Empire & Ecolitan (54 page)

“Thelina should be fine.” Meryl lifted the teacup and started back toward the doorway to her office.

Jimjoy followed, not necessarily agreeing. The Fuards weren't trustworthy, but right now there was nothing at all he could do. Except trust—and he didn't like the feeling. “Let me know.”

“You may see her first.” Meryl's look seemed momentarily wistful as she set her cup next to her screen, where several more lights were now flashing, two of them changing from amber to red.

“Then we'll let you know.”

Meryl took a deep breath and settled herself behind the console, looking back up at Jimjoy as he stood there. “Please do.”

He nodded, not knowing what else he could trust himself to say, repressing a sudden shiver inside the heavy jacket that suddenly failed to warm him.

8 Quat 3647
New Augusta

T
HE BOULEVARD WAS
almost deserted in the midafternoon freezing drizzle, a few hardy individuals in waterproof parkas sloshing through the few centimeters of puddled slush that covered the precisely cut gray stone sidewalks.

An occasional groundcar whined to or from Government Square, hissing across and through the combination of ice and rain that covered the roadway.

Jimjoy, his parka collar turned up, paused to look at the display in Waltar's, then smiled.

“Think Spring!” proclaimed the graceful script in the window. There, for all Accord to see, underneath an open umbrella, was a copy of the formal picnic set he and Jurdin Waltar had designed. As he studied it, he realized that Jurdin had simplified the set and improved the design in several minor ways, allowing the final backpack design to be even more compact.

On a whim, he pushed open the door.

Cling
. A gentle bell rang as he stepped inside.

“May I help you, ser?” asked a young man, a youngster still of school age, with slicked-back black hair and a fresh-scrubbed and clean-shaven face.

“Is Jurdin in?”

“No, ser. He's out at the workshop. He said he wouldn't be back until late. Is there anything I can help you with? Or Dorthea? She's in back.”

Jimjoy shook his head. “No, thank you. I just wanted to compliment him on the picnic set in the window. You could tell him I stopped by, if you would.”

“Ser? You are…?”

“Oh, sorry. Just tell him Jimjoy Whaler, and the picnic set.”

“Whaler…yes, ser! I didn't recognize you. That was some talk you gave, ser. Are you going to run for Council? My whole family thinks you should.”

“Run for Council? No, that should be somebody like Jurdin. I wouldn't make a good Council member.”

“You aren't going to run?” The boy's tone was almost hurt.

Jimjoy smiled gently. “Young man, politicians have to make people happy. Spent my life doing things that made people unhappy, telling them things they didn't want to hear. Somebody has to but people would be unhappy hearing from me all the time. Better I stay with the Institute.”

“You could still be an Ecolitan, Professor.”

“No, I don't think so. Ecolitans should stay out of politics. All we did was make sure that the people get to choose their own politicians. We're idealists, most of us, and idealists make poor politicians.” He shrugged. “I appreciate your support. Just make sure you choose an honest Council.”

“Are you sure you won't run?”

“I'm sure. I may not even be planetside for the election. How could I be a Council member when I'm not here?”

Cling
. The bell signaled the arrival of a figure in a hooded coat.

“Do you have any snigglers?”

Jimjoy nodded at the youngster. “Just tell Jurdin I was here.”

“Yes, ser.” All seriousness, the boy turned to the woman who had arrived. “Yes, sher. We have two, four, and eight meters. They're racked in the third aisle at the end…”

Jimjoy stepped out into the rain, heading uphill to Daniella's. With the intricate silvered spiral over the door, the stop stood out from the others.

Whssssttttt…splattt
…

Slush from a passing groundcar sprayed on the stone centimeters from Jimjoy's boots as he pulled open the heavy wooden door. Inside stood a single, heavy display case, unattended, as it had been the last time he had come.

Jimjoy swallowed, then stepped up to the case. No one was at the jeweler's bench, but he could see Daniella's broad back through the open door to the supply room.

“Daniella?”

“Be there in just a moment.” Her head, covered with a thatch of thick and short gray-streaked brown hair, did not move.

Jimjoy waited.

“All right—oh, Professor! I think you'll be pleased.” The near-elfin voice failed to match the solid and muscular body to which it was attached.

Jimjoy smiled back at the jeweler. “You're the one who looks pleased.”

