Junkyard Dogs 1: The Scrapyard Incident (19 page)

Chapter 32

UTFN Reclamation Center, October 7, 2598.

The armed cargo
ship approached boldly, as if the Captain and crew had nothing whatsoever to
fear. The ship prowled around in the Scrapyard for more than an hour before
finally approaching the tracking station. The ship's commander chose the large
main access corridor through the mass of floating junk to stage his approach
and mount his attack on the station, just as Carlisle had predicted he would.
To this end, the defenders had chosen their ambush point with care. They
reasoned that the enemy would bring his ship totally into the cleared area
surrounding the station because he needed to turn around to renegotiate the
access corridor on the way out after attacking the station. Backing the ship up
would have been possible, but far more difficult than simply turning around and
executing the dangerous series of maneuvers bow first. If the defenders had to
take a shot, they really wanted to fire at the enemy's drive tubes, which
presented the shortest route to the main fusion power plant and was probably
the most vulnerable point on the entire ship. If they could disrupt main power,
they could stop the ship from maneuvering and would also disable the enemy's
beam weapon.

Or so they hoped.

The enemy ship
nosed into the central cleared area of the military section and essentially parked
about a half a kilometer from the tracking station. Harris carefully worked the
controls on the utility sled and swung the bow of the
Terrier
in a very slow arc to starboard to align the destroyer with
the enemy ship. Without warning or fanfare, the enemy opened fire on the
tracking station. The first shot punched a large hole completely through the
station. Atmosphere and debris gouted from both the entrance and the exit
points of the pulse but the majority of the ejected material spewed violently out
on the same vector as the beam. The defenders waited nervously while the enemy
recharged his beam weapon and fired again.
And again; each
pulse dealing as much damage as the last.
After ten shots the auxiliary
tracking station was a pulverized cloud of junk and the ship finally ceased to
attack. The entire affair took about five minutes, though it seemed more like
an eternity to the defenders. The attacking ship remained in position for a few
more minutes as the enemy apparently scanned the wreckage. The suit radios of
the three defenders were set to broadcast on a proprietary military channel,
but they had adjusted their com units to receive a full spectrum of
communications frequencies.

The enemy spoke.

"So, no biosigns from the wreckage.
It was clever of
you, to evacuate the second station. So, where are you hiding? Is it
here?"

The pulse beam
sliced savagely into the bridge area of a wrecked cruiser directly in the
enemy's line of fire.
Again, a cloud of debris gouted out on
the same vector as the beam.
Apparently the heat signature of one of the
larger pieces of the tracking station, one that had careened off in that
direction, had been his target.

"That's
it," said Harris, "He didn't buy it! If he can read biosigns, his
sensors are probably good enough to rat us out within a few more minutes. We
have to attack, now while we can still surprise them!
Vixen?
Get ready, we might need you but don't do anything until I give the order.

"Roger,
Java," Carlisle responded tersely.

"Hawk, have
you got a shot?"

"Aye,
Lieutenant, that
I do!"

"Fire!"

The now familiar
sharp tremor rattled through the old destroyer. Harris quickly made a few deft
movements at the controls of the
Rover
as the recoil from the railgun tipped the bow down and drove the ship slightly
rearward just as it had when they had fired the practice shot earlier. The
projectile ripped into the back of the enemy ship, slammed up into the portside
drive tube, and tore out a large hunk of hull and debris as it exited about
halfway down the port side of the ship. The shell then ricocheted into a large
piece of wreckage on the other side of the cleared area where it exploded in a
blinding flash.

"Good shot,
Hawk!" exclaimed Harris.

"Shit! I be
hittin' them, but the damned shell dinna explode soon enough!"

"What
happened?"

"I dinna
know! Sweet Jesus, that'll never do!"

"Great shot,
guys!" chimed in Carlisle, excitement making her voice shake.
"Looks like his engine is down."

"Hawk, was
that explosive or armor piercing?" asked Harris, trying but only partially
conveying a calm he did not feel.

"I'll be
seein' what I have left," said Hawk. After quickly checking his remaining
inventory, he replied somewhat sheepishly, "Damn it! I be mortified,
Lieutenant. It was bein' armor piercing."

