Stand Against The Storm (The Maxwell Saga Book 4) (20 page)

“Are the control circuits working OK?” Steve asked as he joined them.

“So far, so good, Sir,” the Gunnery Sergeant said absently as he carefully, delicately pushed the folded artificial winglets of a flitterbug closer together so that it would fit into the tiny space available for it. “I’ve checked them individually as we filled the compartments. I’ll run a systems test on all of them once we’re finished.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Steve ran his eyes over the cable conduits that led from the main trunk out across the deckhead to the top of every bank of tanks and supply containers. Wires had been led to sensors in every one, so that any leak or pressure problem would be instantly reported to a bank of monitors erected next to the pilot’s console. The engineers had taken advantage of all the new wiring to include controls for the flitterbug and nanobug compartments as well. Anyone trying to follow those wires back to their source – an almost impossible task outside a well-equipped workshop – would find that they dropped out of the main trunk before they reached the pilot console. Similar wires had been led through hollow beams and uprights to tiny concealed cameras and microphones, disguised as marks and scratches on screw or rivet heads.

He grinned as he recalled the objections of the Qianjin techs at having to install thousands of meters of extra cable. He’d had to remind them that the shuttle would be carrying detonators that used wireless frequencies. “We don’t know which ones the rebels will use for their explosives. What happens if they’re the same as those used by your wireless sensors? I don’t think the hostages will appreciate an accidental explosion caused by interference.” The techs had looked suitably abashed.

“There’s another reason,” Steve had continued. “What if the rebels have a broad-spectrum scanning receiver? They might check for interference with their frequencies – I would, in their shoes. What if they come across unexplained close-range wireless activity, like a flitterbug control circuit or an encrypted camera feed? Even if they can’t read it, they’ll be suspicious as hell.”

The techs had grinned sheepishly, and reached for their cable cutters and crimpers.

Kinnear finished inserting the flitterbug and reached for a portable console. He fastened its wires over the cables using induction clips, then used its controls to operate the concealed door to the bug compartment, opening and closing it first slowly, then rapidly as if in an emergency. He cocked his head, listening carefully, then relaxed as he glanced at Steve. “You were right, Sir. I could hear the servo motors when the shuttle was on the ground with everything shut down; but now that our environmental systems are running I can’t hear anything over their background noise unless I put my head real close to the door.”

“That’s what I figured. I just hope all this hard work wasn’t for nothing. We still have no idea whether we’ll be able to use the bugs at all.”

The Gunny shrugged. “What’s the old saying? ‘Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it’.”

“That’s for sure! It’s twenty-two-thirty. How much longer?”

“I’ll be finished with the bugs in an hour, Sir.”

“OK. I’m going to check our hidey-hole.”

The engineers had realized early on that they’d need to erect a framework of uprights and cross-beams to secure the tanks, extra storage and bunks filling the load compartment. Ingeniously, they’d positioned them far enough out from the bulkheads to permit someone to pass behind them, then built a false bulkhead to conceal the space from prying eyes. All the new welds and fastenings were concealed by the framework, and the false bulkhead had been repainted along with the framework, tanks, lockers and bunks, so unless an inspector measured dimensions very carefully against a construction plan there was nothing to give away the existence of the hidden compartment. Carefully concealed hatches and doorways allowed entrance and exit at strategic points, including beneath the pilot console. Steve enlisted the Qianjin pilot’s aid in testing it, making sure he could slip out next to an operator’s feet and legs without making him move aside.

“That ought to do it,” he said at last as he eased himself to his feet. “To the naked eye it looks like just another part of the console. That rebel former Bosun didn’t suspect anything when he checked out the shuttle. Your structural techs did a great job.”

“They’re pretty good,” Kwok acknowledged proudly. “Of course, part of their job is to fool customs inspectors across the settled galaxy, so they’ve got to be good.”

Steve grinned wryly to himself.
If you asked me before today, I’d never have expected to need the skills of interplanetary criminals during a military operation!
However, he kept the thought to himself. He also made a mental note to record details of where and how the shuttle’s hidden features had been constructed. If he had to deal with smugglers again in future, he’d just been given an unintended and very advanced course in where and how to look for their concealed compartments.

“Won’t you get very claustrophobic in there?” Kwok asked. “It’s too narrow to get past each other; you’ll only be able to swap places by going over or under one another. What’s more, you won’t be able to talk in anything louder than whispers, and you’ll constantly have to be on your guard against kicking anything or making any noise – even snoring.”