“I am. You will be, too.” She went to the heavy metal case, more like an antique safe, and, after easing out a metal shelf, extracted a small box. “Here you are.” Daniella laid out a soft black cloth, then, after opening the box, laid the ring on the cloth.

Jimjoy nodded, trying to keep the grin from his face. Thelina would have thought he was totally insane.

The ring was simple—two green diamonds, large enough to be noticed, not large enough to be called rocks, set in a platinum silvered to the shade Jimjoy had specified. The two stones flowed into each other, yet remained separate.

“I had to modify that design, Professor, just a touch. Here…” She pointed. “And there. Otherwise, a hard knock at the wrong angle and you could lose the stone.”

“That's fine. Looks better that way, anyway.”

“Thought so myself.”

“You're the expert.”

“Mind if I use the idea again?”

“Could you wait a while?”

Daniella grinned, wide white teeth sparkling. “You want her to know how special it is?”

Jimjoy nodded. “Spacer…”

Daniella shook her head. “Got to watch those women spacers, Professor.”

“That's what she'd say about me.” Jimjoy handed over a stack of notes, the total nearly depleting the funds remaining from his few Imperial assets.

“Thank you.” Daniella carefully replaced the ring in the hand-carved black wooden box and handed it to him.

“Thank
you
.” He nodded and slipped the box into an inside pocket of the parka, making sure it was securely sealed before stepping back into the wind and freezing rain outside the jeweler's.

His steps were quick and light as he made his way toward the port to catch the afternoon shuttle back to orbit control.

J
IMJOY SCANNED THE
controls, checking the EDIs and the far-screens yet another time. Theoretically, they were not in Imperial space, but the last thing they needed was for an Impie ship to see the distinct energy signatures of the
Roosveldt
and the
Causto
three sectors away from the Rift.

He looked at the representative screen again, wishing Broward would hurry in closing with the
Causto
. He hated to ask, even with tight beam laser comm. His fingers drummed on the edge of the finger control panel.

Mera Lilkovie grimaced as she looked pointedly at his left hand.

“All right. All right. Just wish Broward would move that tub.”

She shrugged, as if to ask whether impatience would speed the transport.

Jimjoy watched the
Roosveldt
's image cross the dashed green of the congruency perimeter on the representational screen.

Cling
. His eyes flashed to the farscreen, noting the EDI entry. The system was supposedly uninhabited, like the one for which they were heading, and the presence of another ship was a definite warning—either military or an independent.

His fingers scripted the inquiry, even as he watched the
Roosveldt
close up to his ship.

“Incoming ship is Imperial scout. Probability ninety-five percent,” the screen answered.

Jimjoy touched the laser comm stud. “Bellwar one, interrogative jump to salvage one. Interrogative jump.”

From the copilot's couch, Mera Lilkovie again glanced at him and his finger tapping.

He kept his eyes on the screens. He also ignored Athos and Swersa in their crew seats. The incoming scout was too far away to track the two Accord ships, and near positive identification limits—possibly just on a border recon run. But the coincidence bothered him.

“Black control, one ready.”

“Jump at my mark.” He paused. “Now…MARK!” As soon as he saw the shimmer on the screen, he pressed the jump control, hoping he had not waited too long.

The blackness of the jump was as instantaneously endless as ever before the
Causto
dropped out at the edge of the target system—containing only three gas giants and two undeveloped rock balls.

Cling
.

Jimjoy pointed the
Roosveldt
, well behind the beefed-up needleboat, then scanned the entire system.

One brightly pulsing blue dot and four fainter dots appeared at the orbit line of the fifth planet, right where they were supposed to be.

2214 Universal—leaving nearly two standard hours until the rendezvous target time. That the Fuards were already there indicated how successful Thelina had been, or how badly they wanted the Empire overextended on the Rift.

“Bellwar one, interrogative estimated closure.”

As he waited for Broward's response, Jimjoy tried to keep a frown from his face. Having allies, hidden or otherwise, like the Fuards was not his preference. Bad as the Empire was, the Fuards were worse. But without the Fuards, the Empire would already be down on Accord. He pursed his lips and took another deep breath.

He hadn't liked the Fuards. He hadn't liked Thelina's negotiating the “salvage” arrangement with them, and he still didn't. They were perfectly capable of potting both the
Roosveldt
and the
Causto
—and not even worrying about it. But they wouldn't have offered four obsolescent ships as bait. For the fledgling Coordinate of Accord, one or two military ships would have provided plenty of bait.

