Finally, they were ready. The Vishnu workers had been as good as their word, hard working, uncomplaining, with ever-present smiles and a number of useful ideas. And Zant had not been pessimistic; it had taken them nearly a month.
Cale had become more interested in one of the most unusual vessels in the yard than in Zant's Strengl. Somewhere in its checkered past, someone had needed a mobile fortress. He or she took a Chata-class freighter, braced its interior with a forest of extra bracing, and installed a huge fusactor and a planetary defense laser. Several smaller fusactors had also been installed to power a dozen smaller, destroyer-sized lasers. Everything else had been stripped out except inertial and jump engines, basic life support, and simple living accommodations for what appeared to be about fifty crew. She had shields, but they were powered by the life-support fusactors, which would have to be switched back and forth between the two functions. Rama spent two long days inspecting the nameless vessel, and found her to be in remarkably good condition. Oh, her fusactors were dead, their fuel exhausted, but he suspected that fuel might very well be nearly all she would need.
They laboriously manhandled the massive fuel containers from Cheetah to the hulk, and the Vishnu techs partially refueled her. Then, with Cale and Dee fidgeting in their suits, Rama tried to light off the secondary fusactor controlling life support. There was no sound in the vacuum, of course, but Cale was certain he could barely feel a faint vibration begin. Various indicators came effortlessly to life, and Cale saw Rama's head nod in satisfaction inside his helmet. In moments, lights came on, and an excited Cale hugged Dee in excitement.
Rama's smile was calm. "Ah, but now we must see about the large weapons fusactor," he said calmly. However, it, too appeared completely functional, and Cale even fired a bolt from the huge planetary defense laser. These weapons were intended to be mounted on moons or planets. The fusactors powering them were as massive as the weapons themselves, generating megagigawatts of power to the huge laser projector. The one on the Chata-class nearly filled an entire cargo hold on the big freighter. It was not so much mounted in the hold, as built into it, welded to girders that functioned as badly needed bracing. The lasers were designed to be powerful enough to generate a beam that could penetrate a planetary atmosphere and still remain an effective anti-ship weapon. The beam itself was nearly a meter in diameter, and in space, would be effective at more than a light-minute's distance.
Rama was smiling in satisfaction. "I will begin inspecting the engines, of course, but if they are in as good a condition as the weapons, I have no doubt the ship will be operable without major effort."
They discussed it, and decided that an outlying planet had probably built her during an emergency, never had to use her in battle, and sold her for scrap when the planet could afford a proper defense station. Cale was concerned but optimistic.
The news, though, was good. Rama proudly showed them around the Chaka-class, whose powerful main armament was now supported by several smaller lasers and three heavy Alliance-pattern quickfirers, effective even against battle cruisers, that had actually been added. “We’ve inspected her drives and engines,” Rama said, “And her life support is fully functional. However, there are a number of atmosphere leaks we haven’t been able to track down. It won’t be a problem for more than a month, but it should give the crew something to do.” In addition, of course, she would need a good cleaning.
Minetoo was also now ready, complete with armament. Originally, the Din-class had been designed as a combat cargo hauler. They had been designed to ground in the middle of a battle and resupply troops. They had strengthened frames and reinforced hulls to withstand the rigors of battle, and mounted either two medium laser turrets or a mix of lasers and quickfirers. They also featured oversized cargo doors to permit rapid unloading in combat environments.
The ships sold for surplus had their weapons removed, of course, and later purely commercial versions had never mounted them. However, the vast majority of the ubiquitous freighters still shared the strengthening and reinforcement that had made them a workhorse for nearly a thousand years.
This one had once been armed. Rama and his crew had salvaged laser turrets from two old Delta-class frigates that had turned out to virtually match the originals, and required very little adaptation. Even the battle comps and weapons station simply bolted in. “Good old military standardization!” Zant had exclaimed. Rama’s crew wasn’t finished, though. The cavernous forward cargo hold now contained two cruiser-sized quickfirers, mounted on tracks. By opening the huge cargo doors, they could be rolled out to protrude past the hull; not exactly an extra turret, but certainly the next-best thing. As a bonus, the hold could still hold an enormous amount of collapsium-plated ammunition for the weapons. The rear hold, of course, was reserved for the boats and simple facilities to work on them.
