Island Worlds (23 page)

"Frigate
Valiant
reports no survivors from the cruisers," said a communications officer.

It began to sink into Marat's consciousness that his career was probably in ruins. Somewhere out here, he knew, that damned Free Holographic Network was getting detailed images of this action. His friends in the government wouldn't be able to protect him. They'd be the first to call for his head. He looked at de Kamp, who sat, pale and sweating, at an information console.

"When we get back to Manhattan," Marat said, "I shall watch while you strangle that slut of yours. If you perform that task to satisfaction, I just might allow you to live."

"Yes, sir," de Kamp said.

"Sir!" said the imaging officer. "We've picked up four vessels, closing fast with the fleet. Dead collision course!"

Marat felt a surge of exultant rage. He would have revenge! He just might salvage something from this disaster after all. "They must think they've hurt us badly," he said, almost laughing. "They want a quick kill, before we can begin repairs." That was why they were coming on a straight course. It was the fastest, but it was also the only approach that gave his lasers a faultless shot at an approaching ship.

"Master Gunner," Marat said, "I want those four ships obliterated as soon as they are well within range."

"Aye, aye, sir!" grinned the fire control officer. "We'll show these rock lice the power of Earth guns."

Marat smiled. These colonial pirates were tricky and clever, but they were unaware of the capabilities of modern weapons. He clenched his fist as all four guns fired at the same instant. A fraction of a second later, the
Kiev
was annihilated by four converging laser beams.

The skipper of frigate
Dauntless
was intent on his weapons status screen when he heard someone gasp. He looked and saw that everyone on the bridge was staring at the screen trained on
Kiev
. "Holy shit!" someone cried. The gigantic ship had become an eruption of flaming, molten metal. Horrified, he saw the tiny forms of humans silhouetted against the glare of exploding engines and weapons.

"Enemy still on course," said the imaging sensor officer.

"What happened to the flagship?" said the second officer. "She fired, then she was gone!"

"I can make a guess," said a young ensign. He looked as if he had begun to shave last week.

"I'd be glad to hear it," the skipper said. "Meanwhile, we set course for Manhattan." Those were standing orders in the event of such a setback. All the other frigate captains would be giving the identical command.

"Those pirates are mounted with phase conjugate mirrors. I learned about them at the academy. It's an old theory, a mirror that'll bounce back a laser beam to its point of origin in its
original
undispersed concentration. Its use as a defensive weapon has been largely theoretical up till now."

"Of course," said the skipper. "Why bother? After all, our propaganda keeps telling us we're only dealing with low-tech criminals." He was aware that his words were being recorded and would be held against him as evidence of disloyalty. He just didn't give a good goddamn any more.

"Enemy still closing at top speed," reported the imaging sensor officer. "They're launching smart missiles."

"Take evasive action," said the skipper. "It'll be rail guns next. They have the speed on us. Today we run and be glad to get home with a tail to hold between our legs. Tomorrow, we'll be back to fight; pray to God that our bonehead superiors stop sending battleships and cruisers to fight a frigate war."

Dauntless
made it back to Manhattan. So did three others, although two of those were limping. One of Shaw's ships had suffered some damage.

Martin Shaw raised his glass. "Rubinoff, Matsunaga, Chavez, Gilbert. We won't forget them."

"We won't forget them," echoed the assembled officers. They were gathered in the tiny asteroid Shaw was using as a headquarters this month. He had ordered a spin so that they would be able to drink a toast to the four volunteers in proper fashion.

"By the Prophet's beard!" said a scar-faced Nubian. "A battleship, two cruisers, two frigates and two more hurt! What have the damned Sálamids done to match that?" The others growled and cheered.

"Hey, Chief," Mike said, "this just came in from Chih' Chin Fu. He thought you'd get a kick out of it."

The big redhead punched the holo control and an image formed. It was Shaw. Or rather, it was a parody of Shaw. He was making a speech. It had been dubbed in Urdu with perfect lip-synch. All of his features had been subtly altered. The eyebrows had an exaggerated arch, the slant of the eyes was more oblique, the corners of the lips were turned down. He might have been Ming the Merciless in an old film.

