The Forever Hero (30 page)

Crimra, Communications Technician Second, frowned and studied the comm board again. Had there been a flicker on the lavender band?

He peered at the register plate below the indicator light, but no signal strength was registering, even if there had been a flash a moment before.

The
Sanducar
was loaded, except for the small priority and security items that would come aboard when the captain returned. The old lady was planetside, along with the third section, and wasn't scheduled back for another twenty standard hours.

Crimra glared at the offending light that refused to glow lavender, but it remained dark.

“Lots of luck, Crimra,” he muttered aloud. “No Imperial comms for your watch.”

Tomorrow, after the captain came back and delivered her usual rivet-scouring inspection, Crimra and the
Sanducar
would push away from New Glascow to cart their load of combat decon dozers off to New Hades, where the Imperial engineers would use them to train the latest crew of planet busters and clean-up troops.

The comm tech shook his head. He was not totally thrilled with the thought of all those deactivated fusactors in the holds. If even one was operating…Crimra didn't want to think about that, not that it would matter one millisecond after the
Sanducar
began to jump-shift. The return trip would be more dangerous, since they would doubtless be carrying busted dozers for rebuilding, and Crimra wondered if the field engineers were as scrupulous as the factory types. There wasn't much of an option, since New Hades was not exactly conducive to large scale on-planet repairs.

Crimra leaned forward in the standard ship swivel and looked at the seamless gray deck beneath his feet.

From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the same lavender
flicker, but when he stared at the board and the register, there was no indication on any transmission.

He licked his lips and scanned the entire board, indicator by indicator. Next he checked the cube board, to insure the fields were holding for all the E-mail the
Sanducar
was carrying.

Everything was as it should be.

Slowly, slowly, he leaned back into the swivel and waited.

Cling! Cling!

As the communicator chimed twice, both the green and lavender lights above the blank main screen lit.

Crimra pursed his lips.

Cling! Cling!

Finally, he leaned forward and tapped the acknowledgment stud.

“
H.M.S. Sanducar
, Communications, Comm Tech Crimra.”

The officer in the screen wore a uniform similar to the standard Service undress blouse, but in lavender, with cream piping and no rank insignia.

“Tech Crimra, this is the
Sindelar
, ducal flag of His Grace, the Duke of Triandna. I am Commander Carlesir, commanding for the Duke. His Grace would like to make a courtesy call, if that would be possible. After that, His Grace would be pleased to have the captain and the senior officers as his guests.”

“Yes, ser, Commander. Would you hold while I patch in the exec? Captain Cortalina is planetside.”

The sharp-eyed yacht-master nodded.

Crimra's fingers danced across the panel.

“Sindra, there's a Duke's yacht out there. Came in on the lavender. Can you locate and verify?”

Another flicker of fingers.

“Niter. Crimra here. Yacht out there that claims it's a Duke's boat. Sindara's trying to find it. Want to put a turret on the tracer?”

“Crimra, take it easy. If it's small enough and far enough out not to trigger the screens, it can't be a danger yet. Besides, who'd dare to impersonate a ducal boat, and who'd have the equipment to come in on a reserved Imperial band?”

Crimra's eyes glanced from one screen to another, from the frozen image of the yachtmaster to Sindra in navigation, to Niter in gunnery, to the fourth screen where he was calling the executive officer's rating.

“Fores, Crimra here. Yacht blasted in on the lavender. Duke of Triandna, or so the yachtmaster claims, would like to pay a courtesy
call, then return the favor by having the exec and senior officers over for grub.”

“Gerro will love that. I'll get him ready. Not really started on this run, dozers yet, and he's grumbling about the mess.”

Ping!

The navigation screen indicator lights blinked.

“Get back to you with the details, Fores.”

“Yes, Sindra? What's the gather?”

“According to every single code, outline, and verification, you have indeed the
Sindelar
, number two yacht of the Duke of Triandna, and she's statted one and a half screens out, precisely, just like protocol says. No heavy weapons or energy concentrations.”

