End Run Page 4

  It was an old trick, Ramona knew, but it was almost always effective. With all systems shut down except life support, there was no external radiation to give them away, so any scanner would perceive them as just another piece of floating space junk. She nodded reluctantly, to hide a feeling of massive relief. "Do it."

  "Cut all active sensors," Harcourt ordered.

  "Actives dead." Billy leaned back, folding his arms and watching his screens. Only the passive sensors, the ones that received incoming radiation but didn't send any out, were still operating. Since the enemy ships were all putting out radiation with their own sensors—radar and its descendants—they still showed on his screen.

  The asteroids didn't generate radiation, so they no longer showed—but their force field would protect them from even the largest piece of space junk they were apt to bump into. The force field was a closed system, so no radiation would leak from it to show their location.

  "Let me know if anything starts moving toward us." Harcourt didn't have to say that he meant anything with a mind inside it. He turned around to Ramona. "Now. Any ideas on how we get close to the planet?"

  Ramona started to say that was his responsibility, then bit the words off. If she was supposed to be in charge of the mission, it was exactly this sort of thing that she was supposed to be able to cover. She frowned, thinking.

  Harcourt's tone softened. "Why don't you sit down, Commander? This might take a while." He looked up at Ensign Barnes. "Barney, do you suppose you could rustle up a couple of cups of coffee?"

  "Sure thing, Captain." Barney headed out the hatch.

  Harcourt turned back to Ramona. "Let's start by figuring how we would do it if there were no enemy in the way. Do that first, then we can make a few modifications to allow for Kilrathi stumbling blocks."

  Ramona almost laughed at the idea of his "few modifications."

  "Left to our own devices, we'd make a slingshot around the planet—except when we got done with the horseshoe, we'd bend it a little farther and make it a complete circuit."

  "You sure that's all you need, Commander?"

  Ramona shrugged. "It wouldn't be, if there weren't any enemy—but there are, so let's leave it at one orbit. If we complete three hundred and sixty degrees, though, doesn't that send us off at the wrong angle for escape?"

  "No, because we'd modify the angle of approach so that the angle of exit would sling us right toward the jump point." Harcourt's brows drew down in concentration. "Of course, if there are enemy there, we'd want to end the pass going in the wrong direction, to mislead them. Then…" He turned and studied the battle display for a few minutes. "We'd exit going toward the gas giant, and use it as a slingshot to alter our trajectory back toward the jump point. Tractor beam the planet."

  In peacetime of course it would be highly illegal to use even a small asteroid that way, like a drunk grabbing a light pole and swinging around; the asteroid would take an entirely new—and potentially fatal—orbit, maybe even smashing into a planet. But this was war.

  "We could keep that," Ramona said slowly, "if it weren't for that wing of fighters stationed on its moon."

  "Right." Harcourt nodded. "I think I just found out why they chose to station them there. I've been wondering why, when they had a perfectly good moon right by Vukar Tag itself. Of course, they've got another wing there." He turned to Billy. "Any other planets?" But before Billy could answer, "No. It doesn't matter. Any rock sizable enough to hide us while we shift direction, they'll have an outpost stationed." He turned back to Ramona. "We'll have to expend fuel and realign our course once we're back in the asteroid belt."

  "So we'll be coming back here?" she said slowly. "That makes sense. Now how do we manage that, if they get a few fighters in our way?"

  "Shoot them down." But Harcourt's face showed that he wasn't quite as confident as he tried to sound.

  Ramona nodded. "Okay, we've made a plan and allowed for a few enemy craft. Now, how about worst case? Let's say the cruisers scramble all their fighters, gun for us themselves, and call in the troops from the moon and the gas giant."

  "Oh, we're not that important. Of course, whatever's on Vukar Tag, probably is." Harcourt turned to the bridge at large. "Anybody have any ideas?" He pressed "all stations."

  "Gunners and engineer to the bridge. Brainstorm needed. All and any ideas welcome, no matter how asinine, no matter how badly it won't work. Maybe it will give us a plan that will."

  Ramona stared, unnerved. She had never heard of a captain depending on his crew this way. He was supposed to be alone and aloof, the source of all the ingenious plans, all by himself.

