Death Ship Quest Page 7

  Kas reluctantly stretched over the casing and managed to grab the object with three fingers. If it was a bomb and it detonated, he and Edro would be pulped.

  “Right, Edro,” Toj said, “begin slidin’ the scraper under the box. There should be nothin’ but adhesive under there. Be goin’ slowly, and if ye feel any other resistance, stop immediately.” He couldn’t see Edro’s answering nod, but the camera showed the scraper sliding slowly beneath the box.

  Finally the box came free, and Kas said “Got it.” He held it in his hand, still stretched over the generator, awaiting further instructions. He was relieved that there hadn’t been any loud noises, but was uncomfortably aware that they weren’t safe yet.

  He felt the big engineer lean over behind him and a ham-sized hand gently removed the box from his hand. He released it with a sigh of relief, and scrambled out of the way.

  “Edro?” Toj asked, “are ye still there? Can ye drop the scraper and give me pictures of the wire again?”

  There was a muffled sound of assent from behind the generator, and the image on the screen once more showed the wire.

  “All right,” Toj said, “I’ll be slowly pullin’ th’ box out. I think the wire’ll come with it. Edro, watch the wire right careful. If it begins t’ tighten, yell. Yell loud!” Very slowly, he began withdrawing the box. The wire followed smoothly. Finally, the wire’s end became visible on the screen, and Toj was able to straighten, holding the small box with the long, trailing wire.

  He carried the box to a workbench, being careful not to kink or strain the wire. When Toj gently placed the box on the workbench, Kas suddenly realized that he hadn’t been breathing for at least a minute. His breath whooshed out, and he gulped his lungs full.

  The big man’s shoulders slumped in obvious relief as well. He had reached for a magnifier, and was carefully examining the box, when Kas heard a muffled “Hmph!” from behind the generator.

  Kas and Toj exchanged guilty glances, and then went back to the generator. “Edro?” Kas called. “Are you all right?” Scuffling and muffled sounds came from behind the generator. Edro’s feet were kicking wildly. Finally the words – or, rather word -- became clear. “Mfm . . . Stuck!”

  Kas and Toj exchanged grins. Kas stuck his head over the generator just in time to hear “Suit caught!” A quick glance at Toj revealed a broad grin. Yes, Toj had heard.

  Toj reached down and grabbed the two kicking feet sticking out from beneath the generator. He gave a mighty tug. There was a ripping sound, then Edro came sliding out with enough velocity to slide almost across the compartment, his torn shipsuit flapping.

  The small man came boiling to his feet, his wizened face scarlet with fury. He started toward Toj, fists bunched.

  The big Bulworther held up his hands in surrender, fighting to control his laughter. “Nay, Nay, m’man,” He rumbled. “Ye’ve no quarrel wi’ me an’ no call t’hurt me. Ye’ve done good work this day. Not so, cap’n?”

  Kas nodded. “Very good work. Without you, we’d have had a lot more trouble than we did – and we didn’t know it wasn’t a bomb.” He struggled to control growing laughter. “But . . . But you came squirting out of there like a cork from a bottle!” Unable to control it any longer, he dissolved in laughter, accompanied by the bass roar of Toj’s huge laugh. Edro stood for a moment, fists clenched. Then, slowly, the fury drained from his face, and in moments he, too dissolved into laughter. All three roared, and if their laughter held a tinge of relieved stress, well, so what?

  As they began to sober, their attention returned to the mysterious object they’d found. “How long before you can tell me something about it?” Kas asked.

  The big man shrugged. “Yon Edro’s the expert on communications stuff. Wi’ his help, could be we’ll know sommat in a few hours. Y’agree, Edro?”

  The small comm tech flushed with pleasure at being asked, but he nodded enthusiastically. The two turned to the workbench and the mystery, their captain forgotten.

  Kas started from the compartment. At the hatch he stopped and turned. If there ever was an odd couple, he thought this was it. Toj, two meters tall and a meter wide dwarfing his companion, some hundred-twenty centimeters tall and only massing about fifty kilos. He shook his head and headed for the bridge.

  It was several hours later that Toj and Edro came onto the bridge. “‘Tis right I was, Skipper,” Toj rumbled. “It’s a communications device.”

  “Beacon,” put in the laconic Edro.