The Gunnery screen indicators blinked, and Crimra switched to Niter.

“Yes?”

“We've put number two on the yacht, but it wouldn't matter.”

“Wouldn't matter?”

“Crimra, yachts can't carry weapons. Emperor's edict. So they got screens like battlecruisers. Accel/decel like corvettes. We're a big fat freighter. She'd be gone before we could even put a load on her screens. Anyway, her screens are the genuine article. Codes and all in the energy warp.”

“Thanks.”

Crimra paused and wiped his suddenly damp forehead with the back of his left hand before switching back to the executive officer's screen.

“Fores, we've checked and comm, nav, and guns all say it's the genuine article, one certified Duke's yacht. So Gerro can play gracious host and get a decent meal in afterward…”

He paused and wiped his forehead.

“Still…”

“Still what?”

“What's a Duke's yacht doing here off New Glascow?”

“Blast it, Crimra. Those boys go anywhere. Sometimes just on a bet. And remember, half of them hold reserve I.S.S. commissions as commodores or admirals. Anyhow, even if it weren't a Duke, who'd want a couple hundred dozers? For anything?”

“Admirals?”

“Right. They never really get to command except in practice games out in Gamma sector once a year. So they run around in their own little boats. Who knows, maybe this Duke will punch old Gerro's ticket.”

“He wouldn't!”

“Never know what can happen, Crimra. You never know.” The exec's screen blanked.

The comm tech cleared the board, except for the still-frozen image of the yachtmaster, waiting in his lavender uniform for the response from the
Sanducar
.

Somehow, the cramped comm center seemed to constrict around Crimra. He shook his head, wiped his forehead again with the back of his hand, and tapped the panels in front of him.

“Shuttle's heading back,” Crimra observed, simultaneously notifying the gunnery section so they could drop the screens.

“Got it. Screens down. If five isn't enough, Sindra, let me know.” Crimra monitored the exchange between guns and nav.

“Five's plenty, Niter. The little boy's almost clear now.”

Crimra checked the board. The homer was clear, the green light showing the near-empty shuttle was locked on.

He checked the board again. All clear. With a sigh, he leaned back in the anchored swivel so that the air flow from the vent could dry the remaining dampness from his forehead.

From the outside, the
Sanducar
was huge, but the habitable space was not much more than in the ducal yacht. Most of the
Sanducar
's space was devoted to drives or cargo, and the ship could have been handled easily by a third of its thirty crew members, as was routinely the case with the handful of commercial freighters equivalent to the
Sanducar
.

Crimra stretched his legs and watched as the screen light indicators blinked amber twice, then settled into the green to show the screens were back in place.

The faintest of clinks and a nearly infinitesimal shiver occurred as the shuttle entered the receiving locks and clicked into place.

The homer signal beeped once, and the light switched from green to the amber of standby.

The comm tech relaxed further now that the shuttle had returned. Stand-down watches weren't half bad, with one section gone. Now, with the exec and his two tagalongs over playing with the Duke,
all he had to worry about were any incomings, not that there were likely to be that many.

He straightened in the swivel and brushed a strand of hair back off his forehead.

Then he shook his head. He'd only seen pictures of the Duke before, but, in person, he seemed thinner, more military than the faxers had shown him. The Duke and the yachtmaster had really looked at the
Sanducar
. They'd been quick, but they'd asked questions, almost like an inspection.

Crimra didn't see Gerro getting his ticket punched by that Duke. He acted like he knew more than the exec, not that that was any great surprise to any of the
Sanducar
's crew.

Crimra yawned. He shouldn't feel sleepy.

He stretched again, trying to stifle another yawn, aware that the breeze from the vent was stronger, with a faint scent of…something. He shrugged.

And yawned again. Blast! He shouldn't feel that sleepy.

The comm tech concentrated on putting his feet in exactly the correct position in front of the swivel. Next, he grasped the arms and concentrated on lifting himself out of the seat.

