The View from the Imperium (25 page)

“Good man,” I said, relieved that my faculty of assessment was not totally askew. “Inside information is always helpful. Contact us on the land line as soon as you have a sighting.”

“Aye, sir!” he bellowed,

“Come along, then, Plet,” I said, beckoning her over. “We need all good minds on this. We will have only once chance to get this right.”

Chapter 14

It seemed an unnecessary caution to tiptoe behind Filzon in the loud, hot and busy street, but it was hard to control the impulse for silence. It was not as though our presence went unnoticed; I wore my full uniform with the bill of my cap facing smartly forward. At my side strode my shuttle crew and Captain Chan. Behind us, in their ragtag uniforms and mismatched weapons, were the members of the Smithereen militia. I regretted my small force had only two sets of powered armor, one under the command of a man so ancient that I doubted he could perform drills and exercises without its support, but he moved with the grace of a swallow, whereas the other suit, operated by a muscular young woman with broad shoulders, creaked and jerked at every step. The smell of overworked circuitry added an acrid aroma to the mixed scents of crowds, garbage, machine lubricants and unidentified minerals. Only the limited gravity helped to keep the suit moving in its state of decrepitude.

The locals looked oddly upon us marching with weapons on the busy main street. Crowds parted before us as we moved with purpose, though everyone I passed could have picked me up and broken me over a knee. Under normal circumstances, I would have been in field dress, with an optical pickup that fit over my right eye, feeding me intel from my viewpad as a heads-up display instead of having to rely upon memory and the occasional furtive glance downward at the pouch at my waist. Many of my troops had to link personal electronics into the military channel, hooked into the software by a hasty fix provided by Juhrman. We would all have been in light armor at least. Still, an army was an army, and we outnumbered the other force more than two-and-a-half to one, or so Filzon had informed me. That meant that once we engaged, each pair of my soldiers would acquire a preselected target and do its level best to apprehend that target without danger to the surrounding setting.

“They just ordered pancakes,” Filzon stage-whispered, pointing to a storefront with the sign
Oatmeal and Son
over the door. Blast-glass panels provided a slightly hazy view of the interior, but nothing could staunch the savory aromas coming from inside. My stomach, though it was well fed, squeezed appreciatively. Robot servers carried enormous food on trays to each table of hungry diners. A few humans in brightly colored tunics, folded cloth caps and wheeled shoes, no doubt the wait staff, skidded from group to group to assess the quality of service and comestibles, and to serve the platters from the robotrays. “I caught ’em comin’ out of Strange Bedfellows over there. Bruce always sends his clients over there for breakfast after . . . you know.”

I nodded. Of course I knew, though this was not the time to discuss my amorous past. My memory was suffering overload from other, more immediate cognitive centers. Dread of the unknown excited the primitive portion of my brain. I smelled fear. No, that sour odor was emanating from the restaurant. Naturally they served food for every species who visited Smithereen, and that included dainties for those who liked their meals less than fresh. One of those had just come out of the preparation area toward a waiting diner. My banquet dinner considered the sudden intrusion of the unpalatable aroma and threatened to depart via the easiest route. I fought it down again. Better to keep my mind focused upon the visual and aural input, absorbing the street scene, observing the escape routes that we had marked out in the architectural rendering—always provided that the shop owners had not done their own unlicensed renovations. I doubted—I hoped none would be found in the restaurant.

Beside me, Plet continued to attempt to summon the station manager, the
Wedjet
or Parsons. The station manager’s Wichu assistant hung up on us every time we called. So far no wireless transmissions had succeeded in breaking through to Parsons’s viewpad or to the compiler that would take our messages offworld to the ship. We continued receiving the “Your Data is Very Important to Us” recording, the bane of every intelligent being who had ever had the misfortune to fall prey to the inhuman voice mail system galaxywide.

“Your message has been placed in the queue and will be sent with the next possible data packet. Please check your inbox again later for confirmation. Your data is very important to us. Your message . . .”

It’s all on us,
I realized, straining to see through the blast-glass of the restaurant’s front wall. We were the only hope to bring these felons in.

