THE HELMSMAN: Director's Cut Edition (30 page)

Amherst abruptly excused himself from the room.

“The second unknown is the
real
reason we have set up this operation in such a hurry,” Dark explained, ignoring the First Lieutenant's hurried exit as if he never existed. “We very much suspect our agent has been compromised,” she said, “and I am sure you understand what this means to
you.
If it is true, they'll be waiting around Typro with open arms and give you a very special reception, one with every trick they can muster.”

* * * *

Early in the first morning watch, Dark resummoned Amherst, Ursis, Brim and Theada, this time to her office, which was just as cramped as Collingswood's aboard
Truculent.
E607 was moored just outside a transparent wall section behind a console. “You're scheduled out today, gentlemen,” she began when the scuffling of chairs ceased. “And I have a few last moment items you'll need to complete your mission.” She smiled, caressing the hullmetal fragment with her fingers. “First,” she said, turning to point to the ship, “see if you can find anything different about your Leaguer attack ship since you last saw her. I'll even provide a hint: Concentrate on the control cabin.”

Brim peered at the raked-back structure, taking in every detail he could see, naming every appurtenance and protrusion. Nothing looked different or even out of place. He turned to Ursis, who met his eyes, frowned, and shrugged in resignation. From the corner of his eye, he disapprovingly watched Amherst studying Dark herself instead of the ship, then scanned the control cabin one more time before he finally gave up. When he looked, the Colonel's eyes were directly on him.

“Well, Lieutenant?” she queried.

Brim gulped and shook his head. “Whatever it is you've done, Colonel,” he said with a resigned smile, “you have certainly hidden it well from
me.”

Grinning with obvious satisfaction, Dark swiveled her chair to face the room. “Good,” she declared, “because if you haven't spotted it when you're sitting right on top of it, then the Leaguers certainly won't notice out in space.” She directed their attention to the ship again with a flick of her head. “Look at the KA'PPA tower, gentlemen,” she said, “right under the globe. What do you see there?”

Again, Brim peered out at E607. He followed the short KA'PPA tower to its transmitting globe, squinted, then snapped his fingers. “Universe!” he exclaimed. “I missed
that
completely. You've got two beta feeds on the A input, don't you?”

Dark laughed. “Right you are, Brim,” she said. “And only one of them is real.”

“Voof!” exclaimed Ursis. “Beautiful job, Colonel Dark.”

“Good as Sodeskayan engineering, Lieutenant?” Dark asked with a grin.

“Well,” the Bear said with a shrug and a twinkle in his eye, “perhaps not
that
good — but good enough to fool
this
Bear!”

“Ha, ha! Excellent answer, Ursis,” Dark said. “Now let me tell you what the
left
beta feed
really
is, because you are definitely not looking at two of the same device.” She smiled almost proudly. “It's what the boffins call a BURST attachment: Operates with your regular COMM gear. I don't have any idea how it works, but it
does —
sends a whole bloody message in less than a billionth of a click. On anybody else's COMM gear, it's automatically filtered out with all the other static spikes in space. This one can recognize a BURST message and translate it.”

“How easy is it to use, Colonel?” Ursis asked.

“Like slipping on a ca'omba peel,” Dark quipped. “We've got yours wired in; you'll find a couple of extra goodies on your COMM cabinet. No voice or video. Works just like a KA'PPA, in that sense — symbolic output only.”

The Bear nodded. “It sounds fine to me, Colonel,” he said.

“Unfortunately,” Dark continued, “we haven't had much luck with
another
important portion of that COMM cabinet: Your authentication key.”

Brim mentally winced. Not good at all. Every military starship in the Universe carried some kind of device to return a properly coded “authenticator” signal when “challenged” by similar equipment aboard another vessel. The coded authentications were changed on a random — but regular — basis, and if E607 didn't have an up-to-date authenticator, then the fact that the little attack ship was an authentic Leaguer ship would have little effect at all.

