Guardsmen Of Tomorrow Part 26

Several hands later, I noticed an increase in the amount of activity outside the gaming parlor. "Parlor"

was really a courtesy t.i.tle. The place I was frequenting was little more than a tent. As the night was warm, the side-flaps were up to let in some fresh air.

"New visitors," grumbled one of the other players, a stately, plump young man who had introduced himself as Buck. "Wouldn't think there was anyone left on Bath to fight the war."

Buck's use of the euphemism "visitor" rather than the blunter "refugee" labeled him a Batherite, as did his accent. As he had obviously gotten out of the system rather than fight, I thought his criticism less than fair, but didn't say anything. One of the other players-a weathered older woman-was more vocal.

"You sound like you want the war to continue," she said, her voice rusty with exhaustion. She had introduced herself as Cookie and carried with her the scent of curry, onions, and sugar.

"I don't!" Buck protested, glancing at Cookie, then back at his cards. "I was just making a comment."

"Are you in?" asked one of the other players, his eagerness betraying a good hand.

"I am," Buck said. Cookie nodded, pursing her lips into a thin, angry line.

Play went on for several hands without further comment. The Batherite War wasn't something the system's natives liked talking about. It wasn't just a political thing. Some of the weapons the Absolutistfanatics employed embarra.s.sed even those who favored their cause.

The cards were with me, but the increased activity outside of the tent distracted me from my game. I misplayed what should have been a sure thing and pushed back from the table.

"I'll quit while I'm about even," I said. Actually, I was ahead, but they didn't need to know. Cookie grunted something that might have been good-bye. No one else seemed to notice my departure.

Outside, the market was busier than it had been for several days. It seemed as if all the Bathtub had turned out to see the new arrivals who, their arms filled with bundles or small children, hurried down the road toward the registration center. A few pulled small wagons, but such were rare.

Apparently, most of the refugees had been limited to what they could carry on their persons.

"No need to rush!" called someone from the market, following the comment with a good-humored laugh.

"The cen-ter'll keep you waiting long enough."

The sense of this seemed to get through to some of the new arrivals. While the majority continued pushing their way toward the center, a few peeled off from the flow. Most of these headed for the food stalls, doubtless tired of ship's rations. Some drifted about asking after the location of friends and family.

I noticed that the name "Kingsley" came up repeatedly, though matched with different surnames.

Admittedly, Kingsley is a popular Batherite personal name, in honor of Kingsley Moisan, the charismatic leader who founded the original colony. What caught my fancy was how often the request was made to a perfect stranger- and how often that stranger seemed to have directions or guidance to offer.

I trailed after one of these parties, noticing that the bundles they carried seemed particularly heavy. We worked our way through a maze of streets to where a row of prefabs from the earliest days of the camp stood. They were well-kept, with a minimum of tents and auxiliary buildings around them. I wondered if Gilbert City zoning was trying to maintain some standards.

Inside the buildings lights glowed and sounds of domestic activity drifted from the open windows. I heard a baby crying, the sizzle of something dropped into frying oil, running water, laughter. All well and normal, even pleasant.

The refugees were directed inside a building near the middle of the street. I slipped into the shadows between two buildings across the way, watching. While I lurked there, two other guided parties arrived.

Then a few people departed. Although they had all the hallmarks of new arrivals, they were not the ones I had followed, so I continued my vigil.

After a time, my group came out. Their guide was not with them, but otherwise, they seemed much as before- even a bit more cheerful. They laughed and their steps were light as they hurried toward a cross street that would take them to the registration center.

Then it hit me. Their feet were light! Though they still carried their bundles, these were clearly no longer as heavy. No chat with folks from home, no matter how friendly, could have relieved the burden. Clearly an exchange had been made.

I pondered for a moment, wondering whether or not to follow the new arrivals. Then I decided. These were probably just mules carrying goods. The real action lay inside that building. I hunkered down in the shadows, preparing for a long wait.

A few more parties of bundle-bearing refugees came through, but not many. I decided that this must be only one of several places where smuggled items were being dropped off. To occupy myself, I tried toreconstruct the chain of events that had gotten the goods to this point and decided that whatever had been brought here wouldn't stay here long. Eventually, the houses grew quieter and lights were extinguished-all but a faint glimmer low on the wall to one side of the house I'd been observing.

