Junkyard Dogs 1: The Scrapyard Incident (12 page)

The two women
joined him on the table.

"These women
are in charge of organizing living arrangements and making sure that we all get
fed. They will also be in charge of our medical needs. Take note! This is
Maggie Simmonds and this is Allison Steuben. See them if you don't have these
arrangements made as yet. As near as I can tell, there's plenty of room down
here as well as plenty of food and water. If we don't have something we need,
we can probably get it. Many of the people who helped create this sanctuary are
the same ones that actually run the station. For heaven's sake, let's all use
some common sense. No unauthorized wandering around. We don't want someone to
get captured and give us all away."
 

A hand went up in
the back of the group.

"Yes, what
is it?"

"Are we
planning on taking the station back from these guys?"

"That would
be a question for our military advisor." This last caught Kresge by
surprise. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the man in the Federation Navy uniform is
Commander Oskar Kresge from the Scrapyard. He will be advising us on military
matters.
Commander?"

Kresge had only a
moment or two to formulate a reply.

"Thanks,
Dan," he said. "In answer to the question: we don't know that yet. We
need a lot more information and that will be the first order of business. I can
tell you this: I would personally like to see every one of these -- invaders,
pirates, terrorists, whatever they are -- I'd like to see them dead or captured
and
us
back in charge. If you have any information
that you think could be useful, see me immediately!"

No one else had
any questions for the moment.

"Thank you
for your attention," said Gibbons. "All of you who don't have
assigned living space or haven't had anything to eat yet, go over to the area
where the viewscreen has been set up and talk to one of these women.
Dismissed!"

Chapter 21

UTFN Reclamation Center, Auxiliary Tracking
Station, October 6, 2598.

"Can you
download the info on this tracking system and the inventory files onto your wrist
computer, Ensign? It'd be a shame to lose all this data."

Out in the
scrapyard, Carlisle and Harris were continuing preparations to abandon the
Auxiliary Tracking Station.

"Shouldn't
be any problem, I haven't used a fraction of its capacity."

Carlisle set to
work copying all the files that looked even remotely useful and a bunch more
that didn't. While she worked, Harris picked up the thread of an earlier
conversation.

"Any further
thoughts on what these raiders are trying to accomplish?" he asked.

Carlisle tapped a
string of commands on the tracking computer keyboard and then input a series of
commands into her wrist computer, her right hand rapidly tapping the imaginary
keys of the virtual keyboard in the air. She mumbled along with the instructions.
"Reclamation Center Auxiliary Tracking station inventory and
database...all files...initiate download...mark for further
review...execute!" She looked at the monitor for a moment to ensure that
her instructions were being carried out before turning her attention to Harris.

"It depends,
Sir" she replied finally. "If we assume that the ambassador is the
target, then the question is: What do they want with him? Do they want a
hostage for ransom?
For exchange?
Maybe they just want
information? Will they torture him?"

"Torture
him?"

"Yeah, you
know, maybe somebody wants to settle an old score or something."

"That makes
sense; politicians usually make a few enemies on the way up."

"Yeah, or
maybe whoever it is just wants him dead."

"So what is
it?"

"Your guess
is as good as mine, but whatever it is, you can be sure they want to make a
political statement of some kind, maybe even start something."

"Why?"

"Look at
what they have: two ships, high quality weapons, and a fairly well-thought out
plan of attack. No, these people are pretty well organized and pretty well
equipped. They could probably get a very substantial ransom for an ambassador.
That would help compensate them for the investment in equipment that they've
made, maybe even bankroll further operations."

"So you
think it's political? Any idea
who
it could be?"

"It could be
any one of several factions. I might have something in the Meridian database on
my wrist computer that could help narrow it down. If we ever get any down time,
I'll check. It might not matter, the main thing that we need to do is to
interfere with their plans. If we can warn the Ambassador's ship that something
is up, we can ask these other questions later."

Hawkins
interrupted them over the suit radio.

"Lieutenant
Harris?"

"Yes,
Hawk?"

"I
be
on the bridge of the
Terrier
with my helmet open. It still
be
a little cold, but
otherwise it seems to be fine. There are bein' at least two intact bulkhead
doors and two pressurized compartments between the area we'll be in and any
kind of vacuum. I think it'll be alright. Be coming over."

"Roger,"
said Harris. "Give us another hour or so."

