Junkyard Dogs 1: The Scrapyard Incident (9 page)

Chapter 14

UTFN Reclamation Center, Auxiliary Tracking
Station, October 6, 2598

From the view on
the screen in the auxiliary tracking station, the lopsided fight was over in a
matter of minutes. Two halves of the formerly proud
Boise
slowly cartwheeled apart, spewing debris, vapor,
even
an occasional corpse. The attackers each followed a
different end of the destroyer for several more minutes, making sure that very
little was left intact. Finally, with any threat from the destroyer utterly
neutralized, the two raiders turned their attention back to the station. Over
the communications console the three Reclamation Station survivors watched as
the raiders sent their first communication of any kind since the entire affair
began.

"New Ceylon
Orbital station, stand down or be destroyed. Prepare to be boarded!"
Within minutes, station governor
Larkin
capitulated.
Shortly after that, a signal came through to the tracking station
communications console. There was no video.

"You, meddlers out there in the Scrapyard.
You
shouldn't be alive. That oversight will be corrected!"

The transmission
cut off. The three survivors waited in muted shock, unsure of what to do or say
next. Around eight minutes later, they intercepted a standard, non-Whitney
broadcast. The video display lit up again. This time it was Governor Larkin of
the orbital station.

"Attention
New Ceylon Planetary Authorities...Our sincere apologies. There is nothing to
fear. The bright flashes that many of you have observed from out here in orbit
are...part of a series of military drills we are conducting in preparation for
the Meridian ambassador's visit scheduled for later this week. We have been
conducting a... simulated attack on the station and on the Reclamation Center.
This drill will continue for several more hours. Please disregard the
communications associated with these activities. ...Some jamming of
communications may also occur. Rest assured that it's all part of the drill. We
regret any inconvenience this may have caused or that may be incurred."

The governor
looked a little disheveled and his speech had been delivered stiffly and
somewhat haltingly as though he'd had little or no time to rehearse it. The
three survivors looked at one another.

"They must
have had a gun to his head," said Harris.

"Reclamation
Center ...orbital station ...
Boise ...
Stage
II Whitney?" mumbled Carlisle, rapidly sorting her thoughts. She shook her
head. "Damn! This just keeps getting worse," she said to her two
companions

"What is it,
Lass?" asked Hawkins.

"Long range
communications. You saw the results of that first shot, the one that knocked
the technician onto the floor?" Carlisle asked.

Hawkins nodded
and she continued, "That shot was almost certainly aimed to take out the
Stage II communications dish. I'll bet they hit the
Boise's
dish at the same time. After that, both ships concentrated
on destroying the
Boise
, the only
real threat. Here's the problem: With the orbital station dish gone, the
Boise
destroyed and the Stage II
communications out here in the scrapyard destroyed along with the main
facility, the raiders effectively control all outside communication in the
entire system. We can't call the Federation, or anyone for that matter, for
help. With their damned drill warning, and the atmospheric limitations on
Whitney communications, we can't even inform the people on the planet about
what's really going on with our own Stage I equipment."

"That's why
they hit us out here, isn't it Lass?" asked Hawkins.

"I think
so,
Hawk, to take out our Stage II transmitter. We sure as
hell weren't any kind of military threat. I still wish I had some idea what
they're up to."

"We may not
know what their overall plan is," said Harris. "But we've got to do
something. They're coming back out here to stop us from communicating using
this console, even if it is just a Stage I rig. That guy all but said so. They
overlooked this Auxiliary Station once. They aren't likely to do it
again."

"I hate to
say it, but that's what I'd do if I were them," said Carlisle. "If we
have working communications, we can still spoil their game by warning the
Ambassador's ship that something is up as soon as it gets into the system. Fake
drill or not, you can bet the Meridians won't ignore us."

"How much
time we be havin'?" asked Hawkins.

"A day,
maybe a little more," said Harris. "You saw how long it took them to
get to New Ceylon from here. Depends on how soon they start heading back.
Assuming those are standard cargo ships, if they left immediately and used the
optimum number of microjumps, it would take at least twenty-four hours to get
here. I expect it'll be somewhat longer than that. There's no hurry, really. We
aren't going anywhere."

"They
couldn't ask for an easier target," said Carlisle. "With those beam
weapons, they almost certainly have military grade sensor equipment of some
kind, even if it isn't the latest and greatest. If the obvious location doesn't
give us away, our heat signature will make us stand out like a damned
beacon!"