Shaw laughed aloud, a rarity for him. "When I was a freshman, we did a production of Doctor Faustus. I played Mephistopheles and I was made up just like that." The image changed to one of Thor Taggart. He, too was making a speech. His hawklike features were rendered even more aristrocratic—the hair lightened, the nose lengthened, the lips thinned, the chin sharpened. His eyes were bluer than blue. The holographic manipulators had dressed him in a bizarre black uniform. All that was missing was a swastika armband.

Mike shook his head and clucked. "It's a shame how that boy turned out. I had real hopes for him, thought he was smart and gutsy. I thought sure he'd come in with us. It's hard to believe he's old Sam Taggart's grandson."

"Thor's done fine," Shaw said. "He's chosen his path and he's done damn well in it. He's the best man Eos has and probably the best man out here, period. We're always going to need men like him, even on opposite sides." He sipped at his drink and an uncomfortable silence fell. Sometimes the things Shaw said disturbed his followers, although they would never admit it.

Caterina switched off the holo. "I'm still not satisfied about that Ciano business. I wish I'd brought those sheets to you instead of giving them to him."

Shaw turned his unnerving glare on her. "Nobody's asked you to be satisfied, Cat."

She looked away. Inwardly, she quailed. Why was he like this? And why did she continue to worship him, as they all did? She had all but thrown herself at his feet, and he had never laid a hand on her. At least she knew that it was not another woman. Shaw would never touch a subordinate. A noted hell-raiser, roisterer and womanizer before the war, in combat he was like some ascetic saint. Party discipline came before everything and he relegated his physical needs to the dustbin of irrelevancy for the duration.

She was grateful when a distraction came. The inner lock door opened and a spacesuited figure entered. She knew who it was, the instant she saw the way the bulky suit bulged here and there. Mike wrestled off the helmet and a cloud of black hair burst out, framing the face of Natalie Tomalis.

"Natalie!" Shaw said, embracing her. "Welcome back. You are now an official heroine. "

"Great," she said, returning the hug. "Now, Martin, I've delivered the goods. Give me back my ship and find some other big-boobed woman to do your undercover work."

Shaw smiled. "Don't worry, I've already found out that his replacement likes them thin. Now have a drink and socialize. Juarez comes in tomorrow and you'll be a skipper again. Then it's back to war for us all."

She sat at a small, packing-crate table with Caterina. The two had been half-friendly and wholly futile rivals for Shaw almost since the founding of the party. Caterina liked Natalie and admired her nerve and her skill as a skipper, but she felt like breaking the woman's neck when she saw her making a play for Martin. The feeling was reciprocated.

"God!" Natalie said. "My spine has a permanent curvature and my breasts are three inches closer to my navel. No wonder Earthies are so awful. Imagine having to live in that gravity all your life."

"I'm glad I didn't have to do it," Caterina said. "I don't know what I'd have done if Martin had called on me for that duty." She wasn't referring to the gravity.

"You'd have done just what I did," Natalie said. "In war, we can't be delicate about our sensibilities. When we know the enemy has a weakness, we exploit it, and we use whatever weapon is best for the job. In this case—" She waved a hand gracefully, sweeping down her spectacular figure.

"When do we do it again, Chief?" called a skipper with flat, Mongolian features.

"This?" Shaw said. "Never, most likely. The worst thing we can do is establish a predictable pattern."

"Sure," said a young gunnery officer, "but the Earthies are dumb! You can keep suckering them like this forever!"

"Not so!" Shaw said, and his serious tone had their undivided attention. "The Earthies aren't dumb, and never think that your enemies are all alike just because they wear the same uniform. Here we had a unique set of circumstances; the Fleet Admiral was an inexperienced incompetent and his men's morale was low because they knew it and because they were being badly used. His aide, we found from a theft of their psych files, had a weakness for women of a certain physique, one very rare in these parts. By an amazing coincidence, we had a brave and loyal officer who just fitted the description without surgery." He raised his glass to Natalie and she raised her own in ironic salute. "This time, everything worked perfectly. Never expect the same thing to happen again." They listened respectfully, because Martin never let an opportunity slip to improve their education in military or political matters.