"No problem,
we hit him and he's hurt bad. Just make sure that the next one is
explosive."

"Aye."

"Watch out
guys, the bow of that ship is swinging towards you!" said Carlisle.

Sure enough, the
impact on the back of the enemy ship had set it cartwheeling. The undamaged bow
of the ship, and the lethal beam weapon, would be pointing almost directly at
the
Terrier
in
another
four or five seconds
. All three defenders held their breath as the bow
of the damaged cargo ship continued through its arc but, to their immense
relief, no return fire came as the beam weapon moved through and out of
alignment with the old destroyer.

"We must
have gotten his engine, he can't fire anymore," said Carlisle.

"That or
they don't know where we are for sure," said Harris.

"Could they
all be dead?"

"If they
aren't and they recover, they may get things working again. Have you got a full
charge yet, Hawk?"

"Two more
minutes," replied Hawkins. "I
be
loading an
explosive shell now."

Carlisle's
question was answered a few moments later. There were survivors. The damaged
ship attempted to contact their sister ship back at the planetary station.

"Mayday!
Mayday!
Armageddon
Two
to
Armageddon One
, we have
taken severe damage!
Request assistance as soon as
possible."

The Stage I Whitney
communicators on the two ships made instantaneous communication possible over
the nearly eight light minute
distance
back to the
planet. Carlisle's special prototype command suit was capable of receiving
Stage I broadcasts and she quickly patched the communication through so her two
companions could also hear.

"...
Armageddon one
here.
Severe
damage?
What in the hell is going on out there, Jessie?"

"Our main
drive is down. These yokels managed to fire some kind of a weapon at us.
Ambushed us from behind while we firing at the auxiliary station. They're
hiding out in the cursed junk somewhere. I'll see if I can get you a video next
time we swing around to the area where the shot must have come from."

"Swing
around?"

"Look, I
ain't kidding, they hit us with something serious. We're tumbling out of
control. I haven't even got maneuvering thrusters. Engineering crew aren't
answering, we think maybe they're all dead. Caleb is trying to get the
thrusters back on line now. You need to know what you might be facing out here,
just in case."

"I'll be on
my way out to help you as soon as I secure a few things back here. I have to
talk to Ezra.
Standby."

The man came back
on about a minute later.

"I should be
there in... thirty hours. Try not to get into any more trouble, Ezra ain't one
bit happy!"

"I hear you.
Video coming now; the area where I think they are should be in view in about
ten seconds."

Harris looked
over his shoulder at a sudden movement above him. To his shock, Carlisle was
moving her ram towards the enemy ship.

"Must
distract them, Tamara..."

"Vixen?
What in the hell do you think you're
doing?"

"Sorry, Java.
I figured if they see a moving object,
they'll think that's where the attack came from.
Anything to
distract them from the
Terrier
!"

Harris was more
than a little miffed that she had disobeyed his order not to get involved
unless he told her too but decided to let it ride for the moment.

"Um...Good thinking, Vixen!
Carry on!"

"Hand to
hand...boarding party...pulse rifle
?...
battle
armor?...
 
Java?
I just thought of something else. It could be important."

"What is it,
Vixen?"

"Those
people came prepared to board the planetside station. They probably have
personal battle armor and some pretty effective hand weapons. I doubt that they
know exactly where you are...yet... but, if I'm right, they have a huge
tactical advantage in any kind of fight. I'm ready to ram him, if I have to,
but first I recommend you guys take another shot. There's nothing I'd rather
see than that ship totally destroyed and every one of those bastards
dead!"

"I can't
argue with you, Vixen. It's them or us."

"I be havin'
her lined up, Lieutenant.
Weapon bein' at full
charge...Now!"

"Okay, Hawk.
Fire when ready!"