They talked in circles
for the better part of an hour before Harris brought the discussion to a halt.

"I think
we've had enough discussion for now. Maybe we can think of something later.
Right now, we're all so tired that no one is thinking straight. Ensign, set
your wrist computer to wake us up in four hours. Everyone, get some rest.
That's an order!"

Chapter 15

New Ceylon Orbital Station, Central Spindle,
October 6, 2598.

Salvador Vasquez
heard the general warning that the station was about to be boarded. His
superior, Gordon Harmon, immediately began barking orders. As head of security
for the station, it was Harmon who would call the shots if the station
personnel were to attempt some kind of opposition. His security forces were not
armed with anything more powerful than nightsticks and stun rods, however.
Vasquez had seen the video coverage of the attack on the
Boise
and was pretty sure that these attackers would be carrying
far more serious weaponry.

Along with
another fifteen people, Vasquez and Harmon were stationed in the northern end
of the central spindle of the orbital station. One of duties of the small
security squad was to process people and goods as they came onto the station
through the main airlock in the northernmost portion of the spindle. From his
post, Vasquez could see the access areas to four of the station's eight spokes.
The levels of the spindle southward from the main airlock level were occupied
by an ensemble of technicians whose job it was to provide the seamless delivery
of power, ventilation, and other services to the station proper. Most of the
very southern portion of the spindle was dedicated to the management and
recycling of trash and waste while the central portion of the spindle contained
the main fusion power plant, which required technical support
twenty-four/seven. With very little gravity effect near the center of rotation
for the station, the personnel in the spindle were, for all practical purposes,
in a weightless state.

On his
viewscreen, Vasquez could see both of the enemy ships approaching the airlock
and frantically wondered what he should do next.

"Harper,
Kohl, Farnsworth, Lewis; come with me!" barked Harmon. "We need to
get to the governor's office! Maybe we can barricade the corridor or
something." The group immediately headed for the elevator that would take
them to the first deck of the station's wheel and deposit them nearest to the
governor's suites. "Haines, I want you on the opposite side of the wheel
from the governor's area. Take Fowler with you and coordinate with the security
officers stationed at the stairwells. People are bound to panic. Vasquez? Send
those other six elevators down to the wheel and then take the rest of our
security personnel and head down into the south levels of the spindle. Cut
power to the spoke elevators in...," he said, looking at his wrist
chronometer, "...five minutes. Barricade the hatch and don't let the
invaders into the southern spindle area unless you have to. We need to maintain
control down there if we can." Harmon headed towards the elevator for
spoke one.

"Good idea,
Gordon, no need to make it easy for 'em," said Vasquez. He poked his upper
body into one of the unused elevators and touched his thumb to the button that
would send it down to the wheel. Two members of his remaining security team
followed suit and went around the receiving area to activate the remaining
elevators.

"That'll
have to do for now," said Vasquez. "You heard the boss. We need to
get down into the southern part of the spindle. Follow me!
Now!"

The remaining members
of the security team followed Vasquez as they made their way over to the hatch
and the ladder that lead to the next level southward in the spindle. He ran his
master security card through the reader on the wall and spun the wheel to open
the hatch. He motioned his group to head downward, then followed and closed the
hatch behind him. This migration placed them all in the northern portion of the
main power generation and distribution area. Within this area, a handful of
technicians were usually manning a bank of control consoles for the main power
plant. At the moment, they were all gathered around a viewscreen, watching
events unfold.

"Quick!"
he
said,
urgency in his voice. "Someone find me a
bar or a pipe to jam this hatch with. The security lock should hold them for a
while but we need to do something to keep them out of here, permanently, if we
can."

"Norbert,
find something for Sal to block that hatch with," bellowed Jane Tresham,
the head technician for the current shift.

Hal Norbert
disappeared down another shaft on the far side of the room.

"What in
hell is going on, Sal?" said Tresham, a large, muscular woman with short,
dark hair.

"Two ships
attacked us and the
Boise
with beam
weapons. They totally hammered the
Boise
and now they're getting ready to board the station."

"What're we
gonna do?"