Steve shrugged. “It is what it is. At least we’ve been able to stretch the compartment along the length of the cargo area and install multiple exit panels. If we have time to position ourselves before things go down we can come out behind the rebels, or in places where they aren’t. Also, we can have heavier weapons than yours because they’re better concealed.”

Kwok grinned. “Ours may be light, but you’ll never find them.”

“Oh, yeah? If I do, once we get planetside the beers are on you.”

“And on you if you don’t!”

Even after twenty minutes’ detailed inspection of the areas where he already knew weapons had been concealed, Steve had to admit he couldn’t see any sign of them. Proudly the pilot showed him how innocent-seeming handles could be detached from suitcases and toolboxes. They contained hidden compartments filled with a woven polymer-ceramic composite cord, so thin it was almost hairlike, but strong and sharp enough to cut into flesh with ease. The razor-edged ceramic bead-like nanoparticles embedded in the polymer would rip through flesh like a saw blade when the looped ends of the strand were placed over the handles and the garrote was slipped around a neck or limb.

“I’m surprised the beads don’t sever the polymer line as well, or cut through the handles,” Steve observed, fascinated, as he rather tentatively handled one.

“They do after a while, but the garrote will last long enough to deal with several people before it breaks.”

Shivering slightly at the pilot’s insouciance, Steve picked up a non-magnetic, non-metallic plas-ceramic knife blade. Nanotech-fabbed, it slotted undetectably into parts of the cargo shuttle’s internal framework, other parts of which could be detached to clip over its tang for use as a handle. To call the knife ‘razor-sharp’ was an understatement. Steve had watched the bladesmen among the crew shave steel filings off a metal pipe without dulling the edge of their weapons.

“How the hell did you manage to make these without your guards finding out?” he asked.

Kwok shrugged. “It wasn’t hard to distract them at critical moments. They weren’t very alert. Of course, they were very stupid to allow prisoners to use the fabbers in the first place.” His voice was severe. “Half the prison was armed with what came out of them. They used those weapons to attack us, but they didn’t know we’d made our own to defend ourselves. If we hadn’t, we’d all have died back there.”

His voice had turned bitter. Steve judged it best to steer the conversation into a safer channel. “I know these are deadly up close, but what if the rebels shoot you before you get within striking distance?”

The pilot shook his head. “Have you ever seen top-notch bladesmen at work?”

“I’ve seen some from the Lotus Tong – a small-time outfit back on Old Home Earth. They attacked my employer and I, but we were able to fight them off.” Steve absently rubbed his forearm as it seemed to suddenly sting anew with the remembered pain of the cut he’d suffered during the attack. “I’m also a member of the Fleet’s Armati Society. We train with swords, knives and other weapons from a number of martial traditions.”

“You know something of the art, then, but those Lotus bladesmen can’t have been very good. That’s proved by the fact you’re still alive. A really good Tong-trained bladesman – and ours are the best – moves so fast it’s almost impossible for an untrained eye to follow him. If he gets within two or three meters of you before you suspect him, he’ll carve you into stew meat before you have time to react.”

“I hope they don’t do that in here. There’ll be young children among the hostages. They’re traumatized already. They
really
don’t need to see that on top of all their other experiences.”

The pilot looked thoughtful. “Good point. I’ll remind all our people about that.”

“What about weapons in the lifeboat?”

“We haven’t had time to install any, but I think we can smuggle them in.”

They broke for a meal, heating up ration packs using the long row of sockets installed above a table along one bulkhead. As they ate, Steve ran through the program for the day ahead.

“We’ll get a few hours’ sleep, then we’ll dock the lifeboat, clean up both vessels, and get ready for the rebels and their hostages to come aboard tomorrow evening. Their Bosun will be here first after he’s finished inspecting the freighter, to give the shuttle and lifeboat a final once-over and search the crew for weapons. Once he’s satisfied, he’ll call his boss. I think they’re planning to come aboard in two Marine assault shuttles. Bairam’s going to stay here, to make sure the rest of his people get away safely.”

“At least he’s got enough concern for his people to do that,” Kinnear noted through a mouthful of food.

“I wish he showed as much concern for the hostages!” Steve snapped moodily. “Anyway, Gunny, you and I will have to be buttoned down by mid-afternoon. We’ll test the tight-beam circuits, then the waiting starts. It’s going to be pretty tense for all of us. We can’t make any move until all the hostages planetside have been released, which will take up to three days.”

“How are they going to arrange that, Sir?” one of the Qianjin spacers asked.

