Junkyard Dogs 1: The Scrapyard Incident (8 page)

Chapter 12

...After Hiram Whitney invented his
eponymous Overdrive, practical travel between stars became possible.
Communications, however, had proven to be a serious
challenge,
at least until others of genius equal to Whitney's turned his Field technology
towards developing FTL communications. By the time of the Great Human
Expansion, made possible by the Whitney Overdrive, reasonably compact Whitney
Field communications consoles had been developed that could provide nearly
instantaneous communication between planets and ships across an entire solar
system. A direct offshoot of microjump technology, these in-system devices are
still referred to as "Stage I" Whitney consoles.
 
Such a system requires a moderate investment
and uses a moderate amount of power. These consoles quickly became fairly
common. Most starships, for instance, were, and still are, equipped with Stage
I Whitney communications devices...

...Fifty years later, with the development
of the Stage II communications console, instantaneous star to star
communication became possible. Unfortunately these consoles are still very
expensive and require enormous amounts of power, which is why they were, and
remain, relatively rare. Only large orbital platforms, luxury passenger liners,
large cargo ships carrying very expensive goods and selected military ships are
equipped with Stage II communications consoles. The United Terran Federation
maintains at least one Stage II console in each of its inhabited star
systems...

...Neither type of Whitney transmitter will
function in the presence of atmosphere; the transmitter must be in vacuum to
operate properly...

Hartwell Wrist
Comp reference note highlighted for further review by Tamara Carlisle. Excerpt
is from "The Whitney Revolution: Engine of a New Destiny for Mankind"
by Melvin Patterson.

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

After boarding the
auxiliary tracking station, Harris, Carlisle, and Hawkins headed straight for
the Stage I Whitney communications console. They didn't waste time removing
their suits. Harris hit the switch on the console.

Nothing happened.

"What
the...?" Harris instinctively gave the console a couple of raps with his
hand, even though his engineer's mind knew that it was a futile gesture. He
visually scanned the console, located the reset switch and pressed it. Still
nothing happened. He realized that the problem must be somewhere else."

"Hawk, can
you give me a hand? There's no response. We have to check the connections for
this console."

"Aye,
Lieutenant, that
I can." Hawkins removed the access
panel on the bottom of the console. He handed the panel to Carlisle and stuck
his head and shoulders inside the lower portion of the console. His inspection
seemed to take a long time.

"There
be
loose wires in here," he said, finally.

"Can you
tell where they're supposed to go?"

"I be
thinkin' so... looks like someone disconnected the console from the main power
source; there be somethin' else hooked up."

"Out of place, Tamara...nonstandard...supplemental heat?
...Could it be this heating unit?" asked Carlisle, pointing to a small
cube-shaped unit that looked like it had been placed to provide supplemental
heating for whoever was operating the tracking computer. The unit was bent and
battered and looked like it had been salvaged from one of the wrecks outside.
Not only did it look out of place, but it was putting out heat at that very
moment.

"Where the
hell did that come from?" asked Harris, incredulous that anyone could be
so stupid. "Damn it! If I find out who did this... Hang on, Hawk, the
circuit breakers are over on the center pylon. I'll see if I can cut power so
you can reconnect the console. Ensign, tell me when that heating unit stops
running."

Harris went
quickly over and opened the panel containing the circuit breakers for the
command area of the auxiliary station. After a short inspection he flipped one
of the breakers.

"Communications
console...nonspec heater, Tamara...nonregulation..." The heating unit
stopped. "That's the right switch, Lieutenant."

Hawkins came out
from under the console.

"Sorry,
Lieutenant, I'll nay be able to get it reconnected with my spacesuit on. It
be
just too cramped in there."

"I
understand, Hawk, we'll give you a hand."

Carlisle and
Harris both helped him remove his suit. Hawkins immediately thrust the upper
part of his body back under the console.

"I don't
think anyone's used this console for at least a couple of years," said
Harris, still angry, "but what kind of bonehead would do something like
this?
Definitely against even the most basic regulations, not
to mention common sense!"

"Might one
of you officers be handin' me my powered screwdriver?" said Hawkins, his
voice muffled from inside the console. Carlisle unclipped the tool from the
belt on Hawkins' utility suit and put it into his hand. A few minutes later
Hawkins came out from under the console.

"That should
be doin' it. Hit the breaker."

Harris flipped
the breaker and Hawkins thumbed the switch on the console. After a short warm
up, the viewscreen finally came to life. Harris came back over to the console,
checked the frequency and pressed the transmit button.

