Star Risk - 04 The Dog From Hell (29 page)

"I want to know how the hell that frigging Tomkins managed to convince the Alliance to come in backing Cerberus." Goodnight asked in an injured tone. "Just what we didn't need."

"The man definitely must have a silver tongue," Friedrich said. "But that isn't the biggest problem.

"The People have just won themselves a notable victory," he continued. "Or, at least, that is what they think, Rasmussen's cohorts being the strongest forces they have gone up against lately.

"Given the fact that the People tend to be, shall we say, excitable sorts, do you think we are going to be able to convince them to fold their tents until another time, and going up against the Alliance, even if it works one time, is going to be nothing but suicide in the long run? Not that long, either."

"No," Grok said. "Even trying to think like you humans, I can't convince myself of that."

"And," Riss said, "since Tomkins thinks we're the root of all evil, if the People harm one lousy hair in one lousy Alliance troopie's nose, isn't he going to be telling his new buddies in the Alliance that we're behind it, and deserve to have our little peepees whacked?"

"Probably," Jasmine King said. "But we have to try, don't we?"

"I shall set an appointment with Advisor Ganmore," Grok said. "Friedrich, you might be polishing your language skills."

It didn't work, especially when the People's agents got word that an especially juicy convoy was being set up, quite openly, to run into the Alsaoud System from half a dozen worlds, since the Alliance presence was supposed to guarantee the system's safety. "Doesn't the word 'trap' occur to them?" Riss snarled.

"I mentioned it," von Baldur said. "But Ganmore said that he felt the Alliance units are still unfamiliar with the People's tactics, and will not expect them to be attacking in strength on a flash in-and-out attack.

"Especially when Ganmore has put out a disinformation program that says the People are in a state of panic, and bickering among themselves, and afraid to attack. A trap's jaws, he said, can spring both ways."

"Maybe the Alliance will buy that." Jasmine said. "But it sounds way, way too obvious to fool anyone from Cerberus."

"Jasmine is right," Grok agreed. "So what are we going to do about it?"

"I don't know," Friedrich said. "Every avenue I can think of is mined."

"I think," Goodnight said, "that at least we ought to saddle up and go out and meter-meter the matter. Maybe something will occur to pull our ass out of the crack.

"Or maybe not.

"Anyway, it's got to be better to be doing something instead of picking our noses and waiting for the Alliance to show up here on our doorstep with bells and bombs."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

FIFTY-SEVEN � ^ � As the McMahon ungrapneled from the asteroid to which it'd been linked, and Spada prepared to jump close to that navpoint that had caused so much bloodshed, Friedrich was fixed on a commercial broadcast, showing the arrival of Ral Tomkins of Cerberus, called by the commentator "a high-ranking commercial attach�

He was aboard a large and particularly sleek armed merchant cruiser, with a pair of equally glossy destroyer escorts from the Alliance contingent, and the field was surrounded with bands and dignitaries.

"Bastard," Friedrich muttered. "Not only does he appear to be winning, but he has all of the perks as well."

Riss took a moment to admire von Baldur for never losing his affectation of precise speech, even at the worst of moments.

"Now, Freddie," she said. "Talk like that is bad for the morale of us common crunchies."

Von Baldur came back to present.

"You are right. It is bad for mine as well."

***

Spada studded the space around the navpoint with enough sensors to have filmed an epic, and found a drifting piece of moonlet to hide on. Star Risk waited for catastrophe to develop.

A day later, Grok pointed out a rather odd incongruity, a distortion on one of their radar screens.

"Interesting," he said.

"I call it fascinating," Goodnight said. "Damned fascinating."

"Don't be sarcastic, Chas," Jasmine said.

"I'm not," Goodnight said. "I'm brooding because something that I saw is tickling at me and I don't have the slightest goddamned idea what it is. So what's so wonderful, Grok, about one of our radar sets being screwed up?"

"There's nothing wrong with the set," Grok said. "Nor is there, as you might describe it, a wiggle in space. That distortion is an electronic creation. Behind it we shall no doubt find the Alliance ships, waiting for the convoy and a chance to trample the People."

