But then a trilling laugh came from the translator. “Amusing. I will give you an HN cube if you will take ten of my people in your ship and release them on any planet.” On cue, a swarm of insect children were brought out from behind the sedan, the adorable infants endearingly intent on sucking flavor sticks.
The ambassador gave the matter serious thought. What harm could ten baby bugs do?
Over the radio Trell asked Lieberman if the children had a green sheen to their thorax or chitin and the Marine replied yes. “They're pregnant queens,” the technician frantically told her. “Release them, and within a single solar revolution, the galaxy would be spleen deep in the horrid monsters."
“Room is severely limited on our ship,” Sgt. Lieberman stated in a loud voice for the professor's benefit. “Ten additional beings would strain our life support to the breaking point."
Prof. Rajavur appreciated the assistance, and the Queen/Mother blithely accepted the obvious lie.
“Perhaps we could buy the cube from you,” the diplomat offered, as if he had invented the concept. “Say, for sugar?"
Radiating innocence like a furnace, (squeak-squeak-thromb-squeal-chatter-gnash-grunt) oozed a bit of green. This was so exciting. “Your ship isn't large enough to carry sufficient sugar,” she informed him.
“Well, then how about thulium?"
Ah, the dance quickened. “What do you offer?” she asked putting the skull of her brother into a refrigerator compartment at the base of the sedan's armored tail.
He decided to start with the fair market value. “An ounce."
The Queen/Mother almost choked on her own laugh.
Rajavur took that as a no. “A pound."
“We are a primitive race,” the corpulent bug apologized. “My people believe that any number lower then ten is evil and will bring pestilence to the land."
“Mine are even more primitive,” counter-apologized the diplomat, “And can not count higher than five. Plus, in accordance to our religion, our priests would have to examine the cube for its holiness prior to the exchange of material."
“Examining the cube would be an insult to its maker, my scientist-son,” the translator said. “Which would require an additional five pounds of thulium to appease his artist temper."
“Does that include all relevant taxes, levies, fares, surcharges, import fees, export duties, tithes, and royalties?"
The Queen/Mother clicked a claw in respect. The mammal danced well. “The price is inclusive."
Prof. Rajavur smoothed back his wiry crop of hair. Fifteen pounds for a real cube, eh? The price was outrageous, and they would have to beware of a last minute switch, but this was acceptable. At last, they had a Cube!
Softly in the distance, the noise started like a dog crying, but then built in tempo and volume until the very air was tangible with the strident howling.
“Raid!” a bug yelled, and the screaming crowd frantically dispersed in every direction.
“Alert!” Lieberman said, touching the earphone of her radio. “A Gee superdreadnought is coming down the spiral."
Rajavur was silent as he hopped on board the aircar. This was twice the Great Golden Ones had interrupted him in the middle of a successful bargaining session. They were really starting to honk him off no end.
Somehow the lumbering craft managed to execute a razor sharp U-turn in the confines of the plaza and the vessel took off in a blast of green flame that washed over the empty bleachers only setting fire to stray bits of paper and the mummified statue. The Queen/Mother and her entourage were long gone. Surprise invasions by the Gees were an annoying, but constant occurrence.
With the flip of a switch, the autopilot of the Icarus precisely retraced its journey down the main road at near Mach speed. Everywhere throughout the city, bugs were diving into any open doorway or window. Then the humans could only stare, the buildings started to incredibly sink into the ground. As they did, the roller coaster structure about the city began to visibly rise. At last, the purpose of the mysterious erection was clear.
“It's a counterweight,” Rajavur cried, loosening his grip and losing his silk top hat to the wind. “For the whole damn city!"
Hanging on to the dashboard for dear life, Sgt. Lieberman squinted against the hurricane force distorting her vision. “By god, you're right!” she shouted.
“Impressive!"
“Let's hope we live to tell somebody about it!"
