Junkyard Dogs 1: The Scrapyard Incident (33 page)

"How do you
know that?"

"My daughter
has one. She's constantly showing off its capabilities."

She looked
directly at Carlisle. "Now that you see what I have in mind, do you still
want my help?"

"Yes, Lady
Sondia, I think we do."

Chapter 63

New Ceylon Orbital Station, October 10,
2598.

The
Istanbul
's cutter approached the
southern end of the New Ceylon Orbital Station on a vector parallel to the spin
axis of the station. The Meridian pilot skillfully aimed the tiny ship directly
at the south pole of the station and brought the ship to a stop, relative to
the station, about ten meters below the point of the spindle. After a few
minutes, the door to the main airlock on the cutter opened. Almost
simultaneously, the airlock door on the side of the station opened as well. A
space-suited figure waited in the station airlock. Three more suited figures,
one of them in a graceful, skintight prototype suit, made their way carefully
from the cutter towards the open airlock on the orbital station.

They crowded into
the limited space; the auxiliary airlock was barely large enough for four
people in space suits. The door closed.

"Welcome
aboard! I'm Salvador Vasquez, currently the acting second-in-command for
station security. We'll be entering the station right near the old
communications hub. Commander Kresge and the others are waiting for us."

The airlock cycled
and the inner door opened. The group exited into a small chamber with a side
room that had provisions for their spacesuits. They worked the seals on their
helmets and removed them and then set to work getting out of their suits.

A few minutes
later, Vasquez led them down the short corridor to the old communications hub.
The hub and the surrounding area, which wasn't all that spacious to begin with,
was crowded with people. Kresge's face lit up when he saw his old compatriots.

"Harris,
Carlisle, Hawkins!" exclaimed Kresge, with a smile that threatened to
split his face. "I can't tell you how good it is to see you guys! You
must've had a hell of a time out there!"

"That
doesn't begin to describe it, Sir" said Harris. "Although it sounds
like it hasn't been any picnic on this end either. We're told you still have a
bit of a problem."

"You might
say that. In fact, we'd better get right to work."

After a brief
series of introductions, they did exactly that.

"We told the
leader of the terrorists that he could talk to the Ambassador shortly after the
Istanbul
got here," said Kresge.
"We'd better make that happen as soon as we can."

At that moment,
Carlisle's wrist computer gave a short vibration indicating a message waiting.
She gave Harris a questioning look and voiced the command to bring up the
message in a holo display.

"Welcome to the Hartwell Wrist Comp
Network. There is another user within a thousand meters. Do you wish to attempt
contact?"

"Network...
connect...user?" she mumbled. "This is strange, I'm getting a message
that there's another wrist comp somewhere nearby. These things are still pretty
rare. Does anybody know anything about this?"

"You've got
to be kidding," said Kresge. "Governor Larkin gave one of those to
his kid for a birthday present a couple of days ago. You don't suppose that's
who the contact is?"

"What if it
is?" asked Carlisle. "Should I attempt contact?"

"I don't
know," said Kresge. "They might have taken it away from him. You
could wind up talking to one of them."

Steuben spoke up.

"Now that
you mention it, the few times we've seen the hostages, it seems like the boy is
fiddling with something on his wrist. Whatever it is, it looks to be about the
same size as that thing. If you ask me, I'd say the kid still has his wrist
comp."

"Maybe they
think it's just a game console," said Tresham, "and they let him hang
on to it to keep him quiet. I do that sort of thing with my kids all the
time."

Kresge thought
for moment and seemed about to say something when they were interrupted.

"We're ready
to patch the Ambassador through to the terrorists," said Jenkins.
"Just give the word."

"I'll be
right there," said Kresge. He frowned in thought a moment longer and came
to a decision. "Wait until the Ambassador is talking to the terrorist leader
and then attempt to initiate contact, Ensign. Maybe the call will provide
enough of a distraction that you could contact the kid without them noticing.
If you get a hold of him, tell the boy not to let on to his captors that you
can communicate with him." Kresge thought again for a moment. "Has
that thing got video capability? Could we use it to find out where the
terrorists are located and where they're keeping the hostages?"