The layout was nearly duplicated in the last Din-class, though cruiser-sized lasers and a dedicated fusactor substituted for the quickfirers.
Cale and Zant were delighted. None of the vessels was a true warship, but all were large enough to be impressive on a viewscreen, and each of them packed enough firepower to overwhelm anything smaller than a frigate.
Finally, it was time for Cale, Dee, and Zant to return to Ilocan's 'Government in Exile'. Cale knew he was no salesman, and dreaded trying to convince bureaucrats that his plan could work. Nevertheless, he must have skilled in-system pilots to fly the boats, and crews for the 'base ships'; and the only place to get them was from the mine.
They took Minetoo, with one of the lifeboats and one of the gigs as cargo. Rama turned out to be qualified for interstellar operation of a Din-class, so he piloted the ship back to the atmosphere mine.
Their ship caused a bit of excitement. Since Minetoo was similar in size to the ships transporting the mined gases and elements, the Ilocanos failed to notice at first that it was a stranger. A flurry of excitement accompanied the realization, alleviated only when Cale finally succeeded in establishing contact with President Jessica Johns.
Irritation was still evident in the faces of the six executives comprising the 'Government in Exile' as Cale and Zant were seated in the lunchroom/lounge/conference room. Ster Mong, the Minister of Defense, looked particularly unhappy, which worried Cale. He was counting on Mong to support their idea.
Jessica kicked it off. "All right. You're back, and you say you have a way to break the stalemate. Let's hear it." Her tone was skeptical, and her expression not particularly friendly. Cale suspected that as the stalemate dragged on, frustration and fear of failure grew and fostered pessimism and skepticism.
Cale nodded. "Before we begin," he said, "Can we get someone in here who's an experienced in-system pilot?"
Mong waved a hand. "You've got one, son. Before I got into government, I was an atmosphere miner for over ten years. Get on with it."
Cale shrugged. "All right. As long as the Santies have control of the Ilocan system and the air above the planet, you cannot win. Ever. All you can hope for is for them to decide to quit; and for political reasons, any Santie official suggesting that is committing political suicide. "There's only one way Ilocan can win this war, and that is to deny Santiago free use of space."
"Great." Mong replied sourly. "Tell us something else we already knew."
"How about something you didn't know?" Zant put in. "How about a way to maybe win this damned war?" Glaring at all the Ilocanos, he gestured to Cale. "C'mon, Cale," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "These people don't want to hear about it. They'd rather sit here on this airless rock and complain to each other about how bad it is than do something about it."
Cale started to rise.
"Wait!" it was Jessica. "We're all a little discouraged and angry. But we represent our people." She glared around at her companions. "And we owe it to our people to consider any possibility. And to listen to any proposal. Please, continue with your presentation."
Cale felt warmth crawl up his face. "Well, er, I don't really have a prepared presentation. I'm not a salesman trying to sell you something, or a slicker trying to swindle you. I've invested three million Alliance credits in an idea I think will break the stalemate. But I need your help, and your peoples' help."
"Three million credits!" The shouter was a small, thin man. Cale didn't remember his name, but he'd been introduced as 'Minister of the Treasury'. "I suppose you expect us to reimburse you!"
Zant jumped to his feet. "I still think we should just go, Cale. These assholes aren't going to listen. They'd rather throw bullshit at you every five seconds!"
Jessica waved a hand impatiently. "Sire Jenfu. We will hear sire Rankin out, completely, and without further interruption." She glared around again. "Is that clear? At the next interruption, the interrupter will be evicted." She turned to Cale. "Please continue, sire Rankin."
"Yes. Madam," Cale replied, "but I would like to respond to the gentleman. Yes, I have invested three million Alliance credits. I am also aware that since I neither asked nor received permission from this body to do so, I am most likely not legally entitled to reimbursement. Strangely, however, I do not recall asking for it." The man flushed red and shifted uncomfortably, but remained silent.
