Mission: Earth "Disaster" (26 page)

"The 'drunks' are up to something," young Bis had said. "We can't do anything direct because we do not have the cooperation of the Lord of the Fleet. He's on the Grand Council; he's a nobleman but not a Royal officer. What it's going to take is massive evidence.

With that we can force the issue. So I wish you would undertake the mission and keep your eyes open. But stay alert. Even at the best of times the Apparatus is dangerous. So stay alive and be nimble and maybe the Fleet will have the 'drunks' dead to rights."

The mission had been dangerous enough to please even the most suicidal soul and he'd almost lost his darling, the Countess Krak.

On Voltar Homeview news, the bit that the Chief of the Apparatus, Lombar Hisst, was now the spokesman for His Majesty, Cling the Lofty, rang an alarm bell in Jet.

If, however, he reported in to Bis, his mission would be over, his orders cancelled and he would not have solved the situation of the Countess Krak.

If she continued on as a nonperson, he could not marry her. Worse, she could be picked up by the Apparatus at any time and slammed back into Spiteos or even executed.

There were these so-called Royal proclamations Gris had given her. As yet not fully validated by the signature of the Emperor, they offered an out for her. But he didn't care so much about the other one commending himself—he had them by the bale already.

Gris had given them to her to secure her cooperation in getting the mission launched. Jet didn't trust anything connected with Gris.

They had not found the duplicates in Gris' office. Gris was apparently dead now. She said she had hidden the originals at Spiteos. Dangerous!

Well, a few more hours before reporting in would make no difference. He was still operating under his own cognizance. He decided to take a chance. So he said "All right." It was a fateful decision: Even though it showed no sign of it on the surface, it was going to change the course of hundreds of billions of lives.

In the dark outside of Gris' office in Government City, they loaded up the cartons of blackmail material they had found and the two marines drove them back to Emergency Fleet Reserve.

Commander Crup met them by the parked tug. "You deliver the prisoner all right?"

"Committed suicide," said the Countess Krak.

"Well, that saves the government expense," said Crup. "I wish that could be arranged for all the 'drunks.'"

"Maybe somebody is working on it," said Jet. "Could you please see that these boxes are delivered to Fleet Intelligence Officer Bis? They were the prisoner's personal blackmail files. Tell him I'll report in a bit later when I've attended to one last detail."

Old Atty, Heller's former racing repair chief and now a watchman here, came up beaming all over himself. "We changed her water and air, we crammed her full of food and we put enough spare fuel rods in her hold to take a grand tour of the galaxies."

"She'll only be in operation a few more hours," said Jet. "I think you overdid it."

"You had a hundred thousand credits left on Mission Earth allocations. 'Drunk' money: You think I'd leave that unspent? I even got flowers for the lady!"

"But the ship will be coming right back here," said Jet. "For lay-up."

"No, she won't," said Commander Crup. "Tug One belongs to the Exterior Division now and the only reason you can come here at all is because you are on Fleet orders."

"Well, I don't want to turn a nice ship like this over to the 'drunks'!" said Jet. "They'd just strip the silver and gold and precious stones out of it and use it to throw garbage in."

"You must have been in action," said Commander Crup. "I see the tail has been repaired. That permits you to file a total-loss report and give it to the lady."

"I can't do that," said Jet. "It isn't honest."

"Oh, you," said Commander Crup. "You're dealing with the 'drunks.' What's honesty got to do with it? Look, I'll file the report for you myself. I've got your mission-order number. I'm blasted if the Apparatus is going to get anything off the Fleet! Even if they paid for it."

"No," said Jet.

"Yes," said Crup. "Lady, you've got yourself a space tug. Put it in the back yard and raise kids in it."

The Countess Krak, dressed as a Fleet marine for disguise,

blushed a blush that was visible even in the night.

They all laughed. "I see I can't keep any secrets around here," said Jet. "We've got to get going. Tonight's work isn't done. A million thanks to all of you. If all goes well, I'll invite you to the wedding."