  But she had learned the hard way about the closeness of this particular crew. She bit back a scathing comment.

  "Capture an enemy ship," Barney said slowly.

  "Oh, fine, if we're still alive when we're done!" Grounder said.

  Barney shrugged and said defensively, "The Captain said any idea."

  "I did, and it's a good one." Harcourt raised a finger. "But how do we split off the enemy ship alone so that we can grapple and board it?"

  Flip, Harry, Jolie, and Lorraine came filing in. "Board a Kilrathi?" Harry said. "What is this?"

  "The Dumb Idea Session," Billy told them, and they all nodded, understanding immediately.

  Ramona only wished she did.

  "So what do we do with it once we capture it?" Jolie asked.

  "Take it in on a close approach to the planet," Grounder explained.

  Billy snorted. "They'd still atomize us once they found out we wouldn't obey orders. For all they'd know, we could be a Cat psycho playing kamikaze."

  "One of their own men?" Barney asked.

  Jolie shrugged. "Every race has insanity. At least, we have to assume that."

  "I haven't seen a crazy Cat yet!"

  "Me neither—but I've never seen a Cat myself, eye to eye, anyway."

  Grounder nodded. "Could be their mental cases get killed off in basic training."

  Ramona was chilled to see that nobody batted an eye at the idea—but she had to admit it made sense, from what they knew about the Kilrathi.

  Harcourt turned to Ramona. "Any ideas about how they think?"

  "The Psych boys have come up with a lot," Ramona said slowly, "but no evidence of outright insanity yet. Of course, they wouldn't, if their maniacs never get off the ground, just get locked up in hospitals."

  "Oh. The Kilrathi do let them live?" Flip asked, plainly skeptical.

  "I didn't say that," Ramona admitted. "Neither did Psych. They suspect the ones who really can't function just get killed off in the natural course of things."

  "So even in a stolen ship, we still get shot down," Harcourt summarized. "Still, it gives us a better chance than we've got so far. As we are now, we wouldn't get within a planetary diameter of Vukar Tag."

  "A big planet," Lorraine said.

  "As we are?" Coriander looked up. "Maybe we could change that—weld on some sheet metal cutouts that give us their silhouette. Save us the trouble of trying to capture one of them."

  "It would take time…" Harcourt began.

  "Or… Wait!" Coriander snapped her fingers, both arms out, like a traffic cop. "If we're going to talk about add-ons, let's use asteroids! We've got plenty of 'em! One day, and I could weld on enough so that we'd look like just one big piece of space junk!"

  "Good, as far as it goes," Harcourt said judiciously. "We could get a lot closer—but they'd still shoot us down."

  "Not if we got close enough to the planet, they wouldn't! They'd be worried about meteorites falling and kicking up so much dust that they'd have a desert in the sky instead of on the ground—so much that it would mask the sun and cut off their heat source, not to mention light for whatever few plants they manage to grow!"

  "A good thought," Harcourt said. "That one has possibilities. Let's keep it in the file and see what we can add to it. Who's next?"

  Barney was, then Lorraine, then Coriander again, and finally, Ramona managed to c
ome up with an option herself. "We could stuff a large asteroid with explosives and launch it out toward Vukar Tag with a time fuse," she suggested. "While they're busy checking it out, we could zip in and steal a few quick pix." But she knew it was dumb even as she said it. "No. They'd only send a few ships, wouldn't they? And there would be plenty more to jump us."

  "Still, the idea of a distraction is good," Harcourt said. "Anybody got any other diversions that would get all of them?"

  They did, but none of them were really very good. They all foundered on the rock of Kilrathi fanaticism—if something even looked as though it might come near the planet, the Kilrathi would be apt to blow it to smithereens first and try to figure out where it came from later.

  After an hour, Harcourt saw the first faint signs of frustration and mental fatigue. "End of session for now." He stretched. "My turn to get the coffee. Everyone take half an hour, then meet for dinner—and no talking over the situation until after dessert!"

  But by the time they were done with dessert, he still hadn't come up with a better idea. He wasn't looking forward to the next skull session, as he tailed onto the line past the disposer to shove his tray in.

