Illegal Aliens (25 page)
The Queen/Mother almost choked on her own laugh.
Rajavur took that as a no. “A pound.”
“We are a primitive race,” the corpulent bug apologized. “My people believe that any number lower then ten is evil and will bring pestilence to the land.”
“Mine are even more primitive,” counter-apologized the diplomat, “And can not count higher than five. Plus, in accordance to our religion, our priests would have to examine the cube for its holiness prior to the exchange of material.”
“Examining the cube would be an insult to its maker, my scientist-son,” the translator said. “Which would require an additional five pounds of thulium to appease his artist temper.”
“Does that include all relevant taxes, levies, fares, surcharges, import fees, export duties, tithes, and royalties?”
The Queen/Mother clicked a claw in respect. The mammal danced well. “The price is inclusive.”
Prof. Rajavur smoothed back his wiry crop of hair. Fifteen pounds for a real cube, eh? The price was outrageous, and they would have to beware of a last minute switch, but this was acceptable. At last, they had a Cube!
Softly in the distance, the noise started like a dog crying, but then built in tempo and volume until the very air was tangible with the strident howling.
“Raid!” a bug yelled, and the screaming crowd frantically dispersed in every direction.
“Alert!” Lieberman said, touching the earphone of her radio. “A Gee superdreadnought is coming down the spiral.”
Rajavur was silent as he hopped on board the aircar. This was twice the Great Golden Ones had interrupted him in the middle of a successful bargaining session. They were really starting to honk him off no end.
Somehow the lumbering craft managed to execute a razor sharp U-turn in the confines of the plaza and the vessel took off in a blast of green flame that washed over the empty bleachers-only setting fire to stray bits of paper and the mummified statue. The Queen/Mother and her entourage were long gone. Surprise invasions by the Gees were an annoying, but constant occurrence.
With the flip of a switch, the autopilot of the
Icarus
precisely retraced its journey down the main road at near Mach speed. Everywhere throughout the city, bugs were diving into any open doorway or window. Then — the humans could only stare — the buildings started to incredibly sink into the ground. As they did, the roller coaster structure about the city began to visibly rise. At last, the purpose of the mysterious erection was clear.
“It's a counterweight,” Rajavur cried, loosening his grip and losing his silk top hat to the wind. “For the whole damn city!”
Hanging on to the dashboard for dear life, Sgt. Lieberman squinted against the hurricane force distorting her vision. “By god, you’re right!” she shouted.
“Impressive!”
“Let's hope we live to tell somebody about it!”
Putting a bat out of hell to shame, the aircar rocketed through the park, uprooting the sales booth. The side of the
Ramariez
welled before them like the white cliffs of Dover and the passengers prepared to die in a terrible crash, when the landing bay doors opened and the human pilot landed them as softly as a feather on the metal deck. With a resounding clang, the bay doors slammed shut and the starship immediately launched.
“Rendezvous with the superdreadnought in two minutes,” the Sensor Officer said.
“Shields on full, main gun primed,” the Weapons Officer reported crisply.
“What course, sir?” Navigation asked.
Hunched over in his chair, Captain Keller bit a lip. Damn. He had no wish to fight with the Gees, but if the
Ramariez
tried to fly through those drones, their amassed firepower would put more holes in the ship then a political speech. Think fast, space ranger!, the man mentally quoted from one of his favorite comic books.
Then recalling an earlier briefing on this very matter, Keller made a decision. “Navigation, set course for ninety degrees to ground zero.”
“Straight up?” Trell gasped from his console. “Are you mad?” Only the alien could have said it, even though most of the bridge crew was thinking the same thing.
“Hardly,” Keller drawled. “Ensign Soukup, on my order I want maximum possible velocity, that means every engine we have operating at full thrust, plus the emergency chemical boosters.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
As the starship rapidly neared the edge of the blockade, the drones locked their awesome weapons of destruction on the ship, but not satisfied with that, the Great Golden Ones also unleashed every weapon in their arsenal that could operate at that distance.
“Sir!” Buckley cried out, pounding on his console. “Both shields are down!”
“Hyperdrive nullifier in effect,” Ensign Hamlisch reported crisply. “We can no longer shunt into hyperspace.”
“Engine #1 is dead,” Trell added, frantically throwing switches and pressing buttons. “There goes number two. Number three!”
