The Price of Peace (14 page)

"Continue sending. Add 'or we will fire' to it." "Yes, sir."

"Guns, you got a fire solution on our skunk?"

"She's just coming in range. I wish I had one of those new central fire controls. With the chance of innocent people on board that bogey, I'd like a better solution."

"Could you send a shot across her bow?"

That brought a long pause. "Deflection angle's shallow."

So now I get to learn why it's called the worry seat. "Sensors, what can you tell me about our bogey?"

"Not much, sir. She's pretty quiet. Engine radiation is masking most of what I might be getting. Engine profile matches several classes, both commercial and ex-Unity." Igor turned from his boards. "That includes the Daring class, sir."

"Wonderful." Stan cycled his own station through to helm. The
Patton
was up to 3.5 gees. The bogey was holding at 2.25. At this rate, they'd overhaul it several hours before the jump. Unless, of course, we take a hit in the engines. Or they do.

This was not getting any easier.

"Helm, edge us away from the hostile's track by five degrees. Guns, as soon as you feel comfortable with the deflection angle, let our friend know we've got her in range."

"Yes, sir."

Stan ignored the clock as it ticked away the seconds. He concentrated on constructing a decision tree; it didn't have many limbs. If she wouldn't stop, he'd have to try nipping her engines, without blowing her engineering spaces like Izzy had done to the pirate. It was a lot easier to blow up a ship than capture one. At least this one wasn't shooting at him. Yet.

"XO, this is Guns. I'm ready to try a shot across the bow." "Do it."

The lights didn't dim for this one; the ship's power supply hardly noticed the drain. The main screen showed a single ray reaching out, passing ahead of the target.

It kept on accelerating.

"XO, we've got a live transmission coming in."

"Put it on main screen." Stan hoped he remembered everything he'd read in his correspondence course on hostage negotiations. It had been part of a lieutenant's promotion requirement ten years back. The face filling the screen didn't look frightened. It was also a woman's. Damn!

"Listen, I don't know who you are, or what you think you're doing, but I've got passengers on board. You're endangering innocent people."

"We know about your hostages."

"They aren't hostages. They're labor recruits."

"Right. We liberated the 'labor recruits' you were headed to Hurtford Corner to pick up. If anything happens to your hostages, you and your entire crew will he held personally liable for their deaths. Need I remind you that killing a hostage in the commitment of a felony is a capital offense? Cease accelerating and prepare to be boarded."

"Your signal is breaking up. I'll call you back in a minute on another channel." The screen went back to the battle board.

"Sounds like you scared her," Guns chuckled on net.

"I told her we know what she's up to and we have witnesses. Won't do her any good to dump her cargo to space."

"Sensors here. Target just activated targeting sensors. Six-inch guns are powering up. She's a Daring, and she's hot."

"Guns, do you have a solution on her engines?" "I'll try."

"Do it. Initiate spin. Prepare to
jink
ship on my command. Guns, I'll keep her steady until you've got the first salvo out."

"This will be a seven-gun salvo. I fixed two problems, and another two broke." Even as Guns complained, lasers reached out for the stern of the enemy ship. Five rounds were clear misses aft. The next two corrected. They missed closer.

"She's charged." Sensors' voice was steady. "
Jink
up." Stan ordered.

Two ragged shots weren't even close. "Not much of a fighter, is she?" Stan muttered. This might make things easier.

Then three more laser rays reached out for the
Patton
. One snagged her briefly. Pumps screamed as they fought to balance the ship. Kicking himself, Stan ordered a down
jink
. The shoddy quality of this hostile was only making his problem tougher, not easier. Ragged salvos meant he'd never know when it was safe to shoot.

Damn, and I got to take this one alive.

"Guns, I've got to keep
zigging
at all times. Shoot when you can."

"I'm going to single ranging shots until I get a better feel for where she's at. Maybe I can walk into her slowly."

"Do it."

