Fleet of the Damned (19 page)

Sten was shocked when they reached the center of the city. Imperial started out as a broad, clean street that wound past high-class shops, hotels, and gleaming business offices. Then it became what could best be described as a war zone. The street itself was pitted with gaping holes.

Half the shops were either boarded up or burned out. The hulks of abandoned vehicles lined either side of the street. The few people they saw—except for the seven-man squads of cops in full riot gear—were furtive things that scurried into dark corners when they spotted the
Gamble's
crew.

"What the clot's going on here?" Sten wanted to know.

Foss, who had been out on the streets of Cavite a great deal more, explained. When the Tahn had started beating their war drums, it had made the locals as nervous as hell. First a few, then a flood began fleeing, leaving their businesses and homes abandoned. Unemployment had become fierce, which had led to a booming membership in street gangs. The Tahn section of the city, moreover, had become an embattled slum ghetto, at the mercy of Tahn-bashing gangs.

"You mean that's where this restaurant is? Smack dab in the middle of a riot area?"

"Something like that, sir."

"Clotting wonderful. Next time we eat bland and greasy."

But there was nothing else to do but press on, following the map that the security guard at the base gate had said was AM2 bulletproof. Sten was now thinking fondly of what strings he could pull to bust that clotting guard down to spaceman second.

Sten shoved the map back at Alex. "We must have taken a wrong turn," he said. "There's only one thing we can do. Go all the way back to Dessler and start again."

Everyone groaned.

"They'll have eaten all the food by the time we get there," Foss said. Then he remembered himself. "Begging your pardon, sir."

"What other choice do we have?"

"Ah could alw'ys tell tha spotted snake story," Kilgour offered. "Just ta keep our spirits up, like."

Before Sten could strangle Alex, a joygirl came around the corner. She was dressed in one of the dirtiest, most revealing costumes Sten had ever seen. Also, unlike the other people they had seen so far that night, she didn't seem to have a drop of fear in her blood. Her walk was cool and casual. She was also wearing, Sten noted, an enormous pistol around her waist.

"Uh, excuse me, miss?"

The joygirl looked Sten up and down. Then she glanced over at the other crew members. "You gotta be kidding," she said. "I'm not taking
all
you swabbies on. I'd be out of work for a week."

"No, no," Sten said. "You got me wrong. I just need a little help."

"I'll bet you do."

Sten finally got her attention by waving a handful of credits at her. He explained the problem. The lady shook her head in disgust at their stupidity and pointed at a sagging gate half-hidden by a rusted-out gravsled.

"Right through there," she said. "Then it's left, left, and then it'll fall on your thick skulls."

Two minutes later they were hoisting foaming mugs at the Rain Forest, doing their best to catch up with their shipmates.

The restaurant was aptly named. Hidden under its small dome
was
a forest. Tables were scattered among trees and beside gentle waterfalls. There was a soft breeze coming from somewhere. Colorful birds and huge insects with lacy wings flitted over the diners. The owner was one Sr. Tige, an elderly, gentle Tahn who seemed honestly to enjoy watching the delight on his patrons' faces when they dug into his food.

The menu was as exotic as the atmosphere, with more than thirty items offered. The food ranged from mild-hot to burn-your-scalp-off and was meant to be washed down with big mugs of a delicate Tahn beer. Most of the dishes were served family style in huge crockery bowls.

Sten groaned, patted the small swell at his belt, and leaned back into his seat.

"One more bite," he said, "and I turn into a hot-air vehicle."

"What's the matter, Commander? Out of training?" Luz grinned at him and began spooning out another mound on her plate.

"Where do you put it?" Sten wasn't joking. He couldn't believe the enormous quantities of food she had piled into that slender figure.

"Would you believe a wooden leg, sir?"

Luz was in civvies tonight, and she was wearing a halter top that just covered her small, shapely breasts and the shortest pair of pure white shorts this side of Prime World. Her legs were long and tawny and smooth. Sten glanced down at her legs—he couldn't help but admire them—and shook his head.