“Black control, estimate closure in point two five stans.” Broward's voice was as gravelly as usual.

Jimjoy had offered to let the senior civilian captain take the lead in the operation, but Broward had declined, politely, insisting that military operations be run by military types.

Jimjoy had not pressed, and neither had mentioned the exchange again.

“Stet. Changing course to destination line. Maintaining current inbound vee until closure.”

“Understand current vee, new course direct to destination.”

“Affirmative.”

“Stet, black control. Estimate closure in point two stans.”

Jimjoy nodded and continued to scan the screens, hoping they would remain empty. If anyone else showed, the Fuards were capable of anything. While they clearly wanted to provide the ships, the transfer location and method were designed to keep the ships' origin as quiet as possible for as long as possible.

“System clear, except for target,” announced Athos from the small console tucked into the space behind Mera. Swersa, behind Jimjoy, coughed but said nothing. She was there to bring back the oversized needleboat.

“Let's hope it stays that way,” muttered Jimjoy.

“It's Fuardian territory, Professor,” offered Mera.

“Nominally, but you'll note it sits on a big area of uninhabitable systems with Halstani and Imperial systems nearby. They want us out of here in one jump. Even want to be able to claim we strayed here.”

Cling
.

Jimjoy checked the screens. A faint line of dashed blue ran from the bright blue dot—an outgoing message torp, probably reporting to Fuard HQ the arrival of the great Coordinate armada, reflected Jimjoy. He shrugged his shoulders, trying to release the tension.

“Black control, estimate closure in point one.”

“Stet.”

Still no traces of Impies or Halstanis, but Jimjoy kept scanning the screens, watching, and hoping they stayed clear. And, for Mera's sake, trying not to tap his fingers too much.

Finally, the Accord transport crossed the dashed green line on the representational screen.

“Bellwar one reporting closure.”

“Stet, accelerating at point five this time.”

“Accelerating at point five.”

Swersa coughed softly behind Jimjoy. Mera glanced from the pilot to the
Roosveldt
's second pilot. Athos said nothing.

Not quite three-quarters of a standard hour later, screens still clear, except for the two Accord ships and the five blips that represented the Fuard contingent, Jimjoy began deceleration.

“Commencing decel at point five five this time.”

“Understand commencing decel at point five five.”

“That's affirmative,” responded Jimjoy.

“Killing inbound jump carryover?” asked Mera.

Jimjoy nodded. His eyes burned slightly, probably from too much concentration on the screens. But neither the
Causto
nor the
Roosveldt
carried any offensive weapons, and flight would be their only defense should an unfriendly armed vessel appear.

He sighed and began another wait, watching as he waited, again hoping that the system would stay clear. He could see Athos stretching out, but Mera continued to track the screens as the two Accord ships crept toward their rendezvous off the fifth planet.

After yet another interval, the screens indicated lock-on of the Fuard cruiser's EDI trace.

“Confirmation matches Fuard light cruiser parameters with a probability of ninety-five percent,” the console scripted.

“Bellwar one, decel at point two.”

“Black control, decel at point two this time.” Broward's voice seemed even more filled with gravel than usual.

“Stet.” Jimjoy fingered the comm controls, setting standard Fuard frequencies. Then he tapped in the message—all burst-sent copy.

“Green are the orchards of Jericho, and yet the walls have tumbled.”

The receiving screen lit almost immediately.

“Loud are the trumpets in the name of righteousness and the host of the mighty.”

Jimjoy nodded and tapped in the plain-language message. “Standing by for salvage operations.”

This time, there was no immediate answer.

Mera looked at Jimjoy, who concentrated on the screens.

He sighed. All four faint dots vanished from the representational screen, leaving only a blue dotted ghost for each. “Screens down on the salvage ships. Probably disembarking crew.”

As if to confirm his observation, a small blue dot separated from the bright dot that was a cruiser and merged with the first ghost dot on the representational screen.

“Bellwar one, close to standoff point.”

“Following your lead, black control.”

“Stet.”

All three Ecolitans and Swersa watched as the shuttle moved from ghost dot to ghost dot and finally back to the cruiser.

The comm screen flashed again. “Hulks cleared for salvage. Past owner disavows any responsibility.”

Jimjoy added his own follow-up. “Approaching this time for salvage.”

“Cleared to approach.”

Jimjoy coughed softly, then triggered auditory communications with the
Roosveldt
. “Bellwar one, cleared for approach to salvage operations this time.”

