My Other Car is a Spaceship (18 page)

“The Fillairians are from a solar system way on the far side of known space. They seem to be having trouble with another race, called the Moro,
located even
farther
away, and they need some help militarily. They have plenty of grunts, but few experienced officers. Their representative finally decided which one of you to purchase, the one they felt would help them the most.”

He paused for a moment
to build suspense. “And the winner is…. Where’s a drum roll when you need one? The winner is…. Ding, ding, ding! Marsengar! Evidently they felt his tactical skills could be used in a strategic fashion at headquarters. Plus, the money they saved versus either of the other two of you could be put toward buying some more weapons. Guards?”

Two of
the guards approached Marsengar; each gripped one of his tentacles.

“But-but—
” he squeaked as they led him away.

“Wait!” Kalen and
Hal called out in unison. The other guards raised their weapons to forestall any attempt to interfere with their exit.

“Don’t worry,
” Penrod said with a smile, “your turns will come soon enough. The good doctor has experience treating dozens of races. I’m sure someone will pay well for that.” He turned and left, followed by the remaining guards.

“And then there were three,”
Hal muttered as the door sighed shut.

The trio exchanged glances. Who would go next? What would be his fate? Would they ever see one another again?

There wasn’t a single pleasant thought to be had in the room.

“So what’s the latest tally, Jern?” Penrod poked his head into Ishtawahl’s office before heading into his own. He stifled a yawn after a late night.

“Quite good
. Better than we had any right to hope for. We scoured the wreckage for the warheads and any trace of fissionable materials that might have been scattered about. Right now it looks like we have six warheads that can be repaired—which is amazing in itself—and enough scraps of plutonium from the smashed warheads to construct five more weapons in the 200-kiloton range. The rest of the plutonium was either vaporized or scattered in such fine particles that it isn’t feasible to recover it. We will have to build those other warheads from scratch. I have found several qualified candidates for the repair and manufacturing processes. They are all ex-military, with the necessary skills and no scruples against working for us.”

“Excellent! So we’re looking at six weapons short-term and five more long-term?
That could work out perfectly. We shouldn’t need more than a few to get us started. After that, we can take our time on the others. Hot damn! Eleven nukes would make us the most powerful entity in known space short of a planetary government.”

“I believe you are correct, Tarl.”

“Do we have any sort of timetable for getting the first few online?”

Ishtawahl shook his head.
“Not until the scientists and engineers have a chance to study the type of warheads we have and see the damage for themselves. I suspect it will be weeks before they can even begin the repair process, and then weeks to months more to make them functional again.”

“
Very good. I’d better get started on a list of potential targets. We’ll want planetary governments rich enough to pay a heavy protection fee to ensure their population’s continued safety, yet not so rich and powerful that they have a mean ol’ navy big enough to spoil our fun. And it would help if they have a small moon or space station that we can blow up as a demonstration of our power. Those criteria will narrow down the list of targets considerably, but I’m sure I can come up with a few dozen to discuss.”

“Would it not be more productive to have your
second in command
screen systems for you?”

“Probably. But
not as much fun.”

Penrod turned and entered his own office, adjacent to Ishtawahl’s. He sat back in the comfy chair behind
his desk and interlaced his fingers behind his head—nine of them, anyway. His muscular form, scarred cheek, and the lack of a right pinky finger only hinted at the difficult life of a child trying to survive on his own in the slums of the mudpit village of Albezon, on the backwater colony planet Pilvar, in the armpit-of-a-solar-system called Jessler.

You’ve come a long way, young man—from pickpocket to aircar booster to confidence man to pirate.

He recalled Constable Prelvan once scowling down at him and saying, “Once a thief, forever a thief!” as he locked up young Tarl.

Perhaps. But soon to be a fabulously wealthy thief.
In fact, probably the wealthiest thief in the history of known space.

He grinned at his reflection in the transparent aluminum office door. “
It’s always nice to reach the pinnacle of one’s profession, isn’t it?”

Hal’s captivity had given him time to reflect on his situation. Maybe his depression was unwarranted. Maybe Penrod was lying about the fleet’s destruction. Maybe the Unity had another trick up its sleeve. It was too soon for Hal to give up.

“We’ve
got
to find a way out of here.” He gripped the edge of his bunk in frustration until his knuckles hurt. “We’ve been cooped up for
three weeks
now. Any day they could come and split us up and ship us off to god-knows-where, and we’ll have lost any hope of escaping, or at least doing some damage to this place.”