"Yes, and
maybe," said Carlisle. "These things are very complicated and if the
boy is the operator, he's only had the unit for a short time. Let me try to
make contact and we'll take it from there."

"Yeah,
you're right. I mustn't get impatient. Jenkins, patch that call through.
Carlisle, prepare to attempt contact."

Chapter 64

New Ceylon Orbital Station, October 10,
2598.

Angus Hawkins and
Helen Murdock made their way out of the auxiliary airlock over to the Meridian
cutter. The plan was to take a route to Murdock's ship that took the cutter out
of sight of the orbital station. They would then approach her ship on a vector
that placed the ship between them and the station so that they could arrive and
board the ship without the raiders seeing them. The journey took a little over
an hour.

Upon arrival,
Hawkins and Murdock made their way over to the
Greyhound
while the cutter retraced the route and headed back to an
eventual rendezvous with the
Istanbul.
 
After boarding through the airlock, which was
also fortuitously shielded from the view of the orbital station, they shed
their spacesuits and made their way down to the engineering area. Hawkins, with
his engineer's eye, took in a multitude of details about the old ship as the
two of them moved through it. Evidence of past makeshift repairs
were
everywhere.

"Are you
knowin
' when this old girl was being made?" asked
Hawkins as they made their way through the ship.

"About
eighty years ago," said Murdock.

"Pardon my
sayin' so, Lass, but maintenance nay looks to have been kept up too well."

"I know.
It's kind of embarrassing. My father wasn't too keen on that sort of stuff.
He'd just patch or rewire or reroute until he got things to work well enough to
get by. I've been trying to get her back in shape for a couple of years now,
but she still needs a lot of work and I just don't have the money. I was hoping
to get in a couple more runs back to the Santana Nexus before I had to do
anything major to her." She sighed. "Maybe I should just sell her for
scrap."

"No need for
that, Lass," said Hawkins. "I'll be wagerin' we've got everything you
be
needin'
right out there in the Scrapyard. Be this a
Bombardier Mark II?"

"I wish!
She's a Mark I."

Hawkins whistled.
"Can nay be too many of these old girls still
runnin'.
"

"Probably not.
Of course, this one isn't running right
now either."

They arrived at
the engineering section. Hawkins did a quick perusal of the area.

"I see you
be gettin' the inspection cover off. Let's be seein' how bad it is. Usually it
just
be
a matter of gettin' 'er back in balance. Are
you havin' a Helgeson ion flow meter?"

"I...I think
so."

She went through
a door crudely marked "Tool Room." Hawkins heard her rummaging around
and cursing before returning a couple of minutes later with a dust and
grease-covered case. Hawkins opened the case to reveal a meter that looked to
be at least as old as the ship.

"They were
usin' this to be doin' Whitney realignments?" he asked.

"Yeah.
According to the ship's maintenance logs, the
last time it had an alignment was just before I took possession of the ship
five years ago. That was several hundred hyper jumps, near as I can figure
it."

Hawkins depressed
the switch on the front of the device. The needle on the analog gauge face
moved off from zero.

"Well,"
he said, "it might be ancient, but it looks like it still
be
workin'. Let's be gettin' to it."

Murdock sat down
at the engineering console, about two meters away from Hawkins, and carefully
powered up the various circuits in the Whitney Overdrive unit as he requested.
After an hour of making adjustments and then readjustments as bringing one
system into spec meant that the ones he had worked on before needed further
tweaking, Hawkins moved away from the Overdrive unit, mopping his brow with a
greasy rag.

"Okay, I be
givin' up!" he exclaimed. "That be about the best I can be doin'. As worn
out as she be, there's nay any more room to make adjustments. It's nay as good
as I'd like to see it, the harmonic compensator still be about two units off,
but it'll have to be doin'."

