Empire & Ecolitan (44 page)

J
IMJOY SWALLOWED ONCE
, moistened his lips, and took the wooden stairs evenly.

Around him swirled the gray mist that was a combination of frozen rain and fog, lending an unreal atmosphere to the late afternoon.

Thelina should have been back from the field training staff meeting. But “shoulds” didn't always translate into reality. Especially where she was concerned. And her message had been clear. Get to Thalos. But he couldn't leave without saying what he had to say.

Chuurrruppp
…

The raucous call of a jaymar echoed from one of the bare branches hidden in the mist.

Jimjoy grinned fleetingly as he stepped up to the door, pleased at the scavenger's call of support. At least he felt it was support of some sort.

Thrapp. Thrapp
.

He waited, hearing the muffled sound of feet on the wooden floor inside, wondering whether Thelina or Meryl would open the door.

A sliver of golden light, followed by a breath of warm air—trilia-and cinnamon-scented—spilled onto the porch where he stood as the door opened.

“Oh….” Other than offering momentary surprise, Thelina's face was unreadable.

“Sorry. I'd just like a moment, if I could.”

“Come on in.” Thelina still wore a set of field greens, muddy beneath the knees, and a set of heavy greenish socks. “I just got back—literally.” Her left hand flipped toward her legs. “As you can see.” A smudge of dirt or mud on her left cheek almost appeared like a bruise, and her short hair was damply plastered against her scalp. She stepped back.

Jimjoy closed the door and glanced into the main room. Even from the foyer he could feel the warmth of the fired-up wooden stove. “Too cold to get cleaned up yet?”

Thelina nodded as she gingerly eased herself into one of the straight-backed wooden armchairs closest to the stove. “I'm also too tired. Sit down. You had something in mind?”

Jimjoy took the other wooden armchair, sitting on it at an angle to face her. He looked at her face, catching the almost classical lines as she closed her eyes momentarily. The warm light of the lamps and the flicker of orange from behind the mica of the stove lent a hint of softness to the cleanness of her features, to eyes and a nose perhaps a touch too strong in full sunlight.

What had she been like before?

“You had something in mind?” she repeated.

“Sorry…just thinking.” He straightened up in the chair. “You put yourself directly on the line for me. Why?”

“I didn't do it for you. I did it because your program is the only chance Accord or the Institute has—and because I promised Sam I would, no matter how I felt about you.”

“Hades…Sam could have ensured a successor…couldn't he?”

“Yes.”

Jimjoy turned in the chair, glancing through the glass of the sliding door at the mist outside. Beyond the far deck railing he could see only vague outlines cloaked in gray.

“Either he didn't want a successor, or…”

“Or?”

“Nothing.” He understood, he thought. All of the first-class strategic brains at the Institute were women. And Accord was not the Matriarchy, but an Imperial colony.

“Nothing? You came over here in the rain to bother an exhausted woman for nothing?”

He sighed. “No. I came to thank you. I came to tell you that I still care for you, and I came to admit that you were right. I was attracted to a facade at first. I admit it. But I've seen enough to know that the facade isn't a facade, that it reflects you. And I wish Sam simply could have named you his successor.”

“Me?” Thelina sat up, looking surprised for the first time he had known her.

“Seems clear to me. For the most part, once you leave Sam and Gavin Thorson out, the sharpest of the Senior Fellows are women. You, Meryl, Kerin, Analitta…”

“What about you?” Her voice was softly curious.

“Me?” He felt like an echo. “I'm too new, too unknown. Too much of a lone wolf. I could do something about as big as my training group.” He broke off. “That was why I came—to tell you how much your support meant, especially when you don't care that much for me.” He stood up and faced the window, where the twilight had begin to darken the mist and reduce the visibility further.

“Anyway…”

“That's not quite what I said.” Her correction was also soft, though her voice did not sound tired.

Jimjoy shrugged without looking back at her. “I don't know that I'll see you again for a while.” If ever, he thought, the way things are going now. “And I wanted you to know”—he swallowed—“that you were right…and that I still care for you. Didn't want to leave without telling you.” He turned and looked at Thelina.

She had left the chair and taken a step toward the door, not exactly toward him, but not avoiding him, either. She stepped to the glass beside him.

For a time, nearly shoulder to shoulder, they watched the mist swirl around the deck and the trees beyond, slowly darkening with the twilight. As they watched, he realized again how tall she was, something hard for him to believe for all her grace. Finally, his right hand found her left, and his fingers slipped into hers.

“Why do we fight so much?” he asked softly.

“Because I don't trust men, and you don't trust women.”

“Could we try?” His fingers tightened around hers, but he did not dare to look at her.

“Only one at a time…”

She returned the pressure, and he could feel the strength in her long fingers. As strongly as he had pressed, she had answered.