"For instance, do you think I'd have tried this with Admiral Yi over in their VI Sector? That man's as good as Nelson or Halsey or Yamamoto and his people are keen and well-trained. But we're never going to let him prove it because neither we nor the Sálamids will come out and fight him. Given time, with no victories to his credit, internal politics will remove him from the scene and some flunky with connections at the U.N., some fair-haired boy of Secretary General Jameson's, will take over. Morale in that sector will plummet like a rock bomb, because everybody loves Yi and will hate his successor. That's when we'll strike in VI Sector, but only after we've analyzed the new Admiral and staff to find where they're weakest. That's what it's all about, my friends: not individual heroics, although they have their place, but a careful, detailed study of the weaknesses and foibles of our
individual
enemies—the ones in positions of power. The weaknesses of their political and economic systems we know well and have been exploiting for a long time. Never mistake the system for the man. They are people just like ourselves, and if we can't get inside their heads and think like them, they'll beat us, because they have more of everything than we have."

THIRTEEN

The interior of the raider was red-lit, to spare the night-vision of the men about to go into combat. There was always a chance of night-vision equipment malfunctioning. The raiders were tethered in a double row behind Thor, helmets off, talking quietly among themselves. The Sálamid forces did not have the soldier-navy-marine distinctions of the Earth military. All forces were shipborne and most pilots and bridge officers doubled as landing-force raiders from time to time.

Thor studied them, musing on the changes four years of war had made. Most of the raiders were young, but there were middle-aged men and women among them. They were from a great variety of island worlds, united now to preserve their freedom.

The pilot followed the direction of Thor's gaze. "Strange sight, isn't it? Not long ago, most of 'em wouldn't have given each other the coordinates to the john. Now they're like brothers and sisters."

"It'll be a strong bond," Thor said, "after the war. Even when they go back to their own worlds and take up their lives again, they'll remember how they fought together." He shook his head. He was thinking like a statesman again. There would be time for that later. Right now he had to concentrate on the job at hand. He wore the armored suit of a raider and he was commander of this force.

The target was A-261; a featureless rock like many others in this sector, except that they had found out that it was a holding station for Confederate POWs. There weren't many in this war. Most had been taken off disabled ships. Saboteurs in the occupied habitats were summarily executed after rigorous interrogation. Shaw's people were given the same treatment. Repeatedly, the Earth government had urged the same treatment for all captured belligerents, since the Confederacy was not recognized as a legitimate government. Earth military leaders had so far refused, on the simple grounds that the Confederacy had far more Earth prisoners. Both military and government were stymied. Their propaganda had been telling Earth that all Earth prisoners were executed by the Confederates after torture. What to do with repatriated POWs after the war was a problem. Nobody had to expend too much imagination on the likely solution, one reached by Josef Stalin many years before.

In the meantime, POWs were being held in A-261. The location had been determined in a simple but drastic fashion. A gutsy volunteer had allowed himself to be captured after allowing himself to be wounded so severely that no plot was suspected. Sent immediately to an Earth frigate's surgery, he bypassed the routine electronic scan. As he was being transferred from the ship's infirmary to the asteroid, he fired a microsecond, narrow-beam transmission to the waiting Confederate squadron. The rest was planning and timing. A defunct mining company's records turned up the original plan of the mining galleries within the rock and the military plotted probable improvements undertaken since occupation. The rest of the operation would be guesswork and playing by ear.

Thor checked the imaging screen and saw that the fireworks ship was almost in position. That craft would be attacking the main, heavily-protected entrance while Thor's team pulled the actual attack and snatch on the other side of the rock. The old mining firm's diagrams had revealed a gallery dug to within one meter of the surface of the rock on that side, and that was where they were going in.

As they headed for their destination, the space around the rock came alive with chaff: dummy rockets, aluminum balloons, hurtling magnesium flares, all manner of meaningless garbage to jam and confuse image sensors, radars, heat detectors and sensory apparatus of all kinds. Lasers and rockets began to come from the rock, but the chances of their hitting a vital target in the midst of all the chaff were scarcely above zero.

The raider s belly was equipped with a "remora"—a circular, rubbery dam that would leech onto the rock, sealing hermetically and forming a secure, temporary airlock between the ship and the asteroid. The remora gripped the rocky surface, its soft edges flowing into the pores and irregularities of the asteroidal surface. When a green light signaled a complete seal, the interior was pressurized and Thor's team went to work.

