Pirates of the Thunder (6 page)

“They’ll do it, Arnold. I
know
they will. China will get it moving, somehow, and Koll will get them out of there. If we aren’t right with them, if we lose them, we also lose any chance at the rings. And, Arnold, unless we have the rings we’re goners. We’re too hot. The freebooters won’t shield us, we have no large transmuter capable of integrating with one of the other populations nor the knowledge and contacts with them to use it to any advantage, and we have no place else to go.”

Nagy sighed. “Yeah. In a way, they’re better off than we are. Seven women and only three guys. Pick a nice planet and let your kids do the rebellion.”

“Six
woman, Arnold. Six women, three men, and a monster.”

“Yeah, well, six to three is still better than none to two. What do you think, Doc? Is Koll gonna kill ‘em and go after the rings herself, or what?”

“I doubt it. Not most of them, anyway. She’ll use them. So long as it is not a choice of her survival or theirs and so long as she thinks she can get her hands on the rings, she’ll play along with them.” He sighed. “This is deep, Arnold. Deep and complex. So many sides, so many players.”

“Yeah, well, I—” Nagy broke off suddenly and sat up in his chair, his attention drawn by data on one of his screens. “They’ve got power! Damn me to hell, but they got power on that big bastard! That sucker’s charging its energy banks!”

Clayben stared at the screen. “Yes, you’re right. Well, I guess that answers your question, anyway. They are alive, they are in control of that ship, and if they can build up sufficient energy they are going to move.”

“We’ll be ready for them. This is one express we ain’t gonna miss.”

2. THE PIRATES OF THE THUNDER

S
TAR
E
AGLE HAD BEEN AS ACCOMMODATING AS
possible under the circumstances. The ship had a host of maintenance robots, most of which were quite specialized and of no practical use to the current crew, but a few could be turned into convenience mechanisms in a pinch. One, a spindly thing with a clamp and tray, was most useful: It was able to bring some blankets and other such luxuries from the remains of the old ship, as well as some more important items. An old casing with a medium-sized hole in the top became a portable toilet; it was smelly and not really built for human comfort and convenience, but it worked for now—if their little robot took it out at least every twelve hours or so to clean and sanitize it.

Water was no problem; the huge holding tanks on the ship contained all that was needed and could create more out of by-products if need be, all distilled pure. Food was much more critical; Star Eagle had to improvise with what was handy, and the result was a large cube of sickly green with the consistency of cake icing and a taste that was a cross between dead grass and library paste. It went down, however, did not upset, and provided the minimum necessary to sustain them. Later they could have more amenities; now they had to move, which meant that Star Eagle had to learn how to drive the ship. The information was there, but it was far more complicated than what a computer programmed and designed to run an interplanetary freighter was used to. The sheer bulk of data was the problem. All, even Star Eagle, knew their clock was ticking, however. Even now Master System would be closing in on them with heavily armed ships that knew exactly what they were up against.

The big ship was hardly defenseless; it had an enormous range of real and potential weapons at its disposal, suggesting that in the old days Master System was not at all confident of what it would find out in the farther reaches of space even though it knew where it was going and had scouted the routes. Had there been resistance? Had there been opposing interstellar civilizations? There was no way to know.

It took more than three days to power up the systems and check them out as best the computer could. Communication with the computer pilot was still awkward, however. It could flash a message on the bridge screens to let the humans know that it wanted to talk, but only the helmet radios allowed good two-way conversation. Still, it was now confident that it could at least get them out of there—but to where?

“Initially it doesn’t matter,” Hawks told it. “Just—away. Far away, and off the beaten track, as it were.”

“The fact that the existing star charts are nine centuries old doesn’t matter much,” Reba Koll assured them. “There is some shift, but not a lot and nothing that can’t easily be allowed for.” She worked with Star Eagle, who had figured out how to put star charts and grids up on the bridge screens without much trouble.

“I ain’t got time to explain how this drive works,” she told them, “if, of course, I knew how it did anyways. Best idea I can give you is if you take this here piece of cloth and make it hump up-curve. That’s how space is, really. Shortest distance ain’t across the top but straight through. You punch a hole here and you come out there. Course there’s lotsa other shit involved. There’s black holes and gravity curvatures and all the rest. Don’t look at me that way—I only fly ‘em, I don’t hav’ta understand ‘em. Net result is you tell it you wanta go
there
and if figures the route and trajectory and gets you there in days or weeks instead of years or centuries like it would the usual way. You let the pilot do the figures and time the jumps and energy and speed. Now, I suggested some routes to Star Eagle, but he’s got reservations.”

“The region she suggests is not well charted,” the pilot explained. “Oh, the stars are charted well enough, but there’s no detail. It was not part of the pattern of resettlement. Also, to get there we will have to make a large number of punches and this will intersect for the first half of the journey with the routings to and from the remote colonies. We must cross known shipping lanes.”

“Bah! That’s no worry!” Koll snorted. “The odds of actually hitting within sensor range of any ship is practically nil, but even if we did we could deal with those freighters and supply ships. There’s little or no armament on them. What’s to fight when you’re in Master System’s territory?”

“I was thinking more of monitors and navigational stations,” Star Eagle responded. “They could chart us without us even knowing about it. We could be traced. This interstellar punching is all straight-line routing. To change direction, course, or speed you have to come out, readjust, then punch in again. The amount of energy expended on the punch determines how far you go before you come out again. Just measure the energy level at the punch and note the course, direction, and speed, and it wouldn’t take a computer to figure the destination.”