The captain strapped on his seatbelt and pulled it as tight as possible against his lap. “Lilliuokalani, shoot that centihedron with the
STOP THAT
cannon. Navigation, give me full power. Weapons, turn this ship gold!”
* * *
With a smug expression of triumph, The 34 released her grip on the control stand of the Gee centihedron and turned to the bearded amber male rising from the Command Chair.
“We have them trapped, my liege,” she said with a smile. “There is nowhere to hide on the planet, the drones will destroy them if they go any higher, and we block the only exit.”
Solemnly, the avantor stroked his beard and nodded. “Excellent, 34. This will mean promotions for both of us. Well, let's get gather our prisoners. Open hailing frequencies and—”
STOP THAT
Unexpectedly hit by their own weapon, the Gees were blown off their feet by the psionic strike. Weakly rising to their knees, the pair tried to stand when their minds were scrambled by yet another slamming blast, followed quickly by two more. Meticulous as always, Ensign Lilliuokalani had read the report about Avantor's attempted escape from the brig and carefully noted the crucial number of shots necessary to induce unconsciousness.
Writhing on the deck, The 34 somehow managed to flop an arm about and touch the sweaty hand of her commander.
S-suggestions, my liege?
Prayer, 34.
Then warm blackness overwhelmed them both. Which really was a shame, for in that condition, neither of the Gees were able to see out their viewscreens and thus appreciate the subtlety of what happened next.
* * *
Relentlessly, the drones moved in for the kill, half a million Proton Cannons locking on target. But then, at the very last moment, just before the outpouring of a billion gigawatts of subatomic death, the onrushing starship impossibly changed color.
Startled, then embarrassed, the pyramids quickly disengaged their weapon systems and swerved out of the way of the golden ship. Their simple robotic brains were unable to fathom where the Gee spacecraft had come from, or remember that only seconds ago the intruder had been white. It was the proper color, and that was all that mattered. Nobody else in the galaxy would dare to use the restricted hue. The punishment was Galopticon 7.
Happily at this point, no RporRians remained above the surface to see the telling event, and thus the key to unlocking the blockade remained a secret.
At near light speed, the Ramariez tore through the opening in the gray metal cloud, her thermal backwash slagging any drone too slow to get out of her way. Several of the damaged pyramids reacted to that as an attack and automatically fired at the fleeing craft; either missing it entirely and vaporizing another drone, or scoring a direct hit upon the
Ramariez
. The ship's Deflector Plating ricocheted the beam right back at the pyramids with disastrous results.
Bursting free of the planetary blockade, with smoky tendrils of pyramids chasing after them, the Earth ship changed color again, and jumped into the relative safety of hyperspace.
* * *
“Ha!” Chief Buckley cried, snapping his fingers at the main viewscreen in victory.
Captain Keller forgave the minor breach of regulations. He felt like blowing a horn himself.
Ensign Soukup relaxed the death grip on her control panel. Whew, what a ride that had been. Disney could make a fortune with a civilian version. With luck like this, Dagstrom Keller should quit the Star Service and become a professional gambler. She started to speak, but had to swallow first to clear her throat. “Sir, should I plot a reverse course so that we can try again?”
“Hell no,” the captain snorted. “We barely escaped this time.”
“Sir?” somebody else asked.
Keller swiveled to the left. “Yes, Lilliuokalani?”
“We could circle about the star system, and approach from the other side,” the Communications Officer offered. “After we had first turned the ship red and were constantly broadcasting a fake identity code. It's a variation of the battle tactics used by the Byzantine Empire against the Mongolians in the 12th century.” Her voice trailed off as the captain stared meaningfully at the woman.
“But perhaps not,” finished the ensign lamely.
“Very wise,” Keller concurred. He was also familiar with the ploy. It hadn't worked against the Turks in 1453 and he didn't think the Gees would fall for it now.
“Besides,” Captain Keller aloud said. “That ship was more than likely the advance scout for a task force sent after us. If we attempt to return to RporR, our chances of successfully getting away, much less obtaining an HN cube, would be zero.”
“But, sir,” voiced Ensign Hamlisch in concern. “Doesn't that leave us with one option left?”
Keller frowned, his elation disappearing as fast as his ship had from the Gee sensors. “Unfortunate, but true. Navigation, set course for the star system of Leader Silverside. We are about to remove any question about our criminal status.”
The spacer gave a sigh. “Aye, aye, sir.”