Again the mass
driver hurled a projectile through the barrel of the old railgun. Harris was
ready for the reaction from the recoil and, because of his deft hands on the
controls, the
Terrier
barely moved
this time. Once again Hawkins' aim was straight and true. This time the shell
penetrated the hull of the cargo ship about a third of the ship's length back
from the bow. After a short hesitation, the penetration was followed by a muted
flash. Less than a second later, a rapidly expanding red-orange ball of debris
blossomed where the enemy ship had been. The three Scrapyard defenders had
somehow accomplished the impossible! They erupted involuntarily into whoops and
cheers as all of the terror and tension built up inside them over the last
several days came out in a rush that mingled equal parts of joy and relief.

"Yeah!
Take that you slimy sons of bitches!"
Carlisle shouted, almost gleefully.

As the clumps of
debris from the destroyed ship spread outward into the surrounding scrap,
several of the larger chunks made contact with other bits of junk and derelict
warships. At one close encounter, unobserved by the three Scrapyard survivors,
a tether shot out of the partially intact forward cargo bay, followed by a
second. Two bulky, spacesuited figures winched themselves over to the rear deck
of a gutted battlecruiser. One of them tapped the other on the shoulder and
pointed in the direction of the
Terrier
.
The two figures hunkered down and watched for the next fifteen minutes. They
saw Ensign Carlisle pull alongside the old destroyer in the
Rover II
and Lieutenant Harris meet her
at the airlock before the two of them disappeared inside. The two terrorists
began to move towards the rear of the battlecruiser. When they had moved to the
point where they judged that another hulk shielded them from the view of the
defender's destroyer, they disconnected their tethers and used suit thrusters
to move over to another wreck. They repeated the process, moving to yet another
wreck. Their movements were not particularly fluid or confident in the bulky
armored suits, but each move brought them a little closer to the unsuspecting
crew of the
Terrier.

Chapter 33

New Ceylon Orbital Station, October 7, 2598.

Kathy Haines and
her small delegation retraced their steps down the long enclosed ladder along the
flat, inner wall of the southern compartment of the same spoke they had come up
to the spindle in. They felt the gradual return of simulated gravity as they
got closer to the wheel portion of the station. After the group reached the
bottom of the spoke, Haines looked around and almost immediately spotted the
access port for the handset that Jane Tresham had sent with her. She unwound
the cord from around the unit and plugged it in. A small red LED on the unit
lit up. She pressed the call button and spoke softly.

"Haines here.
We made it to the bottom of the spoke and
found the receptacle for the handset. Anybody home up there?" There was a
short pause.

"Comin'
through loud and clear," said Tresham. "If there's a power relay on
the very outer rim of the fifth level, or a waste collection station, you'll
find another access port there. Have a look and call us back."

"Have we got
any more of these handsets?"

"Yeah,
there's dozens of 'em. Steuben should be able to find several in one of the big
maintenance rooms if he looks around a bit."

"Thanks,
Jane. We'll be in touch."

Steuben crept
cautiously out of the access door and carefully peeked around the corner to
determine if it was safe for them to return. The guard was no more alert than
he had been on their way up. Soon the small group was out of the stairwell area
and back on deck five. They used the electric cart they had left earlier to get
everyone back to the hideout.

Kresge was
relieved to see them. When they showed him the handset, he was delighted. He sent
Steuben to the nearest maintenance room to look for additional handsets
immediately. Vasquez looked around, impressed with the hideout and more than a
little surprised at some of the people whom he knew well, but never suspected
were smugglers.

"Take it
easy, Sal," said Haines.

After
introductions the rest of them got right down to business.

"So you have
another six security personnel and eight more station technicians holed up in
the lower part of the spindle?" said Kresge. "Who's in charge?"

"Jane Tresham
is the head technician and Sam Marquart is the ranking security officer."
said Vasquez.

"And each of
the security people has a stun rod?" asked Kresge.

"Yes,
including Harper's, mine, Kathy's, Fowler's and the others we should have at
least a dozen stun rods."

"Along with
Davis-Moore's hunting rifle and my pulse pistol we may be able to make
something happen." Kresge scratched his chin. "Tell me again how
effective these stun rods are? Earlier you said the range was three or four
meters. Anything else I should know?"

"You just
need to hit your target," said Haines. "It will work through almost
any type of fabric."

"Probably
not against battle armor though?"

"I haven't
tried it, but doubt it."