After Carlisle
went over the tracking console database one more time to make sure they had
everything she thought they might possibly need, the two of them loaded up the
communications console, extra oxygen packs for their suits, and all of the food
that they could find onto the
Rover II
.
The console just barely fit through the standard-sized hatches of the tracking
station and quite a lot of maneuvering was necessary to thread it out to the
airlock area and the awaiting utility sled. After throwing a cargo net over
their hoard and lashing everything down, they departed the tracking station.

"Is the
magnetic grappling system on this sled as easy to use as it looks?" asked
Carlisle as they made their way over to the
Terrier.

"Yeah,"
replied Harris, "it's pretty straightforward. Just put one of the pads in
contact with something that a magnet will stick to, turn on the grappling pad,
and reel the cable tight. Just use this control set right here."

Carlisle fiddled
around with the system until they arrived at the
Terrier.

Chapter 22

...The so-called Sheik of Barsoom is known
to be ruthless and violent as witnessed by the alarming number of atrocities
that have been strongly connected with him and his followers. He and his group
have taken credit for many more acts of terrorism and his penchant for boasting
and exaggeration make him, if not a desirable figure, certainly one of the more
colorful of the Muslim dissidents. His origins are not known with certainty,
but credible accounts indicate that he is not the son of nobility as his title
implies, but actually comes from more common origins. His whereabouts remain
unknown, and interplanetary authorities consider him and members of his group
to be armed, extremely dangerous, and very unpredictable. Recent holographs of
the Sheik and a physical description are included in this pamphlet. If you have
any information about the Sheik of Barsoom or his followers, please contact the
United Federation Terrorism Task Force (UFTTF) at the number listed below. Your
communication will remain strictly confidential...

Hartwell Wrist
Comp reference note highlighted for further review by Tamara Carlisle. Excerpt
is from "Known Muslim Terrorists and Dissidents: Midyear Update."
Short video download and hardcopy pamphlet prepared by the UFTTF for screening
and distribution to travelers headed to the Meridian planetary system. No
author is listed.

Onboard Meridian Imperial Ship
Istanbul
, in transit to the Naccobus system, October
6, 2598.

"Excellency?"

Ambassador
Mohammed Saad Saladin looked up from the dossier he was working on to
acknowledge the interruption. It was the head of his personal bodyguard.

"What is it,
Hussein?"

"It's your
wife, Excellency."

The Ambassador
sighed, some of the formalities of his position, especially those that had to
do with security, were unbelievably cumbersome at times.

"Sondia?
By all means show her in, Hussein."

A few moments
later the Ambassador's wife came into the work area of his chambers. There was
an amused look on her beautiful and intelligent face as she greeted her
husband. The Ambassador came to his feet.

"Your guards
are very effective, husband."

He sighed.
"They but do their duty, my love."

"I know, I
wouldn't have it any other way, but it does grow tedious at times."

Her husband
shrugged and kissed her on the cheek. Her sleek, shoulder-length, black hair
was classically-styled, with the ends curved slightly inward and bangs
straight-cut across her forehead. Her hair framed the perfect, light-olive skin
of her oval face.

"You look
absolutely lovely today, my dear. Come, have a seat. I could use a break
anyway."

"It is kind
of you to take some time for me."

"Nonsense,
you are by far the best advisor I have. Before I forget, your father sends his
love."

"You spoke
with him?
When?"

"I called
him just before we jumped."

"How did he
look?"

"I think the
new medications are working. He looked well."

"That is
most comforting. Had the protests died down?"

"He showed
me some video from the news feed. It looks as though the protests were still
going, but it also looked like there were fewer of the dissidents than usual.
At least no one had been hurt."

"Good, we
don't need any more incidents like that riot in the capital last year."

"I
agree." He thought for a moment. "I'm certainly pleased to have the
use of your special abilities for this mission, my dear."

"As long as
you remember that I can't tell what the truth is, only whether or not someone
is lying. There is a difference."

"It should
be easy for you this time around," he said. "We will only be dealing
with small groups of people after we reach the orbital station."

"I certainly
hope so. More than two or three people at a time
taxes
my abilities and my equipment." Her eyes, so dark they were almost black,
flashed momentary anger. "Of course, these people are not so accomplished
at lying as so many of ours are."

"That is
certainly a cynical statement," said the Ambassador, somewhat surprised by
the vehemence of her tone.

"I'm sorry,
Saad, it's just that everything seems to be so difficult these days."

"I know, it gets complicated.
The truth can become very
difficult to discern. Those who believe in the lies they spew are the most
dangerous." He paused for a moment seeking a change of subject even though
he feared that the new discussion topic could prove to be at least as
unsettling as the current one. "Which of the factions do you think we
should fear the most, my dear?" he asked.