Putting a bat out of hell to shame, the aircar rocketed through the park, uprooting the sales booth. The side of the Ramariez welled before them like the white cliffs of Dover and the passengers prepared to die in a terrible crash, when the landing bay doors opened and the human pilot landed them as softly as a feather on the metal deck. With a resounding clang, the bay doors slammed shut and the starship immediately launched.
“Rendezvous with the superdreadnought in two minutes,” the Sensor Officer said.
“Shields on full, main gun primed,” the Weapons Officer reported crisply.
“What course, sir?” Navigation asked.
Hunched over in his chair, Captain Keller bit a lip. Damn. He had no wish to fight with the Gees, but if the Ramariez tried to fly through those drones, their amassed firepower would put more holes in the ship then a political speech. Think fast, space ranger!, the man mentally quoted from one of his favorite comic books.
Then recalling an earlier briefing on this very matter, Keller made a decision. “Navigation, set course for ninety degrees to ground zero."
“Straight up?” Trell gasped from his console. “Are you mad?” Only the alien could have said it, even though most of the bridge crew was thinking the same thing.
“Hardly,” Keller drawled. “Ensign Soukup, on my order I want maximum possible velocity, that means every engine we have operating at full thrust, plus the emergency chemical boosters."
“Aye, aye, sir."
As the starship rapidly neared the edged of the blockade, the drones locked their awesome weapons of destruction on the ship, but not satisfied with that, the Great Golden Ones also unleashed every weapon in their arsenal that could operate at that distance.
“Sir!” Buckley cried out, pounding on his console. “Both shields are down!"
“Hyperdrive nullifier in effect,” Ensign Hamlisch reported crisply. “We can no longer shunt into hyperspace."
“Engine #1 is dead,” Trell added, frantically throwing switches and pressing buttons. “There goes number two. Number three!"
The captain strapped on his seatbelt and pulled it as tight as possible against his lap. “Lilliuokalani, shoot that centihedron with the STOP THAT cannon. Navigation, give me full power. Weapons, turn this ship gold!"
* * * *
With a smug expression of triumph, The 34 released her grip on the control stand of the Gee centihedron and turned to the bearded amber male rising from the Command Chair.
“We have them trapped, my liege,” she said with a smile. “There is nowhere to hide on the planet, the drones will destroy them if they go any higher, and we block the only exit."
Solemnly, the avantor stroked his beard and nodded. “Excellent, 34. This will mean promotions for both of us. Well, let's get gather our prisoners. Open hailing frequencies and—"
jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj STOP THAT jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj
Unexpectedly hit by their own weapon, the Gees were blown off their feet by the psionic strike. Weakly rising to their knees, the pair tried to stand when their minds were scrambled by yet another slamming blast, followed quickly by two more. Meticulous as always, Ensign Lilliuokalani had read the report about Avantor's attempted escape from the brig and carefully noted the crucial number of shots necessary to induce unconsciousness.
Writhing on the deck, The 34 somehow managed to flop an arm about and touch the sweaty hand of her commander.
S-suggestions, my liege?
Prayer, 34.
Then warm blackness overwhelmed them both. Which really was a shame, for in that condition, n
either of the Gees were able to see out their viewscreens and thus appreciate the subtlety of what happened next.
* * * *
Relentlessly, the drones moved in for the kill, half a million Proton Cannons locking on target. But then, at the very last moment, just before the outpouring of a billion gigawatts of subatomic death, the onrushing starship impossibly changed color.
Startled, then embarrassed, the pyramids quickly disengaged their weapon systems and swerved out of the way of the golden ship. Their simple robotic brains were unable to fathom where the Gee spacecraft had come from, or remember that only seconds ago the intruder had been white. It was the proper color, and that was all that mattered. Nobody else in the galaxy would dare to use the restricted hue. The punishment was Galopticon 7.
Happily at this point, no RporRians remained above the surface to see the telling event, and thus the key to unlocking the blockade remained a secret.