"We're gonna
jam this hatch and hope they haven't got cutting equipment or high explosives.
Harmon said to hold out down here for as long as we can. We couldn't defend the
airlock receiving area, but if we make it hard enough for them to get through
this hatch, maybe they'll just leave us alone, at least for a while."

Norbert came back
from below with a couple of short lengths of pipe, a handful of clamps, and a
powered wrench to tighten the clamps with.

"Let me up
there, Sal, and I'll make sure they won't be able to work this door at all.
Hold this stuff and hand it to me when I ask for it."

Vazquez took the
armload of materials and moved out of the man's way. He handed up pipes and
clamps as they were requested. The group felt a slight vibration indicating
that the main airlock door was operating. With the hatch above them locked
down, they could just barely hear the alarm.

"There,"
said Norbert, "that ought to hold 'em!"

Vasquez inspected
the job and agreed. Two pipes were securely clamped onto different spokes on
the hatch wheel mechanism and jammed against the ladder.
  

"Now
what?" asked
Tresham.

"Can you cut
power to the spoke elevators?"

"Yeah, no problem.
Elevators are on this board over
here."

"Harmon said
five minutes, but I say that's too long. Shut 'em down now. If these guys want
to get to the wheel, they're gonna have to do it the hard way."

Tresham cut the
power to the spoke elevators.

"What's
next?"

"Now we wait
and see what happens. There's a good chance that whoever these guys are, they
don't know all that much about the inner workings of a space station. We can
make their lives pretty miserable if we can keep them out of here."

"What do you
think they want?"

"My guess is
that they want to get to the governor, kill him or take him hostage and take
control of the station. I don't envy Harmon!"

Chapter 16

New Ceylon Orbital Station, Deck One,
October 6, 2598
.

Kresge put his
hand on the palm reader by the door to his temporary quarters and dashed into
the room as soon as the door opened. He grabbed his computer and a few other
items and threw them into his attaché case which already contained his pulse
pistol. He looked around the room to see if there was anything else he should
be taking and spotted his dress uniform in the wardrobe.

"Probably
won't
be needing
that for a while."

"What in
heaven's name is going on, Oskar?" Irene had followed him without question
as they left the restaurant but at the moment she looked frightened. He took
her in his arms and held her tightly for a few moments.

"I...I don't
know, but I intend to find out. Don't worry, you're safe with me."

She brightened up
a little. "Where should we go?"

"Outward.
I'd say all the way to the outer deck. Whoever these attackers are, they'll be
boarding at the north end of the spindle through the main airlock and working
their way out from there. With two cargo ships, there could be quite a few of
them; we won't know how many until they've boarded. Thank God it's a big
station! That's why I say we go out to deck five. There's hardly anyone out
there and there's a lot of places to hide. Have you been down that far?"

"No more
than just a few times. There hasn't been much reason. It's mostly unoccupied because
the station is so far below capacity."

"That's just
what we want. Do you need anything?"

"Nothing I'd
risk going all the way back to my apartment for!" she answered. "I
have few things in my purse. I'll be alright, I'm with you." He could see the
trust in her eyes.

"Okay, let's
get off from this deck. I know that there're eight main stairwells, what about
elevators?"

"There're
also eight main elevators within the wheel. The spoke elevators are
separate."

"We'll have
to see if we can get control of them."
 

The chaos of a
few hours ago was nothing compared to the pandemonium they encountered as they
made their way through the confusion to the nearest of the eight main
stairwells. People seemed to be either frozen in shock or else they were dashing
about aimlessly. The alarm system continued to blare out its warning pulses,
adding to the general confusion. Two people dressed in gray maintenance
coveralls, a man and a woman who were watching the bedlam more or less calmly,
spotted his uniform.

"Hey Captain,
you got any idea what the hell is goin' on?" called out the male of the
pair, a small, spare man with short but very red hair who looked be in his
mid-forties. His companion was a sturdy woman of about the same age with blonde
hair and brown eyes.

Kresge stopped
and allowed them to approach.

"No
offense...Steuben," he read the name on the man's coverall, "but it's
Commander, not Captain."

"Yeah, sure,
I've seen you on the video. You're the guy from the Scrapyard. Maggie, this is
the Scrapyard guy." Then he recognized Irene.

"Wow! And
you're the cabinet lady. Do you folks have some kind of plan?"