While the
Patton
dodged the random shots from the target, each one of her own shots got closer to the bandit. The slaver held a steady course, Stan guessed because her crew was not stabilized in battle stations like the
Patton’s
crew. He was grateful for any help he got in this live fire exercise.

"Nipped her!" Guns shouted. There were shouts of glee on the gunnery net. The target veered to the right, wiping out the firing solution for the next shot. "Back to work, kids. We found her once. We'll find her again."

The bandit steadied down on course. "Slowed to two gees acceleration," Sensors reported. Stan finally allowed himself a smile. Damage Control reported the one hostile hit had only vaporized armor; that's what it was there for. He could give the ship back to Izzy without having to explain a major dent. Maybe it was time to end this. "
Comm
, send to hostile. 'We can keep this up as long as you want, but you are not getting out of this system.'"

"Sent, sir."

Two more lasers missed his ship. So much for talking. Guns continued to answer, one shot at a time, walking his rays up to the rear of the other ship. He slashed a second engine. "Good going, Guns," Stan grinned.

"Hostile down to one point five gees," Sensors reported.

"Message from hostile. 'If we surrender this tub, can we cut a deal?'"

"Damn, I need a lawyer," Stan groaned. "Tell them no one has died yet; there is no capital punishment charge. Yet."

"She wants to talk to you."

"On screen. Guns, check fire. Repeat, check fire."

The woman was back. "Your last shot damn near slagged our reactors, You want to blow us all up. Listen, me and my crew, we just pick up and drop off cargo. I don't know nothing about what's going on. You want us to talk, I'll talk. But I don't want to waste my life doing jail time. Deal?"

Stan really needed a lawyer. What kind of promises could he make? "I'm just Navy, ma'am, not a cop. I'll do what I can, if no hostage is harmed, and if all of your files and databases are turned over. No erasures. All of them, network and personal."

She fidgeted. "Every system has a few erased files on it. You'd run out of storage if you never erased anything."

"This sounds like stalling to me." Stan made his face as hard as he could at 3.5 gees. "Cease acceleration and allow us to board. Close down all offensive systems. Now."

"Tandy, take us to zero gee. R.S., kill the sensors. Tabby, stop shooting. We'll open our main lock. There's room for a shuttle to dock."

"We'll be boarding by several access points. Please collect all your personnel on the bridge or one mess deck. People wandering around the ship just might get shot."

"Yeah. Okay, nobody wants to get anybody hurt on this side. Let's just settle this nice and easy."

Stan liked that attitude. "Sensors?"

"Skunk's going quiet. Guns are bleeding off their charges. Looks like she's doing what she said."

"Helm, take us to one gee smartly." Stan turned to the Chief Master at Arms. "Put together a boarding party. Take anyone you need with small arms experience and time in space."

"Aye, sir." The old chief stood as the ship steadied on one gee and saluted Stan. He returned the honor with a proud grin. Skipper said bring them back alive. And, damn it, I did. Now, maybe, I'll get a ship of my own. If there're any left.

"
Comm
, advise the captain. Hostile vessel is being boarded. Will advise you when we have boarded and searched the vessel. Gabon sends." He stood, then stretched to get the kinks out of a body that had been tortured by three and a half times its normal weight. "Well done, folks. Very well done."

Stan was having a very good day. Unbidden, his brother came to mind. Stan bet no corporate slob like Tom ever had a day this good. Oh, God, let Tom be okay.

Tom Gabon was having a very bad day, just like all the rest he'd had lately. It was raining. His bare feet sank into the mud, and if he wasn't careful, hoeing out a weed could knock over a drug plant. The guard must have lost bad in last night's poker game; his whip was taking his losses out of any farmhand who even nudged the cash crop. Tom hunkered down and moved his hoe with slow, methodical regularity like a good slave.

That was what he was. A slave growing drugs in a steaming hell. He wondered what euphemisms were used on the corporate profit sheet to cover up what he saw. If his cracked lips wouldn't have hurt, he'd have smiled. Guess I didn't ask as many questions as I should have at that job interview.