The rest of the raiders, all experienced hardrock miners, pulled themselves into the lock and began working on the face with shortbeam laser cutters. Another team with a vacuum hose sucked up the rock and dust as it was cut away. Their visors opaqued against the blinding glare of the cutters, the rest of the team waited within the ship, cradling their weapons and explosive charges. Within five minutes they were through the rock. The pressure within the remora was deliberately lower than that within the asteroid, so that the final rock debris was blown outward and into the vacuum hose.

The assault team, led by Thor, piled through the opening and into the gallery. It seemed to be undeveloped, a mere rough-walled tunnel. That was all to the good. He led them toward where the nerve center was calculated to be. They moved warily. A prison wouldn't be swarming with heavily-armed marines, but it was likely that it was rigged with remote weapons systems in case of an outbreak of resourceful prisoners.

At the end of the gallery a wall had been erected and an emergency door had been shut across it. All the emergency doors in the prison had been shut by now. A breaching team dashed forward with their charges, pre-shaped and faster than cutters. The raiders only had to stand a few meters back as the preset shaped charges efficiently cut a large, rectangular hole in the wall.

First through the breach was a glittering little robot, covered with angled mirrors and small lasers. True to prediction, automated laser batteries began firing at the intruder. The beams bounced harmlessly from the passive mirror "armor" and the robot s own lasers took out all the batteries within two seconds. The raiders came in after the robot and bullets and darts rattled off their own armor. While Thor and the main body forged ahead, others followed more slowly to take out the remote guns. They were no threat to the raiders, but might harm the prisoners they would be evacuating.

Floating along with them was a recording robot. As soon as the action was successfully concluded, the data would be beamed to one of Chih' Chin Fu's pirate holo satellites, thence to be beamed all over Earth to counter enemy propaganda. Never before in the history of warfare had such fierce fighting been carried on over the lines of communication. Sometimes Thor felt that it was more a fight between rival holographic systems than a real war.

They emerged into the main gallery to a fine display of flashing lights and blaring sirens, but no sign of defenders. That was to be expected. Prisons always functioned with minimum personnel and maximum use of automated systems. Between the robot and their own weapons, they made short work of the defensive systems. They progressed down the main gallery, blowing side doors as they went. There were no individual cells in the prison. Side galleries were used by simply installing doors across them to deny exit. Within the galleries, faces looked up at the forcible opening of their cages. Some were incredulous, some wildly excited, some merely pathetic.

"Sálamis Raiders!" Thor shouted. "We're taking you out of here. Everybody keep calm and follow instructions. Escort teams will take you back to our ship. They'll give each of you respirators just in case the Earthies use gas. Come on, let's get going."

Other galleries were being opened and addressed in the same way. Thor felt a tug at his armored sleeve. A man in the rags of a Sálamid uniform wanted his attention. He turned down his radio communicator to hear.

"Captain, they brung in a new batch of prisoners yestiddy. May still have 'em under questioning."

"Show me," Thor ordered. He signaled and two men in marauder suits accompanied him. Marauders had twice the armor and armament of ordinary raiders. Thor took the man under one arm and followed his pointing finger as gas jets bore the four along a corridor. Ahead of them, the robot took out defenses at far more than human speed.

The prisoner directed them to a heavy door near the center of the rock. The marauders cut through it in seconds while Thor held the prisoner behind him, shielding him from the sparks and molten metal that filled the air. Then they were through.

The men inside made no move to attack or defend. There were three of them, tethered by a bank of instruments. In its holo screen was a detailed image and readout of the woman who was strapped to a framework at one end of the room. Just now, the image showed her heat distribution in a rainbow of colors. Her every mood and emotion would be laid bare to a skilled interpreter. Few could lie convincingly to a truth machine. They could only try to keep quiet, and even then much could be learned, if the interrogator were very skillful and experienced.

One of the marauders leveled a wrist-gun at the hatchet face of the center man, the one who wore the rank of colonel on his collar. Thor said, simply, "Torture?"

The man's life depended on what happened next. His expression remained impassive and he shook his head. "No. Drugs, fatigue, rigorous questioning. All permitted by the rules. Ask him." He nodded toward the prisoner who had led them there.