"Not
really," admitted Kresge, "Whoever is attacking will most likely
board at the spindle and make their way outward from there. My guess is that
there'll probably be little if any resistance to boarding; the security forces
here aren't equipped for invaders. We figured we'd head towards the outer rim
and maybe find a place to hide until we have a better idea of what's going on.
If we can avoid being captured, maybe we can get some kind of resistance going,
once we find out what we're up against."

At that moment
the alarms cut off and an announcement came over the public address system. A
viewscreen in the hallway showed a bust of Governor Larkin. He looked disheveled
and hollow-eyed, far different from his normally sleek public persona. There
was a mark -- it looked like a bruise -- on his right cheek.

"Attention
all station personnel. Attention all station personnel. This is an emergency
message. All station occupants and visitors are to report to their quarters
immediately and wait there for further instructions. I repeat: All station
occupants and visitors are to report to their quarters immediately and wait
there for further instructions. Commander Oskar Kresge and Under-Secretary
Irene Marshall are ordered to report to the governor's suite immediately!"

"It'll be a
cold day in hell!" said Kresge.

Steuben looked
conflicted for a few moments before seeming to come to a decision. "We can
help,
I think...We know a place... Maggie? Stay here
for a little longer and bring anybody else who looks like they'd be
useful."

"Okay,
Steuben, but I'm only waitin' another five minutes."

"Is there
any way that we can disable these elevators?" asked Kresge, pointing to
the main elevator next to the stairwell. The door to the elevator was open.

"They would
have stopped working when the emergency alarms went off. Occupied or not, a
moving elevator cab would've just stopped on the next floor up or down and the
doors would've opened."

"Who decides
when they begin working again?"

"Any of the
maintenance foremen can override the emergency default."

"Where can
we find one?"

"Should be one or two of them where we're goin'.
You
ready, Captain?"

"Commander...
Oh hell, I won't argue with you, lead the way," said Kresge.

"You're
right about deck five," said Steuben as they headed down the stairs.
"There's hardly anyone down that far. Hell, most of the security cameras
haven't even been connected. Most of the ones that were have been disabled. You
could hide out down there for months and no one would find you!"

"Let's hope
that we don't have to wait that long!" said Kresge.

The trio went
down to the next landing where Steuben used a palm reader to open the door to a
maintenance area and motioned them inside. He went to a short row of shelves
and selected two pairs of maintenance coveralls identical to the ones he was
wearing.

"Put these
on," he said, as he handed them to Kresge and Irene. "You'll draw way
too much attention in those outfits."

They both did as
they were directed, the coveralls Steuben had selected for them fitting easily
over their clothing. They left the maintenance room and descended the remaining
four flights of stairs to the very outermost level. There were small groups of
people in near panic milling about at each landing, trying to decide what to
do. Steuben nodded to several other people in maintenance coveralls that were
waiting on the landings and, after telling any bewildered civilians to go back
to their quarters, they continued their retreat. By the time they reached deck
five, their group had grown to nine people.

"This way,
stay close, it'll get dark in just a few minutes," said Steuben.

He wasn't
kidding. The station, like all space constructions that housed people, was
divided up into airtight compartments with bulkhead doors that closed
automatically when a hull breach was detected or when danger was imminent.
These doors had locked down when the alarms went off. Their guide used his
custodial key card on the nearest of these large bulkhead doors and ushered the
group through. Immediately upon closing the door behind them, the group found
itself in pitch-black conditions. A hand torch appeared from somewhere and the
group continued down a corridor. Stueben used his custodial card on several
other doors marked "authorized personnel only" that were normally
kept locked to the public. In spite of a superb sense of direction, Kresge was
disoriented within the first few minutes. He couldn't help but wonder what he
and Irene would have done if the maintenance people hadn't found the two of
them when they did. Finally they went through another airtight bulkhead door
and came out in a short corridor lit by soft emergency lighting. Steuben went
to what appeared to be a solid wall panel in the corridor and, after working
some kind of hidden mechanism, slid the panel open and motioned them inside.

"In here, quickly."

They all stooped
and filed through the short, narrow opening into yet another narrow corridor
and were plunged into darkness again as Steuben closed the hidden entrance
behind them. After walking for a few more minutes, they finally took a sharp
turn to the right and came out into a large room with a low ceiling. The room,
also lit by soft emergency lighting, was long and narrow; both walls were lined
with a jumbled assortment of boxes and crates of various sizes, some of them
open and some of them not. A few utility tables and folding chairs were
scattered randomly through the room. A fairly large group, somewhere around
thirty people, was gathered in an open space in the middle of the room. A tall,
barrel-chested, dark-haired man -- Kresge made him to be about fifty years old
-- called out to them.