Dark grimaced from her recliner. “Oh, we've got one for you to use right now,” she said. “But it's just about expired. We simply don't think it will hold out all the way through your mission — especially if you must use the
last
of your three time windows.” She laughed humorlessly. “The League has selfishly failed to send us the next one in the series for E607, so you'll be on your own if you're in enemy territory when the one you have goes invalid.” After a few more words, she wished each of them good fortune, pressed their hands one by one, then sent them on their way.

* * * *

Within the metacycle, Red Rock 9 again vanished in the aft Hyperscreens, and E607 was running HyperSpace, on course for the barren mining planet of Typro a destination deep within the League. A final message came from Dark about three-quarters through the next watch. It arrived as their first BURST interception: “'Closing this base immediately,'“ Barbousse read from the COMM cabinet. “'After Typro pickup, fly course 794 by 819 on 6153E. Imperial warship will: (1) intercept your course, (2) assume care and feeding of spy, (3) complete your orders. Good fortune to all.’”

Through it, Amherst sat in his command recliner in stony silence, his eyes unfocused, as if he had abandoned reality for some safer, more acceptable existence within. To Brim, the man seemed to be deep in some sort of shock. He shook his head uneasily. A critical juncture was imminent, and he sensed he would be deeply involved when it came.

In the metacycles that followed, the First Lieutenant began to find his tongue again, but by now, he had undergone a profound change. Vanished was the arrogant Puvis Amherst Brim had known. He was replaced by the withdrawn, sweat-soaked stranger who had first shown himself on the League starship
Ruggetos
just before its recapture by
Prefect
Valentin.

At first, Brim attempted to ignore the behavior, as did the others, with inconsequential small talk. But constant interruptions as to “How much farther?” and, “Are you
sure
the authenticator is in place?” finally broke through their common restraint.

“What's the matter with him, Wilf?” Theada whispered from the side of his mouth. “He's acting crazy.”

Brim shook his head and frowned. “I don't know,” he admitted as the ship veered suddenly toward a space hole off to port. He carefully eased the helm back on course. “Maybe nothing,” he ventured.

“Nothing?” Theada protested. “Don't try to hand me
that,
Wilf Brim. Universe, it doesn't take a bloody genius to…”

“What is this
talk
about?” Amherst demanded anxiously. “What's the matter?”

“Change over on the power supply, Lieutenant,” Brim lied over his shoulder in a soothing voice. “Perfectly routine.”

“Very well,” Amherst said uneasily.

Brim turned to watch the man more closely. So did Ursis.

“Perhaps the mission risks too much,” Amherst said, silhouetted against the steady glare of the flowing Drive plume aft. “A crew of eleven and a valuable starship for one spy is not a good bargain in
my
estimate.” He turned in his seat. “Is this not so, Barbousse?”

The big Torpedoman jumped as if he were bitten. “I, ah-” he started.

“Not so much of a risk as all that, Lieutenant,” Brim interposed. “A simple pickup is all. We've been in much more danger in
Truculent,
you know.”

'That is not the point, you … Carescrian,” Amherst snapped, biting his lip.

“Then what is the point, Lieutenant?” Brim asked gently.

“It’s … it’s …” Suddenly, Amherst's eyes narrowed. His face contorted in a paroxysm of hate. “Oh,
no
!” he hissed. “You'll not do that to me. You and the rest of the low-life scum — Bears and ratings. And that brazen whore Dark. Trash! That's what you are.
Trash!”
He jerked himself around in the recliner and pointed toward the right-hand Helmsman's seat. “And you'd better watch
yourself,
Theada; they'll drag you down with them!”

In the shocked silence that followed, Ursis checked his readouts, then rose to his feet and moved slowly to Amherst's side, where he placed a hand on the man's shoulder. “Lieutenant Amherst?” he asked in a gentle growl.

“Take your filthy paw from my uniform, animal!” Amherst grunted, his eyes suddenly clearing. “How
dare
you touch my person? Remember that I am still your commander!”

Ursis removed his hand, looked at it a moment, then nodded to himself. “You are still in command, Lieutenant Amherst?” he asked gravely.

“Of course I am still in command,” Amherst said as he got to his feet and strode toward the tiny sleeping cabins as if nothing unusual had occurred. “What could have made you ask
that
question?”

