Empire & Ecolitan (27 page)

“You—where's Captain Tiarry?”

“Captain who?” asked Jimjoy.

“You know who.”

“Tall Marine Captain who went with us to the commcenter? He's still there. Very upset.”

“Now…”

“You would be, too, if you'd just found out that the rebels had wiped out most of Commander Moran's strike force and had managed to come up with half a dozen tacheads before he closed down their base.”

“Tacheads?”

“Just class three,” amended Jimjoy, edging closer while turning toward Luren. “You have that shot there?”

As he turned back toward the Lieutenant, something white in his hand, both hands flashed.

Ugghhh
.

Clank
. The unused stunner clattered on the landing, a crack across the muzzle tube.

Jimjoy dragged yet another body out of the way through the portal leading to the access tube to the standby shuttle.

“Someone should have caught us by now.”

“They have, several times…but no one really believes they'll be attacked in their own base.”

He locked the portal, hoping that any searchers wouldn't think about two strange Marines and a pilot in conjunction with the emergency shuttle, at least for a few minutes.

And he needed those minutes, he realized as he reached the lock portal separating them from the shuttle. With a sigh, he pulled out the sole remnant of his equipment, the small tool kit.

“No more explosives?” asked Luren softly. “No more stunning miracles? No more defenseless individuals murdered?”

“Kindly—shut—up,” he mumbled, relieved that the panel controls and associated lock circuits were relatively straightforward.

Still, the perspiration was streaming down his forehead before the five minutes it took him to persuade the locked panel to open had passed.

Clank
. His fingers were shaking so much from the strain that he dropped the probe as he tried to retract it. Jimjoy shrugged, eased himself off sore knees, and picked up the instrument.

“Now what? Do we go back gently, killer, and plead for mercy?”

“Oh…that.” Jimjoy smiled and touched the access plate. This time it lighted, and the portal opened. “No, you strap in. You get the copilot's seat. And, Kordel, you strap in where you can. We're running out of time. So you're on your own. Try to do it right.”

Once they stood in the shuttle lock, Jimjoy dogged the manual seals into place. They might get blasted, but not assaulted by a following force.

“Onward.”

Neither Kordel nor Luren said a word, but followed him along the narrow passage to the control cabin.

“Kordel…strap in there…you, Luren…there.”

Jimjoy seated himself and strapped in, studying the controls, looking at the blank panel before him that would display an instant view from the scanners once he powered up the shuttle.

First came the pre-power checklist.

“Converters…shields…shunts…”

Next came the power.

The blank panel filled with a panorama of the New Kansaw Base, with the flat stretch of plastarmac lined up right before the shuttle all set for an emergency lift-off.

He tapped the primary comm circuits.

“PriOps, Gauntlet one, approaching TacOps. Approaching TacOps. Will report ASAP…”

“Scampig Papa, at threshold…”

“Cleared to beta four, Papa.”

Jimjoy bit at his lower lip. Gauntlet one would be reporting on the chaos he had left before much longer. He forced himself to remain methodical in attacking the remainder of the checklist, but he didn't resist a sigh when the board was fully green.

The right thruster began to scream. Then the left.

“Charon two, interrogative your intentions. Interrogative intentions.”

Jimjoy was surprised PriOps would even ask.

“Missou PriOps, Charon two. Lifting for orbit control. Code Argent Black. Code Argent Black.”

He brought both thrusters on line and tapped the panel stud to initiate retraction of the umbilical corridor to the tower, waiting for the light to signify a complete break.

“Charon two. Interrogative Argent Black.”

Jimjoy added power to the thrusters, and the heavy shuttle began the roll out along the emergency strip.

“PriOps, Charon two. Clearance is beta theta seven. Logged with Missou commcenter.”

“PriOps, this is TacControl. Request authentication from Charon two.”

Jimjoy twisted the thrusters to full power.

“Charon two, this is PriOps. Interrogative authentication. Interrogative authentication.”

The control readouts showed the thruster strain, but the thrusters remained on the border between green and amber as the ground speed built. The end of the emergency strip was appearing closer and closer.

“Charon two. Interrogative authentication…return to base.”

“Missou PriOps, this is Charon two. Authentication logged in commcenter. Authentication logged in commcenter. Authentication follows. Jupiter slash five omega slash beta delta three four. I say again. Jupiter slash five omega slash beta delta three four. Lifting this time.”

“What are you doing?” demanded Luren in a stage whisper from the copilot's couch.

Jimjoy ignored her as he eased the still-wallowing shuttle into the air, straight and level until he had enough speed to begin the turn necessary for orbit control positioning.

“Stalling…don't shoot while they're talking…”

“That gives you an advantage. You do.”