* * *
Down in the Earth ship's brig, the exhausted 16 collapsed onto his waterbed, breathing raggedly. It had been a major effort for the Gee to boost the limited range on his computer implant to reach the robot drones, override their communication lock and then force the machines to call Great Golden Central for help. But once again, the Terrans had proven themselves to be fast, smart and lucky. Yet the galactic police officer would not surrender. Eventually, his captors would make a mistake, and it would be their last.
Fourteen hours later, the
Ramariez
phased into normal space, its shields hard and weapons at the ready. Delicate scanners hungrily swept the empty volumes of space about the ship, searching for any conceivable danger. But the screens remained clear, and the meters did not flicker a needle. When satisfied, Lt. Jones signaled a step down to yellow, then green alert and the crew breathed a sigh of relief. Safe, at least for the moment.
Snug in the command chair, Jones stifled a yawn and drained her cup of hot chocolate. It had been a long, boring shift, with little to do, but at last they were here. Made good time too. Gold was a fast color. But white was notably safer and she ordered the change. No sense calling attention to themselves.
Putting her empty cup aside, the woman primped her uniform, buffed her bars of rank and fluffed her blonde hair. The bridge crew for the command shift had come on duty an hour ago, so Keller should be arriving any moment.
“Captain on the bridge!” somebody shouted.
Shifting positions quickly, the bridge crew stood and saluted as Captain Keller sauntered in through the turbo lift doors, forcing his smile into a yawn. By God, that thing was fun. After this was over, he just had to get a turbo lift for himself, even though he lived in an A-frame house.
“At ease,” he said returning their salutes, and everybody resumed their work, although sitting a bit straighter and talking less than when Jones was in charge.
“Morning, lieutenant,” Keller said, as the woman relinquished her position in the command chair.
“Good morning, sir. Sleep well?”
“Lord yes, those water beds are fabulous. Made me feel like I was at sea. Anything to report?”
“Nothing, sir. Hyperspace was quiet.”
He gave her a smile. “As it should be. What's our position, Ensign Hamlisch?”
“Right on target, skipper,” the Sensor Officer reported proudly as if he had done it himself. “Exactly 50,000 kilometers away from the outer asteroid belt.”
“Excellent. Lt. Jones, you are officially relieved.”
“Yes, sir.” The tall blonde saluted, but hesitated before leaving. “With the captain's permission, I’m not tired and would very much like to stay and observe the approach.”
Keller tried to hide the fact of how much that suggestion pleased him. “Permission granted,” he said formally. “Glad to have you with me, Abigail. Take over the Damage Control console.”
“Thank you, sir.” She turned. “You are relieved from duty, Mr. DeLellis. Go grab some sack time.”
“Aye, aye, lieutenant.” Damn, the portly French scientist had wanted to take part in the exercise, not just watch it on the monitor in the crew lounge. Oh well.
According to Trell, the solar system before them was not a particularly unusual phenomenon. The galaxy had quite a few of the astronomical abnormalities. In its formative years, the swirling plasma radiating out from the newborn sun had not formed into huge planetary globules for life to evolve upon, but instead had coalesced into countless billions upon billions of asteroids encircling the sun in a staggered series of wide bands, jagged hunks of rock and superhard ice that ranged in size from marbles to small moons.
Flying above the ecliptic of the system, the starship approached the forbidden zone at a cautious 100,000 kilometers per hour, the Q coil enginettes barely humming from the minor exertion. The main viewscreen of the bridge was filled with the dark splendor of the ringed sun, only the occasional glint of frozen gases breaking the majestic grandeur of the stony bands. Somewhere in that jumble was their last chance of success; an asteroid nicknamed Buckle and a criminal entity known only as Leader Silverside.
“Navigation, Communications, Weapons, Medical, and Sensors,” Captain Keller barked. “Put your sensors on automatic trip. I want to know the instant any of those rocks register life.”
This order was greeted by a chorus of, “Aye, aye, sir!”
“Sir, do you think it might be time to try and talk to Avantor again?” DeLellis asked, who had been walking from the bridge as slowly as possible. “Nobody can stay mad forever, and she might be able to help us find Buckle.”
“It is highly doubtful that the Gees would be willing to talk to us, much less give advice,” Lt. Jones stated.
Thoughtfully, Keller cracked his enlarged knuckles, the only lasting trophy of his boxing career. “On the other hand, it can't hurt to ask. Go ahead and give it a try, Ensign.”