Up into the Voltar night soared the Prince Caucalsia. She had an appointment with destiny that none of them suspected.

It looked like a very simple thing to Jet from an operational standpoint. His only worry was for the Countess Krak.

As far as he and the tug were concerned, they could escape detection. A dull green cast of light from a partial moon made the surface of Voltar luminescent. There was the main Fleet base to the south, and beyond it, Government City. And to the west of these sparkling lights and glowing traffic streams lay the mountains which blocked off the Great Desert.

The Countess Krak had changed into an athletic suit. She stood in the passageway now behind Heller, drawing on a pair of gloves. "It's very simple," she said. "Don't look so tense. The documents are in a waterproof envelope in a crevice on the roof."

"That's a relief," said Heller. "I don't know how long I can hold above the castle undetected. Where is the crevice exactly? I know that roof."

"Right beside the exit elevator. They drilled some extra holes to install a false radiation reflector. I simply rolled the envelope up and put it in the hole. It won't take me but a second to recover it."

"The exit elevator has a dome. I can't sit down on it. We'll have to roll out a ladder and I don't like that. It has no absorbo-coat on it."

"Well, you're always telling me I'm an angel," said the Countess Krak, "but I can't fly. I'll need the ladder."

"We'll have to be very fast. I'll put the ladder in place and when I give you a signal, open the airlock outer door, kick the ladder out, go down it like a flash, get your envelope and get right back up. We're not hanging around!"

"Aye, aye, sir," said the Countess Krak in English.

Heller didn't smile. He put the ladder hooks through rings and checked the coil so it would unroll quickly. He gave her a pat on the shoulder. "Don't forget to allow for the slightly greater gravity. Once you've got the envelope, get back up into the airlock like a shot!"

He took the tug off automatic control and, somewhat anxiously, wishing it were possible for him to do this gymnast act, sent the tug hurtling the two hundred miles across the Great Desert.

Jet didn't like the presence of the moon. And he didn't like the risk of the uncoated ladder, for he was almost certain it would set off alarms.

He still had the illusion projector in the overhead. He checked it to be sure it would project an electronic illusion above the camp if the alarms went off. The image of the tug suspended in the air should attract any gunsights.

He did not know at that time that Lombar Hisst had long since parked a heavy flying cannon underground in the structure. He thought all he had to do was get in and get out, and there was nothing like the quick-maneuvering tug to do a thing like that. He could move it faster in the sky than gun controls could track it and get their heavy pieces repointed to fire. So his main interest was simply on making sure that the Countess Krak got down and got up. THAT made him very nervous. But he couldn't do the flying and the gymnastics, too.

Jet brought the tug down over Spiteos, as invisible as a ghost. He was flying very slow so there would be no air or space turbulence to spot. He was being careful not to become a silhouette against the moon.

Below him the castle brooded blackly against the greenish-glowing desert sand. The gash of the mile-deep chasm gaped close by the fortress side.

All seemed peaceful down there: A few fires burned in Camp Kill; watchlights made pools along the roads and at the barricades.

He came down to thirty feet above the castle roof, directly over the dome. His screens read no detection yet.

"NOW!" he shouted.

The Countess Krak spun the airlock wheels. She thrust back the door. She dropped the ladder out. , INSTANT ALARMS!

The strident voices of the bells brayed like things insane!

"COME BACK!" shouted Heller. "I'M LEAVING!"

But the Countess Krak was gone!

Jet jammed his thumb against the illusion on-button. The image appeared over the camp.

A savage barrage erupted!

A cone of electric fire scorched up from the camp, crossed at the illusion and stood another cone in the air above!

Heller could not leave his controls. He could not peer over the edge.

The Countess Krak had decided to take the chance. She was three feet down the ladder when the first salvo went off. She slid almost free-fall to the castle's roof.

She raced to the cache. It was all black stone. The hole, in this ink, was hard to locate.

The sudden barrage of guns helped her. With handspan measures she located the plugged-up hole. She couldn't get the rock out! She reached into her pocket. Nothing! She had no tools!