Jimjoy turned toward her, and found her turning to him, her eyes looking into his. He found his hands touching her cheeks, drawing her face toward him, even as her hands found his shoulders.

Outside, the darkness dropped through the fog like foam from the fast-breaking night.

In time their lips dropped away from each other, and they stood, wrapped in each other, unwilling to let go, holding to the moment.

“I'm still filthy…and tired…”

Her breath tickled his ear.

“Do you want a shower?”

“Not a joint shower…not yet. Remember, I hardly know you.” But there was laughter in her voice.

“I hardly know me.”

“We'll get to know you together…slowly…Jimjoy.”

“That's the first time you've ever used my name.”

“I don't believe in easy familiarity.”

“I've noticed,” he whispered dryly.

She laughed again, softly, and he marveled at the hint of bells in her voice.

“Well, it's about time you two got that over with,” announced a voice from the foyer.

They turned, not quite letting go of each other.

Meryl was grinning with every tooth in her mouth showing. “Now, maybe you can concentrate on planning the revolution.”

“That may be hard,” noted Jimjoy to Thelina, “since you'll be here and I'll be on Thalos.”

“Security has to inspect
all
installations periodically. I'm overdue for Thalos.”

He wrapped both arms around her, bear-hug fashion, and she reciprocated.

“Good thing for us lesser mortals that you two confine your affections to each other. A hug like that would break anybody else's ribs,” Meryl remarked from the landing as she headed up to her room.

“I have to go…the shuttle…”

“I know…but…I do inspect, Professor, and don't forget it.”

“How could I? How could I?”

J
IMJOY GLANCED AROUND
the rough-hewn rock room, then at the group of twenty-plus fourth-year students and apprentices packed inside it. When the asteroid base had been built, it had not been designed for large meeting rooms.

Part of their training would consist of using new equipment to enlarge the quarters and facilities on Thalos, since the Institute would need additional off-planet facilities—hopefully for a long time to come.

In the meantime, the room was already getting uncomfortably warm, increasing the odor of oil and recycled air.

“You all know why you're here, I presume…” His tone was not quite overtly ironic.

Mera Lilkovie, in the third row, nodded.

“So why doesn't someone tell me?”

“Because Accord is about to rebel against the Empire…”

“…we want to be free…”

Jimjoy waited until the words had died down.

“All of what you say is true, in a way, but no one yet has wanted to tell you the rest of what's going on…and I don't, either. But you deserve it, and anyone who doesn't want to stay on this team
after
I explain doesn't have to. But you
will
spend six weeks on one of the asteroid stations. And you'll understand that, too, after the explanation.”

A few frowns crossed faces in the back.

“It's very simple. Without a new Prime, there's no real authority at the Institute, and no one wants to take chances. If we wait until that's sorted out, Accord will be under military occupation with a military reeducation team in place. I've seen military reeducation.” He paused. “How many of you have…seen the debriefing on what happened on New Kansaw?”

This time nearly the entire room nodded.

“New Kansaw is the third system which has been ‘reeducated' in the past decade. Unless we do something, Accord will be next.”

“But…”

“How…”

“…against the resources of the Empire…”

Once more he waited until the murmurs had died down.

“You were all approached because you are troublemakers of a particular sort. You prefer action. You tend not to take anyone's word for anything. You're going to have to take mine—since we're going to succeed.

“Without a fleet, without a large standing military force, we will quietly become independent and probably free a large number of other Imperial colonies or dependencies as well.” Jimjoy managed to keep a straight face.

“Wait a stan, Professor. Just how do you propose this miracle?”

“By doing the impossible. First, we will take over Accord orbit control and operate it as if it were still Imperially controlled—except for some obvious gaps in information we will not pass along. Second, we will undertake certain steps to ensure that the Empire cannot mount a full-scale military attack against Accord.”

“…right…”

“…so obvious…and so wrong…”

This time the muttering went on for a while.

Finally, Jimjoy stood up straight. “
TEN-HUTTTTTTTTT!!!!
”

The sound reverberated through the chamber, stilling it, though none of the students and apprentices physically responded to the ancient command.

“Thank you. The Institute does not believe in either exaggeration or hyperbole. I am here to train you to help accomplish both tasks. Successful completion of this course entails advancement to journeyman status in applied ecologic management tactics—a new field for the Institute, but the privileges and status are just as valid and real for all the newness.

“As the old saying goes, that is the good news. The bad news is that half of you will be engaged in extremely hazardous efforts and about thirty percent of you may not live to see advancements to Senior Fellow status. Of course, if enough of you don't undertake this effort with me, we'll all be dead, exiled beyond the Rift, or on the mushroom farms.”

He looked over the group—quite silent as the implications of what he had said penetrated. “I realize fully that I have given you insufficient information for an informed decision. Any more information for anyone not committed to the effort will cost lives of those who are.