"Will she
jump?"

"
Aye, that
she will.
For a while anyway.
I'd say she'll be workin' for several dozen, maybe fifty jumps before she'll be
goin' too far out of alignment again. You could probably still be makin' a few
jumps after that, maybe two or three, but they'll be rough. After that, you'll
risk jumpin' into nowhere. How far off from the Overdrive point were you bein'
on the last jump in here?"

"About five thousand kilometers."

Hawkins whistled
again.

"You be
lucky, Lass. That
be
way above the error margin."

"I know. I
just didn't have any choice."

Hawkins turned
away from the Overdrive module and looked across the engine room at where
Murdock remained sitting at the engineering console. Her head was bowed and her
shoulders slumped. The tough old ship owner looked as though she was ready to
admit defeat.

"You alright, Lass?"

"I don't
know... I was hoping to get the
Greyhound
operating again and make a few more runs before I had to do something expensive
to her. Now it looks like these terrorists will just take her. This ship is all
I have!" She put her head in her hands.

"You mustn't
be takin' it so hard, Lass," said Hawkins. "Commander Kresge will be
petitionin' the Federation for you. If they wind up takin' her, you'll be
compensated. You might even be getting' this old girl back again. I'll be
givin' it even money that they abandon her after a couple jumps. Every
Federation ship in the quadrant will be lookin' for her if those guys be takin'
her."

"What if
they attack the terrorists and destroy her?"

"It
certainly be possible, Lass, but I got to
be believin'
you'd still be gettin' some kind of compensation.
There's
ought
we can be doin' 'bout it right now, anyway. We'll just have to be
seein' what happens."

Helen Murdock
prided herself on being tough and independent and she'd been through rough
patches before, more times than she could count. She lifted her head and
straightened her shoulders. She'd get through this new challenge as well.

"Thanks,
Hawkins, I needed that."

"If you be
gettin' her back, I will personally be doin' everything in my power to be
getting' her back in shape. As I said earlier, we be havin' everything you'll
be
needin'
right out there in the Scrapyard. Most of
the stuff would probably be improved machinery from newer models. She could be
better than she be when she
be
new!"

Murdock cracked a
smile.

"So, you're
a dreamer, are you?"

"Aye, Lass.
When it comes to these old
ships, that
I be."

"Are you
hungry, Hawkins? I could whip us up something while we're waiting."

"A bit o'
somethin' wouldn't go badly at all, Lass. Lead the way."

Chapter 65

New Ceylon Orbital Station, Central Spindle,
October 10, 2598.

Oskar Kresge
nodded to the image of the Ambassador on the viewscreen in the old
communications hub of the orbital station. Harris, Carlisle and two other
leaders crowded into the small compartment, the rest of the Resistance
leadership listened as best they could from out in the corridor.

"So,
Excellency, your scan of the station indicates that Ezra Brimstone does have a
nuclear device?

"Yes,
Commander, the anti-radiation coating makes it difficult, but there is a
nuclear construct that shouldn't be there. The signature looks very much like
that of the military self destruct device that Ensign Carlisle described. And
it appears that the terrorist leader has kept it nearby. The device is
currently located near the main airlock of the station spindle."

"They must
have brought it on board when they boarded the station and just left it in the
airlock area, under guard. At least we know he isn't bluffing about having the device.
Now all we need to worry about whether or not he'll use the damned thing!"

"The weapon
is almost certainly a last resort, Commander. I believe that if we convince him
that he still has options, he will be reluctant to use it."

"I hope
you're right."

"I would
also point out that we are not even certain that he has the means to activate
it."

"I thought
of that too, but the ship they got the device from was operated by the
Brotherhood during the Succession War. It's quite possible that they would have
access to the proper codes. We just can't take that risk. If you're ready,
Excellency, Chief Allen will patch us through to the terrorist leader."