“
Sure,” Kalen replied, “but what are we supposed to do? Have you seen the tiniest crack in their security that we could exploit? Anything at all?”

“No, damn
it, you know I haven’t.”

“Well, then you and I and Nude have done all we can for now. If an opening presents itself, we have to be prepared to exploit it. But until then, all we can do is wait.”

Hal released his death grip on the bunk and leaned back against the wall. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before responding. “Yeah, I know. Be a boy scout, always prepared.”

“You got it. Have faith. An opportunity will present itself.”

“What’s that?”
Hal rose from his bunk and went to the door. The rumbling he’d heard quickly became recognizable as the tread of many feet.

The others joined him, with ears pressed to the door.

“I make out several different languages.” Nude said. “Those people are not happy.”

“More slaves, do you think?”
Hal ventured.

“A reasonable guess.”
Nude replied with a nod.

The
y listened further. The procession continued for several minutes. Clearly a raid had netted the pirates a large haul of potential slaves.

“I hear coughing, sneezing, and barking. Numerous people are ailing in the group.” He
frowned for a moment. “I have an idea. Please wait by the bunks.”

“What—?” Kalen began.

“I would rather not say. I want your reactions to be natural. Just go along with whatever happens. Do nothing rash.”

“Okay. I
t’s your call.” He grasped Hal’s arm. “Come on. Let’s let the doctor play hero for a while.” He looked back toward Nude. “To throw your own words back at you: nothing rash, okay?”

“That goes without saying,
Captain.” Nude turned and pounded on the door. He pounded again and again, until someone responded.

T
o Hal, the beat of heavy footsteps seemed to come from somewhere down the corridor. That meant the guards didn’t stay outside the door. A point for future reference.

“What do you want?” The gruff voice wasn’t friendly.

Nude shouted through the door. “I must speak with Tarl Penrod.”

“No. Now shut up.”

“I must insist. Tell him Dr. Chalmis’Noud’Ourien has an important matter to discuss with him.”

“Are you going to shut up or
do I have to come in there and
shut
you up?”

Hal
pictured the very large, very strong Melphim guards and thought that was probably a bad idea.

Nude lowered his voice so the guard would have to strain to hear. “Very well. But when Mr. Penrod wonders which guard it was that kept me from giving him an important piece of information, I’ll be sure to tell him it was you.”

The guard’s voice was more subdued now. “Very well. Give me a minute to call it in.”

Hal grinned and gave Nude a thumbs-up.

A moment passed and the door hissed open. One guard held his weapon on the prisoners while the other secured shackles to Nude.

“Move.” The trio left the holding pen.

Kalen and Hal exchanged a glance. The latter spoke for both when he said, “I sure as hell hope that wasn’t the last we’ll see of him.”

The guards escorted Nude to Penrod’s office, where one secured the shackles to the ring in the floor. Then the guards left.

Penrod looked up at the taller Chan’Yi with calculation. “So
. The guard said you had some important information for me. Now, what might that be?”

“I must apologize for the
misunderstanding. I told the guard that I had an important
matter
to discuss. In fact, I have a proposition for you.”

“Really. Go ahead.”

“As you yourself pointed out, I have much experience treating many sentient races—far more than most doctors, I dare say. Do your doctors know how to treat Zoloxxian Flu, or Weller’s Croup, or Jestrohn Dystrophy?
I
do.” He paused as Penrod conceded the point. “A few minutes ago, a large procession of what I can only assume are prisoners passed by our cell. I could not help but notice that many of them sounded ill. I would like to volunteer to help treat them.”

Penrod pursed his lips in thought. “You’ll forgive me if I suspect that this is nothing more than a ploy to give you access to sharp implements and other tools to help you and your friends escape.”

“A reasonable assumption under the circumstances. However, I am a doctor, sworn to treat illness and injury. I have resigned myself to the idea that soon I will be sold to someone who needs a doctor. While these are not the circumstances under which I would prefer to practice, at least I will be fulfilling my purpose in life. But I serve no purpose locked in a cell, and frankly I am bored. I would much prefer to treat patients than sit on a bunk all day staring at the walls. Besides, you hold my friends hostage. I will not try to escape.”

“
Your friends are not hostages, doctor, they’re prisoners.”

“Forgive me, sir, if I do
not appreciate the distinction under the circumstances.”

“It’s quite simple. I didn’t take them from friends and family
at gunpoint.
They
attacked
me
. I was merely defending myself and managed to capture them. Hence they’re prisoners, not hostages.”