"What about
someone in battle armor who wasn't wearing a helmet?"

"A head
shot? Pretty risky, you'd have to get really close to make sure you didn't
miss. At really close distance, there's also the chance that you could hurt
somebody; we don't usually aim for the head."

"Screw 'em,
they're the enemy!"

"Well, there
is that."

Kresge turned to
the engineers.

"I also have
some questions about the mechanics of operating the station," he said.
"How easy is it to regulate airflow and oxygen content to selected areas
of the station?"

"That's your
area, Dee," said Brad Larsen.

Dee Washington, a
short, stout, brown-skinned woman thought for a moment. "It could be a
little tricky, but it can be done," she said. "What did you have in
mind?
".

"I don't think
we'd want to do anything sudden, but if we could slowly cut down on the oxygen
content on deck one, we might be able to impair the raiders without them
knowing it. I thought I saw some supplemental breathing sets around here
somewhere. Our people could just wear one of those rigs when we go up into the
upper deck. I'll take any edge we can get!"

"We'd have
to override some built-in safety codes, but once we did that we could gradually
drop the O2 level down to about fifteen, maybe even twelve percent and boost
the CO2 by a couple percent." Washington smiled and nodded her head.
"That would dull their senses pretty good. If we made the change over a
couple of hours, they probably wouldn't notice that anything was happening to
them until it was too late."

"What about
something that would knock them all out?"

"Very risky,
Commander," she said. "Whatever we do would affect most of the first
deck and probably part of the second as well. If someone gets a little too
much..." She shrugged. "There's just too much of a chance that we'd
hurt some innocent people."

"I
understand," said Kresge. "Change of subject.
Long
distance communications.
Have we got anything? Helen Murdock told me
that there was a Stage I communicator in the spindle."

"Yes,"
said Larsen. "There's a Stage I Whitney console in the old communications
room. It might take a little while to get it up and running though, it hasn't
been used in years. We had to move a bunch of old junk out of there just to get
at the console."

At that moment
Steuben returned with three additional wired handsets. Kresge looked them over
and nodded in approval.

"Where we
can plug these in, Steuben?" asked Kresge.

"There's a
waste collection facility just down the corridor from here."

"Take me
there,
I need to talk to our people in the spindle."

"Follow me,
Commander."

"I think
we'd better set up a permanent communications post there," said Kresge.
"We'll need someone to constantly monitor any handset communications and
runners to go between us and the post with any new developments. Round up a few
people who're looking for something to do, Dan. We'll use them to get
communications up and running."

"I've got
just the people for the job," said Gibbons.
"Renquist!
Collins!
" he
called out. The two older men who
had been assigned the task of monitoring the viewscreen turned and looked as
their names were called out.

"Come on
over here, you two, I've got a different job for you," said Gibbons. The
two men got up from their table eagerly and joined the group surrounding the
two leaders.

"I'll bet
Irene and Allison could find us some people who'd be more than happy to help
out too," said Kresge.

A quick
consultation with Irene yielded two teen-aged girls who were full of energy and
eager to contribute to the cause. The group made their way out of the common
room and loaded onto a couple of the electric carts. Within a few minutes, the
carts stopped outside a large, double doorway on the south side of the
corridor. Steuben used his key card to open the door. The group crowded inside.
The area was dimly lit and there was the sound of pumps, clacking valves and
gurgling liquids.

"Block this
door open," said Kresge.

Two of the men
went searching for something to hold the door open.

Steuben went over
to the main control panel that was covered with various colored lights, digital
readouts, an array of toggle switches and several rotary controls. Two swivel
seats for the operators, only required for periodic maintenance, were mounted
to the deck in front of the panel. He pointed to the receptacle for the handset
on the lower right corner of the control panel.

"The handset
plugs in here," said Steuben as he unwound the cord and plugged the
handset in. He then pushed the transmit button and put the handset to his ear.

"This is
Orville Steuben from...um... Command
Central
calling
the spindle, anyone there?"

Within ten
seconds he received a reply.

"Spindle
here, what can we do for you?"

"I have
Commander Kresge on my end...," Steuben hesitated for a second. "Who
do you want to talk to, Commander?"