"Now," Cale continued. "Obviously Ilocan has no interstellar presence with which to combat the Santies. Fortunately, I do. I own a ship salvage yard in another system. Yes, Minetoo is one of mine. That's why she looks so ragged." A few chuckles rewarded this comment.
"When we left here last time, my friends and I discussed how we could help break the stalemate, and the obvious answer was to get Ilocan into space, and disrupt Santiago's supply lines.
"Now," he continued, "you cannot create a space force out of thin air, but it might be possible to create one out of salvaged ships. After cashing in most of my assets, we went to Vishnu and recruited orbital shipyard workers. I'm sure you are all aware of Vishnu's economic problems; that meant we could afford to hire highly skilled workers for a short-term job off-planet.
"Our Vishnu Project Manager reminded us that one cannot turn a Din-class into a warship in a month. However, he came up with a better idea, one we will be showing you shortly.
"In essence, what we've done is convert small craft into intrasystem fighters. They're a motley assortment, including converted lifeboats, workboats, gigs, and even an admiral's barge. But all of them now have lasers or quickfirers mounted on their centerline. None has sophisticated targeting systems; all have targeting grids etched into their canopies or viewscreens. We have thirty-two of them. That's one of the things we need from you: crews to pilot them.
"Almost half of my three million went to the Vishnu government to purchase mines. Lots of mines. Our idea is basically simple. We will mine the jump points to Santiago and Ilocan. When the Santies figure out what we've done, they'll send minesweepers to clear them. This is where the gunboats come in; they're to prevent the Santies from clearing the mines."
"What about innocent traffic to Santiago or Ilocan?" Evidently, Jessica did not consider her ban on interruptions to apply to her.
Cale shrugged. "Simple enough. We'll post beacons with a warning from the President of Ilocan informing them that the jump point is mined, and that if they proceed to trade with a belligerent, it is at their own risk. There is no 'innocent traffic' to Ilocan anyway; any traffic going there intends to deliver goods to the Santies. I'm reasonably certain that will meet the requirements of interstellar law. Besides, wouldn't you rather fight it out in court than with guns on Ilocan?"
She smiled broadly. "You sound like Johnny. Were you ever a lawyer?"
Too close to home. "Let's just say I've had experience with a lot of them. To continue, we've also refurbished three freighters, one Chata-class and two Din-classes; one of them is outside. They're also armed, and set up as base ships to host the gunboats.
"Now, there are three jumps between Santiago and Ilocan. Luckily, the two recal systems are uninhabited. The third attack group will be a special case and require an experienced commander, if one is available. The plan, such as it is, is for one of the base ships to go to each recal system between Santiago and Ilocan, mine the jump points, and then support the gunboats, which will patrol, looking for enemy minesweepers or freighters.
"This brings us to the second thing I will need from you: Letters of Marque and Reprisal."
Jessica broke into hearty laughter. The others just looked puzzled.
"Damn!" Jessica said when she regained control of herself. "If you're not a lawyer, you should be one. Who else would know about 3000-year-old legal documents?" She looked around, and saw that the others didn't understand.
"Old Earth," she said crisply, "pre-spaceflight. When wind-powered navies went to war, they were always short of ships, just like now. So, they issued Letters of Marque and Reprisal to private individuals who were willing to pay for armed ships. They were called 'privateers', and they attacked enemy merchant shipping. The letters kept them from being hanged as pirates.
"Thing is," she continued, staring at Cale with narrowed eyes, "there was damned little difference between a privateer and a pirate. If a privateer captured an enemy merchant ship, they took her as a 'prize', she, and her cargo were sold, and the privateer got the proceeds."
Cale smiled. "Not all the proceeds, madam. The government issuing the letters got the largest portion of the profits."
The Minister of the Treasury smiled sourly. "Now we know what made it worth a three million-credit investment. A single cargo could double your money."
Cale sighed and shook his head. "Sire, you continue to impugn my character and my motives. I do not expect to get rich off this war; I'm quite financially secure already. The contract I hope to sign with your government will provide that any proceeds beyond three million Alliance credits and a substantial government share, of course, be divided amongst the crews of the ships and boats. I had rather thought we might design a scale based on importance in the capture, or some such.