Nude s
hrugged. “A matter of semantics. We could debate all day who attacked whom first and why, but I do not think it would get us anywhere.”

“On the contrary, doctor. I think I would enjoy that. My associate, Jern, is an efficient administrator, but not much of a conversationalist. I crave intellectual
discussion from time to time. Surely, talking to me would be more stimulating than sitting in a bare cell when you’re not treating patients.”

“You have a point. Do I take it, then, that you accept my proposal?”

“You’re quite correct, doctor, that my existing medical practitioners don’t have your breadth of experience with some of these races. We could use your skill. There appears to be some sort of flu-like illness our doctors haven’t seen before affecting many of the prisoners. Perhaps it’s something you’re familiar with. But I’ll have to ask for your word as an officer and a gentleman, that you won’t attempt to escape.”

“You have my word, sir. I will not attempt to escape.”

“Very good. You can begin immediately.” Penrod raised his voice. “Guards! Take Dr. Chalmis’Noud’Ourien here to the medical facility. The shackles will not be needed; however he is to be taken to an individual cell after each shift. I’m sure it won’t be necessary to search him for potential weapons—right, doctor?”

Nude nodded graciously.
“I did promise not to try to escape.”
Of course,
he thought to himself,
I did
not
promise not to help my
friends
try to escape.

“And I’m sure I needn’t remind you that should you get any
…shall we say, ‘radical ideas,’ I still have your friends. We wouldn’t want them to pay for your transgressions, now would we?” He flashed an insincere grin.

Nude shook his head, wondering once again how exactly that
situation differed from holding hostages.

Hal’s ears perked up at the sound of the door opening. Nude had been gone for more than a day with no word as to his condition.
Is he going to walk in on his own, or are they carrying him on a stretcher?
He held his breath.

Four guards entered, weapons drawn, again two-by-two—but no Nude.

Hal and Kalen exchanged glances.

Uh-oh.

One guard gestured to the prisoners. “Come on. Move it.”

The two men stood and approached the guards, one of whom shackled them together.
She gestured for them to exit the cell. Two of the guards remained behind, as the other two—one in the front and one in the rear—marched Hal and Kalen down the corridor containing their cell, to the main corridor, and then down a narrower and dimmer corridor.

First they take Nude away and he doesn’t return. Now this.
Hal suppressed a shudder.
I guess I’ve seen too many war and gangster movies where the bad guys lead the good guys to an open field or dark alley somewhere and then machine gun them to death.

Penrod
says he considers us valuable commodities, so that couldn’t be what’s happening here—right?

The lead guard stopped at a doorway and gestured for the men to enter. The door slid aside to reveal a brightly lit room full of examination tables and medical equipment.
A number of people representing several species milled about busily.

Hal
quickly dismissed the idea of being used as a living organ donor.
Get a grip, man! You’re much more valuable as a fighter pilot than as an organ farm.

Still,
a trace of fear lingered deep in the primitive part of his brain. There was something about the place that gave him the heebie-jeebies. Then he saw Nude at the center of the activity and relaxed.

This must be his idea. He said to go with the flow. I wonder what he has in mind.

One of the guards gestured toward Nude. “Go get your shots and come right back.”

The
guards waited on either side of the door as Hal and Kalen joined the queue of shackled prisoners inching toward Nude. Four other guards stood around the perimeter of the room, out of the way but with unimpeded lines of fire, should anyone decide to try something.

After several minutes, it was
Hal’s turn. “What’s going on?” he whispered to Nude.

The doctor examined
Hal’s tongue and eyes as he replied, softly. His back faced the guards, so they couldn’t see his lips move. “I convinced Penrod to let me help treat the ill as a pretext to get in here. Then I informed him that several of the prisoners had pyraxia, which is quite contagious, and that if we did not act quickly to treat the sick and inoculate everyone else, there could be many fatalities—and not only among the prisoners. I did not lie about the disease, but I exaggerated its effects. Pyraxia is rarely fatal, even when left untreated, and never affects humans. But it is a rare disease and the other doctors here had never seen a case. I’m giving you saline as a placebo.” He raised his voice as he slid back Hal’s sleeve. “This may tingle slightly, but it will keep you from getting sick.”

He pressed
a pneumodermic against the front of Hal’s wrist and depressed the button. Hal felt an icy blast against his skin, and then Nude placed Hal’s other hand over the spot. He felt something hard and metallic under his palm.

“Squeeze your wrist for about five minutes, until the tingling stops. That will help
disperse the medication.”

“Thank
s, doc.”