“Pawade!” announced a high-pitched voice near my knee.

I jumped. A tot of two or three years of age pointed at me gleefully from the hoverchair that his maternal unit was pushing. I gave him a weak smile.

“Yes, baby, parade,” said his mother, giving a sharp look at my archaic weapons and at the file of mismatched uniforms behind me. “Taking up the whole street. Some people!”

“I beg your pardon, madam,” I said, doffing my hat to her. “A necessary exercise.”

“Hmph!” She marched away. The baby waved at me gleefully.

“There they are,” Filzon whispered, his voice echoing in my earpiece, which had been tuned to the militia’s assigned frequency. As long as we were close together, the signal was stronger than the magnetite’s interference. He grabbed my arm and dragged me close to the open door. He poked a surreptitious finger, and I followed its vector. “There!”

“
That
is our crew?”

“Yup,” Filzon said. “Every one of them is off that ship that you saw. They paid for their, uh . . .”

“Entertainment?” I supplied.

“Uh, yeah, with a credit chit from the ship. Backed it up with the license from the Holborn Empire, belongs to the Harmony Exchange Foundation. They
said
. So they don’t know we’re looking for them! What do we do first?” He regarded me with large, hopeful eyes.

I surveyed the crew. Only three of the twenty members of the pirate vessel were human. The rest were Uctu, Croctoid, and one Solinian, a reptilian whose bulk made Croctoids look like geckos, and the gecko-like Uctus like garter snakes. I swallowed hard. But we were now committed to action. I scanned the restaurant. Oatmeal and Son was a very large establishment. The restaurant was approximately two-thirds full. Most of the other patrons were seated as far away from the party from the pirate vessel as possible. As a Wichu slid to a controlled stop beside the Solinian with a platter filled with raw meat, I understood why. The Solinian didn’t wait for it to be lowered before him, but snagged a handful of dripping, red flesh and stuffed it into his clamplike jaws. I gulped.

“Plet,” I said, “please give me the overview of this area. I want to make certain we won’t be surprised from behind.”

With a disapproving sigh, she activated the appropriate section of the map and sent it to all of us. I perused it and nodded thoughtfully.

“This is absurd,” she whispered irritatedly. “Look at the size of them. How can we surround them without putting the other diners at risk? Families are sitting all around them.”

“They are relatively isolated,” I said. “We must move nonchalantly into the establishment, casually surround them and cut off their escape. Then I will inform them that they are under arrest.”

“Are you joking?” she hissed. “How?”

“Subtlety,” I insisted. “We must deploy ourselves subtly. Then, on my signal, we will move in. They don’t appear to be armed.”

Chan nodded. “They have to check their weapons at the port. You guys got a dispensation because you’re Navy.”

“Thank the powers for small favors.” I took a deep breath. “Very well, then. A few at a time, and . . .”

A voice blared out from behind me. “In or out, dammit! You trick-or-treaters can’t clog up the door of this place forever. Move it or lose it!”

I turned to confront the owner of the voice, and found myself facing an enormous, pale-furred Wichu female who towered a good head above me. She was accompanied by a litter of six massive youngsters with variegated fur, one of which was clinging to an exposed fuchsia nipple. “I beg your pardon, madam, but we are contemplating . . .”

“Contemplate on your own time! My kids are hungry! Move it!”

She shoved me through the doors of the restaurant. I stumbled in, tripping over my feet. When I straightened, I realized everyone was looking at me, including my quarry. They had stopped tearing and gulping gobbets of red flesh to stare. I averted my gaze, so as not to tip them off that they were the objects of my desire. Little hope existed that they thought otherwise. We had no choice but to act immediately. I had always heard that no plan survives contact with the enemy, and now I found it was true.

“Fan out and assume stations,” I ordered my troops over the communications link. Chan put both her hands together then outward. Whether or not her militia had drilled such exercises as “Separate into two files in a dining establishment and feign hunger,” they divided into two even packs and moved toward empty tables as though calorie replenishment was the sole reason for their presence. I admit that having two suits of powered armor creak in behind us rather stretched the credibility of the premise.