“I can only stress that I am personally completely committed and that I'm not associated with losing ventures.” He paused and glanced across the open and young faces. “Some of you may know I almost didn't survive several of my ventures and that Accord is my home by choice, not birth. Some of you will die. I wish there were another way. Neither I nor the other Institute fellows associated with this effort can see one.

“This is not a lark, and it is just the beginning of a long struggle. Those of you who choose to join the team will go down in history—one way or the other. You have until tomorrow to make your decision.”

Then he turned and walked out. His steps echoed off the stone and into the silence.

“
R
OOSVELDT
,
CLOSURE IS
green. Delta vee on the curve. Commence backburst.”

“Stet, OpCon. Commencing backburst.”

Jimjoy moistened his lips, listening. He glanced over at Arnault, watching the youngster check the small tank he carried for at least the fourth time in as many minutes. Lined up behind Arnault, the rest of the squad waited, each Ecolitan carrying some apparatus vital to the operation—a tank, laser welders, or cutters. Everyone carried stunners. The only weapons intended to cause death were the knives in Jimjoy's belt.

“
Roosveldt
, delta vee excessive. Increase backburst. Increase backburst.”

“OpCon, increasing backburst.”

Jimjoy tapped Arnault on the shoulder. Arnault nodded and tapped the next Ecolitan apprentice.

Jimjoy wanted to shake his head. Mounting an operation mainly with apprentices was crazy, but they had to start somewhere, and the handful of Senior Fellows who would have been helpful were too valuable to risk.

“
Roosveldt
, increase backburst. INCREASE BACKBURST…”

WHHHHHSsssssstttt
…

The steering jets kicked in with nearly full power with less than fifty meters remaining between the Accord transport and the orbit control station.

“
Roosveldt
…delta vee on curve…”

Clung
…

At the sound of the locks matching, the modified cargo hatch slid open a mere meter. Jimjoy was the first out, riding a beefed-up broomstick, with Arnault and Keswen right behind him.

“OpCon,
Roosveldt
. We are setting out a maintenance party. Need to check the steering jets. Too much lag between control and response.”

“Stet,
Roosveldt
. Maintenance party cleared. Next time, find out before you try to lock…if you wouldn't mind.”

“Sorry about that, OpCon. We poor colonials have to make do.”

“Don't take it out on us hapless Imperial functionaries.”

Jimjoy aimed the broomstick toward the fusactor umbilical, touching the squirter controls, first to steady his heading and then to ease the speed up.

Glancing back, he could see that the last two Ecolitans, the two behind Arnault, were straying too far from the station hull. He motioned once. Nothing. “Hades.” Touching the squirter, he slowed just enough to let Arnault ease up beside him.

Tap
.

Arnault looked over. Jimjoy motioned again, gesturing for the two broomstick riders behind Arnault to move closer to the hull plates. This time Arnault nodded and dropped back to pass the word. The two offenders closed with the station, and all four broomsticks glided along in the shadows.

“OpCon, interrogative time between call for backburst and response.”

“You don't know?”

“Come off it, Hensley. I know what our instruments show. When I called increased backburst, that's what the tape shows…”

“Hades…wait—we'll see if there's a visual…”

The
Roosveldt
was locked in on delta three, the closest main lock to the southern tip of orbit control. Five needleboats lay dead, shrouded, in a hundred-kay semicircle around the control station. The only ships locked in at the station belonged to Accord.

So far, so good. Jimjoy gave a hand signal and flared the squirters to slow the broomstick.

The umbilical to the fusactor was less than fifty meters away.

After another set of hand signals, Jimjoy brought the broomstick to a halt, suspended at a wide black band that separated the station junction plug from the silvery gray of the umbilical.

As Jimjoy took the tools and began to remove the collar, Arnault eased the tank into position while Keswen set up the laser. Marcer took control of the broomsticks and watched the nearby locks.

“Roosveldt—”

EEEEeeeeeiiiii
…

The commscrambler crew had managed to get their equipment installed and operating, which meant that the station crew had no internal/external transmission capability—except for torps.

Now, if the ventilation crew had managed as well…

Jimjoy grinned and chin-toggled down the helmet's receiver volume as he pulled the collar away from the plug, carefully tethering it. He would need it later, once the station was theirs.

He put the thought aside as Keswen moved the laser into position.

Four quick slices and the heavy bolts were severed. The laser was also out of power.

Jimjoy eased himself up to the connecting points and began the business of manually separating the connectors, making sure that he touched nothing except each connector.

Eeeeeeee
…The scrambled sound of the jammer died away as the station lost all power except for the reserves. He would have liked to maintain scrambling longer, but his team needed communications, and the mass of a self-powered jammer would have been difficult to handle for his crash-trained crew.

