The Skull was a large and raucous bar not far from Cheetah ’s berth. A large open area housed a small dance floor and a host of tables scattered about. Loud music blasted from strategically placed speakers. Around the edge were a series of triangular niches and a few convex mirrored surfaces. As soon as they entered, Cale pulled Zant and Dee back out of the entrance.
“We can’t accomplish anything in there,” he said, “it’s too loud to talk, and security would be impossible.” He nodded toward a small, seemingly quiet restaurant nearby. “Much as I hate to split our forces, I think Zant should go into the Skull to find his contact, and Dee and I should wait in the restaurant.”
Zant shook his head. “We should stay together. Besides, you saw the triangular niches around the edge of the main room. Well, they are really booths, and they’re all equipped with privacy screens and hush fields. That’s what the mirrored things are — privacy screens. You can see out, but nobody can see in. A lot of business gets done there. Tell you what,” he continued, “We’ll go in and escort the queen, here, to a private domain. You engage the privacy screen and hush field, and the two of you can have your blasters already out while I go up to the bar to find out about old Rin.”
Cale was still reluctant, but let himself be convinced. He and Zant crowded against Dee’s back as they entered, and the tight triangle edged toward an empty booth, hands on blasters and heads swiveling, scanning for threats. Dee was fascinated. This was the Den of Iniquity she had expected, and the clientele certainly fit the image. Revealingly clothed and barely-clothed women smiled temptingly at bearded leather-clad men who swilled beer and galk, while others sat at the bar and tried to tempt newcomers. The threesome garnered plenty of strange looks and more than a few snickers, but they soon slid into the vacant booth. Dee gave a sigh of relief as the hush circuit cut off the raucous noise outside. A slight darkening of the view showed that Zant had engaged the privacy screen,
“Okay,” he said, “You two keep your blasters in your hands and your eyes open. That privacy screen is just that; it’s not any kind of shield. If you see trouble coming, you can just shoot through it.” He grinned. “But don’t shoot a waiter, okay?”
Before they could answer, he demonstrated by walking through the privacy screen, and headed for the bar. Cale and Dee held their blasters in their hands, and kept their eyes scanning for trouble, although Dee’s bright eyes showed her excitement at finally seeing her ‘den of iniquity’. After a few minutes, Zant headed back in their direction with a tray of drinks. Again, he walked through the screen.
He slid onto the padded bench seat, setting the tray on the table. “The bartender says Rin comes in here every day at 17 like clockwork. A waitress says the same. He has a favorite booth, and gets himself quietly flashed every day. Since we just have to wait…” he checked his ring watch, “twenty mins, I bought the drinks to keep the waiters from bothering us. Don’t drink them. The bartender turned his back while he mixed them, and I have no reason to trust him.”
They spent most of the next twenty mins teasing Dee about her taste in clothing, while simultaneously scanning for threats. Finally, Zant saw a familiar figure enter the bar and head for his preferred booth. He hurried to intercept the older man and guide him to their booth instead.
Rin Tenkin had once been tall and thin. Now, he was tall and emaciated. He wore his white hair trimmed short in spacer fashion. His sallow, puffy complexion and the tremors in his hands revealed his current preoccupation. Though he seemed sober now, there was no doubt that was a temporary situation.
The bleary eyes surveyed them, and a twinkle in his eyes and a twitchy half-smile showed that at least he was sober enough to appreciate Dee’s costume. He started to reach a shaky hand for one of their drinks, but was stopped by Zant’s hand on his wrist.
“Not yet,” Zant said. “Business first, and then you can have them all.”
“Zant Jenfu,” Tenkin said in a gravelly voice. “I thought you were dead long ago. Where’ve you been?”
Zant grinned. “Been out of circulation for awhile, Rin” he replied.
A flicker of interest showed in the bleary eyes. “Oh, yeah? Planetary rest cure?”
Zant chuckled. “Naw, nothin’ like that. I been pioneering. Found out I kinda liked woods runnin’.” He sobered. “Okay, business. Me and my friends, here, need to do some business. Are you still connected enough to give us an introduction?”
The old man frowned. “Could be. Depends on the kind of business. It’d have to be an old timer. I’ve been out of the business for quite a while, now.”
Zant frowned. It was obvious he really didn’t want to trust the old man.
Tenkin looked puzzled for a moment, and then suddenly, he grinned, and Cale could see a little of the man he had been. “Don’t worry, Zant,” he said. “I know I’m an old drunk, but don’t forget, I’ve been conditioned. Years ago, it was, but that don’t matter. Conditioning is for life. I can’t spill business info. Even if it’s not legal business.”
Zant relaxed and his normal grin resurfaced. “No worries there. It’s legal. All right, we want to sell diamonds for Alliance credits.”
Tenkin frowned. “Must be a big lot to bring you way out here for a legal sale. Hmmm. Lessee. Since it’s a legal deal, I might be able to hook you up with Res Selton. He’s a factor for several big jewel outfits. At least he was.” He took his comp pad out and keyed a long sequence.