"No. Wood I
definitely
don't believe!"

Then he caught himself and flushed. Watch it, Sten, he thought. You can't be doing what you'd love to be doing! Luz saw the blush and smiled. She knew what he was thinking. She gave his hand a gentle pat and then politely turned away and began chattering nonsense to Sekka. Sten realized that in some odd way he had just been rescued. He loved her for it.

There was a crashing sound and loud shouts. Startled, Sten looked up to see a terrified young couple quivering just inside the door. The man's face was bloodied, and the woman's clothing had been ripped. The man was Tahn. There was a splintering of plas as a heavy weight struck a door.

People outside were shouting. "Throw him out… clottin' Tahn fooling with our women…"

Sr. Tige pointed to a back door, and the couple started running for it. But just then the main door crashed open, and four bully boys burst in. They spotted the couple, howled in glee, and rushed toward them. Sr. Tige put up an arm to stop them, but one man smashed him to the floor. The others, led by a hulking thug swinging an equally large club, advanced on the pair.

"First you, you piece of filth," he said to the young Tahn. "Then your slut."

"You're disturbin' our meal, lad," came a soft Scot voice.

The bully boys turned to see Alex and Sten standing just behind them.

"After you pay the damages," Sten said, "you can go."

The man with the club gave a booming laugh. "More Tahn lovers," he said.

Across the room, Sten saw his crew members coming to their feet, but he waved them back.

"I think he's trying to insult us," Sten said to Alex.

"Aye. He wa' brung up bloody rude, this lad."

Without warning, the big man swung the club at Alex with all his strength. Alex didn't even bother ducking or stepping aside. He caught the club in midswing and plucked it away as if from a child. The force of the swing, however, carried the big man toward Alex. The heavy-worlder grabbed an elbow, spun him around, and booted him toward the door. The kick lifted the man from the floor, and he crashed headfirst into a wall. He slumped to the ground.

Enraged, the other three charged. Sten slipped under a knife thrust and left that man howling on the floor with a broken wrist; he struck out with three fingers at another, catching him in the throat. At the last split instant he pulled the punch just enough to avoid crushing the larynx. He spun on one heel to deal with the other man. But that was unnecessary. Alex had the man suspended from the floor by his belt buckle and was talking soothingly.

"Now, Ah know ye be'it all drunked up, lad. So we will nae hold it again' ye. Hand over the credits and you can go, peaceful like."

The man was too frightened to respond. Alex was getting impatient, so he upended him, gave him a shake, and credits crashed out to the ground. Then, quite casually, he lofted the man out the door. He and Sten frisked the others, relieved them of their money, and booted them out.

Sten walked over to Sr. Tige, who was comforting the couple. He handed the credits to the old Tahn.

"If this isn't enough, sir," he said, "my crew and I would be glad to take up a collection to make up the difference."

"Many, many thanks, young man," he said. "But you must leave, quickly. Before they come back with others."

Sten shrugged. "So. I think we've got more than enough forces to handle them and their crowd."

The old man shook his head. "No. No. You don't know how it is here…"

From outside there was an angry rumbling sound. Sten rushed over to the door. Now he knew what the old Tahn was talking about.

In the short time that had elapsed, a mob of over a hundred Imperial settlers had gathered outside. They were screaming for blood. Down the street Sten could see many more pouring around the corner. The oddest part of the whole scene was the big Black Maria just on the outskirts of the growing crowd. There were a half a dozen cops standing there, jeering and egging the mob on.

Sten felt a tug at his shoulder.

"I know how to deal with this," the old man told him.

A switch to one side of the main door brought thick steel grating crashing down to lock into drilled holes in the floor. Around the dome there was the sound of more clanging steel as grating slid in to close up the windows.

"Out. Out, please," the man said. "We will be safe here. But if you stay, you will be arrested."

Numbly, Sten found himself creeping out the back door with his crew.

"You know, lad," Alex said in a low voice. "Ah'm not too sure we chos'it the correct side."

Sten had not one word of reply.