“Black control, following your lead.”

“Stet.”

The Fuard cruiser remained stationary, hanging off the four destroyer hulls, its heavy screens pulsing at full power, as the
Causto
and the
Roosveldt
eased to within broomstick distance of the “salvage.”

Jimjoy's fingers darted across the board, checking and cross-checking to ensure that the
Causto
was stationary with respect to the four hulls, particularly the nearest hull.

“Bellwar one. Commencing salvage.”

“Stet, control. Let me know when you're ready for support crews.”

“Will do.”

Jimjoy unstrapped. “Swersa. She's yours.”

“Thanks, Professor.” The muscular second pilot of the
Roosveldt
had unstrapped and was stretching in place. “You do nice jumps. Better than Broward.”

Jimjoy laughed softly. “His are safer.”

“Could be. Could be.”

The Ecolitan professor glanced at the other two Ecolitans. “Ready? Let's suit up and get moving. Sooner we clear those hulls and get out of here, the happier we'll all be.” He led the way to the needleboat's lock.

After a time, three broomsticks glided up to the nearest of the four obsolescent destroyers hanging in the darkness off the fifth planet of a gas giant system that had only a catalog number. Unlike the light-absorbing composite plates of Imperial ships, the destroyer's hull was a softer, almost silvery dark gray. From a distance the color was as invisible as the darker plates of Imperial ships, but closer, it made broomstick navigation easier.

Behind the trio of broomsticks rested two ships—the bulbous Accord transport and the needleboat from which the broomsticks had come. Beyond the “salvage” loomed a dark, sleeker shape with the silvery hull and faint crimson screen shimmer of a Fuardian cruiser nearly three times the size of the Accord transport.

Jimjoy wanted to pull at his chin or shake his head. He still wished he had been able to see Thelina and to discover how she had engineered the ship transfer. But all he had received was a brief message outlining the details of the pickup and the cryptic notation that she was working on “Phase II.” Whatever Phase II was, even Meryl didn't know.

Clung
…

The lead broomstick touched the plates, and Jimjoy flicked the squirters to kill any recoil.

“How do we get inside?” asked Athos.

“Manually.” As Jimjoy suspected, the electronics to the main lock had been stripped away. After tethering his broomstick to a recessed ring, he slid back a cover plate covering a small wheel and began to crank. The crank turned easily, indicating that it had been used frequently.

The slab air-lock door eased open, revealing a lock wide enough to take all three figures. Even though the ship was in stand-down condition, without grav-fields, the three Ecolitans entered the lock oriented feet-to-deck.

All the equipment brackets on the lock walls were empty. Mera opened the emergency locker—to find it empty as well.

Once inside, Jimjoy twisted the inside crank to reverse the process. Although the interior wheel also turned easily, by the time he had finished, his forehead was damp and his arm muscles were tight. “Whew…little unplanned exercise…”

“No electronics?” asked Athos.

Mera had asked nothing so far, instead concentrating on the engineering details of the unfamiliar structure.

“Probably as little as possible. We'll have to do manual course and accel/decel calculations and inputs.” He turned toward the inner lock, thumbing a heavy button to flood the lock with ship's air.

…hhhhssssssss
…

A faint buildup of frost covered all three suits.

“Damn…”

“No dehumidifiers,” stated Mera flatly.

“Probably inoperative. Have to fix that.” Jimjoy checked the gauge he'd brought along with his tool pouch. “Pressure's a touch low, but steady.” The inner lock controls—a heavy switch—were in place. He toggled the switch and waited as the inner door opened. The corridor was empty, as empty as the lock had been. Any movable equipment not essential to ship operations had been removed.

As the three floated in the corridor, Jimjoy toggled the inside lock controls, then, after the lock had resealed, began to crack his helmet seal. “Stale, but all right.” He took off the helmet, but did not rack it or set it aside, instead fastening it to his shoulder strap. Not that he expected the ship's hull to fail, but without the added protection of screens, he preferred to have the helmet close.

The two others followed his example.

Hand over hand, Jimjoy edged himself toward the control section without looking to see whether Mera or Athos followed.

With the screens off, the control room was a steel-walled box, irregular gaps showing in the control board itself and in the equipment bulkhead behind the second row of consoles. Two control couches—pilot and copilot—faced the board. Behind the control couches were three smaller consoles, each with a couch.

“How big a crew?” asked Athos.