“Thank you sir!” Smiling broadly, the man saluted and left the bridge.
Exactly ten minutes later, the scientist returned, his hair in disarray, what remained of his uniform in tatters and a smoking door handle dangling from his right hand.
“Avantor remains uncooperative,” DeLellis said, a puffy lip slurring his words.
Keller didn't know whether to laugh or cry. “Report to Sick Bay, mister,” the captain said as a compromise to both.
Trembling and weak, Ensign DeLellis saluted, almost hitting his head with the handle. “Hank goo, sur,” he managed to say, and stumbling to the fireman's pole, the battered scientist slid from sight.
Reclining in his chair, Captain Keller sighed in resignation. “I really hate to say this, but the time has come to unleash the RATS.”
“I am forced to agree with you, sir,” Jones said with a frown. “Marines would be useless on this mission, as we will be dealing with criminals, not enemy soldiers. As horrible as it is to contemplate, the Reserve Away Team is our best bet, since they are the only veteran alien fighters we have.”
“Unfortunate, but true.”
Just then, the elevator doors shushed open and a massive metal figure emerged to lumber forward. When the armored figure reached the captain, it saluted him with a faint whine of servomotors and presented Keller with a clipboard. The captain deftly signed the manpower report. The UN Space Marine saluted and clunked away.
“Lieutenant, I want you to personally see to their equipment. And when you open that cell door, be accompanied by at least a dozen guards like that one in powerarmor.”
“Yes, sir. Shoot if they try anything?”
The starship commander considered the suggestion. “Only to wound, Lieutenant. For the present, we need the Bloody Deckers.”
* * *
Surrounded by a squad of metal guys holding mother-big rifles, the street gang was escorted from their cell in the brig to a Ready room where the convicts were allowed to change from their zebra striped prison fatigues into tan military jumpsuits with a nice wide belt and these really bitchin’ combat boots.
So far, this trip had been an easy gig for them. The food was great, and their quarters were luxurious compared to the 10x15 cell at the Pelican SuperMax Security Prison where they had been serving their 97 consecutive life sentences. Bad place that. The gang had to do some serious head busting before they were finally safe from kissing their own shoes. Geez, you try and conquer the world just once and some people go crazy.
“Hey, prof!” Drill called, zipping up the front of his jumpsuit and shrugging to straighten the shoulders. “We doing this gig naked, or what?”
“There are plenty of guns for you in the shuttle craft,” Rajavur stated from behind a wall of armed Marines. “But be very careful how you use them. Computer sensors in the weapons prohibit them from firing at any ship personnel. If you attempt to use the guns to remove your bracelets, both the weapon and the bracelet will explode.”
Clenching and unclenching scarred fists, Hammer frowned at the smooth ceramic bands on his wrists. The ganglord looked meaningfully at Drill, but the locksmith sadly shook his head. These things had been welded onto them by some weirdo alien device, so there was no mechanism for him to pick. Besides which, they were supposed to explode if the gang left their cell without authorization, or went down a proscribed corridor, or hit the bracelets too hard, or did anything clever. They were good and trapped. Nothing to do but go along with the scheme and wait for a lucky break.
“What about knives?” Chisel asked, struggling to lace a boot, his mind almost overloading with the effort to remember the kindergarten poem: ‘First you build a house, then the man goes inside . . . ’
Lt. Jones had been expecting that request. “There is a box in the shuttle craft with a hundred assorted knives, hooks and hatchets for you.”
With a yank, the boy finished tying the knot and stood up straight. Only a hundred? He guessed it would have to do.
When the street gang was finished with their ablutions, an unarmed Marine gave each man a heavy leather pouch.
Frowning curiously, Drill peeked inside. “What is this stuff? Canadian money?”
“Subway tokens?” Chisel guessed, sniffing a coin.
In response, Jones started to explain the intricate history of thulium, then decided against it. “Space dollars,” she told them.
Nodding in acceptance, Hammer tucked the bag into a hip pocket. “That's cool. Chump change, folding cash, or serious bucks?”
“Think of them as flat diamonds.”
“Wow,” Chisel gushed, drooling slightly. “We’re rich!”
Unnoticed by anybody, Drill palmed a coin and dropped it into his boot.
“You understand the plan?” Prof. Rajavur asked, when the gang had stopped fondling the money and was under control once more. Or rather, what passed for control.