CHAPTER FORTY

T
he next few weeks for Sten and the others were paradoxical. They
knew
that the war was moments away. Each report from Wild's smugglers verified their feelings—Tahn ships were being commissioned and assigned to battlefleets daily. The civilians on Heath had already become accustomed to regulated hours and ration chips.

Cavite was the exact opposite. It seemed to Sten that Admiral van Doorman, his officers, and his men retreated further and further into a fantasy world. To the officers, van Doorman's parties became steadily more lavish. To Sten's enlisted men, the other sailors of the fleet grew more and more sloppy and less concerned.

But the times, even in retrospect, appeared golden.

Perhaps, for Sten, an element was his love affair with Brijit. But that was only one element.

Perhaps the linkup with Wild was another part of it. The smuggler was very conscious of his end of the bargain. Sten decided that he and the others were eating better than when he had been assigned to the Emperor's own court. In fact, he was, for the first time in his life, wondering if maybe he was getting fat.

Another factor might have been that there were
none
of the troubles that Sten and Alex had expected from their pickup crew. Even Lieutenant Estill seemed to be fitting in perfectly. What few problems came up were handled quickly by a fat lip applied sensitively by Mr. Kilgour, who had taken on the personal role of flotilla master-at-arms.

But the real reason was that the four tacships, and the people who volunteered for them, were doing exactly as they wanted and as they were supposed to—without anyone shooting at them.

Sten kept his ships off Cavite as much as possible. Even for a major teardown his ground crews would be sardined into the ship they would be tearing down and taken to a completely deserted beach world. Major inspections were regarded as nightmares, and no one in Cavite's yard could understand why the engine and hull specialists were coming back with tans and happy smiles.

Sten was an instinctual flier—but the sensation that had struck him was that of speed, of flying low-level with some relatable objects veering up and past him. Now, on those long slow watches, he found another joy.

The tacships spent long shifts just observing, hanging above a planetary system's ecliptic, possibly correcting starcharts, possibly monitoring Tahn ship movements, possibly evaluating those worlds as Tahn outposts. Sten should have been bored.

He never was. Alex had modified one of the
Gamble's
Goblin missiles, removing the warhead and replacing it with extra fuel cells.

It was Sten's joy, offwatch, to put on a spare control helmet and float "his" Goblin out into deep space. He knew that the perceptions of a star being "above" or a planet "below" him were the false analogues provided by computer. He also knew that his feelings of heat from a nearby sun, or cold from an iceplanet, were completely subjective. But he still reveled in them. To him, this was the ultimate form of the human dream of flight. It was even better, because he knew that if anything happened, he was really safely on board the
Gamble
.

The shifts and days drifted past. Sten frequently had to check patrol time by the ship's log. If the supplies would have held out, Sten thought he might have remained in space forever, beyond human reach or response.

It was after such a fugue that Sten encountered the
Forez
for the first time, and Admiral Deska for the second.

The
Kelly
and the
Gamble
had been attempting to plot a meteor stream's track. Lieutenant Sekka had insisted that the meteors came from a single exploded planet. Sten had argued that merely because the boulders were somewhat oversize didn't necessarily indicate anything. But, in amusement, he had authorized a backplot on those rocks.

Every alarm siren in the universe brought the fun and games to an end. Alex and Sten, on the
Gamble's
command deck, and Lieutenant Sekka, on the
Kelly
, stared at the screen.

"Wha' we hae here," Kilgour finally said, "is the biggest clottin' battlewagon Ah hae ever seen. Imperial or Tahn. An' tha's nae entry in
Jane's
f'r it."

"Stand by, emergency power," Sten said. He checked their position. They were supposedly in a neutral sector, although Sten had a fair idea that if the Tahn were feeling feisty, that wouldn't help.

There was a com blast that sent the readings into the red. "Foreign ship. Identify or be blasted."

"Impolite clots," Kilgour muttered.

Sten went to the closed circuit to Sekka. "
Kelly
, if the shooting starts, get out of it."