“You’re not devious enough, pilot!” Koll told it. “I’ll explain misdirection to you. A series of small punches whenever we’re in a dangerous area. Each small punch increases the number of possible courses, directions, and speeds. Not even Master System has the resources to track down that many variables.”

“That will take time, though,” the computer pointed out. “There will be frequent recharges necessary. If we took a more or less direct route to the region you suggest it would take twenty-seven standard days. To do as you suggest would take three to five times as long.”

“But we’d get there,” she noted. “And we’d get there unknown and undetected. Maybe we’ll even have this stinkhole livable by then. Plot your course with the minimum number of exponential variables to get us there and get any possible snoopers hopelessly lost and confused. If we don’t get away clean, what difference did all this make?”

They took a vote—Sabatini excepted—and all agreed to her plan.

“My energy is sufficient,” Star Eagle told them. “Let’s do it.”

The vibrations, which had been growing throughout their tenure on the big vessel, grew much stronger now, more intense. The throbbing and pulsing sensation that at first had been difficult to get used to but had become merely background noise was in the background no longer.

“Everybody just lie on the floor as comfortably as you can and grab hold of something solid—a chair or something like that,” Koll instructed. “Once we’re completely up to speed and out we’ll be able to regain some movement.”

Forty thousand kilometers away and on station, Arnold Nagy jumped in his seat and then sat up straight. “She’s moving, Doc! They’re underway!”

“Strap in!” Clayben shouted back from below. “Punch in the codes and maintain distance and monitoring! We don’t want to lose them!”

The great ship came to life on the outside, as well. Red and green lights flashed on along the length and breadth of the ship, and in the rear huge engines flared into brilliance.

Quite slowly at first, but very clearly, the big ship turned and began to pull away from its siblings in orbit around Jupiter. On the bridge, loose objects floated toward the back wall and the vibration grew intense, joined now by yet another strange sound.

“Thunder,” Cloud Dancer whispered. “It sounds like the approach of a great storm across the prairie. This is truly a mighty ship. Does it have a name?”

“None that means anything anymore, I suspect,” her husband replied.

“Then it should be the
Thunder,”
she said. “That is the awe that it inspires, and that is its sound and being, its soul.”

“What about it, everyone? Star Eagle? Shall this ship henceforth be the
Thunder?”

“It is an appropriate and mighty name,” China responded.

“And easy to remember,” Chow Dai added.

The computer was agreeable. “Then we are the
Thunder.
I think it is a good name.”

“I think I’m gonna puke,” Carlo Sabatini said.

For something so huge, the ship’s acceleration rate was startling. Within two hours it had cleared the grip of mighty Jupiter and was heading in a great arc that would take it first away, then back toward the mighty giant at tremendous speed. It would use this combination of speed and the gravity of the mighty planet to build up massive acceleration very quickly.

As the speed grew, the more pronounced the sounds of thunder became, as if just outside and all around them raged a great storm.

For those on the bridge, the long hours of getting underway and the limitations it placed on them was simultaneously exciting, somewhat frightening, and extremely boring. Finally, however, the rate smoothed out, and they could move about easily again. But some of the vibration and noise remained, giving them a constant feeling of motion, even though inside the ship all was calm and still.

“We’re being followed,” Star Eagle reported. “A single ship. Small. Unfamiliar design. I have searched all database patterns and can find nothing close to it. Great power. It might well be interstellar capable.”

Reba Roll frowned. “Master System? A Val?”

“It is somewhat like their ships, but it is not one of them. Besides, my sensors show a life-support system activated aboard it. Not certain, but it is probably a rogue ship, like us.”

China thought that over. “It’s possible that Melchior had something in reserve. Those fighters it tried to use against us were pretty impressive overall and also of a unique design. They were using a sister ship of our old ship to give chase.
Star of Islam,
I believe. Could the
Star
have carried it?”

“Not inside,” the pilot told her, “but piggybacked on the exterior it would be no problem at all. It contains weapons systems that might be close to what their fighters had, but those fighters were not manned. Any action recommended?”

China talked it over with Reba Koll and the others. “No,” she finally replied. “If we hail it, they’ll know we know about them and possibly make it harder for us to keep track of them. If we slow to bring them in range of our weapons it will also cause great delay in us getting out of here, which is the first priority. Are you certain there is only one? No more?”

“Yes. One.”

“Then let it follow. If it gets within weapons range, hail it and order it to stand down and be boarded or destroy it. If it attacks, defend. Otherwise, do nothing until we are well away from this stellar system. Even if they are of Melchior they are in an illegal ship engaged in prohibited activity. My guess is that they did not think we could do what we have done, but now that we have they want what we want but for themselves. We will deal with them when we can.”

“Acknowledged. I am now receiving faint stop orders on both superspace and subspace command frequencies. Master System knows about the
Thunder.”

“To be expected,” Raven commented. “We’re hotter than a burial fire right now. What’s the odds of us being intercepted by any force that could do us any real harm?”

“Very slim. Negligible. They might get a ship in before I can make the punch but nothing that could handle these systems. They really don’t make weapons ships like that. A Val ship would have the most firepower, and that would be little more than that of the fighters Melchior sent against us. The security computer informs me that this ship is able to take virtually any known system of its own day, and they were far more heavily armed then than now. Our worst enemy would be another ship like this one, and it is unlikely that such would be set against us. Too easy to avoid. Security believes it most likely that Master System will order ships constructed specifically to exploit our weaknesses and take us out, but that will take considerable time. If we can get lost the first time, and if we are careful, it is unlikely even they will find us when they can surprise us and take us.”