"Besides, if the people manning those boats are privateers, they will have a powerful incentive to capture a ship, rather than just destroy it. It could save a lot of lives."
Jessica frowned. "As I recall, one of the reasons privateers were outlawed was that crews had a way of disappearing. Privateers didn't care much whether anyone on those merchant ships survived."
"Outlawed? Outlawed? You mean they're illegal?"
Jessica grinned. "I doubt it. As I recall, there was an international treaty that banned them, but even some of the major nations refused to sign it, and since none of the nations that did sign that treaty have existed for almost three thousand years, I think it would be safe enough, legally, at the moment. But it'll be tossing a real bomb at Interstellar law. It'll probably take another century or two to work through the courts."
"Well," Mong asked, "What about prisoners? I'd rather not have to appear before a war crimes tribunal!"
Cale's smile returned. "That's the third and last thing I need from you, and the only one that will cost you money. Both of those jump points are in systems with plenty of moons." He waved vaguely around him. "You obviously have a lot of experience in building installations in airless environments. You'll need to establish prison compounds, where prisoners can be kept and cared for until they are exchanged or the war ends. Which, I suspect, won't be long. If we cut their supply lines and their trade routes, I doubt they will last very long. Now, while you think all this over, shall we visit the ship and see the gunboats?"
They suited up and trooped out to the ship. After giving them a tour of the berthing, eating, and recreational amenities now occupying the former crew's quarters, they moved to the after hold, where the gunboats were kept.
Cale had been hoping to impress one of the qualified pilots, and was glad Mong, the Minister of Defense, was actually qualified to assess their possibilities.
He offered Mong a ride in the converted gig, since it was smaller and more agile than the lifeboat, and Cale suspected an old small-craft hand would enjoy it.
Mong was gone for nearly four hours. He had gone out to the asteroid belt, and attacked and shot up several ship-sized asteroids. He came back grinning widely, an enthusiastic convert.
While he was gone, the government had carried on a lot of discussion in private, while Cale and Zant fidgeted in Minetoo 's lounge. When Mong returned, he was quickly shanghaied into the impromptu meeting of the Government of Ilocan in Exile.
Two hours later, Mong crossed to Minetoo alone. He joined Cale and Zant in the lounge cum messroom.
"All right," he said, "Tell me about the third ship." He watched their reactions carefully.
Zant smiled at Cale, who shrugged. "We found that we actually had too many gunboats for the two Din-class ships to carry. So, we had a third ship fixed up, and she's an interesting one. She's a Chata class with a planetary defense laser and a bunch of other weaponry installed. We had a couple of ideas for her. One was to use her to ferry additional boats to the two recal systems. We also thought about trying to sneak into Ilocan's system, and either resupply your guerillas, or at least shoot up some of their surveillance. Trouble is, we have no way to establish communication with the ground. Most of the effort would be wasted.
"My personal favorite, though, was to use her and my own Cheetah to raid Santiago. I'd bet nearly all of their warships are on station at Ilocan, and the last thing they would expect would be an attack on their home planet. I thought we could hit a lot of their support facilities with Cheetah and the boats, maybe even snatch a ship or two as prizes, and then drop off a bunch of mines at the jump point as we leave. That Chata-class could do some serious damage to an orbital factory. We could even leave her there, hidden in the asteroid belt, and use the boats for ongoing raids. But we'd need an experienced combat skipper and some really ballsy boat pilots to carry that off."
Mong nodded. "Sounds like fun. Do you have any idea of the diplomatic and legal hooraw your 'Letters of Marque' are going to create?"
Cale's smile was slightly wicked. "I think so. As the President said, it may take a century or two to work through the courts. Frankly, I don't care, and I don't see why you should care, either. Certainly no Interstellar court jumped forward to stop the Santies."