His wife thought
for a moment before replying. "Some of the more fundamentalist groups,
those who would take us back to where we were five hundred years ago, are
really frightening."

"Fortunately,
they are small in numbers."

"Yes, but
they have been large in their deeds a time or two recently!"

"Your father
seems to have found a compromise that has quieted them down."

"For now."

"Yes, for
now. Who else could cause us problems?"

"Even some
of the moderates are very fervent in their cause."

"Yes,
Abdullah Khomani, for one, is very ambitious. Yet, I have spoken with him on
several occasions. He is very intense in his beliefs, but I think he is an
honest man who would not strive for power without due process. He is very
intelligent and understands the needs of the times. He also believes in your
father's reforms. He could cause trouble, but I don't think he would go outside
legal means to do so. I have been considering an alliance with him; his views
are not all that different from ours."

"I must say
that I agree with you. He can be quite charming and would be a strong ally. We
must remember that it is the good of our people and not the good of us as
individuals that should be our guiding light in these matters."

"You sound a
lot like your father."

"That
shouldn't surprise you, my love, he taught us both well."

"That he
did. Who else has you concerned?"

"There are
minority factions out there that we know little about, Saad," she said,
concern on her lovely face. "I fear that one of them might attempt
something radical; make some kind of grand gesture. Like the Sheik of Barsoom.
Don't forget he has sworn to kill you. Few are the people who really frighten
me but, my dear husband, that man is a lunatic! He is capable of
anything!"

"Aren't you
glad my guards are so efficient?"

Chapter 23

UTFN Reclamation Center,
onboard the wreck of
FNS Terrier
,
October 6, 2598.

Hawkins helped
Carlisle and Harris unload and transfer their booty onto the destroyer. Bridge
areas on military ships were never brightly lit and the emergency lighting,
which was part of the emergency life support system, had automatically
activated when the life support module had come online. The soft amber lighting
wasn't all that different from normal bridge lighting levels. Harris went to
work trying to get the communications console back online.

"This is
where the original communications console was before they removed it when they
decommissioned the ship, Ensign," said Harris, pointing to the area in
question, a console base with the workstation removed. Several loose wires
sprouted out of the cabinet. "Check your schematics to see if you can find
out which of these wires was supposed to power the transmitter and which of the
cables connects to the Stage I antenna." Carlisle went into trance mode again
as she interfaced with the schematics in her wrist computer.

"Mark IV
Orion...communications...Whitney Stage I connections...main power...main
antenna...execute!"

Harris poked
around inside the console while she looked up the data he needed.

"Here it is,
Lieutenant." She gave him the wire colors.

"Okay, got
'em. What about the antenna?"

"There
should be a coaxial cable coming into the console over on the right hand side
for the antenna. Do you see it?"

Harris shined a
small hand torch inside the console.

"Yeah, there
it is. Hawk, give me hand with the transmitter."

Harris and
Hawkins guided the purloined transmitter onto the top of the empty base unit.
It was a less than perfect fit, wide enough, but not
long
enough to cover the original opening. Hawkins managed to get two of the bolt
holes to line up and used them to secure the replacement console. Harris
crawled underneath to make the connections.

"Be you
thinkin' we can be makin' this work?" asked Hawkins, as he tightened the
second of the two bolts.

"I hope
so," replied Carlisle. "We're assuming that they'll destroy the
tracking station just like they did the main facility. Trouble is,
there's still a lot of unknowns
. If they have halfway decent
sensor equipment, they may not be fooled into thinking that we were still
onboard. I know it sounds a bit morbid, but if we were smart, we'd have put
some bodies in there."

"That's not
a bad idea," said Harris, from underneath the console, "but trying to
get bodies off from the station, assuming we could even locate any of them,
would be way too dangerous. It's moving way too erratically and, by now, it's
getting too far away. We'll just have to take our chances."

"I wish
there were some way we could fight back," said Carlisle.

"Aye, Lass,
so do I. They ought not to be gettin' off so easy!"

"Could we
hook up one of the sleds to a big piece of wreckage and ram them?" asked
Carlisle. "They aren't proper warships, after all, how tough can they
be?"

"They
be
lookin' like run o' the mill Bombardier medium cargo
hulls, to me." said Hawkins.