“Res?” he said, “Rin Tenkin. Yeah. And I’m still sober, too. You still dealin’ jewels? No, no, strictly legit, but a big shipment. Sheol, I dunno. Would you tell an old drunk like me?” He laughed. “Naw, he’s an old friend. You might even remember him from a long time back. Zant Jenfu. Naw, don’t worry about it. You’ll recognize ‘em. Young fella and ol’ Zant, and a looker in an outfit you won’t believe. Oh, you heard about ‘em already?” His eyes widened and he looked at Dee. “You really got a yacht?” He switched his attention back to his call as Dee nodded. “Yeah, that’s them. Okay. Thirty mins. Got it. Yeah. Good talkin’ to you again, too. Sheol, I might even remember it, this time.” He chuckled and disconnected. He turned to Zant. “Well! Seems you’ve done better than I thought. Anyway, Res Selton will meet you in thirty mins. He’s done well, too. He has an actual office. A lot higher class than this dump.” He gave them detailed directions to Res Selton’s office.
Zant nodded. “Thanks, Rin.” He paused. “I don’t know what the going rate is for an introduction these days, but here.” He handed the old man the last of their Angeles crowns. Cale almost stopped him. Ridiculous as it sounded, they didn’t even have enough left to buy lunch! However, he stopped himself. This was Zant’s territory; he knew the rules and the customs, and Cale didn’t.
He needn’t have worried. The old man pushed the bills back across the table with a shake of his head. “Naw,” he said. “This one’s on me. You offered me these three drinks before; we’ll call it square.” For a moment, the rheumy eyes firmed with pride. “It was good to do business again. Even if it was only for a min.”
Zant grinned and rose as Rin gathered the three glasses before him. “Careful with those drinks, Rin,” he warned. “The bartender mixed them for strangers, and he turned his back while he mixed ‘em.”
The old man laughed aloud. “I don’t think ol’ Jan would drug ‘em, but if he did, I guess I’ll get a few extra hours’ sleep. Good luck!” He picked up one of the glasses, drained it in a gulp as the three friends rose, and left, as carefully as they had arrived.
Dee was scandalized. “That man is killing himself! Why doesn’t someone help him?”
Zant grabbed her arm and whirled her around to face him. “Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about!” He was about to continue when Cale jumped between them.
“Drop it, Dee. He’s right. We’ll talk about it when we get back aboard!” He didn’t look at either of them; his eyes continued scanning for threats.
Dee flushed, whether with anger or embarrassment Cale couldn’t say; but Zant’s face also darkened, and he muttered, “Right. Sorry.” Before dropping back to again cover their rear.
Res Selton’s otherwise undistinguished door displayed a small brass-colored plaque announcing “Selton Import-Export.” Again taking the lead, Zant pressed the enunciator and gave his name. The door swished aside to reveal a uniformed guard with an Empire Marines-issue blaster in his hands. The man stared at each of them for a moment before stepping aside.
The office they entered was significantly larger than Hern Jarnett’s, and much richer. The walls were paneled in what appeared to be real wood, and displayed tasteful artwork. Seated behind the real wood desk sat a rather fat man whose florid countenance was framed by a mass of salt-and-paper hair. His expression was dour and harried, but when he saw Dee, it softened into a professional smile. He hurried around the desk to greet her.
“A good day to you, Mistress,” he said. “Rumor told me of your presence, but it failed to describe your beauty. I am Res Selton, and I understand you have some gems to sell.”
He opened his mouth to continue, but Zant interrupted him by clearing this throat noisily. “I am Zant Jenfu, and I represent the Lady Delilah Raum of Faith,” he said in a superior tone. “My lady is traveling this sector, and finds herself running short of cash. She does not wish to sell anything. A lady of her social status does not engage in business, of course. On her behalf, I would like to convert a substantial collection of unmounted diamonds into Alliance credits.”
Selton bowed to Dee. “My apologies, mistress. In this backwater, one rarely encounters a lady of such… breeding. Also, I was given to understand that Faith was quite a… uh… conservative society.”
“It is,” Dee replied haughtily. “Dreadfully boring. I haven’t actually been there in several years. My father, the Supreme Archbishop, agreed with me that I am better suited to a more civilized environment.” Her smile was cold.
“Of course, my lady, of course,” Selton fawned, totally convinced. He turned to Zant. “And precisely how many stones did your lady wish to convert?” He looked somewhat disappointed as he moved back around the desk. Obviously, this rich bitch just needed spending money, and he’d waste his time buying a dozen or so stones.
Zant slid the receipt and the crystal from Shorty’s across the desk. Selton picked up the receipt. He glanced at it, started to look away, and then jerked his eyes back to it as its contents registered. “Two thousand carats?” he asked in surprise. His suddenly wide eyes devoured the receipt as he muttered to himself. “Flawless” Zant heard, and “white’. Selton snatched the crystal and placed it into a scanner. He spent several minutes examining the detailed list of stones. Finally, he sat back, with a stunned look on his face.
“My lady, my congratulations. I have never before been offered such a magnificent collection. May I ask how you came by it?”
Dee shrugged carelessly. “In his position, my father has quite an interest in assuring that I do not return to Faith for some time. Actually, our agreement says I may return for his funeral. In the meantime, he will provide me with the means to support my lifestyle. He has decided that diamonds are the most compact and negotiable way to provide that support.”
A last bit of tension slipped from Selton’s shoulders. He could easily understand the most powerful churchman on Faith ridding himself of a spoiled, rebellious playgirl of a child. Actually, he was slightly surprised that her father hadn’t simply arranged an ‘accident’. But then, maybe the man really cared for this spoiled brat, though Selton couldn’t see why. Moreover, diamonds really were probably the most compact and universally convertible form of wealth. At any rate, that old drunk Tenkin had really come through, and the deal really was legitimate. That would add several hundred thousand credits to his eventual profit.