"I'm ready,
Commander, put the call through."

"This is
Commander Kresge calling Ezra Brimstone. I have the Meridian Ambassador
standing by."

A few moments
went by before the terrorist leader appeared on the viewscreen.

"Put him on,
Commander."

Brimstone didn't
look good. Over eighty hours on high alert takes a toll on a man, even one in
good physical condition. He looked like he needed a shave and his distinctive
mohawk
haircut looked a bit frazzled. He hadn't lost any of
his polished arrogance, however.

"Mr. Ambassador, how nice to finally meet with you."

"I assure
you I do not share the pleasure. What is it that you want?"

"For now, I
just want to talk to you, Excellency."

"Talk.
I'm listening."

"Very wise.
Where are you?"

"We are
currently parked at what we deem is a safe distance away from your threat of
detonating a nuclear device."

"Just as I feared.
Perhaps you could provide us with
some funding. You know that we had intended to take you for ransom. Nothing
personal, I assure you. I regret that we weren't able to ..."

The dialogue
faded as Carlisle made her way out into the corridor and motioned to Kathy Haines.
The two them slipped into an adjacent room to attempt communication with the
unknown contact using Carlisle's wrist computer. Haines watched with some
interest as the much smaller woman with the distinctive Spacer markings on her
face worked with the sophisticated computer. They waited a few more minutes to
ensure that the conversation was going well enough to hold the attention of the
terrorists before Carlisle selected the HWCN icon from the menu on her unit and
activated the link.

"Welcome to the Hartwell Wrist Comp
Network. Another user is within a thousand meters. Would you like to initiate
contact?"

"Yes,"
said Carlisle.

***

Peter Larkin was
just about to put the
coup de grace
on the Ultimate Boss of the Mutant Carnivore Invaders when the game was
interrupted by a silent contact notice.

"
Welcome to the Hartwell Wrist Comp Network.
Another user is attempting to contact you. Would you like to connect?"

"Yes,"
said the young man,
pausing
the game.

Carlisle's
communication to him was deliberately in the form of text, with no audio or
video to alert the terrorist guards. Four levels southward in the spindle, the
fingers of her right hand moved in the intricate patterns required for use of
the one-handed, virtual keyboard

"This is Ensign Carlisle, Federation
Navy. Use text only. Must not let terrorists know about contact. Are you P
Larkin?"

There was a short
pause before his reply came through.

"P Larkin here."

"We need information on terrorists. Can
you activate video link on wrist computer? Icon looks like small camera.
Activate and scan room. Use utmost care, do not alert terrorists!"

Peter found the
icon and activated the link. Carlisle's display showed a nice looking boy of
about eleven years old with tousled, straw-colored hair. He orientated his body
with his head to the north and spun slowly in a full circle.

Carlisle and
Haines saw what appeared to be a smallish room, obviously an office of some
kind with a desk and a few chairs, all designed for low gravity. Sleeping
strapped into one of the chairs was a little girl with similar-colored hair,
dressed in a pink coverall. On the other side of the room, next to the only
door, was a guard with a pulse rifle. He was not in battle armor and, at the
moment, he had his back to the camera. He seemed to be intent on something
going on outside the door.

"Just as I
thought," said Haines, "that's the security chief's office. Go out
that door and look south and you'd be able to see the barricaded hatch in the
floor. Where are the Governor and his wife? Find out if the boy knows
anything."

Carlisle sent
another text message.

"Where are your parents?"

There was another
pause as the boy composed his reply.

"They took Mom and Dad out for some
kind of call.
Not here now."

"Are all four of you ever in that room
together?"

"Yes, they bring Mom and Dad in when we
eat."

"How long until you eat
again?"

"About an hour and a
half.
Can you send food?
Been eating same boring stuff."

"We'll see.
How many
guards?"

"Usually one guard on
our room."

"How often do they change the guard?

"Not sure. Every four hours?"

