Guardsmen of Tomorrow (35 page)

“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 scraping.

“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 the window. 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 sparse 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 mass 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 analyzed 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,” Spike said, 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 assured 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 passage, 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 assaults. 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 unanticipated 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 spacers-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.

When I finished, he only had one question for me.

“And if they won’t come?”

“I think they will,” I said with more certainty than I felt. “As you’ve noted, they’ve been hurt by the pirates, too, and here’s a chance to get back something of their own. And if they don’t show, well, we can always fall back on your plan.”

The three ships we were tracking-a third had joined the convoy while we were arguing-headed in the direction of a large planetoid just beyond a broad asteroid belt.

The backside of this planetoid was a favorite place for smugglers to linger before bringing in a cargo, since it gave them a chance to scan the system and make certain that the black ships were patrolling elsewhere. Most successful smugglers carried legal goods as well as illegal, but who wanted to risk a search if one could be avoided?

So popular had this particular lurking spot become that the black ships checked it as a matter of routine. Still, the Absolutists might not know that. Once I was fairly certain where the convoy was headed, I took the
Mercury
out along a different route, one that took advantage of intervening asteroids and other bits of space debris to obscure our signal. I prided myself that the supply ship never knew we were closing on them.

Meanwhile, I sent out tight-beam comm squirts to a couple dozen locations I’d marked earlier-places where a faint signal hinted that a ship with damped identification beacon drifted, its power down-a typical smuggler’s trick. My message was scrambled, just in case the wrong ship intercepted it, and pretty terse. In a few words it invited these outlaws of the solar lanes to join the
Mercury
in kicking some pirate butt.