  Toj nodded. “Aye. ‘Tis a beacon indeed. It’s inactive for the now, but send it a signal on the right frequency and she’ll sing like a banshee.”

  Kas frowned. “Any indication who placed it?”

  “Not Fleet,” muttered Edro.

  Toj nodded. “Nor is’t Imperial at all, we’re thinkin’. Could be it's Alliance, but ‘tis true it could as easily be from one of the Independents or even the damned Glory fer that matter.”

  Kas hesitated, thinking. “That means a spy at the Fleet Yard on Prime.”

  Rom snickered from his station. “Surely that doesn’t surprise you, Cap’n?”

  Kas smiled sourly. “Not really. All right, let’s see. Whoever it was knew that we’d be sending a ship after the Rekesh, and that it wouldn’t be an obviously military ship. So they had their agent plant one of these beacons on any non-warships that came to the Yard. Then they have their pickets or customs cutters broadcast the trigger frequency.”

  Toj nodded enthusiastically. “Aye! Use a frequency that nobody else uses, and nothin’ happens ‘til a ship wi’ one o’ the beacons emerges in yer system. Then th’ alarm sounds and they can decide whether t’ arrest us ‘r just foller us. Cute.”

  Kas had been thinking. “Could you and Edro rig that thing to sound an alarm when it detects the trigger signal, instead of sending a signal?”

  Edro’s head bobbed, and Toj replied, “Easily, Cap’n. Jus’ disconnect th’ receiver from the transmitter. Then, we c’n rig anythin’ atall fer an alarm. Eh, Edro?” The little man nodded enthusiastically.

  “Why bother?” Rom asked. “It doesn’t matter who placed the damned thing. Just deactivate it. There’s no need to get fancy.”

  Kas was not so easily satisfied. “Call it curiosity. I want to know who bugged my ship. I also want Starhopper searched from sensors to drive coils. Whoever left this little toy could have left something much more lethal. Or perhaps he’s not the only spy at the yard.”

  “Luckily,” he continued, “our next recal stop system is Rejel, and it’s uninhabited. While Tera’s recalculating and recalibrating, the rest of us will suit up and check the outside of the ship. In the meantime, we have . . .” he glanced at his ring watch, “. . . sixty-four more hours in Jump. That should give us time to comb the interior. I want every nook and cranny checked and every access panel removed. Toj, pay particular attention to the engineering areas. A small bomb down there could be disastrous. Will you need any help?”

  Toj nodded. “Aye, Skipper. Ye’ve seen there’s lotsa tight areas down there. P’rhaps y’cud see yer way t’let me borrow Edro, here.” The little man dodged as the Bulworther moved to slap him on the back.

  Kas nodded. “Good idea. Edro, give Toj a hand after you’ve checked the comm systems, all right?”

  The small man grinned and nodded. It was apparent that Kas’ odd couple was getting along very well indeed.

  The ship’s routine was suspended and the next several ship days saw the entire crew frantically searching for bombs or bugs. Every drawer and cabinet was opened, every access panel removed and the circuitry so exposed examined carefully. Finally, only a few hours before they were to emerge into the Rejel system, Kas pronounced himself satisfied that they’d done all they could. There was no way that they could check every centimeter of the kilometers of wiring or every centimeter of space, of course. But they’d checked everything possible, and anything not searched was simply so inaccessible that it was unlikely a spy would go to the extreme risk required to place
a device there.

  As soon as they emerged everyone but Tera suited up and a similar centimeter-by-centimeter external search was conducted. Once her jump computations were complete, Tera joined them. The search took two days, and by its end the entire crew was exhausted and heartily sick of space suits. Finally, Kas gave permission for their next jump, to D’Jellabah.

  D’Jellabah was no fun at all. Neither Rom’s bribe attempts nor Kas’ appeals to reason were effective. For two days, a crew of customs officials crawled over, around and through Starhopper. Kas was certain they’d find the quick-firers concealed between her inner and outer hulls, but the searchers simply accepted Kas’ explanation that the extra bracing and the metal bulkheads that concealed the weapons had been there when he bought Starhopper. Kas was grateful for the effort the yard crew had made to make the modifications look old. Even the most cursory examination revealed what looked like ten or fifteen coats of paint on surfaces, bolts and rivets. The inspectors ran detectors over the sheet, but whatever they were set to detect, it evidently wasn’t quickfirers. Finally, the inspectors reluctantly declared themselves satisfied, and departed.