Running a hand over his hated prison crewcut, the lord of the street gang snorted in contempt. “Yeah, yeah. It don't take no nuclear genius to cook this scam. We go to the bar, act tough, get to see the boss, buy this cube thing and come back here fast, or else.”
Then in spite of the guards and the fact that this situation reminded him of a classic World War II movie, Hammer took the opportunity to add, “But I don't like being a freaking errand boy, you old fart, and if this wasn't earning us full pardons, my gang wouldn't do spit, you needle-dick bug-jumper.”
After RporR the insult stung. “I understand, Melvin,” the older man replied. “Now, shut up and go board the shuttle before I order your left hand blown off for insubordination.”
The ganglord turned red at the use of his proper name, then broke into laughter and strolled from the room with his chuckling gang and Marine guards close behind.
Relaxing only slightly, Lt. Jones exhaled and holstered her laser pistol. “Nice bluff, sir.”
“I never bluff a man who has nothing to lose, Lieutenant,” Prof. Rajavur said coldly. “Hammer could have done the job just as well with only one hand and he knew it.”
It was then the Australian officer decided that someday she simply had to play poker with this man.
* * *
“Negative again, sir,” Ensign Hamlisch reported calmly, even though he was boiling inside.
The scientist hated to fail in anything. This tenacious attitude had cost the man several friends over the years, but earned him the Nobel Prize in Physics at the astonishing age of twenty-five years.
Acknowledging the report, Captain Keller drummed his fingers on the cushioned arm of his chair a few times and then loudly slapped the plasti-cloth covering. “Okay, Master Technician, how do we locate this place? Do a radar sweep of the entire solar system?”
“Conceivable,” Trell admitted, chewing a finger. “But usually, you do not find them, they find you.”
“Meaning?”
“We hover above the fourth asteroid ring and broadcast a low power message. Upon acceptance of our transmission, Buckle will send out a tracer beam.”
He nodded. Good enough. “You heard the man, Lilliuokalani. Proceed.”
“Affirmative, skipper. What frequency should I broadcast on, Master Technician?”
As Trell rattled off the string of integers, the Hawaiian adjusted a slide and flipped a toggle switch.
“Is there a code phrase, or password I should use, sir?” she asked, fingers poised above her keyboard.
The alien waved a pattern of negation. “Just say something nasty about the Gees.”
“Aye, sir.” The Communications Officer typed a brief message on her keyboard and hit the Enable key. A minute later, she announced incoming coordinates.
The captain woke from his musing. “That was fast. What did you say to them?”
Ensign Lilliuokalani blushed. “I said we liked to decapitate Gee babies and fornicate the neck stumps.”
Keller stared at the woman.
“Too verbose, sir?” she asked politely.
“No, that was fine, Ensign. Just fine.” Mentally, he made a note to have Van Loon keep an eye on her. Then he glanced about the room. Where was the physician anyway? Oh yes, still in the lab. The man was starting to live down there. He wondered what the good doctor was doing?
Following the directions, the
Ramariez
reversed course and began to move counter to the asteroid flow. The plain of tumbling mountains flowed beneath them like an impossible river of stone, an endless avalanche to nowhere.
“Why is it we can't find them?” CPO Buckley asked, his brogue deliberately asserting itself. “Faith, with our sensors we should be able to locate a single freckle in Ireland.”
Trell talked for quite a few minutes, and the translator box on his belt said the word: disguised.
“Disguised how?” Captain Keller asked. “Camouflage? A jamming field? Or is it some sort of cloaking device that bends our scanner beams 180 degrees around the target?”
Once more the alien Technician launched into a short science lecture to try and clarify the complex physics involved, and his translator replied, “Yes.”
The Swiss officer scowled. Might as well talk to the avantor.
“Navigation, please change course, port by keel by stern, 2,000 meters,” Lilliuokalani directed, touching her wireless earphone.
“Affirmative,” Ensign Soukup replied making the corrections.
Penetrating the effect of the cloaking device, there appeared on the main viewscreen a mile-long asteroid covered with strings of lights and metal domes. In orbit about the jagged rock were a dozen starships of various shapes and sizes, every one of the vessels solid white.
“Strange how close we were to this place from our phase-in point,” Soukup observed, logging the data in on her astro navigation chart. “Captain, do you think the Gees know about this place?”