He turned to Zant. “I can give the lady one thousand Alliance credits per carat,” he said as though he were conveying a favor.
Zant simply looked at him for a long moment. Then he stood and sighed. “My lady, I’m sorry. Rin told me we would be dealing with a legitimate gem dealer. I’m sure we can find a reputable gem factor on Freehold.” He started to help Dee from her chair.
Selton looked wounded. “I am a reputable gem factor. I… “
Zant waved dismissively. “The amount you offer is an insult. Retail on Angeles for flawless stones of such color is 2000 per carat, wholesale is 1750. Now, we do not expect Angeles prices here, but we certainly did not expect to be robbed. We would accept 1750.”
Selton looked scandalized. “Impossible! As you noted, that is the wholesale value on one planet. Out of respect for the lady I could perhaps go to 1250.”
“Ridiculous!” Zant retorted in apparent anger. “The lady could not possibly accept less than, say, 1500?”
Selton frowned. “Done. 1500 per carat for two thousand carats.” He consulted his wrist comp. “That will be over three million Alliance credits. A sizable amount indeed.”
As Hern Jarnett had predicted, Selton and two burly, armed bodyguards accompanied them to Shorty’s. Selton carefully examined the stones themselves before signing an authorization for Jernett to disburse three million, fifty-four thousand Alliance credits to “The lady Delilah Raum of Faith or her representative.” Cradling the bag of stones in his arms as though they were a baby, he and his bodyguards hurried out without a further word to either Zant or Dee.
More than three million Alliance credits in cash turned out to be quite bulky. Leaving the cash in Shorty's office with Dee, Zant, and Cale went to the shopping district of Freehold, where they purchased two identical suitcases. They also purchased a small roll of plas packaging and padding. Returning to Shorty’s, Cale called for a bodyguard escort while Zant packed one of the suitcases full of bills. The other he filled with packing and padding until it weighed virtually the same as the money case. When the bodyguards appeared, Cale carried the money case while Zant carried the decoy. One of the hired bodyguards led the procession. He was followed by Dee walking alone as befitted ‘lady Delilah’, hand on blaster. She, in turn, was followed by Cale and Zant side by side, and the other hired bodyguard bringing up the rear. They garnered a lot of attention, but the well-armed procession apparently didn’t tempt any criminals.
At Cheetah ’s ramp, Zant waited with the bodyguards while Cale escorted Dee and the money aboard, and then returned to dismiss the bodyguards and escort Zant up the ramp with the decoy bag. As soon as they were aboard, Tess sealed the entry lock.
They stared at each other for a long moment before simultaneously dissolving in uncontrolled laughter, collapsing into the lounge’s luxurious chairs. Dee’s arm got tangled in her gaudy cape, and she struggled to free it. She unclipped the cape from her shoulders and threw it across the lounge.
“I hate that thing,” she said between giggles. “It’s the most uncomfortable, terrible garment since… well… since this horrible thing!” She stood and ripped off the detachable skirt she had been fighting all day. She dropped back into her chair as the laughter continued.
“Now, now,” Cale said in a patronizing tone, “is that any way for Lady Delilah to act?”
Dee put on a threatening expression and took her blaster from her bag. “The next person to call me ‘Lady Delilah’ will regret it!” The threat was somewhat spoiled by the giggles following it.
Finally, though, the hilarity tapered off. “Tess,” Cale asked, “Have you been monitoring station comm traffic?”
“Of course, Captain,” Tess replied in a prim tone. “At first you were a frequent subject of discussion. That tapered off for a while, but now it is beginning to pick up again. The early traffic mostly concerned your remarkable appearance, but now there is quite a bit of discussion about a deal you may have made with Res Selton, and how much you may have made from it.”
Zant nodded. “I expected that. I’d suggest we depart as quickly as possible, before some of the rougher citizens decide to satisfy their curiosity.”
“Yes,” Cale replied. “Tess, get us exit clearance as quickly as possible, and let’s get out of here.”
“Exit clearance has been received, Captain,” came the crisp reply. “Ready to detach on your order.”
Cale hid a smile. He knew very well that Tess had requested departure clearance as soon as they were aboard. However, Zant did not know of Tess’s sentience, and she was an expert at concealing it. “Detach and set course for the jump point for Rama,” he ordered.
Rama was a busy shipping center one short jump from Freehold. There, Zant would catch a tramp for Vishnu.
As they boosted for the jump point, Zant was in an expansive mood. “Three million!” he exulted, “ Three million!” He turned to Dee. “I’d have taken the 1250, or even the thousand,” he said, “but as the representative of the ‘Lady Delilah’, it would have been out of character not to haggle. So we got an extra million!”
Dee was less impressed. “But will that be enough to hire a crew of ten or twelve ship techs for a month, and a ship to transport them? Will you have to deal with shady thugs in big hats in dark alleys?”
Zant sobered. “I guess you haven’t heard about Vishnu. For almost two years, now, they’ve been in a worldwide depression. Nearly all the shipyards have closed or cut back, and unemployment is above 25 %. We could hire all the skilled shipyard workers we want for a couple of thousand rupees a month. And of course, that doesn’t consider the exchange rate for Alliance credits. Last I heard, it was over fifty rupees to the credit. And from what I heard, the government is so desperate for hard currency that they'll sell anything; tanks, intrasystem fighters, artillery, anything — as long as it's leaving the planet. For weapons, I expect I'll be dealing with politicians in paneled conference rooms. 'Course that don't mean they're not shady thugs! No,” he continued, “the most expensive part of the whole deal may be chartering an Epsilon-class tramp and bribing its Captain to forget about Torlon.”