  They filed past, then into the little lounge at the end of the wardroom. Harcourt sank into a recliner and looked around. "Anybody come up with anything new?"

  They all shook their heads.

  Anger burned within Ramona. She felt hopelessly inadequate, because she hadn't been able to come up with anything but one very weak idea, while her shipmates had come up with a dozen. "Well, we have to do something", she blurted.

  "Yes, we do," Harcourt sighed. "The longer we sit and wait, the better the chances that some random scan will find us. Since we haven't thought of anything better, we'll try Chief Coriander's idea, and go in dressed up as an asteroid. Six hours shut-eye, folks. Then we start catching rocks and welding them. Billy, you have first watch."

  Breakfast the next morning was pretty tense, but it showed as much in bad jokes and too much laughter, as in snarling. Right after, Grounder caught Harcourt and Ramona both trying to suit up, and read them the riot act about their responsibilities to the ship, crew, and mission. Instead, Coriander, Harry, and Flip suited up to go out with, surprisingly enough, a very large butterfly net made of steel cables; Coriander had whipped it up before breakfast. Out they went, to start catching rocks.

  They filed out through the small EVA hatch, onto the hull of the ship, fastening their safety lines to ringbolts, magnetic boots clamping firm. The four stood looking out at the surrounding night, admiring the view of shifting stars for a minute, before they got down to work.

  Then Coriander stiffened. "What the hell is that?"

  They were all silent, staring.

  "Well, what is it?" Harcourt's voice crackled on the headphones. "We can't see anything in here that doesn't give off a signal. What have you spotted?"

  "It gave off a signal once," Coriander said slowly, "lots of them. It's a Venture-class corvette."

  The intercom was very silent for a moment.

  Then Harcourt said, "You mean a Kilrathi Kamekh, don't you?"

  "No," Coriander said. "I know my silhouettes, Captain—and this is more than a silhouette. It's close enough so we can see a three-quarter profile. It's a Confederation corvette, and the name on the bow is in Roman letters."

  Inside, the bridge was frozen. Then Harcourt asked, "What's the name?"

  "The John Bunyan," Coriander answered.

  "Pilgrim's Progress" Ramona whispered.

  "This pilgrim did make some progress, all right," Harcourt said, "but not enough. What kind of shape is she in, Coriander?"

  "She's a wreck, Captain. Half of the tail is shot away, holes in it big enough to dock a Ferret… I can't see from here, but I think the vision port is gone; at least, it's not reflecting any light. She's dead, Captain. And she died hard. Probably fled this far, and hid in here to lick her wounds."

  Harcourt could envision it—a lone Confederation ship, its panicked crew holding onto composure and sanity by their fingernails, space suits closed against vacuum, hoping, waiting frantically for a rescue, while around the asteroid belt, dozens of Kilrathi fighters hovered, waiting for them to come back out.

  They never had.

  Harcourt pushed himself away from his console. "This time I am going out—with a rocket pack!"

  "Captain, you can't!" Grounder cried.

  "Don't worry, I'll wear a very, very long fishline."

  "Then why don't you let me do it?" Harry's voice asked over the intercom. "I'm all suited up already. Just give me the booster pack and the fishline, and I'll shoot over, attach it to the wreck. Then all you have to do is reel us in."

  Harcourt hesitated, remembering his responsibilities. He sighed. "You guys get all the fun. Okay, Harry, go catch me a fish." He turned to Grounder. "See if you can find anything in the data stores about a corvette named John Bunyan."

  Harry's boots thudded against the hull. He looked around. "There have to be eyebolts here, same as there are on our ship, Captain, for clipping onto when you go EVA."

  "Yeah, there have to be," Harcourt's voice said in his earphones. The signal was coming over the wire rope, to maintain radio silence. "But after you clip it onto the ship, Harry, make sure you hold onto that cable until you're inside the hatch! Got it?"

  "Oh, don't worry, Captain. I brought along an EVA cable of my own." Harry unwound it from around his waist. "And here's an eyebolt." He clipped his cable onto the eye, then made sure it was fast to his belt. He unclipped the "fishing line" and snapped it into the eyebolt, too. "It's in the eyebolt, Captain. I'm going in through the hatch now."