Plet and the other naval personnel kept right behind me. My heart quailed at confronting the enormous beings, but our duty was clear. Filzon had informed me that the Croctoid with the leathery brown skin in the white shipsuit was the leader. I marched toward him, my hand ready to draw my sidearm. My troops filled in around the party. The pirates could not fail to understand our motive, but remained seated. At my signal, the militia leveled their weapons.

“Captain Growteing?” I stated formally.

“Skreg off,” he said, not bothering to look up. Blood smeared his scaly jaws and clawed handpaws. I had never noticed before how unpleasant the burbling growl of a Croctoid sounded. “I’m eating.”

Undeterred, I continued.

“I am Ensign-Captain Thomas Kinago of the Imperium Navy. Your ship is one of a number that was reported missing and has been involved in acts of piracy. You and your crew are therefore requested to accompany me to a place of inquiry until such time as we can satisfy ourselves to what role you have played in its disappearance and misuse. You will all come with me now to the authorities.”

The humans in the party looked at me, and rose at once from their places, surprised at themselves.

“Satisfy yourself on your own time, softskin,” the captain snarled. He turned his head and glared at his crewmen. They sat down. He turned the evil eye toward my force. A few of them stepped backward, but resumed their stance, looking shamefaced at having retreated even a pace. I did not blame them, but duty called.

“Then I have no choice but to take you into custody,” I said, drawing my sidearm. “Troops! Take them!”

The Solinian, a brute with shiny gold skin, leaned over and bit the barrel off my antique pistol with an astonishing
crunch!
I stared at the truncated stock. The Solinian grinned at me.

I gulped but drew my sword. “Surrender now!”

“Or what?” the captain asked.

I felt the ire of my ancestors rising within me at his defiance. I aimed the point of the blade directly at his left eye. “Or we will have to take you by force.”

My troops raised the weapons in their hands. The pirate crew kicked back their chairs and stood up. The banging and sliding noises alerted patrons in the restaurant, who looked up from their consumption of mass quantities and saw us arrayed against one another. Those with shrill voices screamed.

“Move in to capture!” I shouted. My troops moved forward, arms set to stun force.

From hidden pockets, from sleeves, from among the cascading scales on their heads, the pirate crew produced lethal-looking handguns with shortened barrels. Even as my brain bellowed out, “Where did those come from?” the captain snapped a thumb down and disconnected the safety on his. The whine of the power supply rose through levels of sound until my skull sang in harmony. He pointed the weapon toward my head. My heart pounded.

Luckily, Croctoids move more slowly than humans. By the time the barrel reached its target area, my head was no longer in the way. I ducked. The single shot of heated plasma ripped through the air, leaving a singed metallic odor. The restaurant’s patrons grabbed up their children and valuables and made for the front exit, screaming and swearing. They could not all pass through the portal at once. I could hear yells of anger and fear behind me as they shoved and butted one another to get out. I feared smaller civilians would be trampled, but my immediate concern was for my own survival. I chopped at the Croctoid with my sword. The blade knocked his arm upward but failed to draw blood. The captain turned, his reflexes thankfully not as fast as mine, and readied another shot. I danced backwards and tripped over a chair. The light gravity was all that kept me from breaking a rib on a table edge. Hot pellets zinged over my head. The pirates started firing back. Their weapons were set to deliver full force.

“Defend yourselves!” I cried.

My orders were scarcely necessary.

Chan’s people opened up close fire on the Croctoid captain. He staggered, but did not fall. His small, beady eyes glared hate at all of us. He and his people snapped off shots. A drinks machine burst, spraying us all with bright orange fluid. Under its cover, I lunged in, the point of my sword aiming for the tendon in his wrist. He switched hands and blasted at me again. I dodged. My troops flipped up tables and took cover behind them. Beakers and platters crashed to the floor, depositing huge piles of food and lakes of sticky colored liquid. The pirates upended tables for their own defense, though their large bulk left huge expanses of shipsuit and scaly backsides and tails exposed. The only ones who remained within the suddenly cleared area were the pirate captain and myself. We circled one another, one eye on the other’s weapon, one on the mess on the floor.