Cale sighed. "It would be nice to be able to buy a load of intrasystem fighters, but I think you'll probably just need to load up on space mines; all your ship can carry. The more mines we use, the less fights involving people. We won't have the people to spare. Try to get a dozen or so skilled orbital shipyard workers."
Their talk turned more serious. "So that's what a real den of iniquity is like," Dee said pensively. "A bunch of sad and desperate people sitting around drinking."
Zant shrugged. "Well, mostly. They all like to brag about how tough they are, and the fights they've had, and the big scores; but mostly they're just wanderers. They make or steal a 'score', and run straight to a place like Freehold. There they drink, gamble, brawl, and sex it away. When it's gone they sign onto a spacer or beg a lift, and go searching for another score so they can do it all again." He grinned. "It's not so bad. Kinda fun, actually."
Having broken the ice, Dee decided to bring up something that had been bothering her. "All right," she said defiantly, hands on hips. "Now, who wants to tell me why Zant's friend is being allowed to drink himself to death in this day and age, without someone helping him?"
Cale took a deep breath, but Zant cut in before he could speak. "I consider Rin Tenkin an old and good friend. But he, and his drinking, is one of the main reasons I left here twenty years ago and haven't returned. Rin was a pretty big gun on Freehold. Maybe bigger than Selton is now. Then he got a message that his only daughter had died in a flyer accident on Caroway. The girl was Rin's only living relative, and he doted on her. He kept saying he was in business for her, and when he retired, how he was going to set her up as a 'proper lady', and give her all these millions of Alliance credits he'd been saving."
Zant sighed. "Rin did crawl into a bottle after that. His friends all got together and decided to help. We forced him into a recovery program, and we took turns watching him to make sure he didn't cheat.
"But," Zant continued, "he didn't even try to cheat; he didn't resist at all. He completed the rehab course, and finally the shrinks said he was completely recovered.
"That was when he gathered together all his friends. It was kind of a cross between a party and a wake. Because Rin reminded us that he had completed the rehab, was completely sober. Then he told us that he was making a completely voluntary and rational decision. He had decided that since he couldn't give his money to his daughter, he was going to drink up every credit, unless he died first, and asked his friends to please butt out."
Zant stared at Dee for a long moment, his expression furious. " That 's why I told you to shut up, Dee. Out here, we believe that everyone has the right to go to hell in his or her own way. Rin made his decision, and much as it hurts to see him destroy himself, he's a free man, and we have no right to interfere with him."
Dee looked distressed. "But he needs help!"
She turned to Cale, only to find him shaking his head, his expression stony. "No," he said. "Every planet develops its own code of conduct, and passes laws to make sure that everyone lives the way they want them to live. But this is open space." He shrugged. "Call it anarchy, if you prefer. People out here believe in personal freedom. If that man had decided to blow his brains out at that party, no one would have interfered, though they might have questioned his taste or timing. There are no busybodies out here to push their way into our lives and force us to live their way. This isn't Faith, Dee. In open space, there is almost complete personal freedom. The only real rule is that you cannot interfere with someone else's personal freedom. The old saying is that 'my freedom to swing my arm ends at your nose.' And if it doesn't, you have the right and responsibility to balance the books. Since you're going to have to live out here, you'll have to cultivate the same attitude, or find yourself another planet where interfering in peoples' lives is acceptable."
Dee remained silent, but her expression was stormy, and she kept to her cabin for nearly a week.
They only remained on Rama's space station long enough for Zant to take nearly all the cash and catch a ship for Vishnu. Cale reprovisioned Cheetah and they filled her with supplies that would be needed on Torlon, since Cale had no idea how much of the old Beta-class liner’s supplies remained. Then they immediately left as well, declaring a jump for Faith, though of course they did not intend to actually go there. Instead, they jumped for Torlon, two jumps away.
So Cale returned to Torlon once again. This time he didn't bother to call Torlon Control, but he did ground Cheetah just outside the groundside scrap yard. Then he and Dee, blasters prominent in open holsters, prowled the yard looking for suitable intrasystem ships. Cale nearly bit his tongue when he saw the distinctive shape of an Old Empire pattern Strengl fighter. A workhorse of the Old Empire Fleet, the Strengl mounted two Alliance-pattern quickfirers and a laser or disruptor (this one mounted a laser). They also had jump engines, which gave them interstellar capabilities. Unfortunately, this one turned out to be the donor for the inertial engine mounted in Ber Nabel's L'Rak. Since the airframe looked good, though, Cale made a note of it. They also found two old-style couriers, somewhat smaller than Cheetah. Both appeared nearly complete. Most of the rest of the groundside yard had been thoroughly scavenged by looters since Nabel's departure. The office that had occupied the Old Empire corvette hull had been gutted, papers and ram chips scattered everywhere.
They returned to Cheetah, and took up orbit. Tess clamped Cheetah to the liner’s smallest personnel lock, and Cale boarded her. With relief, he noted that life support was still functional, and nearly all lighting worked as well. Doffing his suit, he headed for the ship’s bridge. Upon arrival, he registered himself with the ship’s artificial intelligence as being her
new owner and captain, thus gaining the power of complete control over the entire vessel and it’s AI.
The huge liner was named Pride of Norta, though Cale was certain that was not her first registration. She was actually large enough to take Cheetah into one of her empty cargo holds, so Cale had Tess move in. With the hold pressurized, Cale and Dee could move freely between the two.