“As each group of rebels and their families boards the freighter, a group of hostages will be released.” Steve paused to take a mouthful of food, chewed, and swallowed. “Bairam will monitor the process from here. I want you to be very,
very
careful around him. He’s suspicious as hell – it’s his nature – and he’s lethally dangerous. He strikes fast, like a coiled snake. He’s already killed two of his own leaders and heaven knows how many Colonial Guards and other prisoners. You know he’s going to search all of you again when he arrives?”

Kwok frowned. “Yes, we were warned about that. Because all his people will be disarmed and searched before leaving, he insisted that we go through the same thing here.”

Kinnear muttered, “I just hope he doesn’t know enough about spaceships to find your knives and garrotes.”

“I doubt it,” the pilot assured him. “We’ve had to conceal much bigger things before. It’s part of our routine.”

“I’m counting on it,” Steve put in. “Anyway, back to the schedule. That rebel Bosun, Turgay, will monitor the loading of the freighter and keep his boss informed. When she’s ready to leave he’ll come here in a cutter. Bairam will give him the co-ordinates of the planet they’re heading for, and he’ll hand-carry them to the freighter.”

“Is that when we make our move?” Kwok asked.

“I think that’s when he’ll be most likely to expect trouble, so we probably won’t act then unless things break our way or circumstances make it necessary. It’ll probably be easier to wait until the freighter’s on the way to the system boundary. Once Bairam can see for himself that no warships are following her he’s bound to relax, even if only a little. We have to pick a moment when the rebel guards aren’t focused on their jobs, then take them down before they can recover from their surprise at being ambushed.”

“So we’d better be ready for anything to happen at any time?”

“Yes. We can’t possibly predict what we’ll do or when we’ll do it. We’ll look for an opening and seize it when the time is right. You’ll all be wearing earbud communicators, of course. Listen to them. We’ll try to give you a heads-up before we move, but that may be only a few minutes – possibly just a few seconds – before things go down; and we may not be able to warn you at all in an emergency.”

Kwok nodded thoughtfully. “Whatever you decide to do, I hope it works.”

“So do I!” Steve fervently assured him.

It’d better work,
he thought grimly to himself,
because if it doesn’t, Bairam will kill all of us along with the hostages.

Lieutenant-Colonel Battista and Major Emory stood side by side in the chill morning air, sipping mugs of steaming hot coffee as they watched the first families disembark from their bus in the growing light. A reception committee of Marines was on hand to greet them, speaking and behaving as calmly and soothingly as possible, trying to reassure them about the processing that lay ahead. The first obstacle was in dealing with their baggage.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” a Marine said gently to the first woman in line, “but you were told repeatedly that only one item of baggage could be brought per family member, and it had to fit within specified measurements. There are only three of you, but you’ve brought five bags; and it looks like three of them are too large. You’ll have to make a quick decision which you’re going to leave behind, and empty enough out of those you take to make them fit into that measuring frame.” He indicated a tubular steel framework.

“No!” the mother protested sharply, pulling her son and daughter in front of her as if they would serve as shields against such outrageous demands. “I’ve got their toys and books for the journey in there!”

“Ma’am, you were told you wouldn’t be allowed to take any baggage into the personnel pod with you. You’ll all be given new clothing before you board our assault shuttles to be taken up to orbit – you’ll leave your present clothing planetside. Toys, books and other entertainment have been provided on board, along with changes of clothing, toiletries and other needs. Your baggage will be loaded into a hold after it’s been scanned and searched.”

“I refuse!”

“Then I’m sorry, Ma’am, but in that case you won’t be boarding. Please take your children and your baggage over to that exit. Be advised that once you pass through it, you won’t be allowed to rejoin the others.”

“But… but that’s ridiculous!”

The Marine looked around. “Sergeant?”

“I heard, Marine.” The NCO’s voice was even. He looked at the rebel standing beside him. “Over to you.”

The man stepped forward. “Who are you?” he demanded brusquely.

“I’m Mrs. Pakise.”

“Oh, Devrim’s wife?”

“That’s right.”

“I know him.” The man consulted his electronic clipboard and made a mark with a stylus. “Listen, that Marine’s not joking. Bairam accepted these terms on behalf of all of us. They’re the only way the Qianjin spacers would agree to provide a crew for us. Unless you go along with them, you’re staying here – and you won’t see Devrim again. He’s coming with us, no matter what.”

“He won’t if he knows I’m still here!”

“He won’t find out until he gets aboard ship, and by then there’ll be no way to land him again.” The rebel’s voice was uncompromising. “We’re all gonna go through this. If you insist on special treatment, it’ll be just too bad for you and your kids. You’ll stay behind and have to figure out how to make a living on your own. Devrim won’t be here to help you – neither will any of us.”