He shrugged before continuing. "I've had a while to think about this. My own suggestion would be to issue the letters, get operations underway, then send copies of the letters to Angeles, and tell them what we're doing. They're the big pirate hunters in this sector, but they have a massive bureaucracy. Their pirate hunters won't jump our people until His Majesty's government tells them to, and by the time every department has had its say and done its research, and the government figures out its "position" on privateers, the war will be long over."
"Uh-huh," Mong replied. "And when it is over? What happens to your fleet then?"
Cale shrugged again. "Letters of Marque are only valid during wartime. If they continue raiding, they're no longer privateers, they're just pirates. And we know what happens to them. Besides, all the ships and boats are mine, and they can go back into my yard." He hesitated, and then continued, "There is another option, one less controversial."
Mong looked like a man who just discovered an insect in his soup. "Oh? And what would that be?"
Cale kept his face impassive. "The government could lease my ships and boats for, oh, three million Alliance credits, and put the crews on the government's payroll. All legal, and nobody's hanged for piracy. Of course, there's no income for the government that way; no 'prizes', or 'prize courts' to decide the shares.
Mong grinned tightly. "And just what kind of 'shares' would you consider fair?"
"That's negotiable, of course. I'd guess in the neighborhood of fifty percent."
Mong looked shocked. " Fifty percent? Of the value of the ship and its cargo? Ridiculous. Of course, a small, suitable reward…"
Cale shook his head. "Fifty percent of what the government gets for it at a sale or auction, which will be nowhere near the true value, and split among the boat pilots and ship's crews. Sir," he added urgently, "do you realize you are haggling over what to pay people who do not work for you, to encourage them to risk their lives to capture ships and people instead of simply destroying them? And that you are talking about shares of a vessel the government will not possess unless the privateers take that extra risk?"
Mong reddened. "I… I guess from that point of view I sounded pretty officious and mercenary. But the shares do have to be discussed, and there are other factors involved, too."
Cale nodded. "Of course, sir. However, neither you nor I am a negotiator. I suggest the details can be ironed out. We are dealing with the major decisions, here. Policy. Isn't that what governments do?
Mong chuckled. "More often than is perhaps good for us. Well, I guess I had better get back to the arguing and the horse-trading. It is nice to actually have something important to discuss, though." He paused as he suited up. "I'd suggest you two come back across to the mine. This meeting ought to be over in an hour or two." He clumped into the airlock as Cale and Zant reached for their suits.
On the trip back to Torlon, they carried three crews qualified to fly Din-class ships. They also carried four "Letters of Marque and Reprisal," flowery-looking documents, one of which would be carried on each Din-class, the Chata — class, and one for Cheetah. They gave each Captain the authority to "search out and capture or destroy shipping bearing the beacon or flag of the Republic of Santiago, whether warship or merchant vessel". A separate contract, executed by each Captain, entitled them and their crews to 40 % of the salvage value of any ship and/or cargo captured in space while bearing a beacon of the Republic of Santiago, to be distributed among the crew in accordance with the attached schedule.
Before they left, Cale sought out Jessica. "Madam President," he began, having to consciously restrain himself from calling her 'aunt Jessie', "I have a problem that will require your help."
Her eyebrows went up. "Oh? And what might that be? I thought you were supposed to be the miracle man with all the answers?" A smile and a twinkle in her eye removed any offense."
He grinned. "No ma'am, I have no experience with miracles. However, I do have a problem. Sire Mong is Secretary of Defense. As such, of course, he represents the Ilocano government, which issued the letters of Marque; this puts him firmly in control. He has become very excited about that Chata-class fortress. He says he wants to christen her Ilocan's Revenge. Apparently, he has assumed that he will Captain her, and he does have the necessary qualifications.
"But he is starting to make noises like a general, wanting to set up chains of command and such. I do not consider this wise. Our people are atmosphere miners. They do not have military training or discipline. Besides, these ships and boats actually belong to me, not to the government of Ilocan. The contract under which you chartered the Chata-class does not provide for Ilocan to appoint a Captain.
"What I need is for you to make clear to sire Mong that if he accepts the captaincy of Ilocan's Revenge, he will do so as Ster Mong, private citizen, not sire Mong, Minister of Defense. And that he will not have any military or government authority while he's aboard."