"Mayday!
Mayday! This is Lieutenant Ryan Harris from
the Reclamation Center calling the New Ceylon Orbital Station and Federation
Destroyer
Boise
. The main facility of
the Reclamation Center has been attacked and destroyed by two ships of unknown
origin that bear NITrans markings. We believe the same forces are on their way
to attack the orbital station and the
Boise
!"
He repeated the message several times before a disheveled looking man in an
orbital station coverall finally came on the screen.
 

"What? All
due respect, Mister, but you've got to be joking! Attack on the Reclamation
Center? What attacked you?"

"Two armed
cargo ships with NITrans markings. Get me Governor Larkin or Commander Kresge,
Immediately!"

"NITrans cargo ships?
Armed? What kind of crap is
this?"

The technician's
expression went from half asleep grumpiness to wide awake shock in the next
instant.

"What
the...?" The Scrapyard survivors watched in renewed horror as the image of
the technician was shaken violently and the man disappeared from the view,
apparently thrown from his chair. "Holy shit!" they heard him
exclaim. "We
are
under
attack!"

With the
initiation of the attack on the orbital station, the three survivors realized
that their attempt to warn the planetside personnel had been valiant, but
ultimately futile. Time had been against them from the start. They had spent
hours on the bridge of the old cargo ship laying low in fear that the raiders
were still nearby. More time passed while they surveyed the damaged station in
a vain attempt to find any other survivors and chased down the errant utility
sled. Finally, it had taken more precious time to get to the Auxiliary Station
and get the communications console working. Still, they had come tantalizingly
close to success...

On the audio
feed, there was the unmistakable sound of an alarm klaxon and the Reclamation
Center survivors knew that the orbital station and the people on it were in
mortal danger. For some unknown reason, the technician shifted his
communications console to a view that showed the stationary and hapless
Boise
, surrounded by a cloud of smaller
support vessels, under heavy attack by what looked like the same two raiders
who had hit the Scrapyard. Carlisle's assessment had been very
accurate,
their beam weapons were indeed powerful. And the
attackers seemed to know where to aim the beams for maximum effect.

Chapter 13

New Ceylon Orbital Station,
Spaceview
Restaurant, October 6, 2598

Kresge nodded to
the
maître d'
of the Spaceview
Restaurant which was located on the southern edge of the first deck of the
huge, slowly-spinning torus of the orbital station. This prime location allowed
the upscale restaurant to provide spectacular views to the outside through rows
of viewing panels that lined the entire ceiling and nearly the complete
southern wall of the establishment. The immaculately-dressed functionary led
him through the moderately busy dining room towards a table right next to one
of the large, rectangular, round-cornered viewports. A similar viewport was
positioned at right angles to the first, in the ceiling directly above the
table. Irene Marshall, a stunning, elegant woman with shoulder-length auburn
hair, dressed in a lavender coverall, looked up from the menu she was studying
and greeted Kresge with a smile that lit up the room as she saw him
approaching. She waved discreetly. Kresge smiled and gave a small wave back. He
and the
maître d'
arrived at
the table.

"Hello,
Irene. Sorry I'm a little late."

"
It's
okay, Oskar," said Irene. "I just got here
myself."

The
maître d'
seated Kresge on the
opposite side of the table. They ordered coffee from the waiter who had
appeared almost immediately. Kresge reached across the table and took Irene's
hand in both of his.

"Irene, you
look wonderful!" he said. "I can't tell you how good it is to see you
again."

"Oskar, you
are so full of BS." Her words mildly chastised him, but her deep blue eyes
twinkled at the compliment. He squeezed her hand and released it.

"I do have
some good news, though," he said.

"Yes?"

"I finished
the monthly station report before I left my quarters. I'm free for the
afternoon and all of the evening."

"Oskar,
that's marvelous! I've just got one more appointment this afternoon and then
I'll be free too. This is great; we can stop at Doebermann's and pick up some
wine and a few other things. I'll cook for us!"

"I was
hoping you'd say something like that."

The waiter came
back with their coffee and took their orders. Both ordered light luncheon fare.
The prices were outrageous but the food was so good it was almost worth it.
Kresge savored the outstanding New Ceylon coffee that the restaurant served.

"How are
things going for you during this...circus?" asked Kresge. He watched her
patrician face as she spoke and was struck yet again by what a beautiful woman
she was.