Hal
stepped ahead and waited while Nude treated Kalen. Then both walked to the doorway, still clutching their wrists and were escorted back to their cell.

Once away from the eyes of the guards, both men opened their palms to reveal what Nude had slipped them. Kalen had a small, disposable pneumodermic unit
.

“What’s in it?
Hal asked.

“It says ‘Fleurodine’, four doses. If I remember correctly, it’s a
fast-acting sedative.”

“That could come in handy with the guards. But what the heck is this?” He turned the object over in his hand. It
looked vaguely like an old Zippo cigarette lighter: a silvery rectangle with rounded edges and corners, approximately five centimeters long, three centimeters wide, and two centimeters thick. It had a seam across the center. Hal tugged on the two ends and the cap popped off in his hand, revealing what lay inside. “Okay, I
still
don’t know what it is.”

Kalen took
the object from him and examined it. There were four small recessed dials along the narrow sides, two on the left and two on the right, positioned almost like the tires on a car. The front contained a small screen and several tiny buttons. He used his thumb to turn one of the dials slowly. Numbers and a graph appeared on the screen.

He held the unit
up to his ear. “Ah. I thought so. Hear that? I saw a technician using one of these on the ship once. It’s a diagnostic tool, used for calibrating certain equipment. It can be set to emit a wide number of frequencies. As I recall, the four dials are to set the frequency, amplitude, phase, and signal strength.”

“Sounds
useful. But how does that help us?”

Kalen barked out a laugh. “You know, I haven’t a clue.”

“Then I guess we’d better put on our thinking caps. I’m sure Nude wouldn’t have risked his life to slip us that gizmo if he didn’t think it could help us escape.”

Spelvin Mynax sighed to himself. The first of the recalled ships had arrived to begin the decommissioning process. The four ships that had returned from battle had already been processed. It would be months yet before the last of the ships patrolling embargoed systems docked somewhere it could get word of the Unity’s dissolution. But in the meantime the process would continue on the other ships.

First, the weapons and any equipment not authorized for the civilian sector would be removed for sale to various planetary governments. Then the computers would be purged of Unity-specific information. Finally, the Unity logos, transponders
, and other identifiers would be removed and destroyed to prevent their fraudulent use in a far-off system that might not yet have heard the news.

Mynax sighed again and made the call to
the salvage yard to begin the process.

This is a
black day in the history of the Unity. Or should I say the ex-Unity?

What’s that expression? Life sucks and then you die? I guess th
is proves I’m alive then, because life surely does suck right now.

Three days later, the prisoners still hadn’t figured out how to use the calibrator to help them escape. They experimented on the sanitation unit and after some trial and error figured out how to use the tool to control the flow rate of the water spigot and turn it off and on manually. It was a matter of finding the right frequency to trigger the controls. With additional testing, they found the frequency to open and close the door on the washer and to start the sanitizing process, even with no clothes in the unit.

But no matter how many frequencies they tried, they couldn’t find one that would open the door.

“There must be more to it than emitting a simple frequency,” Kalen said. “That would be too easy to replicate. A malfunctioning piece of equipment passing by in the corridor could accidentally trip the door release and let all the prisoners out. There must be more to it than that.”

Hal
nodded. “Makes sense. I haven't been around this newfangled alien technology as long as you have, but it seems likely they’d use something more sophisticated than that. Maybe multiple frequencies at once, sort of like a combination lock. You’d have to get three or five or ten frequencies exactly right at the same time. Or maybe there’s only one frequency, but it’s pulsed—something like Morse code, so that you’d have to have the right sequence: five short pulses, eight long ones, two short, and so on. There must be so many ways to implement that sort of thing I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Maybe it’s a double lock and it has to be released both locally and from a remote security office.”

Kalen sighed.
“You’re right. With a computer, a sophisticated piece of testing equipment, and lots of time, maybe we could figure it out. But with just this calibrator and our feeble brains, it would be a one-in-a-million shot.”

“Maybe we’re not supposed to break out of here with it. Maybe it’s for the shackles. Have you noticed the guards don’t use
mechanical keys? The locks seem to be operated electronically or electromagnetically.”

“
Ri-i-ght. Do a Houdini act and slip out of our shackles right in front of four huge armed guards. Besides, how are we supposed to test the calibrator on the shackles? We can’t exactly do it while we’re chained up, and even if we could it might take months. Hell, years even, with only a few minutes here and there to test—especially if they’re secured with multiple pulsed frequencies, or some other security protocol. It’s not like they leave the shackles in the cell for us to play with when they go.”