Jessica nodded. "That makes sense. Ster always was something of an armchair admiral. All right, Cale, I'll have a talk with him."
Apparently she did. Mong suddenly became distant and surly with Cale. He did, however, make it clear that he knew he was not in overall command.
Still, Cale expected at least one confrontation with the captains of the base ships, who also assumed they would have some sort of military authority. He planned to use the occasion to clarify their status, and to inspire the boat pilots, as well.
As he expected, the Captains demanded a meeting to discuss resources and strategy. Cale insisted that all the boat pilots, as well as the captains, attend. The captains had turned a stores room into a conference room, lacking only a large table. Instead, the chairs were arranged in a large circle, with a lunch table on one side. Zant took one look, conferred with Cale, and kept everyone outside while he rearranged the seating, with the table and two chairs along one wall, and the other chairs arranged facing them. Cale and Zant entered first, taking the two chairs behind the desk. A glowering Mong, accompanied by two other equally unhappy older Captains, took seats in the first row, whispering to each other as the boat pilots entered and took seats.
As soon as everyone was seated, Mong sprang to his feet. “ Sire Rankin,” he began, “We, the Captains, feel that we need to establish a chain of command, appoint leaders, and plan strategy and tactics… “
He paused as Cale waved a hand. “I’m sorry, Captain Mong. Are you under the impression that you are establishing some sort of military organization? If so, you are sadly mistaken.” He again waved a vague hand. “This is my ship, Captain, as is Cheetah, and the ships we will be crewing. You will be flying my ships. The situation is akin to being hired by the owner of a fleet of merchantmen. There is no need to establish a chain of command or appoint leaders. You are simply being contracted to operate merchant ships that happen to be armed.”
Mong looked scandalized. “But if there’s no military organization, you’re no better than pirates!” Mong had to know better; as Minister of Defense, he had voted to issue the Letters of Marque. Whatever his motivation, though, it provided a perfect setup for Cale.
Cale’s smile was mild. “Not at all, Captain.” He turned his attention to the rest of the room as Mong, ignored, dropped into his seat. “How many of you read history?”
Nearly all the hands, including Mong’s, went up. The long periods between scoop runs, and the long hours on the runs themselves, gave plenty of opportunity for reading and study, and history was a popular subject both for serious study and as the setting for many thriller holos.
Cale nodded. “All right, then. You captains, I suggest you stop trying to consider yourselves officers in a military force. Commanding a crew of three on a Din-class does not make you the equal of an Alliance Navy Frigate skipper. We are relatively untrained in military matters, and we would just make a hash of it.
“No,” he continued, “Instead you, all of you," he waved his arm to include the boat pilots, "should consider yourselves present-day privateers; a ‘company of gentlemen adventurers’ operating under Letters of Marque and Reprisal issued by Ilocan, and financed by me.”
Babble broke out, along with quite a few grins and nods. The idea of becoming the modern-day personification of one of the most popular historical images was appealing.
Mong, sensing he was losing support, sprang to his feet. “But we must plan! Develop strategies…”
His voice trailed off as Cale shook his head. “We do not even know for certain how many and what types of ships and boats we will have available, Captain. It is pretty difficult to plan when you have no idea what force you’ll have. When the time comes, rest assured that I will brief you sufficiently on your duties.”
He sighed theatrically. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. I know it is difficult and boring to be passengers on someone else’s ship, in jump and in recal systems. But there really is very little that can be accomplished until we reach our base.”
Mong jumped up again. “Yes. That’s another thing sire Rankin. Where the Sheol are we going? Where is our base?”
Cale frowned. “I prefer to keep the location of my base as secret as possible for reasons of my own. The ship’s jump comps will be slaved to Cheetah ’s, so you will not need to know. If you are astrogators, or an astrogator is assigned to your ship, you are ordered to make no effort to learn its location. Consider it another mystery surrounding the mysterious Privateer Force.”