Jimjoy toggled up the comm volume. “Interrogative status project green.” Back on the broomstick, he guided himself toward the Accordan ship.

“Project green is go. Project green is go.”

Jimjoy nodded at the sound of Paralt's voice.

“
Roosveldt
, are you crazy? This is an Imperial station.”

The ship did not answer.

“
Roosveldt
, answer me!”

“OpCon, this is Commander Black. The
Roosveldt
is not responsible for this effort. We are.”

“Who the hades are you?”

Jimjoy did not answer, instead checking behind him and motioning Arnault and Keswen closer to the station hull plates. Hensley, assuming he was the senior officer in OpCon, still had two operating lasers, two torp ports, and twenty-four hours of emergency power.

“Commander Black, energy concentration in beta three. Energy concentration in beta three.”

Jimjoy sighed and pulled the red bloc from his equipment belt, thumbing the release.

One hundred keys out, five needleboats powered up, screens searching for the commtorp the station was about to launch.

“You friggin' Fuards…”

“We're—”

“SILENCE!” boomed Jimjoy, cutting off the incautious rebuttal of some outraged Ecolitan. Right now they were better off if the station thought that it was the victim of a Fuard sabotage effort.

“Captain Green,” continued Jimjoy, back to a normal voice, “status of nutcracker.” His feet touched the personnel lock still beside the ship lock. One Ecolitan looked him over, stunner lowering in recognition of his identity.

Jimjoy thumbed the entry stud, and the light began to blink.

“Commander Black, nutcracker is beta green.”

“Stet.”

Inside the lock another apprentice, too close, looked him over. Jimjoy made a mental note. Too many people where they couldn't do any good. Then he entered the station, heading toward the armored and self-contained operations center.

So far as he could see, only green-suited Ecolitans were moving. In the main corridor he stepped over two unconscious figures—one male, one female.

“Commander Black, green team, station is secure except delta five, and OpCon.”

“Status delta five?” Jimjoy concentrated. Delta five? Electronics shop? Of course, the clean rooms probably had self-contained atmospheres.

“Delta five blocked, with power cut. Two holdouts, without suits.”

“Drill it. Use the cutter from red team with a power adaptor, and punch a half-dozen holes in the side bulkheads.”

“Stet, Commander Black.”

Jimjoy stopped at the heavy metal emergency doors to the Operations Center. Four young green-team members turned as one to look at him.

“Slate?”

Even as Paralt handed him the square of plastic and the stylus, Jimjoy was jotting a question he didn't want OpCon hearing, since he was certain that the OIC had already put the automatic frequency band monitors into full operation.

“Welds on torp ports three/five?”

Paralt shrugged, then took the slate back. “Blue team. Reported start.”

“Blue team, Commander Black. Interrogative status. AFFIRMATIVE OR NEGATIVE ONLY.”

“Prime affirmative. Secondary negative this time.”

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeee
…

Jimjoy winced as the white noise jolted through his helmet receiver. Some had realized that the communications benefited the invaders more than the invaded.

After chin-toggling down the helmet communicator volume, he wrote on the slate: “Send messenger. Report when all torp ports sealed.”

Paralt read it and nodded, handing the slate to the Ecolitan next to him. With a start, as her helmet turned toward him, Jimjoy realized the messenger was Mera.

He took the slate back. “Casualties?” he wrote.

“One—Nerat. Sliced own suit. Blew,” was the reply.

Jimjoy shook his head. Carelessness was the greatest enemy. Wiping the slate, he jotted out the next steps for Paralt:

“Swivel joint—plan 1. Force gas through line one. Min. 140.”

Paralt shrugged as though questioning.

Jimjoy scrawled below his command: “OpCon hold out forever. Bring up main cutters after torp ports. Have to cut through. Reconnect direct supercon line from fusactor to laser. Ten hours!!!”

Taking a station was so damned much harder than destroying it. He hoped they had ten hours without an Imperial ship arriving unannounced, although he had planned on that possibility. Even a courier would require three-plus hours to make it from system jump entry to Accord orbit control.

He gestured to the young Ecolitan, signifying he was leaving. Next he had to gather the red team back and install a direct power line from the fusactor to the laser cutters needed to open the Operations Center. All that getting the gas into Operations Control would do would be to reduce the possibility that someone else got killed.

In the meantime, he needed to ensure that the blue team was securing the station and removing all the Imperial personnel.

With another sigh, he stepped up the pace toward the lock, chin-toggling down yet another notch the noise generated by the OpCon signal converter.

So…no one took an Imperial station?

He grinned as he walked on. The grin faded as he thought about the next steps—including how to handle the first Imperial ship that docked and knew the station crew, or wanted to wander around.

Taking the station wasn't the biggest problem—keeping it might be.