"Wonderfuller and wonderfuller," Chas said. Then a glazed look crossed his face.

"Uh, Jasmine, are we keeping recordings?"

"Of course."

"Can you bring me up a copy of that foohformatiddle of Tomkins showing up to bless the fish and fleet that Freddie was watching?"

"Of course."

"Why," von Baldur asked, "do you want to look at that, when battle is about to be joined?"

"Because I might be guilty of that old ah-hah phenom," Goodnight said. "Or I might not."

Jasmine found the file and patched it to a viewer in Goodnight's cabin, and he disappeared.

The others were intent on the developing battle.

It developed slowly, over a course of hours, and moved in a stately manner toward catastrophe.

Not a major catastrophe, but a catastrophe nonetheless.

The convoy, almost fifty ships with their escorts, came out of the navpoint as predicted.

From everywhere and nowhere came the People�not a fleet so much as a swarm.

They might have scorned the idea of having a coherent strategy, but in an odd way, they did.

First was to rat-pack the convoy's escorts, taking care to avoid taking casualties. This meant the People weren't as interested in destroying the destroyers and frigates with the convoy as smashing them into impotency or, better still, making them flee back into hyperspace.

Some did, and some of the transports tried to do the same.

Most of them were closely tracked, and attacked in n-space.

The merchantmen, not particularly wanting to die, especially in that fuzzy imaginary universe, came out into normal space quite rapidly, bleating surrender on all frequencies.

At that point, the incongruity vanished, and was revealed as were the Alliance ships, augmented with Rasmussen's Raiders.

"Interesting," Spada said. "Notice how Rasmussen's Rumpkins take a spread envelopment formation, and the Alliance holds to a nice, safe, secure, old-fashioned bloc. Maybe our boyos have a chance."

"Maybe," Riss allowed, but said no more.

One of their coms, on a scan of frequencies, picked up a 'cast in midperoration, of someone saying, "time now to take a stand."

"That is Ganmore," Grok identified.

Some of the People's ships obeyed, and drove in for a counterattack. Others, most likely the freelances who'd gathered around the People, scorned foolish bravery and tried to flee.

But their attackers were too close, and, as with the merchantmen, ships jumped in and out of hyper-space, spitting missiles, fighting, and, all too often, dying.

It was not going well for the People.

"A goddamned disaster, even if the People are doing better than I would have thought," von Baldur said softly. "And it shall all be all our fault."

"Not necessarily," a suddenly cheerful Goodnight said as he reappeared. "Jasmine, could you patch what I've been looking at up here?"

"Can't it wait?" von Baldur asked.

"Nope," Goodnight said. "Because there's light on yon horizon."

Jasmine looked at him curiously and touched sensors.

The battle disappeared, and the image of Tomkins's ship was onscreen.

"If you'll be so kind as to push the pickup on the nose of either of those destroyers," Goodnight requested. "Ah. There you are."

Star Risk stared blankly at the repeated image.

"You will notice the Alliance banner on those DD's," Goodnight said. "And you will also notice the smallish sort of device below it?"

Jasmine reflexively pushed into a tight shot.

"What is that emblem?" Goodnight asked.

"Umm� Capella IV?" she identified tentatively.

"Thank you. I didn't know who, but I knew goddamned well it wasn't a mainline Alliance banner."

"So?" Spada asked. "Alliance is Alliance."

"No, it isn't," Riss said, getting it. "A main force unit is sacrosanct� if that's the right word."

"As good as any," Grok said.

"Cerberus� Tomkins� wasn't able to ring in that big a favor," she said. "All he got was the reserves."

The image of Tomkins vanished, and the battle reappeared.

"Which means what?" Spada said.

"It means," Grok said, "that whatever happens today is whatever happens today. I imagine there will not be any major repercussions if the People happen to win, other than a certain amount of whining within the Alliance."

"Egg-zackle," Goodnight said. "No paybacks, in other words. Which translates as nobody hunting us into perdition."

Von Baldur was nodding in agreement, staring at a screen, just as the day's one piece of luck happened.

For a change, it was on the side of the People.