“But – I – this is –”

The man gestured at the line building up behind her. “You’re holding up everyone else. Are you coming or staying? If you’re coming, get with the program. If you’re staying, get your kids and your bags out of the way an’ let those with more sense get on with it!” He turned on his heel and rejoined the Sergeant, not looking back at her.

She stood for a moment, face red with anger, mouth open to say something… then, after a moment, her shoulders slumped. “Where can I repack these bags?” she asked the Marine.

“You can take them to those tables, Ma’am,” he replied courteously, indicating a row of tables behind which more Marines waited. “Please be as quick as you can.”

“What’ll happen to the things I don’t send aboard?”

“They’ll be disposed of, Ma’am.”

“But they’re –”

The rebel interrupted. “Fergoshsakes, Mrs. Pakise,
get on with it!
We ain’t got all morning!”

Battista murmured to his Exec, “This is the first family out of how many?”

“They said about three hundred, Sir – a little over a thousand people in all.”

The Lieutenant-Colonel rolled his eyes. “And we’ve got just three days to get them all processed, re-clothed and shipped up to orbit. If each family takes this long, it’ll take three
weeks!”

“I’ll see what can be done, Sir. We can ask our rebel liaison team to talk to the families in their assembly areas, before they’re brought here. If they can be given an attitude adjustment before they arrive, that should speed up their processing.”

“Let’s hope so!”

It seemed to take forever for the first fifty family members of the rebels to be processed through the row of tents and prefabricated buildings set up to handle them. As the last emerged, all now wearing military-issue coveralls, Lieutenant-Colonel Battista came out of his command vehicle and joined his Exec once more.

“Almost three hours!” he snorted angrily. “At this rate we’ll
never
be finished on time!”

“I’ll crack the whip, Sir.”

“Yes, do that – diplomatically, of course.”

“I’m told part of the problem is the uniform fabber. It’s taking longer than expected to make reduced-size coveralls for the kids. Its artificial intelligence control module keeps complaining that the measurements are impossibly small for soldiers.” They shared a grin. “It has to be manually overridden every time.”

“When you send up the measurements to the ship so it can produce replacements, make sure you warn the crew to check their own fabber for the same problem.”

“Will do, Sir. By the way, Maxwell was right – again. Some of the rebels were trying to conceal weapons or contraband in their luggage or clothing. If he hadn’t discussed that with the Qianjin spacers, so that they insisted on searching and re-clothing them before boarding, there’s no telling what some of them might have tried to do aboard the freighter.”

Battista nodded. “He’s one of the best things that’s happened to us on this mission. It was a stroke of good luck when he was detached to help us planetside.”

“Have you processed my recommendation yet, Sir?”

“Not yet. It’s exactly what I wanted, but I’ll wait to see how things go with this operation in case we need to update it. We can’t move it further along until his skipper gets back, anyway. I wonder what he’s planning?”

“He didn’t tell you, Sir?”

“No. I gave him
carte blanche,
remember? We can’t do a lot of things we want to do, thanks to our orders and the ultra-tight supervision on this assignment. He understands that if I know too much in advance I might be duty-bound to stop him, or at least ask Captain Davis’ permission to proceed. This way I can honestly say I had no idea what he was up to. He’s made himself into a lightning conductor to protect all of us.”

“I hope he hasn’t wrecked his career by doing this.” There was real worry in the Exec’s voice.

“He may have, and we may suffer repercussions too; but that’s the way it goes.”

“Yes, Sir.” Emory hesitated. “Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear told me something. Maxwell apparently said to him that if hostages were killed because he wouldn’t act, a future career built on their bodies wouldn’t be worth having.” He heaved a sigh. “That may not be politically or militarily correct, but dammit, he’s
morally
right!”

“Amen to that! That’s why I let him go ahead.” Battista was silent for a moment. “Whatever he’s planning, I hope it works.”

“From your lips to God’s ears, Sir!”

~ ~ ~

Turgay withdrew his head from the inspection hatch and sighed wearily. “OK, that’s the last one.” He glanced at his companions. “Unless either o’ you saw something I missed, I’ll tell the boss everything’s been cleared on the freighter.”

The two rebels, both former spacers, shook their heads in unison.

“Not me.”

“Nothin’ here.”

“Let’s head for the bridge and have ’em send the signal, then you can go to your quarters. No need f’r us t’ go back planetside. I’ll make a final check of the shuttle, then tell the boss to come on up. I’ll rejoin you later to help bed down the families as they arrive.”