Cale’s first order of business was to check on the condition of the liner. Surprisingly, though well worn, she was in completely operable condition. Ber Nabel had bought her at auction on Norta. Since a Beta-Class normally had a crew of over three hundred, she was too big for him to run by himself, even with the AI’s help, so he’d hired a temporary skeleton crew to bring her to Torlon and put her into orbit. She’d been here almost fifteen years.
Apparently, though, there were few Beta-class liners still operating, and Nabel had had no call for parts of the huge Pride. Since Nabel had bought her at a bankruptcy auction, he’d bought her with everything she contained when she had been seized, which turned out to be nearly everything she needed to operate. Her cargo holds were mostly empty (though Cale intended to check out those mysterious boxes and crates remaining in the aft hold), but her storerooms seemed to be nearly full. As Nabel had mentioned long ago, he had been using the Pride as his orbital headquarters, so he’d never shut her down, instead occasionally supplementing her fuel with fuel taken from other hulks. There would be no problem maintaining a dozen or so workers for a month or two. If he’d had enough crew, Cale marveled, he could have simply taken her to Vishnu himself to bring the workmen! Oh, he might need to replenish her atmosphere plant, and the hydroponics section had become an impenetrable jungle, but overall, he was the proud owner of a perfectly usable ship!
Of course, that fact was a lot less impressive than it sounded. Beta-class liners were big ships, used to transport passenger lists of over a thousand in sybaritic luxury. Curious, Cale and Dee had the ship’s AI, which Cale had named, Bet, show them one of the Pride ’s Super-Class Suites. That single suite was larger than Cheetah ’s entire passenger section. The wine-colored wall-to-wall carpeting was over two centimeters deep. The corridor door led into the spacious sitting room, with several heavily padded sofas covered in exotic animal hide. These were grouped around a low real wood table whose top was inlaid with a grown-crystal surface.
The real wood of the table was duplicated in the sumptuous paneling of the walls. One of the largest viewscreens Cale had ever seen occupied the far wall. At present, it was displaying the starfield displayed by the main viewscreen on the bridge. One corner of the large space was occupied by a large bar in gleaming metal, well populated with an assortment of bottles and glasses. On each side of the large sitting room were doors leading to the two bedrooms. They explored the one Bet said was the largest.
The bed was large enough for four, or six if they were close friends. The ceiling over the bed hosted an oversized holovision screen, this one inactive now. The carpet in here, as lush as that in the sitting room, was a very light blue, which was echoed in the covers on the bed. One wall featured a large vanity table, complete with three-sided viewer and a liberal supply of beauty products. Dee squealed in delight and headed for this, but Cale headed her off and directed her to the ‘fresher. Actually, the term ‘fresher was totally inadequate to describe the large room they entered. Here the carpeting changed to a white, with a different texture. In place of the large plas bag that the usual ‘fresher used to avoid wasting water in space, this room featured an open tub, large enough for three, with no less than six nozzles to provide water or steam. A large button on the wall controlled a clear plas bubble that lowered around the tub, presumably to prevent the leakage of water, if the occupant cared to be bothered. The various knobs and handles controlling all the facilities were plated in what Cale had no doubt was real gold, and the amenities included the thickest fabric towels he had ever encountered, as well as the usual air blast drying nozzles.
As they left the suite, Dee turned to Cale with a grin. “Well,” she said impishly, “At least you won’t suffer if you have to run to your ‘bolt hole’ to hide!”
Cale grinned and shook his head. “Too overwhelming for me, I’m afraid. I’m a man of simple tastes.”
Their tour had shown them, though, that despite air recirculation and frequent cleaning, fifteen-year-old mattresses and fabrics became musty and rotten. Luckily, Pride had a large supply of replacements in vacuum storage. By the time Zant arrived with the work crew, Pride ’s army of spider-shaped mechs had clean, fresh, and sweet-smelling staterooms ready for them. Normally, of course, those mechs serviced only the lower-class accommodations. The upper decks had been staffed by human servants, from cooks to cleaners to personal attendants, when required. Cale actually had to override a prohibition in Bet’s programming forbidding her mechs from visiting the upper decks when humans were present.
Of course, the work crews wouldn’t be using the upper decks anyway. The lower decks were much more convenient to the workshops and airlocks they would be using.
When Zant contacted Cale upon emerging from jump and approaching with comm range, he was obviously depressed and even angry.
“I brought three dozen,” he told Cale in a challenging tone, “and I’d have brought three dozen more if I’d had a larger ship!”
Cale’s reply was puzzled. “All right,” he said mildly. “You know our needs and our resources. Three dozen should help us get done quicker, and I guess you decided we could afford them.”
Cale’s attitude plainly took Zant by surprise. His hunched shoulders relaxed, and his belligerent expression faded to one of sadness. “Deity, Cale, you should have seen it,” he began, “No, maybe you shouldn’t. I sure wish I hadn’t. People were starving, Cale. The government tried to seize the food aboard our ship. I actually saw two women fighting — physically fighting — over a bucket of grass one of them had gathered in a park. Grass, Cale!
Cale frowned. “I’ve seen starving people, Zant. I’ve been one. You tell them we have a big, comfortable ship for them to stay in, and plenty of food for them to eat. Tell them that as long as they do their best for us, we’ll take good care of them.”