A missile had been launched at an Alliance ship, and missed. It drove on for awhile, then should have self-destructed. However, whoever had owned and fired it was a thrifty sort who had disconnected the suicide switch, and so the missile sulked in space, not blowing up, without a target.

Then it found one. A large one, one of the Quon-class cruisers, within a parsec.

The missile came alive as the cruiser flashed past, and went in pursuit, homing on the cruiser's drive.

The missile showed up on one of the cruiser's escort's screens, and it yapped a warning.

A bit too late, as the missile smashed into the cruiser's storage areas.

That cruiser was the Alliance flagship.

Its sailors may have been very spit and polish, but as combat novices they weren't as careful as they should have been about ship integrity.

A ball of flame rolled down the ship's main corridor, feeding and growing as it went.

It reached the ship's midpoint and exploded.

The cruiser simply vanished in a ball of dirty flame.

"Well, dip me," Goodnight said, as a screen on the McMahon IDed the casualty.

Within minutes the command loss showed, as the Alliance ships' tactics became as incoherent as that of the People. Rasmussen's Raiders changed their fight to a defensive one.

"Wonderful," Friedrich said softly. "Sometimes, M'chel, God is not always on the side of the biggest bullies.

"Redon, my lad, could you happen to do a search around where that cruiser was, with your parameters that lovely armed cruiser our friend Ral Tomkins arrived aboard?"

Spada's fingers flashed across sensors.

"There it is." he said.

"Standing out like a maiden aunt at an orgy," Goodnight said.

"I wonder if Mister Tomkins is a brave man, leading from the front and all, and decided to attend the final destruction of Star Risk?" Friedrich murmured.

"Yes, indeed," von Baldur said, answering his own question as the ship onscreen flashed into motion. "Things are suddenly not going well for the Alliance, and so our friend settles on the better part of valor.

"With no one noticing.

"No one but myself, that is. Mr. Spada, could you pursue that ship?"

"No problem," Spada said. "We've got legs and legs on it."

The McMahon was in pursuit.

Star Risk was watching the forward screens, paying only slight attention to the battle still raging on, its outcome no longer clear.

No one said anything as the armed merchantman grew larger.

There was a single destroyer with it.

"Unless he turns to fight," von Baldur said, "ignore that escort."

Spada didn't bother replying.

"Closing� closing�" he reported, checking a proximity screen.

"Would you care to do the honors?" he asked von Baldur, indicating the weapons console.

Von Baldur didn't answer, but sat down at the weapons station and hit sensors, a rather holy look on his face.

"Closing." Spada said. "Four seconds to launch range. In range. Fire when ready."

But von Baldur waited.

"I will make sure," he said firmly.

"Well, don't wait until we're up his arse," Goodnight said.

"And this is now that," von Baldur said, and hit a launch key.

A missile spat out of the McMahon's tubes.

Friedrich took it under manual guidance, and looped it over the fleeing Cerberus ship, then smashed it down, just behind the command area.

Flame flashed and went out.

There was a sudden shout on a com.

Riss guessed it was from the stricken ship.

Its escort paid no mind, but held at flank speed.

"Uh, Freddie," Riss said. "I think we've got a lifeboat launch."

"So we do," von Baldur said. "I cannot see the justification for that."

A second missile shot out, homed on the tiny craft holding no one knew whom.

The missile exploded, and there was nothing but empty space when the roiling gasses cleared.

"Well, well," von Baldur said, turning from the weapons panel. "The quality of mercy is, indeed, somewhat strained.

"You know, this did not turn out to be such a bad day after all."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

FIFTY-EIGHT � ^ � Eldad Yarb'ro tried to ignore the throb in his arm, as well as the worry about whether they might have to amputate and graft.

A word had come to him:

Baraka.

It came, he remembered, from an extinct Earth culture, and he didn't know where he'd come across it.

It meant luck, but more than luck.

The gods would be on your side if you had baraka.

Star Risk had baraka.

Yarb'ro could have been angry.

He wasn't.

The disaster to Cerberus was so total he almost wanted to laugh.

Especially since his personal nemesis Ral Tomkins was most surprisingly quite dead, and vanished somewhere as he fled the battle in the Alsaoud System.