At near light speed, the Ramariez tore through the opening in the gray metal cloud, her thermal backwash slagging any drone too slow to get out of her way. Several of the damaged pyramids reacted to that as an attack and automatically fired at the fleeing craft; either missing it entirely and vaporizing another drone, or scoring a direct hit upon the Ramariez. The ship's Deflector Plating ricocheted the beam right back at the pyramids with disastrous results.
Bursting free of the planetary blockade, with smoky tendrils of pyramids chasing after them, the Earth ship changed color again, and jumped into the relative safety of hyperspace.
* * * *
“Ha!” Chief Buckley cried, snapping his fingers at the main viewscreen in victory.
Captain Keller forgave the minor breach of regulations. He felt like blowing a horn himself.
Ensign Soukup relaxed the death grip on her control panel. Whew, what a ride that had been. Disney could make a fortune with a civilian version. With luck like this, Dagstrom Keller should quit the Star Service and become a professional gambler. She started to speak, but had to swallow first to clear her throat. “Sir, should I plot a reverse course so that we can try again?"
“Hell no,” the captain snorted. “We barely escaped this time."
“Sir?” somebody else asked.
Keller swiveled to the left. “Yes, Lilliuokalani?"
“We could circle about the star system, and approach from the other side,” the Communications Officer offered. “After we had first turned the ship red and were constantly broadcasting a fake identity code. It's a variation of the battle tactics used by the Byzantine Empire against the Mongolians in the 12th century.” Her voice trailed off as the captain stared meaningfully at the woman.
“But perhaps not,” finished the ensign lamely.
“Very wise,” Keller concurred. He was also familiar with the ploy. It hadn't worked against the Turks in 1453 and he didn't think the Gees would fall for it now.
“Besides,” Captain Keller aloud said. “That ship was more than likely the advance scout for a task force sent after us. If we attempt to return to RporR, our chances of successfully getting away, much less obtaining an HN cube, would be zero."
“But, sir,” voiced Ensign Hamlisch in concern. “Doesn't that leave us with one option left?"
Keller frowned, his elation disappearing as fast as his ship had from the Gee sensors. “Unfortunate, but true. Navigation, set course for the star system of Leader Silverside. We are about to remove any question about our criminal status."
The spacer gave a sigh. “Aye, aye, sir."
* * * *
Down in the Earth ship's brig, the exhausted 16 collapsed onto his waterbed, breathing raggedly. It had been a major effort for the Gee to boost the limited range on his computer implant to reach the robot drones, override their communication lock and then force the machines to call Great Golden Central for help. But once again, the Terrans had proven themselves to be fast, smart and lucky. Yet the galactic police officer would not surrender. Eventually, his captors would make a mistake, and it would be their last.
TWENTY-THREE
Fourteen hours later, the Ramariez phased into normal space: its shields hard and weapons at the ready. Delicate scanners hungrily swept the empty volumes of space about the ship, searching for any conceivable danger. But the screens remained clear, and the meters did not flicker a needle. When satisfied, Lt. Jones signaled a step down to yellow, then green alert and the crew breathed a sigh of relief. Safe, at least for the moment.
Snug in the command chair, Jones stifled a yawn and drained her cup of hot chocolate. It had been a long, boring shift, with little to do, but at last they were here. Made good time too. Gold was a fast color. But white was notably safer and she ordered the change. No sense calling attention to themselves.
Putting her empty cup aside, the woman primped her uniform, buffed her bars of rank and fluffed her blonde hair. The bridge crew for the command shift had come on duty an hour ago, so Keller should be arriving any moment.
“Captain on the bridge!” somebody shouted.
Shifting positions quickly, the bridge crew stood and saluted as Captain Keller sauntered in through the turbo lift doors, forcing his smile into a yawn. By God, that thing was fun. After this was over, he just had to get a turbo lift for himself, even though he lived in an A-frame house.
“At ease,” he said returning their salutes, and everybody resumed their work; although sitting a bit straighter and talking less than when Jones was in charge.
“Morning, lieutenant,” Keller said, as the woman relinquished her position in the command chair.
“Good morning, sir. Sleep well?"
“Lord yes, those water beds are fabulous. Made me feel like I was at sea. Anything to report?"