Zant breathed a huge sigh of relief, and a shadow of his usual smile reappeared. “Thanks, Cale. It was really bad, kid. When I kicked those government creeps off the ship, and announced what we needed on the Worldnet, we were practically mobbed. There’s a good man running the groundside port there. He put armed men all around the port in exchange for ship’s rations for them. Workers were lined up for more than a kilometer. The Port Manager put a man to asking each person about their shipyard experience before he would let them onto the port. I still could have hired hundreds. As it is, I’ve got thirty-eight. None of ‘em has less than ten years’ orbital ship yard experience. Twelve of them have crew leader experience, and three have project management experience.” His eyes took on a haunted look. “All of ‘em wanted to bring their families. But even hiring a Din-class I didn’t have room aboard! I gave ‘em all a month’s pay in advance, so they could leave it with their families.”
“A month’s pay?” Cale asked. “I doubt the project will take that long. At least I hope not.”
Zant flushed. “I know,” he said guiltily. “And I agree, the quicker the better. But these people were almost pathetically grateful. I think we’ll get the best from every one of them.”
His image darkened again before he continued, “Uh, I might as well tell you the rest. I told ‘em that if our plan worked, we might let ‘em use one of the hulks to move their folks off-planet. Uh, I maybe kinda hinted that they might even be allowed to remain on Ilocan.” At Cale’s raised eyebrow, he continued defensively, “If this works, I’m sure I’ll be able to talk them into it. After all, these’ll be the folks who fixed up the ships and then crewed them into possible battle. Sheol, they’ll be blasted heroes!”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
Zant shrugged. “They’ll probably be dead, those as were crewin’ the ships.”
Cale grinned. “Along with us. I agree, Zant. Okay, we’ll have hot meals ready for all of you when you arrive.”
Zant looked relieved. “Good. We’ve been on short rations ever since leaving Vishnu, six ship’s weeks ago.” His usual grin resurfaced. “The Captain hasn’t been really happy with me since we left most of our ship’s rations behind!”
Zant and the work crews were delighted with the Pride. The ship’s interworld-class chef program had a number of recipes from Vishnu, and the grins from the work crew were universal and wide.
When Cale met the captain of the Din-class Zant had hired, he was glad that Cheetah was concealed in Pride ’s hold. He immediately reminded Cale of several of the Terror’s more prominent pirates, dark, lean, and shifty-eyed. Those eyes didn’t miss a single detail of the luxury evident on the Pride. Cale went to some trouble to stress that the Pride was immobile scrap. The captain loudly and immediately demanded that his looted provisions be replaced, and Cale agreed. He had Tess’s spider mechs transfer some of the supplies he’d purchased on Rama to some of Bet’s mechs, who in turn delivered them to the Captain. The mechs then turned to the much larger job of offloading over a thousand space mines. It was almost thirty hours before the tramp boosted for the jump point.
Cale questioned Zant about the tramp and her captain. “Trust him? Sheol no. He’s as crooked as a dog’s hind leg. But I checked around, and his rep says that once he’s bought, he’ll stay bought. He’s agreed to wipe this trip from his log, and show it as a trip to Vargas. Besides, why should he talk? There’s nothing on or above this groundbound mudball worth coming back for. “
When Cale asked him if the Captain might have overheard him discussing the plan, Zant shook his head. “My mother didn’t raise any fools — except my brother, o’course! Seriously, though, I only talked to the three project managers. We talked in my quarters. I ran a bug scanner over it, and disconnected the ship’s intercom. And it seems I managed to pick up a distorter somewhere.”
Cale smiled. “A distorter? I thought only governments have them.”
Zant shrugged and smiled vaguely. “This one must’ve got lost somewhere. I don’t remember where I got it. Comes in handy, though. Anyway, I talked to the project managers, and told them the whole story and plan. That’s when I told them about maybe lettin’ them use one of the hulks to move their families, and hinted they might be able to stay on Ilocan. I also told ‘em that if they told anyone else, even their own brother, I’d maroon them on Torlon, with no space flight. So I’m pretty sure they didn’t talk.”
Cale nodded. “Okay, then after dinner this evening, you can brief all the others, I guess. No sense trying to keep it secret. I was a bit concerned that if they’d been paid in advance, they might slack off; but you’ve got a couple of pretty good incentives, there.”
Zant’s announcement was a big hit, and all the workers swore undying loyalty. Of course, they had full bellies and warm beds to sleep in at the time.
Zant and Cale used the Pride ’s scanners to survey the contents of the orbital scrap yard, with no great success. The scanners simply lacked sufficient detail.
It was Dee who remembered Cale telling her that Alpha and Beta-class liners carried lifeboats. Cale and Zant checked one out. The lifeboats were small spaceships themselves, lacking only a jump drive. They had life support for six months for the crew of two, though one could run them. They also contained twenty stasis units. Moreover, of course they were in pristine condition, unused. Both agreed they were perfect for flitting around an orbital junkyard. They spent three days doing just that, while looking for likely hulls.
Their original list of sixteen possibles shrank to twelve when they examined them more closely. Several of the others had been stripped of their inertial engines, and one was even missing its AI. However, they found an amazing array of weapons, ranging from infantry-model Alliance design quickfirers to a nuclear-pumped planetary defense laser someone had grafted into a Chata-class freighter. Zant made a note of that one; he decided it would make an excellent “poor man’s planetary defense satellite” if towed into position and made livable. Cale just shrugged. “Maybe, for later” was all he said.