It was an odd place for light to show. For speed of construction these prefabs had been erected without bas.e.m.e.nts, but I was willing to bet that what I was seeing was light from just such a subterranean room.

The opening was completely shielded by a neatly placed trash can. During the daytime, it would probably be invisible. Only the light gave it away now.

My curiosity grew as I estimated the chances of sue-cessfully satisfying it. After I'd staked the place out for quite a while longer and traffic on the street had diminished to nothing, I decided that I'd never forgive myself if I didn't take a look.

Padding across the street, I gained the side of the house. Fortunately, the wall of the structure on the other side of the narrow alley was windowless. If I stayed pressed close to the wall alongside the bit of light and no one on the street-should anyone pa.s.s at all-looked directly down the alley and noticed movement from behind the trash can, I should remain unseen.

The source of the light proved to be-as I had deduced- a makeshift window cut into the prefab material. The sc.r.a.p had been skillfully shaped into a shutter that would cover the hole, but it was propped open now. I lowered myself slowly p.r.o.ne, both so I would be less visible and to get my ears closer to the opening.

Conversation, lazy and sporadic, accompanied by rather interesting thuds and clanks came to me. I lay there in the dirt, wishing I'd brought along some peepers, hoping that someone inside would speak up. I didn't dare sneak a look until I had a better sense of where the occupants were in relation to the hole.

Tired as I was from my long day, the ground seemed quite comfortable and the warm night air made my watch almost relaxing. I believe I was close to drowsing when a new voice, male and commanding, addressed the group in the bas.e.m.e.nt.

"Almost done?"

"Almost, Your Absoluteness," replied one, bolder than the rest. These could only manage mutters of agreement. I could almost hear the bowing and sc.r.a.ping.

"Very good," the first voice replied. "We shall ship out in the morning. You may as well get some sleep.

A mis-take at this point would be fatal to our Cause-and we must be alert for our meeting with our new allies."

I could hear the capitalization in his tones. Nor was I in the least sleepy any longer. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, adrenaline with a chaser of pure terror.

The Absolute! Here, separated from me by just a few meters of prefab and dirt stood the monomaniacal, charismatic leader who had galvanized his followers into what had become the Bath War. Just a dozen standards or so past it had been reported that he had vanished following the bombing of his headquarters. His opposition claimed he was dead, but his followers proclaimed him alive and fought on as if he was still at their head.

Apparently, he was. Equally apparently, he didn't want anyone to know precisely where he was or he would have been enthroned in some public palace, defying anything short of a planet-splitter to kill him.

I remained outside the window while the Absolute took his leave. Then I dared a peek through thewindow. I glimpsed a small room, roughly dug out of the heavy, clay soil. There was no evidence that power tools had been used, so it must have been dug by hand-a considerable task.

Inside, by the light of battery-powered lights, four Batherites were stacking crates near the foot of a ladder that ended below a trapdoor-closed now, though it must have been through that square that the Absolute had addressed his followers. Even as I watched, the workers finished their task and began to ready themselves for rest.

They were sweaty from their labors, yet their only comforts were a plastic cooler of water, some ration bars, and a covered bucket that served as a chamber pot. When the four had finished their spa.r.s.e meal and limited ablutions, they lay down on the floor, pillowed their heads on their arms and dropped off to sleep. The last to lay himself down extinguished the light.

Until the ragged note of an exhausted snore convinced me that they had settled in, I waited. Then, still shaken by what I had learned, I made my stealthy escape.

I wondered what Spike would think of my report.

I picked Spike up at our planned rendezvous several hours after my return from Gilbert City. I'd insisted on launching into my report as soon as he was aboard, talking as I inserted the Mercury into a parking orbit on the dark side of one of the lesser moons of Gilbert. In my excitement, I didn't give him a chance to get a word in edgewise or to tell me his own plans-something I'd regret later.

"I don't think we're dealing with pirates here," I said, concluding my tale, "or not just pirates. Those were Absolutist fanatics I saw."