“We may yet discuss such a subject, Lieutenant,” Ursis growled after him, then returned to his console and the power systems. Save for the steady rumble of their Drive, the remainder of the watch passed in near silence.

* * * *

A few metacycles prior to the first time window, Brim eased the little ship out of HyperSpace and proceeded toward Typro on generators alone. Now deep within League territory, he openly followed a main spaceway as if the astroplane were part of a normal, everyday mission. The authentication key on the COMM console chimed now and again as passing ships challenged their identity, and the mission appeared to be running a normal course, as planned. During the last metacycle, however, something had begun to gnaw at his peace of mind, though he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Something about their approach was ever so slightly out of kilter, and it worried him. Any rock hauler knew it was the little details that do you in, and he scoured his mind for them — to no avail.

Far below and to port, an outbound freighter saluted them. Barbousse returned it promptly — his KA'PPA reply was not even complete before the authenticator chimed.

Brim watched the lights as the key reset, then checked his flight instruments, initiated a long systems self-test sequence, and lined up the navigation follower; it was a hair out of alignment. He was feeding in a series of adjustments from the master console when it finally hit him. The authenticator! Why was a
merchant
ship challenging him?

“That
was
a merchant ship a few moments ago?” he asked Theada suddenly.

“Th-That's what the salute said,” Theada answered vaguely as he concentrated on a diagnostic logic run.

“A merchantman?” Ursis asked, turning from his console.
“What
was a merchantman?”

“The starship that just passed us,” Theada answered, this time looking up to see what was so suddenly interesting. “Said he was a merchantman.”

“I see,” Ursis said. “And he used an authentication key?”

“That seems to be the case, Nik,” Brim acknowledged.

“Merchantmen don't use authentication keys,” Ursis growled.

“You noticed
also,”
Brim said with a chuckle.

“What is all this talk about?” Amherst demanded from the companionway.

“The merchantman we just passed, Lieutenant,” Brim answered, peering at a red light blinking suddenly on his overhead panel.

“What about the merchantman?”

“Someone aboard used an authentication key on us, sir,” Brim explained over his shoulder as he switched to a backup cooling system for the steering gear. The red light extinguished.

“So?” Amherst said. “Is there anything wrong with the authentication key?”

“Well, sir,” Brim said, “most merchantmen don't carry an authenticator. It's a piece of specialized military gear, more or less. “

“I know that,” Amherst snapped. “And this idle talk is the best entertainment you can dredge up to while away your time?”

“Well, actually, sir,” Brim said, “I was pretty serious about the whole …”

Amherst cut him off with an imperious wave of the hand. “Don't bother me with the details, Brim. You are permitted to speak among yourselves. Just be certain you pay
very
close attention to the job of flying this horrible little starship.” He shivered and took his place at the commander's console.

Brim turned to Theada. “Jubal,” he said, “you and Barbousse check the other ships we've passed in the last metacycle. See if they saluted as civilian types and then kicked off the authenticator, too.”

“Aye, sir,” Theada said, slipping from his seat.

Brim slowed their approach speed to provide extra time to act — just in case.

The younger Helmsman returned with Barbousse in only a few cycles. “We've passed eight of them, Wilf,” he replied with a look of concern. “A mixed bag, mostly, but all commercial, and
each
one challenged our authenticator.”

Brim looked over at Ursis. “What do you think, Nik?” he asked.

“Strange,” the Bear pronounced. “Eight out of eight, so far, and all civilians. Makes me wonder.”

“Right,” Brim agreed. “Not to mention the fact that we've encountered no warships of any class.”

“None until now,” Theada interrupted tensely. “Look what just matched courses with us up ahead.” He pointed through the forward Hyperscreens.

Brim peered into the darkness where the stars were occluded by a monstrous shadow. “Military?” he said.

“That's what the Challenge just said,” Theada acknowledged. “Gives the ID number as DN-291.”

“DN?” Ursis repeated. “That's the League designation for heavy cruisers, but what does '291' stand for? Smallest DN number I can recall is 408.”

“Old one,” Theada said, snapping his fingers. “Of course. All two-hundred and three-hundred series cruisers were retired a couple of years ago. At least.”