They called a meeting with their three managers to discuss the possibilities. They supplied the managers with a complete list of the sixty-three vessels in the orbital scrap yard, and a summary of their survey. Not surprisingly, the managers decided to make their own survey, which took another two days, and differed considerably from Cale and Zant’s.
“You judge too much by appearances,” said the oldest of the three, who usually acted as spokesman for the group. He was a thin, gray-haired man whose name was Bhamaramputra, but who insisted they call him “Rama, like the planet.” “A number of these vessels could be made spaceworthy using parts from others.” He said flatly. “But you want armed vessels, warships, and that is quite different from simply getting them spaceworthy. Frames must be strengthened. Bulkheads reinforced. Battle comps and AI's must be installed, and life support systems armored and backed up. It is no small thing to make a warship.”
"They don't need to be real warships," Zant protested. "Mostly they'll be fighting unarmed freighters and a few minesweepers."
"We have built minesweepers," Rama replied. "They are warships, and are designed like warships. They are lightly armed, it is true, but they have good shields and strong frames and hulls."
"Well," Cale put in, "What do we do?"
"Forget ships," Rama said. "Assemble one large base ship, perhaps a Din-class, for each system. This ship does not fight; it serves as a base. Then use gunboats. Small vessels with much maneuverability and speed, but little armor. Mount a weapon on the centerline, so the pilot aims it by aiming the boat. Two or three such could easily overwhelm a minesweeper."
Cale was disgusted. "Where are we supposed to get boats?" he asked. "I'm lucky we've got ships!"
Rama smiled gently. "You already have many. This ship has sixteen."
Zant got it first. "The lifeboats! He's talking about the lifeboats!"
Cale thought about it. They'd used one of the lifeboats to survey the yard. As he remembered, it was not a particularly high-performance vessel. On the other hand, if you removed twenty stasis units, they might be quite a bit livelier. "But this is the only liner," he protested. "On second thought," he added, "sixteen might be enough for two systems."
Rama shook his head. "You will need more. You must give the pilots shifts and rest times. That is the purpose of the base ship. And there will be losses. But it is no worry," he added. "All Alpha and Beta class ships carry lifeboats. Not so many as a liner, but a few." He consulted his list of ships. "I would estimate at least twenty-five boats available, and possibly thirty."
"I don't know," Cale said. "What do you think, Zant?"
Zant had no doubts. "I think Rama's a genius!" he replied. "Lifeboats almost never get used; if they do, they're usually replaced. Strip out the lifeboat furniture to make it faster and more maneuverable, add a laser, and you've got an attack boat — a new attack boat. No worries about worn out parts failing, or stuff having been removed. We can round up dozens of various-sized lasers and quickfirers. And we can carry six or eight boats in a Din-class, maybe more."
Cale was nodding, now, convinced. "Do you think we can talk the pilots into it?"
Zant shrugged. "If not, they're not the people we need!"
They used the lifeboat they'd already used to survey the yard. The Vishnu techs removed the twenty stasis units, as well as all the associated medical and other emergency equipment. They mounted a laser and fusactor from a corvette on the boat's centerline, and engraved a targeting grid on the viewport in front of the pilot.
Then Zant took the boat for a test drive. Of course, there was no shortage of derelicts for him to target, but he treated it like a rehearsal for combat. He spent over two hours looping far outside the orbit of Torlon, and then came driving back at max acceleration. As he approached the orbital yard, he began madly zigzagging, rolling, and looping, as though evading the fire of an enemy. Suddenly he dodged toward the hulk they had selected as his target, steadied for a moment, and then jerked away, looping far out while maneuvering madly. When he had completed his loop, he again boosted max toward the hulk, swinging past it at the last moment.
He came back enthusiastic. "She's not really as fast as she looks," he said. "But she'll pull almost 3G's if she's got the room to build the accel. All that mass we took out also makes her maneuver a lot better. As far as the attack itself, targeting was a dead cinch. It took no attention at all. I used the rescue ranging radar to make sure of a hit first time, every time. It's no Strengl, but for our purposes, it'll do."
That reminded Cale. "By the way," he said, "there's a Strengl in the ground yard. But it's missing its inertial drive."
" What!" Zant cried. "You forgot about a strokin' Strengl? How could anyone forget something like that?" He rounded on Rama. "How about it? Have we got an ID that'll work in a Strengl?"
Rama shrugged. "It is possible. However, please remember that the ship has been stored outside in a planetary atmosphere for an unknown length of time. It may be unusable." He looked up at Torlon. "The night side is approaching. Examination of the ship will have to wait until tomorrow. In the meantime, I assume we are to continue with the lifeboat conversions?"
"Oh, yeah," Zant shot back. "They're the best chance we've got right now. That is, unless Cale 'remembers' a few dozen more Strengl 's!"
Cale grinned. "Sorry, all out. But we might also check for workboats, gigs, barges, and other assorted small craft. You never know what you might find in a scrap yard!"
The final tally was twenty-eight lifeboats, three workboats, four Captain's gigs, and even a gaudy admiral's barge. Two of the workboats were badly worn, but the third was cannibalized to repair them. They were to be assigned to mine placement duties. The four captain's gigs were actually better suited to their purposes than the lifeboats, as they were smaller, with higher-performance inertial drives. Beneath its gaudy gingerbread, the admiral's barge also proved to have a high performance inertial drive, and stripping out the nonessentials only enhanced its agility.