The whip snapped again, yanking the man next to him out of his plodding. "Take it easy, "Tom whispered.

"Just let me get that bastard out behind a bar some dark night," the spacer beside Tom growled. Ever the good manager, Tom had evaluated his coworkers. The spacers were hard cases, officers and crew of pirated ships. Yet their toughness had a brittle underpinning to it. When it finally got through their hard heads that they weren't going anywhere, their spirits shattered. Tom had watched as several quit eating and just balled up and died. There were others around Tom. Farmhands yanked off other planets and dropped in the mud beside Tom. Street toughs hauled out of a gutter drunk some night to wake up in a ship's hold with the others. The street kids could shatter like a spacer, or turn out as tough and stoic as the experienced farm workers.

The corporate outcasts, managers who'd gotten on the wrong side of a boss, could be like the spacers or the farmers. Tom took the long view. He'd been looking for a job when he found himself in this one. Everything changes. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. He could hold on, bide his time.

Someday Tom would laugh about this over a drink at his favorite bar. This couldn't go on forever. That held Tom together. Sooner or later, something would develop. It had to. Trouble knew something new was developing. He just had no idea what. The town was an enigma, and he was none too sure about his immediate vicinity. He would not bug the poor corporal for reports. Her helmet monitored only one net at a time; that made for easy maintenance and longer time between failure. Right now, it meant she had to drop off her squad net, manually dial her system into any one of a dozen other nets, and hope something interesting was happening when she listened. Trouble kicked himself; he should have had a trooper give up a helmet. The Book said you didn't give any gear to civilians. The Book needed a footnote about what to do when you didn't follow it.

"We got trucks headed our way," shouted the picket facing the road.

Trouble didn't like the looks of the two civilian flatbed trucks with canvas covers. "Corporal, contact the skipper. Ask her if she's arranged any transport for us."

"Yes, sir."

Trouble kept his eyes on the approaching trucks. "All hands," he shouted, "keep your eyes peeled. This would be a great time to sneak up behind us." No pickets had moved off their assigned areas, but a reminder was in order.

"Skipper's not available, sir," the corporal shouted. "She's in a burning building at the moment, trying to find a lost child. Gunny says they've been trying to rustle up transport, but he doesn't know if the civilians have done it. He's checking, but the
civvy
net is a bit hard to organize."

"Tell me about it," Trouble growled. Then had to suppress a laugh. The damn trader who'd gotten them here in the first place said this planet needed a new net. Hell of a way to prove it.

Time to get busy. "Corporal, we got an unknown situation developing here. Get your personnel to cover." His eyes roved the runway and the grain fields beyond. They might provide enough concealment to save a marine's life for a critical second or two. "Fire plan for the time being is to cover all three hundred and sixty degrees of the perimeter." "
Yessir
." The corporal got busy.

Trouble turned to his civilians and prisoners. They huddled in the clear, where the road and runway met. Right where things might get exciting. "Ruth, mind moving these folks off a ways?"

She glanced at the trucks, now less than a kilometer away. "Izzy said she'd send us a ride?" "That might be it. Then again, somebody's starting a lot of fires. Seen any lately?" A haze had settled over Hurtford City. It was hard to tell if anything new was adding to it.

"Don't mind a little walk. All right, everybody, on your feet." The prisoners didn't react. Ruth raised the controller, made a big scene of activating it, and grinned wickedly. "I'm walking. I'm walking. You better be, too." They did.

"Take care of yourself," Ruth said, standing on tiptoe and giving him a quick kiss on his bearded cheek as she waltzed by.

Trouble didn't quite know what to make of that. Rubbing the kiss into his beard, he turned to face the trucks. By all that was smart and holy, he ought to be finding a few blades of grass to hide behind. But that would surrender the initiative to whoever these guys were. They could drive onto the field or anyplace else they wanted before showing their hand. No, he would walk right up to them and find out what they had in mind. "Hell of a situation," he said, stopping in the center of the road, not sure whether he meant the trucks ... or the kiss. And too busy at the moment to figure it out.