“You don’t need help to inspect his bird?” one of his colleagues asked.

Turgay snorted. “An itty-bitty cargo shuttle? Nah. What’s to worry about?”

On arrival at the shuttle he headed for the pilot console and, with Kwok’s help, went over every tank that had been installed planetside. He checked all the sensors and used the test valves on every tank to ensure that they contained the right liquids. At last he nodded with satisfaction.

“It all looks fine to me. I’ll signal the boss to come on up.”

“You don’t want to check anything else?” Kwok asked.

“Naw. Already did that planetside. I just wanted to make sure you’d filled your tanks. You’ve got enough supplies to operate for three months. With that taken care of, I guess the boss can look out for himself if he has to.” He glanced at the pilot, his face sober. “Make sure ya keep him happy. He’s stretched tight as a drum right now. Get on his wrong side an’ he might lash out. Just givin’ ya a private heads-up, one spacer to another, unnerstan’?”

“I hear you. Thanks.”

“Can’t say I’m sorry to be leavin’ him here while I head back to the freighter. Right now he scares me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

In their carefully concealed compartment, Steve and Kinnear watched through the sensor network and listened to the exchange. Steve glanced at the Gunnery Sergeant. “We’d better keep that in mind as well,” he said softly, careful to keep his voice low enough to avoid being overheard through the thin metal partition.

“Yeah. If he’s that wound up, we may find it difficult to catch him off-balance.”

“We’ll just have to wait for the right moment. He’s human. Sooner or later, he’s bound to make a mistake or lose focus for an instant.”

“He hasn’t made many mistakes so far that I can see, Sir.”

“Then we’d better hope his good judgment runs out real soon now!”

~ ~ ~

A Marine assault shuttle docked with the cargo shuttle two hours later. Turgay was waiting at the airlock to greet Bairam as he warily emerged, looking around suspiciously, pulser clutched in his hand.

“Hi, Boss. Nothin’ ta worry about. I stayed t’ meet ya an’ answer any questions ya might have about this thing.”

“Thanks, Turgay. Good idea.” Bairam holstered the pulser, eyes flickering from left to right, up and down. “You can tell me more once we’ve got the hostages aboard. After I’m satisfied, the rest of them will join us.”

Twenty men, women and children stumbled through the airlock, faces lined and drawn with weariness and fear, escorted by three armed rebels. Bairam watched as his people hustled the hostages to the rows of bunks, where each was assigned a bed and told to stow their small bags of belongings in drawers beneath each mattress.

At last one of the guards came back to him. “All done, Boss.”

“Good.” He craned his neck to look at the uniformed Marine watching him impassively from the airlock. “You can tell your pilot he can undock now, t’ make room for the next shuttle.”

“Will do.” The Marine turned on his heel and closed the airlock behind him.

“Don’t think he likes you, Boss,” the rebel sniggered.

“Yeah. I bet he thinks we’re real mean an’ nasty to hold hostages like this. Well, he ain’t had to go through what we’ve endured on that damn dirtball all these years. He might sing a different tune if he had.” Bairam turned to Turgay. “All right, herd the spacers into their lifeboat an’ keep ’em there while I plant the explosives.”

“Will do, Boss.”

Kwok and his spacers had been warned to expect this. They entered one of the cargo shuttle’s small lifeboats without complaint and allowed Turgay to stand in the airlock door, blocking their view. Bairam ordered the hostages to lie on their bunks with their faces turned away. The guards enforced his order while he positioned three explosive charges against the shuttle’s hull, made sure they weren’t visible to casual observers, taped them to cross-members to hold them in place, and tested their circuits. As soon as a green self-test light showed that each was operational, he linked it to the console attached to his belt, then switched its detonator to live, fail-deadly mode. He didn’t know that Steve and Kinnear were watching him on their screens.

“That charge is right outside this compartment, Boss,” Kinnear said in a soft whisper at one point, well aware that the rebel leader was less than a meter away on the other side of the steel. “Guess he hasn’t realized the false partition isn’t the inside of the hull. If he blows it while we’re in here, it’ll take us out.”

“We’d better make sure he doesn’t get the chance to do that.”

“You said it!”

Bairam placed the last charge, integrated it into the wireless circuit, then synchronized all three detonators. Instantly a loud, repetitive
beep!
sounded from the console as it demanded an updated safety code. He used the unit’s calculator function to produce it, multiplying a base figure by an increment derived from the current time, then entered the solution carefully and watched in satisfaction as a red flashing light went out, a green light came on, and the warning was silenced.