"Steuben? Is
that you Steuben? Thank God! Where's Maggie?"

"She was
gonna wait another five minutes. She shouldn't be far behind."

"Who else
have you brought?"

As the man
recognized more of the newcomers, he greeted several people by name.
"Takahashi...Engels... glad you made it."

He looked at
Irene and then at Kresge, who had just finished shedding their maintenance
coveralls. His eyes narrowed. "Are you two who you I think you are?"

"I'm afraid
so, this is Irene Marshall, Under-Secretary of Commerce for the orbital station
and I'm Commander Oskar Kresge, commanding officer of the Scrapyard."

"Christ,
Steuben! What in the hell did you bring these two down here for? You do know
that the governor is looking for them?"

"That's
why I brought them," said Steuben. "I thought they might be
useful."

"Dammit,
Steuben, this is a complication we did
not
need!"

Irene,
looking over at the rows of boxes and crates, gave a knowing nod.

"This
stuff is all contraband, isn't it?" she asked.

"I'm
not saying," said the man.

"By
the way, who are you?" asked Kresge.

After a short
hesitation the man replied. "I'm Daniel Gibbons."

"Gibbons?"
said Irene. "You're the chief procurer for Doebermann's Specialties."

"How do you
know that?"

"It's my
job, Mr. Gibbons."

"I told you this
was a mistake, Steuben!"

"Relax, Dan.
I've heard a lot of good things about Kresge."

Kresge decided
that direct action was the best course.

"It's a
pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gibbons, are you in charge here?"

"Might as
well call me, Dan," Gibbons replied, somewhat reluctantly. "I suppose
I am in charge, at least these people are listening to me."

"We'd be
more than happy to lend a hand anyway that we can," said Kresge.
"Could you use some help?"

Again the man
thought for a while before responding.

"I...I
suppose so," he said, finally. "This is a little out of my league. I
handle freight and inventory and...
other
things. I
can't say I know much about what to do when we get invaded!"

"Steuben
said someone down here could get the elevators back online."

"Yeah, you
just need to use a master security card in any one of the elevators."

"Who has one
of these cards?"

"Harvey
Rothwell does. Why?"

"We need to
get control of the elevators before the enemy does. How quickly can we get to
each of those elevators, bring them down to this level and block the doors open
so even someone with a card couldn't use them unless we wanted them to?"

"Maybe
thirty seconds or so to get each elevator down, once we get to them. If we used
maintenance carts to haul a couple of teams around the main corridor on this
level, we could get them all within maybe twenty minutes."

"I really
think we should do it," said Kresge.

"Steuben?"

"I was
listening, Dan."

"You and
Harvey take Maggie and Allison with you and get those elevators taken care
of."

"Will
do," said Steuben. "By the way, good thinking...
Commander."

"There's
hope for you yet, Steuben!" answered Kresge. He turned back to Gibbons as
the four workers left to take control of the elevators. "Let's get a few
things straight, Dan," said
Kresge
as Gibbons
eyed him uncomfortably. "I am not the Law. I personally don't care what
sort of business has been going on down here, but I need you to work with me if
we're going to have any chance of meeting this threat."

Gibbons shook his
head. "But you're with the Under-Secretary of Commerce! What do we do
about her?"

Irene Marshall, a
trained diplomat, was a master at smoothing ruffled feathers and handling
difficult situations. Her professional instincts kicked in.

"We've known
for some time that something like this was going on, Mr. Gibbons," she
said, reasonably. "To tell you the truth, I'm not sure myself how to
respond to this situation. I'm not the Law either. Besides, I'd say that the
station has bigger problems to deal with right now. Unless you're somehow
involved with the people who attacked us, I say we concentrate on the threat
they represent and sort this other...affair out later.
Deal?"

Gibbons thought
for a moment and shook his head before replying reluctantly.
"Deal."

The black market
kingpin did something that he would have thought beyond impossible just a few
short hours ago: in the middle of his hidden warehouse, surrounded by stacks of
illegal goods, he shook hands with the Under-Secretary of Commerce!