  "As long as it's the hatch…"

  Harry punched the entry patch and waited. When it had been too long, he frowned, and punched it again. Nothing happened.

  "There's no power on board that ship," Coriander told him, "no power at all. Deader'n a duck at a shotgun convention, Captain."

  "Yeah, I guess so." Harry frowned. "I could go in through one of the blast holes…"

  "Be real careful, okay, Harry?" Harcourt said. "The broken edges on that metal might be sharp as knives. I'd rather not have you drinking vacuum."

  Harry eyed one of the dark holes with a leery glance. "If it's all the same to you, Captain, I think I'd rather stay out here."

  "Good." Harcourt nodded vigorously. "We'll wait until the docking's over. Just make sure your cable stays fastened on both ends, okay?"

  "Will do, Captain."

  Back on the bridge, Harcourt turned to Grounder. "Can I get my suit on now, Mommy?"

  She gave him a look of exasperation. "Well, I suppose I can hold things together, if you're within shouting range."

  Ramona turned away, so they wouldn't see her roll up her eyes in despair.

  Coriander knew right where to find the external power input that the repair crews used in dry dock. After all, the John Bunyan was exactly like her own ship. The airlock opened; Harcourt and Ramona stepped in; the lock hatch closed.

  Inside, the emergency lights gave a feeble glow. The green patch lit; the lock had cycled in record time—of course. No problem matching pressures, when there was none on either side of the door. The inner hatch swung open and the two stepped in, their helmet lamps lending harsh accents to the eldritch gloom of the emergencies.

  Harcourt went first to the nearest blast hole, stuck an arm through, being careful not to touch any of the jagged edges, and felt the connector Harry pushed into his hand. "Thanks," he said, so Harry would know he could let go, then pulled, turning away. The computer cable came in behind him—a coil floating free between the two ships, connected at its far end to the brain of the Johnny Greene.

  They went through corridors that were eerily familiar, copies of the ones on their own ship, with the computer cable snaking behind them. They stepped into the bridge just as…

  The ship accumulated enough power, and lit all the instruments.

  The familiar, warm darkness was lig
htened by the battle display—but only a grid of curving lines, as theirs had been not very long ago. The individual screens glowed to life. The work lights spotlighted the consoles at each position—and the crewmen slumped over them.

  Harcourt was intensely grateful that the space suits, and especially the helmets, prevented him from seeing the mummies within.

  Ramona paced beside him, completely silent. Harcourt wasn't feeling all that talkative himself, but he said, by way of apology, "We have to know what happened," and stepped up to the captain's console.

  The captain sat slumped over the slanted surface, helmet on gauntlets. Harcourt was glad he didn't have to push the corpse aside; the cable receptacle was low on the console's side, and clear. He pushed it in, made sure the two connectors meshed, then said, "Okay, Chief. Drain the memory."

  "Yes, sir," Coriander's voice said in his earphones. "Just a straight file transfer, or do you want an audio analog while it's going?"

  "Just the straight file. Let me know when the dump is finished, so we can come home."

  "Yes, sir."

  There was no sound, of course—they hadn't called for audio analog—but Harcourt saw the green jewel come on.

  He turned away, looking out over the bridge, trying to avoid staring at the bodies. He noticed the gaping hole in the roof, the crewman lying prone on the floor with a long, brown-stained gash in his pressure suit, the two who sat side by side, arms about one another, slumped in death…

  "Dump finished, Captain," Coriander reported in his ears.

  "Gotcha, Chief." Harcourt turned back to Ramona. "Anything else we need to see?"

  Ramona glanced at him with haunted eyes. Then her gaze roved around the rest of the bridge. She shook her head. "Nothing, Captain." She turned and went out.

  Harcourt unplugged the cable and followed her, rolling it as he went.

  They cycled through the airlock, hauled themselves across the linking cable to their own ship, and cycled through again, blessing the hiss of air as it jetted into the lock. The patch glowed green; the hatch opened, and they stepped through. Ramona gave her helmet a half-twist and tilted it back with a grateful sigh. "Those poor bastards," she said. "Those poor, brave bastards."