“Nothing, sir. Hyperspace was quiet."
He gave her a smile. “As it should be. What's our position, Ensign Hamlisch?"
“Right on target, skipper,” the Sensor Officer reported proudly as if he had done it himself. “Exactly 50,000 kilometers away from the outer asteroid belt."
“Excellent. Lt. Jones, you are officially relieved."
“Yes, sir.” The tall blonde saluted, but hesitated before leaving. “With the captain's permission, I'm not tired and would very much like to stay and observe the approach."
Keller tried to hide the fact of how much that suggestion pleased him. “Permission granted,” he said formally. “Glad to have you with me, Abigail. Take over the Damage Control console."
“Thank you, sir.” She turned. “You are relieved from duty, Mr. DeLellis. Go grab some sack time."
“Aye, aye, lieutenant.” Damn, the portly French scientist had wanted to take part in the exercise, not just watch it on the monitor in the crew lounge. Oh well.
According to Trell, the solar system before them was not a particularly unusual phenomenon. The galaxy had quite a few of the astrological abnormalities. In its formative years, the swirling plasma radiating out from the newborn sun had not formed into huge planetary globules for life to evolve upon, but instead had coalesced into countless billions upon billions of asteroids encircling the sun in a staggered series of wide bands, jagged hunks of rock and superhard ice that ranged in size from marbles to small moons.
Flying above the ecliptic of the system, the starship approached the forbidden zone at a cautious 100,000 kilometers per hour, the Q coil enginettes barely humming from the minor exertion. The main viewscreen of the bridge was filled with the dark splendor of the ringed sun, only the occasional glint of frozen gases breaking the majestic grandeur of the stony bands. Somewhere in that jumble was their last chance of success; an asteroid nicknamed Buckle and a criminal entity known only as Leader Silverside.
“Navigation, Communications, Weapons, Medical, and Sensors,” Captain Keller barked. “Put your sensors on automatic trip. I want to know the instant any of those rocks register life."
This order was greeted by a chorus of, “Aye, aye, sir!"
“Sir, do you think it might be time to try and talk to Avantor aga
in?” DeLellis asked, who had been walking from the bridge as slowly as possible. “Nobody can stay mad forever, and she might be able to help us find Buckle."
“It is highly doubtful that the Gees would be willing to talk to us, much less give advice,” Lt. Jones stated.
Thoughtfully, Keller cracked his enlarged knuckles, the only lasting trophy of his boxing career. “On the other hand, it can't hurt to ask. Go ahead and give it a try, Ensign."
“Thank you sir!” Smiling broadly, the man saluted and left the bridge.
Exactly ten minutes later, the scientist returned, his hair in disarray, what remained of his uniform in tatters and a smoking door handle dangling from his right hand.
“Avantor remains uncooperative,” DeLellis said, a puffy lip slurring his words.
Keller didn't know whether to laugh or cry. “Report to Sick Bay, mister,” the captain said as a compromise to both.
Trembling and weak, Ensign DeLellis saluted, almost hitting his head with the handle. “Hank goo, sur,” he managed to say, and stumbling to the fireman's pole, the battered scientist slide from sight.
Reclining in his chair, Captain Keller sighed in resignation. “I really hate to say this, but the time has come to unleash the RATS."
“I am forced to agree with you, sir,” Jones said with a frown. “Marines would be useless on this mission, as we will be dealing with criminals, not enemy soldiers. As horrible as it is to contemplate, the Reserve Away Team is our best bet, since they are the only veteran alien fighters we have."
“Unfortunate, but true."
Just then, the elevator doors shushed open and a massive metal figure emerged to lumber forward. When the armored figure reached the captain, it saluted him with a faint whine of servomotors and presented Keller with a clipboard. The captain deftly signed the manpower report. The UN Space Marine saluted and clunked away.
“Lieutenant, I want you to personally see to their equipment. And when you open that cell door, be accompanied by at least a dozen guards like that one in powerarmor."
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