Spike nodded. He looked particularly goony today, clad in coveralls like those worn by most shippers instead of his usual suit. As he listened, he kept his hands in his pockets, playing with some junk he'd stuffed into them.

"So," I concluded, "there's no way that this is just an insurance matter anymore. We need to notify the authorities. There's time before morning reaches Gilbert City. They might be able to catch the Absolute."

"Endpoint system," Spike said, quite mildly for someone who had been forced to endure a monologue, "is neutral regarding the Batherite conflict."

"But the Absolute is a ma.s.s murderer!" I said aghast.

"Technically, he is the leader of a political group-the legitimate elected ruler of a large portion of Bath."

'Technically," I snarled.

"Allie," Spike said, still mildly , "I didn't know you were so political."

"I'm not," I replied, more calmly, "but you and I both know that the Absolute is a fiend-that the votes of those who elected him were meaningless."

"So his opponents say."

"So the chemists say," I retorted. Then I calmed down, realizing that I was being unfair to Spike.

"Chemists who have a.n.a.lyzed the blood of some of his deceased followers. The fanatics are so pumped up they'd shoot their own sweethearts if the Absolute gave the command."

"The Absolutists say that their soldiers are chemically enhanced to make them strong and faithful," Spikesaid, in-furiatingly insisting on playing the devil's advocate. "And there seems to be some evidence to support that position."

"You're not," I growled stubbornly, "on his side, are you?"

"No," Spike a.s.sured me. "Personally, I can't stand the Absolute and what he advocates, but going after him isn't my job. That wouldn't stop me if I thought we could actually do anything about him, but without Endpoint's support, we can't touch him groundside. I'm more interested in the contents of those crates you saw. Those might fall within the range of my job."

"Stolen goods?" I asked.

"Maybe," Spike rubbed his chin. "Most of the ships carrying refugees don't carry just refugees. It wouldn't pay. Nor do they make a one system trip. It would be easy to make a trade for pa.s.sage, to use some of the refugees as mules for stolen goods."

"The pirates would give them some identification code," I said, nodding, for Spike's picture matched the one I'd been working out while I staked out the building. "Then when the refugees get here, they hand over whatever they've been carrying. It's repacked and sold. The plan's a bit elaborate, though, and it doesn't account for larger shipments like crates of wine."

Spike shook his head. "I don't agree-you haven't been elaborate enough-and you haven't accounted for the presence of the Absolute. Absolutist holdings in the Bath system have suffered serious a.s.saults.

Their troops move constantly-buoyed, doubtless, by some of those chemical stimulants you mentioned earlier. Their ships gnaw, bite, and snap-winning battles but rarely holding ground. Even so, the Loyalists are hard pressed."

"That's what the news services say," I agreed. "Now, tell me, what elaboration am I missing?"

"Those very chemicals you mentioned," Spike said, "take time and high-tech facilities to synthesize. Their formulas are highly guarded secrets, known only to the Absolute and a few trusted minions. One of the first things the Loyalists did was pinpoint and destroy as many of the Absolutist factories as they could and so limit the supply."

"And you think," I cut in eagerly, "that what I saw in those crates were the Absolute's potions? Those, at least, we could get Endpoint's authorities to seize. The killer drug in particular has been outlawed universally-no one wants their local troublemakers both hopped up and suggestible."

Spike held up a hand. "No, Allie, I don't think it's killer drug-not exactly. I think what you saw were the ingredients for the drug, smuggled in piecemeal so that no one could trace them and suspect what's going on. I think that the Absolute plans to mix up a batch and get it to his troops."

"But he won't do it planetside," I mused, "because that would leave him open to local law."

"Right."Spike gestured into the star-flecked darkness outside the Mercury's view ports. "Somewhere out there a factory is waiting-probably on a pirate ship since we know they're using this system and the Absolute mentioned allies. The Absolute will go there, do his voodoo, and return home. His greatest weapon will go with him, scattered among several ships so one or two lucky shots can't destroy it all."

"And with a new supply of the drug, the Absolutist fanatics will win," I said, "because with the drug, the Absolute can convert even the most unwilling Loyalists to his side."

