned thing anybody can do about it.”
“ ‘Visitors’?” Franks repeated, looking askance at Tuit.
“Can’t explain now, sir. You have the con.” Tuit reseated his headpiece, gestured at his navigator, and then clomped off the bridge.
Well, Ambassador Franks thought, I’ve got the con! “Steward!” he said to the empty air, “bring me a martini, please. Extra dry.”
Compartment Five was a shambles of ruined superstructure, loose cabling, and debris. All the ore and the entire hundred meters of the stern portion of the compartment was gone. “It’s all out there.” A crewman gestured toward the gaping hole that was now the “stern” of the Cambria. Tons of ore and other debris, mixed with what was left of the propulsion unit, floated in a long trail behind the ship. “Geez,” another said, “that’s gonna cost Sewall millions!”
They located Conorado in a cargo supervisor’s station, pinned under debris. He was unconscious but his suit had withstood the explosions. “Let’s get him to the infirmary,” Tuit ordered. “Give me a line. I’m going out there to see if I can find Jenny and Bob.”
“Captain!” Minerva broke into the net. “I have a message for you from the captain of the CNSS Sergeant Major Richard Banks!”
“Goddamn,” one of the crew said, “they must’ve deciphered the password those bastards set on her!”
“Good to have you back, Minerva,” Tuit said to the computer. He did not feel ridiculous to be talking to a machine as if it were a person. At that particular moment he felt Minerva was human, and he was glad to have her back on line. “What’s the message?”
“Captain!” Franks’s vo
ice came up on Tuit’s comm unit. “Somebody’s knocking at the door!”
“That’s the message, Captain,” Minerva answered.
CHAPTER
* * *
TWENTY-FOUR
The last thing Conorado remembered was Jennifer shouting “Fire!” and then the world went dark for him until he awoke in the Cambria’s infirmary, Hank Tuit standing over him, peering down anxiously into his face.
“Lew? Lew, can you hear me?”
“Yeah. Hank, did we do it?”
“You did it, old jarhead, you sure did it.” Tuit’s face broke into a broad smile.
“Jennifer? Bob?”
Another face appeared, a middle-aged female. “Hi, I’m Commander Stanton of the fast frigate CNSS Sergeant Major Richard Banks. How’re you doing, Marine?”
Conorado smiled back at her. “I’ve never been so glad to see a squid—excuse me, ma’am, I mean a sailor—in my life. What about Jennifer and Bob, Commander?” She said nothing. He turned to Tuit. “Hank?” An anxious note crept into Conorado’s voice. He was beginning to have that old, bad feeling again, one he’d had many times before after a firefight.
“Well,” Captain Tuitt responded, “we’re looking for them, Lew.”
The sinking feeling in the pit of Conorado’s stomach took a turn for the worse: Tuit didn’t look at him as he spoke. “Help me up, will you?” he asked. He groaned as Stanton and Tuit lifted him into a sitting position on the examination table.
“Minerva says you’re okay, Lew, just bruised and concussed,” Tuit said, trying to sound bright and optimistic.
“How long’s it been since I went out?”
“Some hours,” Commander Stanton answered. “I have several rescue crews searching this entire quadrant for survivors. Those blasts were quite violent.”
“ ‘Blasts,’ did you say?”
Commander Stanton explained the sequence of events. “The blast you set off is what knocked you into the cargo supervisor’s kiosk and probably saved your life. It was our blast, unfortunately, that emptied the ore in Compartment Five that your bomb weakened. Your friends went with it.”
Starfist: Kingdom's Swords Page 26