His arms wouldn't lift him, and he was yawning again, his mouth so far open that his jaw ached.

From somewhere, the blackness came up and hit him.

Gerswin bent his forefinger in the odd configuration required to seal his suit, and the face plate slid closed.

He hoped none of the onboard crew of the
Sanducar
had been suited, not that there would have been any reason for them to have been, not while in orbit and on stand-down.

He raised his hand. The shuttle was sealed into the hold, both locks opened. Gerswin and his crew of ten were outside the shuttle itself, hidden behind the more than man-tall driver shields from the vid scanners and from the direct vision of the tech who was in charge of the hangar and lock operations.

Gerswin was betting that there would be a single tech on duty, two at most.

If not, he was prepared to employ more direct means.

Nitiri, wearing the shipsuit of the shuttle's pilot, went through the power-down procedures, locked the shutting onto the mesh, and exited from the forward shuttle hatch. He stepped out, turned to look over the shuttle as if to give it a cursory inspection from outside, then turned back and took careful steps toward the interior lock.

The single on-duty tech looked up as Nitiri appeared, suit still sealed.

“Hey! You—”

Thrumm!

The tech crumpled across the table. Nitiri lifted him off the board. Carefully, because he was wearing the heavy suit gauntlets, he made a number of changes to the status board, the last of which unlocked the interior lock for Gerswin and the nine others.

Gerswin clumped in last and manually sealed the battle locks to prevent anyone from surprising them in turn. By the time he had finished cranking the heavy bolts into their jackets and entered the hangar lock control room, Nitiri was stretching out the unconscious tech in the only vacant corner. The others had split into three different parties, each group with a small gas canister.

The commander traced a question mark in the air, unwilling to use the suit radio, since most suit frequencies would trigger the automatic defense alarms of Imperial ships unless accompanied by the ship's own carrier code.

Nitiri stood, straightened, and shrugged, both gray gauntlets held palm up.

Gerswin motioned to the nine to go ahead, then took a thin cable from his suit pouch, along with the tool pack, and began to work. With three movements and the use of two tools, he was plugged into the console.

The odds were against their completing the changes to the ship's air systems before someone stumbled across the intruders, and Gerswin wanted to know when it happened.

He switched from frequency to frequency, from console station to console station, but picked up nothing on the first sweep.

Ideally, he would have preferred the comm center, but that was obviously impractical. Any alarm would show on the common channels within seconds, in any case.

In the interim Nitiri placed himself, stunner still drawn, to cover the now-closed portal from the main access corridor into the cargo control lock center where they waited. The room was so small that anyone who entered would see them at once.

Gerswin plugged to the lit stations on the comm panel.

“Sindra, Niter here. Do you know if Weryon is pushing dust again?”

“Negative, Sindra. Could be. Fores said that the exec's cabin was getting air that smelled oily. Thought they'd fixed it.”

“Just thought I heard some noise below in the vent system…. Oh…ohhh…Wish Peres would get here.”

“Why? You said she doesn't like you.”

“Doesn't. Sleepy, and she's my relief.”

“Got a while. It must be the waiting. Feel the same way.”

“Dorfstuff! Hurry up and wait. Exec's off. Captain's gone. We're here. Who's in charge?”

“The senior lieutenant…”

Another light blinked, and Gerswin shifted frequencies.

“Fores! Fores! Get the O.D.”

BRING! BRINGG! BRINGGG!

The piercing ringing of the general quarters alarm shook Gerswin even through his suit's armor.

He tabbed his own transmitter.

“Blue team. Blue team. Interrogative status.”

“Blue team to Captain Black. Status is green and sealed.”

“Commence cleanup. Commence cleanup.”

“Affirmative. Commencing.”

Gerswin tabbed his transmitter the second time.

“Green team. Interrogative status.”

“Green team to Captain Black. Status is three plus until green.”