"Jane Tresham or Perry Allen, either one.
I'll want to
talk to both of them before we get done here."

Allen came on the
line.

"Allen, here."

"This is
Kresge."

"Commander,
it's good to hear your voice again."

"Likewise, Allen.
First things first, we're setting up
a full-time communications post down here on our level. I'm actually calling
from it now. I know you're keeping someone near your handset station, we'll do
the same. We'll have to use runners, but I can probably get a message within
five minutes or less. Tell everyone up there. Now, what've you got for
me?"

"Counting
me, we have a total of fourteen people up here, Commander. Eight of them are
engineering types, technicians, and the like. The others are security
people."

"Any
weapons, other than the stun rods?" asked Kresge.

"That
depends on your definition of a weapon. We've got some pipes and hand tools,
but nothing I'd really call a weapon."

"Have you
located the Stage I communications console?" asked Kresge.

"I've already
looked it over, Commander. It had a layer of dust on it but it looks fine. We
ran a diagnostic and everything but the transmit function is working normally.
We're afraid the terrorists might have damaged both the Stage I and the Stage
II dishes when they fired on the station."

"How bad is
it?"

"Hard to
tell without more info," replied Allen. "Tresham and I are working on
it. I'm afraid somebody's going to have to go outside and see whether or not
the dish is damaged and then assess how bad the damage is. If it's just the
wiring that got fried, we might be able to bypass. If the dish is totally
destroyed, we'd have to rig some kind of replacement assembly. That could take
time."

"Can you do
it?"

"Yeah, I
think so. At least I can go outside,
there's
a half a
dozen utility suits down here, in a room near the auxiliary airlock."

"What about
the necessary hardware?"

"If I were
out in the 'Yard, I could find something easily. Here, on the station, it might
take a bit more doing. We're working on it. If we can get the dish problem
worked out, we could probably have communications up in less than an hour.
Trouble is
,
we can't really test it without giving it
away."

"Keep at it,
Chief. If Jane Tresham is handy, I'd like to talk to her. Before you go, good
work, Allen."

"No problem,
Commander."

There was a short
lag while Allen rounded up Tresham and had her come over to the handset
station.

"Commander
Kresge.
Nice to finally talk with you."

"Likewise, Ms. Tresham."

"Jane is
fine, Commander."

"Okay, Jane.
I've got Dee Washington here, she'll be my on-site advisor on station technical
matters, but I've got a fairly complicated technical question."

"Shoot,
Commander."

"Tell me how
difficult it would be to decrease the O2 and increase the CO2 content in the
atmosphere on deck one, preferably on the portion of the wheel that has the
governor's suites in it."

Tresham thought
for a moment.

"We might be
able to do it, Commander, but I'll need a little time to check out how to go
about it. The systems aren't designed to operate that way and it would take
some software modifications but it's just possible that we could coax them into
it."

"So, that's
a yes? You can do it?"

"I think so,
Commander. Actually, altering the O2 content on level one is a pretty good
idea. Most of the people on the station are housed on the second and third
decks. The first deck is mostly businesses and government offices and, if most
of the occupants went back to their quarters as ordered, that would make the
raiders almost the sole occupants on that deck."

"The more I
learn about this part of the plan, the better I like it," said Kresge.
"Whether we actually do it or not remains to be seen, but I want you to
work on it like it's going to be implemented. Call Washington when you have
some estimates. The main thing we want to accomplish is to impair these
bastards but we have to be careful. Whatever we do with the atmosphere would
have to be done gradually so as not to alert them that something is going
on."

"I
understand, Commander, I'll let you know when we have some estimates. It
shouldn't take too long."

"As I told
Allen, we're setting up a permanent communications post down here in the waste
treatment station on deck five
south
. It's the closest
wired point to our hideout. I plan to have someone here at all times and
several runners to shuttle information back and forth. When there is anything
you need to discuss, just let these people know and they'll come and get
me."

"Will do, Commander.
It really feels good to be doing
something."

"I'm glad to
hear you say that because we have a lot to do yet. Talk to you later."

"Roger,
Commander."