  Kas breathed a huge sigh of relief. “All right,” he decided, “Since we’ve been through this search we may as well stop at the planet to buy provisions. We’ve no time for a several-day-long port visit but I think we can spare a few hours. The port’s chandlers should have everything we need.”

  “Yeah” Agreed Rom, “It’d be nice to have some fresh food, instead of that reconstituted dreck!”

  To avoid yet another search, they grounded at the Bonded Area of the port. Since they’d announced their intention to buy supplies before grounding, they’d hardly secured the drives before a dozen dealers and chandlers descended upon them. Finally, Kas had to station Toj at the main lock to admit only one at a time. Within two hours, hovertrucks were lined up outside Starhopper’s cargo hatch and cases were moving up conveyors. Since Kas refused to let native personnel aboard, the crew had to stow and secure the materials. Kas paid the dealers in imperial crowns, receiving broad smiles in return. Obviously, he was being taken by the exchange rate. Afterward, he realized he should have dickered, but military habits die hard. He could have had Rom buy the supplies, but he’d forgotten that Rom was supposed to be the purser. By the time he remembered, Rom was busy stowing cargo in the hold.

  They boosted six hours later. Kas wasn’t happy. He’d blown it on D’Jellabah and he knew it.

  “If anyone on that planet was watching,” he groused, “I just told them we’re military. Nobody else buys supplies without haggling, and any normal trader would’ve let his purser do the dealing.”

  Rom shrugged. “Yeah, Cap’n, you’re right. But maybe we were lucky. Nobody seemed to be paying us much heed. Except the chandlers of course!”

  Still, Kas huddled over the sensors covering Starhopper’s stern until they reached the jump point and jumped. Then he straightened and stretched. “Well, I don’t think we were followed,” he said in a relieved tone. “Damn! I feel so stupid!”

  Rom shrugged. “Forget it, Cap’n. It was me should’ve reminded you. I’m supposed to be the expert! Besides, D’Jellabah ain’t exactly a popular planet. I don’t think anybody who’d talk noticed.”

  Kas relaxed slightly and even found himself grinning weakly. “Are we going to sit around here arguing about whose fault it was, or are we going to get on with the mission?”

  Rom chuckled. “I vote fer gettin' on with it. Nothing’s to be gained by beating ourselves up over a mistake.”

  Kas was scowling over a game of Jasc when Gran strode onto the bridge that ‘evening’. “Cap’n, I . . .” he began, then “You play Jasc?”

  Kas nodded glumly. “I try. It’s not easy to play a game that requires creative and original thought with a ship’s comp without full Artificial Intelligence capabilities.” He glanced up hopefully. “You play?”

  Gran hooked his thumbs in his shipsuit's belt. “Just the thing to pass time ashore waitin’ out a storm.”

  Kas picked up his cue. “Yeah. I’ll bet you fishermen get pretty good, huh?”

  “I can usually keep from bein’ swamped,” Gran said casually.

  “Well, sit down,” Kas said. “Use Rom’s terminal. He’s off duty.” He reset his terminal screen as Gran called up a Jasc field on Rom’s terminal.

  Both moved slowly at first, feeling each other out. After the twenty-fourth set of moves, Gran observed, “You ‘pear t’like the Rigellian game, Cap’n.”

  Kas shrugged. “And you seem to favor the Silurian.”

  The pace picked up, but it was nearly three hours later that Gran made the move that Kas had hoped for, placing himself firmly in Kas’ trap. After two more move sets, Gran realized his fate. He frantically tried increasingly risky gambits, but after another half hour, Kas had penetrated his keep and he was forced to surrender his Emperor. Both men were sweating profusely.

  Gran slumped back into his chair. “That wasn’t a Rigellian maneuver!” he complained. Kas grinned. “I didn’t say I played a Rigellian game. You did.”

  Gran’s usual grin resurfaced. “That’s right, I did. More the fool I! Y’know,” he continued, “Commodores aren’t supposed to be sneaky, underhanded, and ruthless. You’re all supposed to be fine, stalwart, upstanding, and full of honor.”