“Split. Plan beta. Plan beta.”

“Stet. Affirmative plan beta for green team.”

Gerswin hit the button, then dropped behind the console as he saw the disruptor preceding the big tech barreling into the lock control room.

Crack!

Thrummm!

The intruder dropped under the stunner, but not before his disruptor left what had been the right corner of the lock control board as a molten chunk of metal and plastics.

Gerswin stayed low behind the console.

“Red team. Interrogative status.”

“Red team to Captain Black. Shunts complete. Communications blanked. One plus to green on seals.”

“Red team. Commence plan beta.”

“Stet. Commencing beta. Good luck, Captain Black.”

Gerswin looked across the small room to Nitiri, who by now had shifted the stunner into his left gauntlet. He held the disruptor he had recovered in his right.

Gerswin returned to monitoring channels. While several lights continued to blink, indicating keyed or open channels, no actual communications were on-going. Either the crew had succumbed to the sleep gas or stunners, or there was a fight going on somewhere, and the Imperial freighter's crew was not talking because they knew their communications were being monitored.

Gerswin glanced across at Nitiri, but could only see his own reflection in the other's face plate.

Belatedly, he unholstered his own stunner and leveled it in the direction of the portal to the main corridor.

“Captain Black, red team leader. Area is now secure. Area three now totally secure. No casualties. I say again. No casualties.”

“Captain Black, blue team leader. Area one is secure. No casualties.”

“Captain Black, green team leader. Area two secure with one exception. No casualties, but one exception. Armored and at location level three, frames 192 and 193.”

“Green team leader, Captain Black. Interrogative weapons status of exception.”

“Captain Black, exception has not standard weapons, but has officer's sword.”

“Green team leader, Captain Black is on the way. On the way.”

Gerswin unplugged from the console and handed the jack to Nitiri.

“Watch the inboard freqs from below.”

Nitiri nodded.

Level three, frame 193, was the space armor locker.

Only Lostwin waited for Gerswin. The rest of the team continued to work.

“Every one of those suits has a disruptor, Captain.”

“I know. I know.” Gerswin surveyed the area. “Is this place saturated under full atmosphere?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Have a medic standing by. Hope I can do this without too much danger, but…”

“What—”

Gerswin cut off the exchange with a downward chop of his hand. If the Imperial officer were any kind of fighter, he'd be on Gerswin's frequencies already.

“Blue team leader, this is Captain Black. In one point zero from mark, pull your board for one point zero. Do you understand?”

“Captain Black, blue team leader. Pulling my entire board for one point zero. That is one point zero from your mark.”

“Stet.
Mark!
”

“We have mark.”

Gerswin gestured to Lostwin, pointing to the space armor locker portal and to the controls box.

Lostwin got the idea and nodded, using hand signals to move his team out of any possible line of fire, then moved to the controls. He began to operate the manual overrides of the internal locks. As the portal began to iris open, a beam of red energy flared against the inside of the portal once, then again.

Gerswin smiled. The officer inside was trying to fuse the portal shut.

He moved closer, waiting.

The grav generators went off, and he launched himself to the overhead. In three quick mincesteps he was by the edge of the portal, crouching low, and throwing the knives.

One!

Two!

A silent flare of red energy died with the second knife.

Captain Black was through the half-open portal like a streak, plowing into the Imperial officer from above and knocking the disruptor away.

As the other dropped to the deck more easily than Gerswin expected, he had a sickening suspicion.

“Lock guard, get medic here on straight line full accel/decel. Casualty may need immediate medical attention.”

“Affirmative, Captain. Affirmative.”

Gerswin didn't see any blood, but both knives had hit the holdout officer, one in the right shoulder, and the other in the left thigh.

“How could he throw it through armor cloth?”

That came through the suit intercom. Gerswin didn't recognize the speaker's voice.

“Ever seen his knives? Ever seen him throw?”

“Yeah, every year or so he takes up a new weapon. Keeps him alert.”