A stone! There was one lying ten feet away.

She sprang for it. It was heavy. She struggled back to the hole with it. She raised it over her head. She bashed at the rock.

The stone broke!

She seized a falling splinter of it.

The flickering fire of the barrage made it possible to see. She found a sharp edge in the splinter and used it for a pry.

The plug came out!

She could hear Jet's voice yelling urgently to her. Something

new was happening.

She fished into the hole. The envelope was still there! It was

stuck. She made it roll tighter and drew it out.

Jet's voice was shouting at her. She could not hear what he was saying above the din.

She shoved the envelope inside her shirt and raced for the ladder.

Up she began to climb!

Yes, there was more gravity than she was lately used to.

She got halfway to the top. Another fifteen feet to go.

THE ROAR OF ANOTHER SHIP! ' She glanced back and up.

A FLYING CANNON AGAINST THE MOON! A blast of fire went by her!

The ladder swung as though struck by a mighty hammer! She held on.

She scrambled higher on the ladder. A second blast of fire!

Her hands tore loose!

Something had her by the wrist!

With a mighty yank, Jet snapped her into the airlock!

With two kicks of his feet he freed the ladder hooks. The ladder fell away.

"Rise maximum!" he shouted at the tug, now on automatic.

He slammed the airlock door and spun its wheel.

They were rising violently fast.

He bent for an instant over the Countess Krak. She grinned at him. "That was a great trapeze act. But I don't think we ought to keep it in the show. I got them. But what was that?"

"A flying cannon," said Jet. "It must have been hidden somewhere. Its fire directors centered on the ladder. Your boots are scorched. Are your feet all right?"

"A bit warm."

"I hope their fire control followed the ladder down, what there was left of it."

The Countess Krak was picking herself up. "We got what we came for. Let's get out of here."

"We can't. We can outmaneuver that thing but we can't outrun it. I can't open up the Will-be Was main drives or he'd zero in on the turbulence before we were out of range." He yelled to the tug. "Where is he now?"

"We're just passing a hundred miles altitude, sir. His detectors are lashing about much lower. But that's a two-hundred-mile-range gun, sir."

"Blast," said Heller.

"I don't have any guns, sir," said the tug. "I can't blast."

"Shut up," said Heller and pushed the switch off automatic.

He settled into the local-pilot seat. "Hold on," he yelled back to the Countess Krak.

He dived the tug like a plummet. He was watching his screens. He was locating the exact position of the lethal ship and keeping his own silhouette away from its view of the moon.

He had the flying cannon dead ahead. He was jinking, to confuse its fire direction.

Suddenly he spun the tug exactly backwards to bis assailant.

He hit the lever for traction towing beams.

The flying cannon was in his grip. He began to swing it like a pebble in a sling. It helped out by gunning its own engines in the same direction.

Round and round the other ship swung in a huge circle.

Suddenly Heller let it go.

He reversed the tug.

The flying cannon plummeted to the desert floor.

Sand flew, a crash resounded and the distant scream of rending metal faded away.

Heller's hand seized the local radio and turned it on.

A bedlam of voices was coming over it on battle frequency. He

listening to see if any more defense craft would be launched.

Then suddenly a voice rang out: "That was the Chief! All available rescue units, head for that crash! Urgent! Urgent! Lombar Hisst is wrecked three miles south of Camp Kill! Urgent! Urgent!"

"Well, what do you know!" said Heller. And then he looked sadly at the Countess Krak. "We're for it. I've slammed down the mighty Lombar Hisst."

"Oh, good!" cried the Countess Krak. "Hurray!"

"No, dear," said Jet. "It didn't burn and he probably isn't dead. As he is spokesman to the Emperor, our chances of getting those documents signed now are exactly zilch."

They were vaulting again into the sky, too fast and too far for any retaliation from the ground. Heller anxiously watched his screens to see if turbulence foretold any intercepting spacevessels in sight.