  Kas laughed aloud. “Well, full of something, anyway. Besides, sneaky, underhanded, and ruthless is how you get to be a Commodore!”

  Thereafter, their Jasc games became more or less a ritual during jumps. Gran’s game was technically better, more polished and smoother; but Kas’ strategic sense and imagination allowed him to win a satisfying percentage of their games. Several times Kas had to remind himself about the risks of becoming too friendly with subordinates.

  Their next recal stop was to be the Hatchell system. Though it occupied space claimed by New Senegal, it was uninhabited, and Kas expected no trouble.

  He was wrong.

  Tera was less than halfway through her computations when Rom shouted. “A ship, Captain! No, two ships!”

  Almost simultaneously, Edro shouted, “I’m getting something, sir!”

  Kas whirled on the little man. “Are they hailing us?”

  Edro shook his head. “No, sir. They’re talking to each other. But since neither is on tight-beam, we can hear them.”

  “They don’t know we’re here yet, Skipper,” Rom added. “Our sensors are enhanced, remember. One of ‘em’s an Epsilon-class tramp. T’other’s an Empire-pattern corvette.”

  Kas nodded. “Put it on the speakers, Edro.”

  “You’ve no business here,” A rather good-looking woman in a brown shipsuit was saying, “And you’ve certainly no authority here! This system is owned by New Senegal, and you’re certainly not Senegalese!” The woman wasn’t a beauty, Kas noticed absently, but her features were strong, regular and open, and the shipsuit bulged gratifyingly in the appropriate places.

  The other figure was dressed in a white shipsuit with a large red crucifix on the left chest, over the heart. This was the typical uniform of an officer of the so-called "Lord's Host", or military, of the so-called “Ministry for the Glory of God”, the theocracy known as the "Glory." Brighter patches on his much-washed shipsuit revealed where rank slashes and unit patches had recently been removed.

  “Whore of Satan,” The man in white roared. “My business is wherever the Lord directeth me, and my authority is that of the Lord of All! Now, Thou’lt heave to for boarding and questioning, or suffer the wrath of the Lord!”

  The woman looked annoyed. “Screw you, you damned fanatic! I know what ‘questioning’ by one of you Swords means. We’d rather go down running.”

  The man flushed. “Blasphemer! Whore! Handmaiden of the Devil! Thou’lt pay for thy insolence!” His expression turned to intense hatred. “I look forward to questioning thee, slut! We’ll have thee and a battle cruiser for the greater glory of God!”

  Kas started. But the woman merely l
ooked puzzled. “What the hell are you blathering about? What battle cruiser?”

  “It shall not avail thee to pretend ignorance, whore.” The man in white said with an evil leer, “Thou’lt tell us all that we desire to know presently!” His transmission ended abruptly.

  The woman turned to someone out of range of the pickup “What the hell . . .” Her transmission broke off, as well.

  Kas whirled on Rom. “How long before their sensors pick us up?”

  Rom shrugged. “If they’ve got standard sensors, about five minutes at our present closing rate, sir.”

  Kas nodded, and keyed his com. “Gran to the bridge. Urgent!” Gran was Starhopper’s gunner, and it appeared that a gunner would be needed shortly.

  Gran arrived on the bridge at a dead run. Edro slid aside to give him access to the comm panel which would shortly become the weapons station.

  Kas keyed his com again. “All hands prepare for action. There’s a corvette from the Glory out there pretending to be a pirate. He’s looking for us! Luckily, he jumped another ship first-- but he mentioned a battle cruiser that he planned to get.”

  Rom frowned. “Any chance we can avoid him, sir? Slip away to another jump point? I mean, our weapons are pretty much improvised and his are Empire standard. We’re kinda overmatched!”

  Kas shook his head. “No chance. Those ships are between us and the only other jump point in the system. Besides, I can't let civilians get tortured and killed just to avoid a fight. Gran, activate your weapons console and begin decompressing the hold. We’re going to need those lasers.”

  Gran nodded and began pressing switches and buttons. Powerful pumps began sucking the atmosphere out of the hold while the apparently sealed crates containing the lasers began collapsing. As the pumps reduced the hold to near-vacuum, the huge cargo doors slid aside and the two nuclear-pumped self-powered lasers rumbled down the tracks in the deck, stopping just inside the doors.