Spike nodded, then he grinned his goofy grin."Unless, of course, you and I stop them."

I stared at him and started to laugh.

The ships carrying the crates-and the Absolute-left the surface of Gilbert at midmorning. In the meantime, I'd gotten some sleep, as had Spike. In between naps, I'd scanned the Endpoint system, mapping out every blip and crackle so that we could locate the factory ship when the time came. Every so often I'd come across something I'd flag for myself, not bothering Spike with that particular detail.

Making this map should have been an impossible task- would have been except for two things. One, the Mercury has some of the best communications and scanning equipment money can buy. Two, Spike and I had an idea what we would be looking for-and that there would be something out there for us to find.

We figured that the factory ship couldn't have been given an advance location where it had to wait. Too much could go wrong with that sort of plan-someone else in the area, a bit of unantic.i.p.ated debris drifting through, a breakdown or delay.

Therefore, the factory ship would be sending out a signal of some sort to direct the Absolute and his supply ships to where it waited. "Would be" because it wouldn't start emitting the signal until the Absolute sent it a query signal first. If the factory ship had been delayed in getting to the rendezvous, there would be no response to the query sig-nal. The supply ships would take a parking orbit and wait, signaling occasionally and scanning the appropriate bands.

Spike and I were sure we'd worked out the same chain of logic the pirates would have used, but even so I nearly jumped from my seat when a broad band scan announced a new signal. It came intermittently, but always from the same direction. If we hadn't been looking for it, we would have dismissed it as background noise.

"Checking Gilbert," I said aloud, my hands moving across the scanner bands. "Yes! A ship just left immediate orbit and is heading in the direction of the signal."

"Wait until we're sure, Allie, before starting to follow," Spike said. "If we're right, we have time. They won't be going anywhere for a while."

I nodded, listening to my comm unit's report. "Another ship just left orbit. It's going out on the same general vector-probably they were filed as a convoy."

"A good safety measure," Spike replied solemnly, "in these pirate-plagued reaches of the stars."

"Well," I said, feeling pretty satisfied with myself, "we've found them. What next?"

"The pirates won't have unloaded whatever goods they smuggled in," Spike said promptly, "not until their rendezvous with the Absolute is completed. Therefore, there's certainly something incriminating in the hold of the factory ship. When we get there, I'll go take a look."

I stared at him, unable for a moment even to speak.

"You're not planning on going aboard alone?" I finally managed. "Twenty trained s.p.a.cers-twenty marines!- would consider that foolhardy. You don't know how many pirates are aboard, but I doubt that the Absolute is traveling without a bodyguard."

"Twenty marines," Spike mused aloud, his expression wry and mocking. "Would twenty-one be enough, then?""Don't be an idiot!" I shouted, then I went on more calmly. "Just how do you plan to get aboard, anyhow? I doubt they have time for traveling insurance salesmen right now."

"Those ships don't have just one entrance," Spike said, valiantly ignoring my sarcasm. "I plan to enter via a service port near the engine room. Once aboard, I'll shut down the ship's drive. Then, once the ship can't get away, you'll signal for the Silent Watch."

"And how will you get through the entry port?" I said. "They aren't usually left unlocked."

In reply, Spike produced a mag-key from one of his coverall's voluminous pockets, tossing the rather routine piece of equipment from hand to hand as if it were some great amulet.

"This one is set to decode a wide variety of locks," he explained, as if I wouldn't recognize the make.

"And the ship's engine?" I asked. "Do you think the engine crew will just sit by while you turn the engine off?"

Spike scowled at my doubt, but produced a packet of gas pellets from another pocket.

"I thought I'd put these in the ventilation," he explained. He brightened and reached in his coverall again.

"I have a mask."

I sighed and rubbed my hands over my face. He probably had a weapon of some sort, too, and a coil of rope and who knows what else. The man had seen too many action vids.

"It's my fault for not asking in advance what you planned," I admitted, "but I never dreamed you planned on taking them on alone. Listen, I have another idea."

I told him. Spike looked interested, but slightly disappointed. I think he'd been looking forward to playing the hero and capturing a pirate vessel single-handedly.