Jimjoy dismissed the bitterness, watching with relief as the barely airborne shuttle cleared the base perimeter fencing, and as the airspeed finally began to climb when he retracted the wheels.

“Charon two. Say again destination and mission. Say again destination and mission.”

“Missou PriOps, this is Charon two. Lifting this time for New Kansaw orbit control. Mission codes filed commcenter, as per ImpReg five four two.”

Not that there was an Imperial Regulation 542, but that would confuse the issue for a moment or three.

Finally, the shuttle reached ramspeed, without a Marine combat flitter nearby yet. Jimjoy torched both rams, watching the airspeed build as the high-speed engines took over from the thrusters. Then he began to work with the course corrector, trying to merge his trajectory with the orbit control approach lane, easing the shuttle back toward the standard departure profile.

In another few moments, nothing from the base would be able to reach them. Then he could begin to worry about orbit control.

He darted a glance over his shoulder at the still-slack-faced Kordel, impassive as ever, and at the brown-haired woman, who continued to shake her head sadly.

“Have you thought about what you have done?”

“No. No time to think. Be dead by now.”

Actually, he did think, but not about morality, which was what she had in mind.

“Charon two. Return base Oplmmed. Oplmmed.”

“Missou PriOps, that is negative. Negative this time. Entering boost phase. Unable to comply.”

Let them stew over that. The base had no long-range lasers, and no combat flitters close enough to reach them, even with tactical missiles. With the shuttle in boost, nothing on the planetary surface could reach them.

Another minor problem solved, with a mere dozen or so remaining before they could reach Accord. If they could reach Accord.

He shrugged and adjusted the steering rams. One step at a time.

H
ISTORY HAS SHOWN
that there are two kinds of warfare practiced. The first is the use of military forces and tactics to obtain territory, power, or position. The principal assumption underlying such ‘power-seeking' warfare is that the participants will refrain from actions threatening their survival.

The second, and rarer, general classification is that of total warfare, where the goal is the total extermination of at least one of the participants. At times, total warfare may be limited to the destruction of a form of government of one participant or to the total destruction of a specific culture or racial type, but the goal is still the total destruction of
something
.

Governments and generals who fail to understand what kind of war they are pursuing (or opposing) seldom choose the proper strategies or tactics.

Patterns of Politics
Exton Land
Halston, 3123 N.E.

J
IMJOY DIDN'T PARTICULARLY
care for what was about to happen to the Impie Base he had left behind and below the shuttle. But there hadn't been any real alternative. What it amounted to was that he valued his own continued existence over that of several thousand other individuals, many of whom were totally innocent.

“Charon two, this is Missou PriOps. Interrogative passenger status. Interrogative passenger status.”

“Missou PriOps,” returned Jimjoy, simultaneously adding boost, “status is green. Status is green. Entering lift phase two.”

Why was the base still operational? Before long, if it hadn't already, the base security force was bound to discover the trail of bodies.

To his right, in the copilot's position, Luren sat quietly, but her eyes continued to check the screens and the controls, as if she had some idea what the readouts showed. Behind her, in the comm seat, was Kordel, his narrow face expressionless as ever.

He only wished that either one could help in operating the shuttle. He was tired, and it had been years since he had spent more than a few hours with a shuttle.

“Charon two, this is Missou PriOps. Authentication invalid. I say again. Authentication negative. Return to base.”

“Missou PriOps, two here. Please say again your last. Say again your last.” Jimjoy continued the stall.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSssssssssssssss
…

The scream of white noise across the audio was accompanied by a white flare that momentarily blanked the visual screen for the instant before the compensators reacted.

“What was that?”

“The end of Missou Base,” answered Jimjoy evenly.

“The what?” asked Luren.

“End of Missou Base. Finis. Gone.”

“You—-you—-you—-?” finally stuttered Luren.

“How else could I keep them from alerting shuttle control? You think that Commander Moran and the Admiral would just let us fly off into the sun? After they'd sent five operatives after me? After your resistance cost them more than three hundred troops?”

“My god! Now what will they do?”

“What else can they do? They've already murdered every rebel they know about. Besides, that explosion won't have the resistance's name on it. It probably has my signature all over it.”

“Are you sure? Wouldn't it be easier to blame the resistance?”

Jimjoy shrugged uneasily. “Could be…but they'd do that anyway if that's what they wanted.”

“
What
are you?”

“Wish I knew…wish I knew…once I was a Special Operative…”

He kept scanning the controls, nothing that the screen had dropped the glare filters.

“Where can we possibly go now, Mr. Planet-killer?”

“To Accord. Where else?”

“Accord?”

“Tell you later.” Jimjoy began to make a series of minor power corrections. As he finished, with a sigh, he switched frequencies and keyed the transmitter. “Beta shuttle control, this is Charon two, beginning final boost. Beginning final boost. Interrogative status Missou PriOps. Interrogative status Missou PriOps.”