"Power's
hooked up, now we just need to connect the antenna," announced Harris as
he came out from under the console, trailing a coaxial cable behind him.
"Looks like there might be enough slack in this cable to reach," he
said as he pulled the cable taut. It was long enough by several centimeters. He
plugged the cable into the appropriate receptacle and gave the threaded ferrule
a series of twists. "Okay, Hawk, try powering up the console."

Hawkins flipped
the switch and the com came to life. Harris strapped into the seat in front of
the unit and began making adjustments.

"How tough
is a Bombardier medium cargo ship, Hawk?" asked Carlisle.

"They can be
takin' a beating, but if you be hittin' 'em hard enough, they'll break. If you
be hittin' 'em in the aft section, in the drive tubes..." He shook his
head.

"The trouble
is, those two ships have at least cruiser-strength pulse beam weapons systems.
I wonder how they managed that?" asked Harris.

"I've been
wondering about that too," said Carlisle.

"The power
drain would be somethin' fierce," suggested Hawkins.

"Yeah, it
would be," said Harris. He frowned. "There was something about the
attack..." He continued to work the controls on the communications
console. "This com unit should have recorded the video we got during the
attack on the
Boise
. I need to look
at something."

He brought up the
video in question and all three of them studied it intently while he ran it
through several times.

"It's just
as I thought," said Harris.

"What?"
asked
Carlisle.

"Do you
remember how slowly and deliberately they were firing at the main facility out
here?"

"Yeah, it
looked like they were in no hurry."

"I think
they were firing as quickly as they could. Take another look at this video of
the attack on the
Boise
. It's the
same pattern they used out here -- slow deliberate fire."

"It
be
the power demand, ain't it, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Hawk,
I'd say so."

"Explain why
that's important," said Carlisle.

"Pulse beam
projectors use a big capacitor bank to power the pulses," replied Harris.
"Between pulses, the capacitors have to recharge back to a minimum level
or the weapon won't fire. A cruiser has a huge power plant and part of the
output is dedicated to the pulse weapons. They can charge and fire multiple
pulse beam emplacements like these at five pulses or more per second."

"But these
are cargo ships," said Carlisle.

"Exactly,
and I'll bet these cargo ships don't have more than standard power plants in
them. Even at full power, they can't recharge very fast at all. If you put a
beam weapon that powerful on a ship with a civilian power plant, you'll have a
lot of firepower, but your rate of fire will be relatively slow."

"How slow?" asked Carlisle.

"I don't
know. Let's see if we can get some estimates from the video."

The video was of
poor quality, but some rough estimates were possible.

"I make
these to be about one shot every thirty seconds or so," said Harris, after
running through the video several more times. "That's probably why they
don't do much maneuvering when they're firing the weapon, they don't have any
power to spare. They had to make their first shots at the
Boise
really count or they may have been in trouble."

"How does
that help us?" asked Carlisle.

"I don't know,"
answered Harris, "but here's something else. Their beam weapons don't have
a very wide angle of fire either. See this?" He froze the video and
pointed to one of the attacking ships in front view. "They've mounted the
pulse beam emplacement inside the front cargo bay. For all practical purposes,
they have to turn the entire ship to aim the beam. Not only that, they'd have
to disable their meteor shields."

"Entire
ship, Tamara...limited options...slow maneuvers...can't fire until they
recharge...hmmm...ramming attack
?...
ramming
attack!" The Ensign's eyes remained unfocused for a few moments as she
contemplated the implications and came to a resolution. She spoke to the men
again. "Correct me if I'm wrong." She used her hands to demonstrate.
"If this is the tracking station and this is them coming through the
cleared corridor, they'd have to point the ship in this direction to hit the
station. If we were in the right position, we could jam something right up
their arse! Too bad we don't have a projectile or two for the mass driver
cannons on this old ship."

The three
survivors looked at one another for a full five seconds as what had just been
suggested hung in the air and then hit home. All three of them then underwent a
few moments of Carlisle-like, free-association, out-loud thinking.

"Is it
possible that this ship might have projectiles left?"

"Could we be
gettin' power to the railgun capacitor banks?"

"Do the
capacitors still work?"

"Get your
suits on, let's take a look!"

Within minutes
Hawkins and Carlisle had their suits on again and had cycled through the
airlock. Because there was no hull damage aft, they went to check the aft guns
first. They reentered the ship through the damaged area of the hull and made
their way towards the stern.

"These mass
drivers used a capacitor discharge system, a lot like the pulse beams, only
they didn't need nearly so much power." said Harris to Carlisle, over the
suit radio.

"I read
about that while researching the destroyer attack for my dissertation,"
said Carlisle. "Let's just hope that they still work."