He then reviewed what privateers were (and were not), what the letters were, and why they were necessary. Then, to an enthusiastic reception, he reviewed the concept of 'prizes'; that in a war, enemy merchant shipping was considered a legitimate target, and that the Letters of Marque and Reprisal made the privateers temporarily an instrument of the Ilocan government, with the authority to capture or destroy enemy shipping. Captured enemy shipping (prizes) would be inspected by a "prize court," and either taken for use by the government, or sold at auction. The last part of his briefing resulted in cheers: that if the government sold a prize at auction, the crew of the privateer capturing her received 40 % of the sale price, to be divided among them according to a set schedule. Thus, every member of a crew involved in a capture received a share of the "prize money."
Cale finished by reminding them that captured ships also meant captured crews, and that any suspected mistreatment of Santie crews would be investigated and punished as a war crime.
The meeting was an unqualified success. The crewmen and the boat pilots, especially, developed a bit of a swagger, and went out of their way to refer to each other as 'privateers'. Mong, passing Cale in a corridor shortly after the meeting, give him a smile and a wink, and said, "You're welcome," with no further explanation. But then, no further explanation was necessary.
The senior Captains did not waste their time on the long trip to Torlon. Led by the indomitable and abrasive Mong, they interviewed and discussed the prospective crewmen and boat pilots aboard, and made a number of agreed-upon choices.
This minimized the confusion when they arrived at Torlon. There was some scuffling among the boat pilots over the gigs, and the admiral's barge almost precipitated a fight. However, eventually everyone seemed reasonably satisfied; even those unfortunates assigned the workboats for mine placement.
With crews manning the three base ships, the Vishnu techs slaved their astrogation comps to Cheetah' s, and she led them back to the mine, with none of them knowing the location of Cale's scrap yard.
Cale had no real reason to conceal the location of the yard, but he persisted in thinking of the yard and Pride as a bolt hole in case of emergency. Besides, if one of the base ships was captured or destroyed, the Santies couldn't come looking for him there.
Nearly all the Vishnu workers had volunteered to accompany the base ships, and maintain, repair and service the boats, in hopes of being permitted to immigrate to Ilocan after the war. Of course, the possibility of prize money only added to their willingness.
Three Santiago supply ships disappeared before one managed to limp back home and report the mined jump points and the attack gunboats. Minesweepers were dispatched, and all of them promptly disappeared as well.
A minesweeper was sent out escorted by the only warship remaining in the Santiago system, a partially repaired frigate. It returned a week after jumping out, reporting that a number of small, fast, well-armed boats had attacked them. The minesweeper, their last, had been damaged and unable to escape. It was presumed destroyed.
And so the Ilocano privateers had their first warship prizes. By this time, a system had been worked out; when a ship was captured, especially if it was damaged, like the minesweeper, its crew was held on the mother ship while Vishnu techs checked the prize over and made any needed emergency repairs. Then the prisoners were hauled to a moon prison, and the prize jumped for the mine.
The frigate was hastily re-repaired, and dispatched to Ilocan with orders for the return of at least one of Santiago's three Old Empire-pattern destroyers, to defend the home planet from an unexpected Ilocano offensive capability.
Meanwhile, off-planet commerce had come to a stop. No traders emerged from Santiago's jump point. The frigate had reported the existence of a beacon notifying incoming traffic that the jump point had been mined. It had been ordered to attempt to destroy the beacon enroute to Ilocan, but it was not to delay or engage hostile forces in order to do it. The Santiago high command was shaken. Something was going on, but what?
The frigate managed to pick its way through the jump point minefield, and outrun the gunboats, though it was forced to fight something of a rear-guard action as it found its way through the minefield to the second jump point. However, when it emerged in the second recal system, it was caught by the edge of a mine blast. Suddenly it was engaged in battle with five darting, jinking gunboats. The Captain launched two message torpedoes aimed at the Ilocan jump point. Fifteen seconds later a collapsium-plated rocket penetrated his hull and hit his fusactor, and his ship became an expanding ball of hot gases.
One of the message torps encountered a mine, but the primitive AI of the other somehow managed to avoid them, recognized the jump point, and slipped through it unharmed.