“Two, shuttle control. Understand commencing boost. Say again your last. Say again your last.”

“Beta, two here. Last transmission from PriOps garbled. Sensors indicate anomaly vicinity Missou Base. Missou PriOps does not respond.”

“Two. Understand Missou PriOps does not respond.”

“That is affirmative. No response Missou Base. No response on any frequency. Full boost this time.” He shut down the struggling rams and touched the booster controls.

The surge of acceleration shoved Jimjoy back into the pilot's seat. Luren's breath whuffed from her. Kordel grunted.

“No response—two, can you return Missou Base?”

“That is negative. Beyond envelope this time.”

“Stet. Interrogative your assessment of Missou Base.”

“Comm status of Missou Base is omega. Comm status omega. Unable to determine other functions.”

“Stet, two. Shuttle control unable to raise Missou Base. Report outer approach. Report outer approach.”

“Stet, shuttle control. Will report outer approach.” Jimjoy had to grunt out the transmission under the two-gee pressure.

“Why…are…you…telling…them?” gasped Luren.

“Why not? Want them to think we're on perfect orbit as long as possible. Less suspicion this way.”

“Less suspicion?” Luren's laugh came out as a cough.

Jimjoy ignored her skepticism as he corrected the boost arc course, then ended up having to readjust what turned out to have been an overcorrection. The arc indicator lights finally all lined up green on the board, but the Special Operative repressed what might have been a sigh of relief as he caught sight of the projected closure rate.

Remembering his training, he did not shake his head but began cutting the boost rate, rather than having to pile on high decel later.

“What…next…?”

The pilot ignored the mumbled comment from Luren as he continued to make the necessary course and power adjustments. He wished he could have trusted the automatic computer controls, but once he allowed the linkage with shuttle control, he lost all control of the shuttle. Plus, the automatics were rough, and no shuttle pilot ever used them except in emergencies.

To add to that, he wasn't exactly planning a normal rendezvous.

Abruptly, he cut the boost to minimum gee and began reversing the shuttle's position.

“What are you doing now?” demanded Luren.

“Whatever's necessary.” Next he began feeding in the parameters for the deceleration curve. Another few minutes would have to pass before he had to begin that operation. While he waited, he studied the control readouts. Finally, he called up the farscreens, trying to see if the shuttle were close enough to scan the orbit complex.

“Insufficient data,” the screen announced.

“Oh, hades,” he muttered. “Not again.” He checked the times, then unstrapped and headed for the suit locker.

“Now what?”

“Time to get suited up. You won't have a chance later.”

“Why do we need suits? Aren't we just going to lock in?”

“Not unless you want to be sent back planetside. So if you don't want to breathe vacuum, it would be most helpful if you got into one of these.”

“Would you mind explaining?”

“Simple. We won't last more than a minute if we walk through a lock. We can't exactly lock in and ask them to give us a ship, if you please, to let us get away from them for Accord.”

“I knew it. More violence…more bodies.”

“You should have thought about that a long time ago—when you got involved with the rebels.” Jimjoy stopped talking as he finished struggling into the suit and began checking the connections and seals. He glared at Kordel, who cowered in the comm seat. When he turned to Luren, she was unstrapped and twisting her long brown hair into a knot at the back of her neck.

Kordel might prove useful on Accord, but for what Jimjoy had no idea. Jimjoy jabbed at the racks. “Here are the suits. Get into one now. You've got about two to three minutes.”

“Do you want us to put on the helmets now?” asked Luren. She stepped toward the locker and caromed toward the overhead in the low gravity.

“No.” Jimjoy caught her by the knee to slow her inadvertent flight. “Try one, and make sure you can get into it. But leave it on the rack.
Securely
. Don't need them bouncing around when we brake.”

Kordel finally unstrapped himself and began to fumble with a suit.

Jimjoy finished his checkout of the single command suit and turned to see who needed assistance. Luren seemed to have mastered the process and stood quietly easing into the equipment, checking the connections as she did. She did not protest when Jimjoy adjusted several fasteners.

He turned his attention to Kordel, who held two identical suit sections and had a bewildered look on his face. Jimjoy sighed, took one section from Kordel's hand, and began to methodically stuff the man into the suit.

Cling!

“Hades!” he muttered as he let go of Kordel's shoulder clip so quickly that the other swayed toward the bulkhead in the low gee restraint. Jimjoy swooped back before the controls and delayed the decel for another minute. Pursing his lips at the thought of having to recompute all the inputs, he bounded back to Kordel and resumed completing the simple suit-up that the resistance man seemed to find insurmountable. Then he turned to Luren and ran over her suit.