"I'm doing
fine. Things have been hectic, but we're usually a little ahead of the game. My
assistants really know their stuff. My biggest worry is that I have to
coordinate a meeting between the trade people and the Ambassador the day after
all of the festivities take place."

"Are you
ready for that?"

"I think so
-- there's only so much you can do to prepare. The trade representatives will
ask their questions and try to further their own agendas, as usual. I'll be
there to defuse petty disputes and soothe any ruffled feathers, but I don't
know how you rehearse for something like that."

"Larkin made
mention about some kind of organized black market activity onboard the orbital
station at our meeting this morning," said Kresge. "Do you know
anything about it?"

"Not
really," she replied. She thought for a moment. "There're rumors and
speculation and every so often some minor player gets caught but they haven't
been able to net any of the big fish so far. Someone from security is probably
involved but no one has been able to find out anything yet. To be honest, I
haven't been paying that much attention to it."

Kresge sat back
in his chair and looked up and out the viewports. The spectacular view included
most of the station's ring, the center spindle of the station and the eight
spokes that connected the torus to the spindle. From Kresge's view through the
ceiling viewport, the station was a huge arch that started larger on either
side of them and got narrower as parts of it got further away. Off to one side
was the business-like shape of the destroyer
Boise
. Kresge realized that the docking facilities for the cargo
ships that served the New Ceylon system were behind them due to the current
position of the station in its rotation.

"Looks like
the
Boise
is getting a lot of
attention," he said, as he noticed the cloud of ships and other craft
surrounding the sleek warship.

"I wonder if
they're going to get all their preparations ready on time?" asked Irene.

"Dortmunder
said they were going to finish up sometime today."

The waiter came
back with their food.

Kresge was
surprised that he was hungry,
then
remembered that the
small pastry and a cup of dreadful coffee he had endured in the Governor's
suite was all that he had eaten since dinner on board the cutter the night
before. He and Irene were just finishing up their meal and refining their plans
for the rest of the day when Irene caught an unexpected movement through the
viewport overhead.

"Oskar?
Isn't that a little strange?" Irene was looking upward, over Kresge's
right shoulder.

Kresge pushed his
chair back from the table and turned around so he could share her view. They
both watched as two NITrans cargo ships slowly overflew the station and
decelerated to rest, one facing the
Boise
and the other swinging around so its bow pointed towards the station. Kresge
couldn't be certain, but it looked like they both had their bow cargo doors open.
His jaw dropped in astonishment as both ships simultaneously fired
pulse beams
out those open cargo doors.
Kresge and Irene both felt a slight jar as one of the beams hit somewhere on
the station.

Automatic alarms
began to sound.

Several of the
smaller craft surrounding the
Boise
went scattering soon after the first pulse hit the destroyer. Kresge could see
that the
Boise
had taken some pretty
heavy damage from only the single hit. With a sinking feeling he realized that
the destroyer wouldn't have had time or reason to raise her shields and that
the conditions on board were total chaos due to all the preparations going on.
Whoever these people were, they had timed their attack perfectly. The ship that
had fired on the station then turned around and joined its companion in
attacking the
Boise
.

Kresge had a hard
time comprehending what was happening.
Pulse
beams?
On cargo ships?
What the hell was going on?

They watched in
muted shock as the two ships repeatedly hammered the all but helpless destroyer
with slow, deliberate fire from extremely powerful beam weapons. Finally a
pulse from one of the ships tore the
Boise
in half.

"My
God," said Kresge. "The poor bastards didn't have a chance!"

"What should
we do?" asked Irene, eyes wide.

"I don't
think we should stay in here -- one of those pulse beams could easily take out
these viewports. Come on!" While most of the other patrons were still
standing or sitting in shocked and frozen disbelief, he grabbed Irene's hand
and led her quickly out of the restaurant.

"Where are
we going, Oskar?"

"For now, I
need to get to my quarters. I've got some things, including a pulse pistol, in
my gear. Let's get my stuff and then we'll take it from there.

They were halfway
to Kresge's quarters when an announcement came over the station public address
system.

"New Ceylon
Orbital Station, stand down or be destroyed. Prepare to be boarded!"

Kresge remembered
his earlier conversation with the NITrans executive about pirates. He was
pretty sure that these were the two missing NITrans cargo ships that they had
been discussing on the cutter. If these guys were pirates, they were the
boldest he'd ever heard of, attacking a Federation Military vessel and an
orbital facility at the same time. Something was definitely going on!

"Come on,
Irene, let's not waste any more time!"