There was an argument about the Strengl. Rama pronounced it salvageable, and was certain a suitable inertial drive could be found. However, finding it on the ground and moving it to orbit for repair would be two different things. Rama decided that once they could get a Din-class in a condition to safely land and take off, the Strengl could be loaded aboard. However, moving the ship from the yard to the port apron would be a major project in itself.
Cale thought it was more trouble than it would be worth when completed, but Zant was determined. He bribed several of the Vishnu techs to work overtime on one of the Din-class ships slated to be base ships. then he and three Vishnu techs used a lifeboat to go down to the ground yard and find and repair Nabel's old but serviceable tow tractor, and jack up the Strengl in readiness to move it.
Finally Rama pronounced the Din-class ready to try landing and taking off. By this time, everyone, including Cale, wanted Zant to succeed with the fighter. When they went down to retrieve it, Cale and Dee formed a guard escort, with military-style blasters. An even dozen Vishnu techs had volunteered to assist in the project.
The Din-class, with the faded name Minetoo painted on her scratched antirad coating responded well to power and control. One of the Vishnu techs landed her smoothly and gently. Ferrying ships to and from orbit was routine for these workers.
If anyone were watching, Cale thought, it must have looked like an invasion. The huge cargo doors dropped, creating ramps, and the volunteers swarmed down the ramps enthusiastically. Cale was a bit concerned about the local residents, but none showed themselves.
Slowly, slowly the tow tractor moved the unwieldy spaceship through the yard, volunteers clearing the pathway ahead. They were moving slower than a funeral procession, and it took over three hours to reach the port apron and Minetoo.
The Vishnu techs were experts at moving ships. As they approached Minetoo, an "I" beam Cale didn't even know existed on a Din-class extended itself, and a very heavy winch crawled out along it. When they reached the foot of the ramp, a hook dropped from the winch and one of the Vishnu techs climbed the outside of the Strengl and connected the hook to a concealed loop on the fighter.
The winch hummed, and the Strengl lifted seemingly effortlessly. A cable was hooked to a landing jack, and all the techs climbed into the Din-class's capacious hold and started pulling the fighter in, while Cale stood openmouthed. He couldn't believe that mere human muscle was moving such a large burden. Finally, the Strengl was inside the hold, and being anchored down to padeyes by heavy chains. The strange "I" beam retracted into the ship, and the cargo hatches closed.
Once in orbit it was decided that they could work on the Strengl as easily in Minetoo as anywhere else, so Zant found himself suiting up and jumping from Pride to Minetoo every day, watching carefully as 'his' ship was repaired.
Finally, it was ready. Zant fairly danced with impatience as 'his' new toy was readied. He wore a skinsuit space suit of the type worn by professional spaceboat racers, and held a helmet under his arm. When attached to the clips around his neck, the suit was as effective a space suit as the huge, clumsy rigger's suits worn for heavy construction. Due to their inability to deal with the absolute zero of space for prolonged periods, however, skinsuits were not considered suitable for long-term wear under vacuum conditions. Rather, they were considered emergency equipment for people unable to wear a common utility suit in confined spaces. Confined spaces like the cockpit of a Strengl fighter, for instance.
This was a test of a rebuilt ship; Zant was taking no chances. He would be suited, and he even had a pure oxygen bottle in case he began to 'gray out' during a high-G maneuver.
At last, the preflight checks were over, and Zant wriggled his way into the tiny cockpit. The ship was over 50 meters long, but it was so crammed with weaponry and electronics that the space left for the pilot was claustrophobic.
Zant threw Cale a wide grin, and then put on his helmet and closed the clamshell cockpit. Bystanders hurried to clear the hold as the Strengl 's inertial engine began to spin up. As soon as the last person was out of the hold, the pumps began pumping the atmosphere into holding tanks. When the pressure equalled a low-grade vacuum, the cargo doors swung open.
With the inertial drive ready, Zant released the docking clamps, and the small fighter drifted gently into space in response to tiny blasts of the drive.
Once clear of Minetoo, Zant began feeding power to the drive, and was surprised how quickly he was pushed into the padding of his contoured seat. He watched as the acceleration gauge climbed at a much faster rate than the power gauge. He eased off the power and watched the acceleration gauge react, then suddenly slammed the throttle to its stop. He was driven deep into the seat, and quickly reached for the pure oxygen as the acceleration needle swung past 5G with no sign of slowing. He quickly pulled back on the throttle. If he'd had room, Zant would have been dancing with excitement. He'd never experienced such power before! He backed it down to 3G and began maneuverability tests. Unsurprisingly, the little ship seemed almost to respond to a thought. The slightest movement of the control produced a response; significant movement meant he was thrown about by side forces.
Zant was in love. Oh, he knew that technically the Strengl, like every other ship in the scrap yard, belonged to Cale. However, if Cale wouldn't sell him this beauty he'd… he'd, well, he'd beg!
Zant finally returned some four hours later, his fuel nearly exhausted. He didn't bother to return to Minetoo. He matched orbits with Pride, popped his canopy, squirmed out, and then jumped across to Pride 's airlock.
"It's amazing!" he enthused. "Incredible. It's better than home-brewed sex! Well," he admitted, " almost as good as home-brewed sex."
Cale, having experienced Nabel's L'Rak, had a pretty good understanding of Zant's feelings. The rush of operating an ultra-high-performance machine was almost sexual in its intensity. He almost wished he could fly the Strengl, but he had other plans for him and Cheetah.
Then he remembered, and smiled. The Strengl might be Zant's baby, but he owned it! His smile became a broad grin.