“You're fine. Strap in. You, too, Kordel.” Kordel did not move. “Now.” He picked up Kordel, who opened his mouth in protest, and jammed him into the comm seat, slamming the harnesses in place around the seeming incompetent.

Once back before the board, he began to recompute the decel vectors, realizing that he had gotten upset for almost no reason. He had never intended to bring the shuttle to an absolute stop in any case. Approximations would be sufficient…so long as the shuttle's relative velocity was relatively low when they exited.

He made the changes, rough as they were, and shifted his attention to the farscreens.

“Shuttle control, Charon two. Commencing back-brake. Commencing back-brake.”

“Two, control. Interrogative status. Interrogative status.”

“Shuttle control. This is two. Returning on manual pilot. Returning on manual pilot. Closure control delta. Closure control delta.”

“Understand closure control delta. Do not attempt to lock. Do not attempt to lock.”

“Stet. Will stand off. Standing off within scooter hop.”

“Stet, two. Scooters standing by.”

“Back-brake this time.”

Jimjoy touched the fingertip controls as the gee force surged to four plus gees, then subsided to a constant three gees.

“Shuttle control. Two here. Interrogative courier for urgent pouch dispatch. Interrogative courier.”

“Two. You're lucky about something. Both
Pike
and
Darmetier
on station.”

“Stet.”

Jimjoy knew there had to be some ships on station, but a courier would be best, with a small crew, high speed, and low profile. Armaments would be worse than useless. A scout would have been his next choice.

By now the farscreens were showing the general outlines of the shuttle control complex. He could make out several outlying ships, including one that bore the signature of a full battle cruiser. He did not shake his head, not under three gees. A full battle cruiser he did not need.

“Two, this is shuttle control. Suggest you increase delta vee. Closure rate above approach line. Suggest you increase delta vee.”

“Stet. Increasing delta vee.”

Jimjoy boosted the decel to four gees, this time waiting for shuttle control to acknowledge his actions.

“Two. You're under the curve.”

“Stet. Monitoring this time.”

He began backing down the deceleration according to his calculations, until the gee force was only slightly greater than one gee. He continued calculating the course line, trying to reset the decel schedule in a way that would not break the curve until the last minute, one that would not alert an already suspicious orbit controller.

Finally he found the combination he needed and entered it into the system. Fuel-wasteful, but the shuttle wouldn't be needing that fuel after he was finished with it in any case.

He concentrated on the farscreens. Both couriers' images were there, fuzzy compared with the solidity of the cruiser. The couriers were roughly equidistant from the shuttle's projected course line. He called up the EDI. One courier was distinctly colder than the other. That was his target.

Again his fingers returned to the maneuvering plot. He tapped in another small correction. The shuttle shivered as the attitude thrusters applied the necessary force.

Jimjoy keyed the transmitter.

“Shuttle…here…sssttt…on path…again…borthrop…again…” The skipped words should have given the impression of a malfunctioning transmitter.

“Two, this is shuttle control. Say again your latest. Say again your latest.”

“…control…on top…maneuver…sstteent…path…again…again…” Jimjoy repeated his stuttered effort.

“Two, shuttle control. Your transmitter is omega. Interrogative status. Interrogative status.”

Dumb question. How could he answer if his transmitter were omega?

In his efforts to set up the approach, he had forgotten to check on the two passengers/resistance refugees. He glanced sideways at Luren, whom he found looking back at him. A quick look over his shoulder caught Kordel shivering and seeing nothing.

“Two, this is shuttle control. Can you read me? Can you read me?”

“…trol…trans…broke…again…pact…brothrop…con…”

Jimjoy could tell from the corner of his eye that Luren was trying to figure out why he was using a pseudo broken-transmitter routine.

The readouts showed that the beta shuttle complex was less than twenty kays away as the shuttle hurled toward its final rendezvous. The pilot/Special Operative rechecked the calculations.

“Charon two, this is shuttle control. If you read me, key your transmitter. If you read me, key your transmitter.”

Jimjoy nodded. Someone was getting smart.

“…control…broke…gain…say…roga…en…” he replied as he watched the orbit control complex grow in the screens. Less than ten kays, and the shuttle was still under the approach max lines. But not for long.

He unstrapped and flung himself from the controls.

“Helmets on. Now.”

He didn't even stop to let Kordel try, lifting the man from the couch and twisting the helmet on for him. Luren had hers on fast enough for him to check the seals by the time he had finished with Kordel. His own followed.

In less than two minutes the steering thrusters would ignite, adding some velocity to the shuttle, and the single message torp would also fire, both directly toward the orbit station. The shuttle would be piling toward the cargo holding section of the orbit control, the widest section of the station and the best target.