"It's true," the man said reluctantly. "Never heard of ho real torture. 'Bout all I can say in the bastard's favor, though."

"We don't execute them just for being bastards," Thor said. "Only when they commit atrocities." He turned to one of the marauders. "Take these three back as prisoners and give them the usual scan." To the other: "Help me with this woman."

The freed prisoner, not wearing gloves, unfastened the straps binding the woman to the frame. As they pulled her free, the cloud of hair obscuring her face drifted back. For a moment, Thor's heart jumped, a reaction all the adrenaline of combat had not accomplished. "Cat!"'

Caterina Sousa's dulled eyes focused on his visor. "Thor? Is that you?" Tears began to form globes in the corners of her eyes. "You have to do something, Thor! They've captured Martin!"

Althing
was already in session when Thor arrived. He had beamed ahead, requesting an audience before the entire assembly. He had expected a wait of weeks while the representatives were gathered, only to find that they had been gathering for some time and were now in full session. He was sure that this portended something bad.

From the North Pole Port, he took the tube to Althing Gallery, a mining operation turned government nerve center. With him was Caterina. He was still in his grubby uniform, redolent of the Spartan accommodations aboard the raider. The presence of the freed prisoners had strained the already limited resources, but he did not bother to change and wash up as he went to address the government. It was not a matter of time, but of propaganda. He was aware that a battered, filthy soldier, straight from the battle zone, was far more impressive than a sleek scion of one of the founding families.

The representatives in the tiers stood and cheered as the two entered the hall. The Speaker, Karl Eberhard, rapped on his podium with an antique gavel scrounged up from somewhere. When there was quiet, he said, "It is our privilege to welcome Captain Thor Taggart, who has just returned with one hundred thirty freed prisoners of war and eighty enemy POWs." There was more cheering. "Although," he went on, "his companion may soon be a prisoner again. There's a blanket arrest warrant for Martin Shaw's followers, Caterina."

"You think I don't know it?" Caterina demanded. "I wouldn't have come within a parsec of this place if I didn't have crucial news to bring you."

"An understandable exaggeration of distance," Eberhard said. "Could this news have something to do with Martin Shaw's capture?"

She was taken aback. "You know about it," she said, unnecessarily.

"Indeed we do," said Tomás Sousa. "We were informed by none other than Secretary General Jameson himself."

"I think," Eberhard said, "that further discussion of this matter should take place within the security council."

"No," Thor said. "I have something to say to the Althing and all the members should hear it."

Eberhard peered at him ironically. "Do you have some official capacity, Thor? I wasn't aware that you were more than a respected member of our armed forces these days."

"I'm a citizen with a petition. Have we been a nation so long that our governmental procedures have become fossilized?"

"Good point," Eberhard conceded. "Let's take this one step at a time, though. Caterina, we would like to hear your account of the events that led to Shaw's capture, to see if they agree with Jameson's."

"It was a fluke!" she cried. "An accident! Martin—Commander Shaw was traveling to a cell meeting on Manhattan, under an alias he'd used more than once. It was a good cover, traveling on a commercial liner with his features totally altered and equipped with a jammer to give any scanning device a false signature reading; retinal pattern, body chemistry, everything. It was the latest from Aeaea, foolproof."

"So how did they recognize him?" Eberhard asked.

"When they went into quarantine at Manhattan, one of the Earth officers who boarded got suspicious. He'd seen the Commander back on Luna a few times before the war. Maybe something about the way he moved jogged his memory. Anyway, during the customs check he found fingerprints in the Commanders room.
Fingerprints
, for God's sake! Who would think of fingerprints in this day and age?"

"Accident, hell," said Hjalmar Taggart. "That was damn smart security work by a man who knows his job. So they had Shaw's fingerprints on file, probably from when he was in trouble with the authorities in Singapore. They're probably still backward enough there to retain fingerprinting. Paper and ink are still cheaper than electronics. Well, good riddance, I say." There were shouts of agreement from many members but not, Thor noted, from all.

"And how did you get caught, Caterina?" Tomás asked.

"We found when he was being transferred from Manhattan to their lockup asteroid. One of our people in Manhattan planted a beacon on the transfer ship and—"

"You mounted a daring rescue mission and they were waiting for you," Sousa finished for her.