"Where is Ezra Brimstone?"

"Don't know. Nearby?"

"Thanks, Peter, that's all for now. Can
you leave video feed on? We need information."

"Yes, will leave video on."

"Do not contact us unless there is an
emergency. Keep all communication to minimum.
Must not alert
terrorists!"

"Roger,"
came
the reply.

Carlisle looked
at Haines.

"They must
have the Governor and his wife in the larger security receiving area,"
said Haines. "If we want, we may be able to attempt a rescue within about
an hour and a half. Hopefully, your video link will tell us when they're all
together. What do you think, Ensign?"

"Hostages...
lunch break... zero gravity..."

"What?"
Haines looked at Carlisle quizzically.

"Sorry, bad
habit. Yes, we should get a team together and be ready to go as soon as Peter
tells us that his parents are back in that office."

"I wonder if
they're done talking yet?" asked Haines.

The two women
went back into the communications area in time to catch the tail end of the
conversation between the Ambassador, Ezra Brimstone, and Commander Kresge.

"...I would
think carefully before doing anything rash, Mr. Ambassador!"

The viewscreen
switched over to a view showing Governor Larkin and his wife, Valerie, bound
and gagged and lashed to chairs with their backs to the wall.

"As you can
see, the Governor and his family are still alive...for now. If you do not begin
meeting my demands within the next half hour, I will begin killing them. I
believe I will start with the daughter first."

Kresge
interrupted.

"Don't harm
them, Brimstone. I can meet one of your demands right now. We have a ship and
we can move it into position as soon as you give the word."

"You'd
better not be stalling. What kind of ship?"

"It's a
Bombardier freighter, much like the ones you attacked us with. It's perfect;
you and your men already know how to operate it."

"What about
the money? I want three million credits."

"We're still
working on that, Ezra. They tell me that there's only about a million on the
station. We'll have to get the rest somewhere else."

"Perhaps the
Ambassador can help?"

"I'll be
sure to ask him."

"A wise choice, Commander.
I will call back with more
instructions as we get closer to my deadline." The viewscreen went blank.

"Surely you
don't mean to give that degenerate what he wants?" said Davis-Moore.

"No, that
wasn't what I had in mind. I'm just trying to buy us more time."

"We have
weapons and equipment, Commander," said the Ambassador. "My personal
bodyguard, all twelve of them onboard this ship, have the very latest battle
armor and all manner of offensive weapons. Just give the word. They are at your
disposal."

"Thank you,
Excellency, that's a most generous offer," Kresge shook his head slowly,
"but the politics of this situation mean that we have to be very careful
how we use any Meridian forces."

"I politely
disagree but I understand completely, Commander."

"Haines and
Carlisle are back. Maybe they have something for us."

"Just let me
know how we can help when you decide what you're going to do, Commander,"
said the Ambassador. "I'll sign off for now."

"Thank you,
Excellencey."

Kresge met
Carlisle and Haines out in the corridor.

"We made
contact with the boy," said Carlisle. "The children are in the office
of the security chief, just as Kathy thought they'd be, the boy says that he
thinks the whole family will be in that room when the terrorists feed them in
about...," she stopped and looked at her wrist comp before continuing,
"...an hour and fifteen minutes. He can give us a video feed from the room
so we can tell when the best time to go in would be."

"Let's get a
team together right now," said Kresge. "I'm going, so are you,
Ensign.
You too, Kathy.
Who
else?"

Carlisle
responded, "...small hatch...short corridor...," she shook her head.
"The more people we try to use, the more crowded that area will get and
the more time it will take to get everyone in and out, Sir. I think we need a
small team on this side of the hatch to help the hostages get down here and no
more than three or four of us to go in." She thought for a moment before
continuing, "Actually, I have an idea that we might be able to use. We get
the Ambassador to call Ezra and..."

Carlisle outlined
her rescue plan. With Kresge's approval, she got back in contact with Peter
Larkin.