Gerswin ignored the background chatter, and hoisted the faintly struggling figure over his shoulder and headed for Nitiri and the lock control center. The last thing someone who was bleeding needed was a full dose of sleepgas, and until he could unsuit, there wasn't a thing he or anyone else could do.

As he reached the hangar locks he felt the vibrations of the
Sindelar
's boat locking in with Winsters.

The young officer was limp by the time Winsters and Gerswin had her unsuited in the yacht boat, the single place aboard the
Sanducar
not permeated with the gas.

Winsters began working, and without glancing at his commander, observed, “She should be all right. While you pinned the one in the thigh pretty deep, you missed about everything you could miss. Shoulder wound's mostly muscle. She'll be laid up for a while, but it doesn't look like any permanent damage.”

Gerswin sighed, followed it with a frown. One casualty wasn't bad, but why did it have to be a female officer? On some planets that wouldn't set well at all, if it ever got out.

“Remember, Winsters, no names, and no treatment once she's conscious without privacy gear and an armed guard.”

The former shambletown kid nodded with a grim smile. “Understand, Commander. Understand.”

“You take her back with you. We'll go on as planned. Have Dewart bring back the officers when you get the signal.”

“Need more support?”

“We're set, unless something changes. We're securing the crew, and we've got the supplies for the jump. If they have any spare torps, I'll send them back when you send over the exec. Best we break before someone sends out a corvette.”

Gerswin sealed his suit and headed back into the
Sanducar
and the command bridge, leaving Nitiri to outlock the
Sindelar
's boat and lockseal the outer doors as well.

On the bridge, he began the checks.

“Interrogative drives.”

“In the green. Power up sequence at minus fifteen to touch point.”

“Navigation, interrogative screens.”

“Up and in the green. Course feed input on schedule. Will have break point computations adapted in twelve plus or minus two.”

“Gunnery?”

“Captain, for our purposes, no guns. Permission to divert to screens.”

“Go ahead, if you can reshunt without leaving traces after arrival and downloading.”

“No problem.”

Gerswin wondered how small that division problem really was, but extra power to the screens certainly wouldn't hurt.

“Drives, interrogative governor status.”

“Plan to reset at plus point two. Enough to throw off the Impie computers, but not enough to hurt our passengers.”

“Navigation, interrogative visitors.”

“Captain Black, no visitors in sight. None anticipated.”

So now all he had to do was wait…

He needed one quarter of a standard Imperial hour, one quarter hour before His Imperial Majesty's freighter
Sanducar
could vanish from orbit for an unknown destination.

At that point, the
Sindelar
would also vanish to deliver a few messages, and to send out a raft of messages torps, before being returned to its rather surprised refit crew.

Then—Gerswin shook his head, violently, and refocused his attention on the screen before him. One thing at a time.

First, his teams needed to finish securing the crew. Second, they had to bring the freighter from stand-down to full operation. Third, they had to recover the exec and two officers and leave orbit without discovery and attack by Imperial vessels.

“Captain, incoming from yacht.”

“Stet. Lock in and recover.”

“Captain Black? Incoming on standard comm net. Interrogative response.”

“Respond without screen. Explain you're doing last minute maintenance. Ask to feed back in three to five.”

“Affirmative. Will do.”

Gerswin checked the readouts. Minus ten until full power-up sequence was complete. He hoped the
Sindelar
's boat was clear by then. He jabbed the engineering stud.

“Interrogative drive status.”

“Minus nine until green.”

“Report when ready.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Navigation, interrogative status.”

“Minus seven until course feed complete.”

Gerswin sat watching the screens, looking at the flow of information on the status of the ship, watching the green panels light, watching the red shift to amber, and then to green.

Another thought crossed his mind, and he tapped the tight beam back to the
Sindelar
.

“Landspout, this is Captain Black. Interrogative status of messengers.”

“Captain Black, messengers ready to depart within one plus of your completion.”