Ida grinned back at them. This time the big jolt had been on purpose.
"Maybe we better shut up," Sten said, "and let her drive."
Ida caressed the keys. Finally, the tug began to respond more smoothly. The boulder next to them moved away to a safer distance. The drone's drive units flared, and they began to drift slowly after it, toward Vulcan.
Sten had figured the perfect insertion method. Vulcan sent only unmanned tugs to the mining world, where all work was done by bots. A hollow boulder nearby carried their gear.
On the final approach to Vulcan, Ida punched at her computer, setting up an ECM blanket to fool Vulcan's sniffers, then put a finger to her lips, warning them unnecessarily to be quiet. A security capsule sniffed them over, then gave the drone tug clearance.
A jolt, whispered curses, and the tug started to move them toward a huge, yawning port. Then, slam, they were down.
"Clot, Ida," Jorgensen groaned. "Gimme a little humanity."
"That's her problem," Doc said. "She has too much of it."
And then they were moving along a slideway toward the thundering sound of grinding, giant teeth.
"This is where we get off," Sten said. "And quick."
They blew the port and scrambled out. About a hundred meters ahead of them waited the enormous jaws of a crusher. Sten and Ida popped the other boulder open and began hauling out gear. Jorgensen patted a knapsack he was carrying. Inside, Frick and Frack were whining to get out.
They carried the gear to the edge of the moving belt, then slid down after it.
"Next time," Ida said as they stacked their things on a gravsled, "you drive."
"Can't," Sten said. "I think you broke my arm."
He ducked under her swinging fist, then jumped up on the sled. As the others climbed on, Sten switched the sled controls to manual and headed for their hiding place. He had spotted it when he was a Delinq. It was better than a hideout. It was a home, complete with access to food, drink and not-so-public transportation.
"The Emperor's got nothin' on us," Jorgensen whistled.
Even Doc was gawking at Sten's find. They were standing in the main ballroom of what had once been a luxury passenger liner. It was from the earlier days of interstellar travel, when journeys took months, and competing liners boasted of the diversions they provided their well-heeled customers. There were staterooms, party rooms, and several other ballrooms like the one they were standing in, with glittering chandeliers and polished floors. In the perfect nonenvironment of Vulcan, everything was exactly as the Company had left it centuries earlier when the ship was used to provide quarters to Execs overseeing the construction of Vulcan. It had been bought from a belly-up corporation, bolted into place, and then abandoned as Vulcan grew.
Hundreds of meters up, near the ballroom ceiling, Frick and Frack wheeled about, squealing in delight at their regained freedom.
"Well," Ida said, "the bats like it, so I guess it's okay."
She wasn't quite so happy when Sten showed her the ship's computer and put her to work. "It's so clotting primitive," she said, "it belongs in a museum."
Sten had had enough diplomacy drilled into him by now to know when to keep his mouth shut. And by the time he left, she was huddled over the board, stroking it back to life, and beginning the task of patching them into Vulcan's central computer.
"As I see it," Doc said, "our first objective is recruitment."
He snuggled his tubby body back onto the chair, feet dangling. They were in the captain's quarters, wolfing down the Exec meal Ida had conjured out of the computer.
"Y'mean," Alex said, "Ah canna blow things oop yet?"
"Patience, Alex," Sten said. "We'll get to that soon."
He turned to Doc. "You can't just walk up to a Mig and wiggle your finger at him. He'll think you're a Company spy and run like hell."
Jorgensen burped, then tossed a couple of Peskagrapes over to Frick and Frack. "Feed me some input, I'll see what I can plow up."
Sten shook his head.
"No. We'll start with the Delinqs."
"From what you told us about them," Ida said, "they'll try to cut our throats."
"A suggestion?" Doc ventured.
Sten was surprised. Doc always stated facts. Never asked. Then he realized that despite their briefings, Doc was still feeling his way through the intricacies of Vulcan.
"Shoot."
"No, no. You don't want to shoot them."
"I mean—Clot! Never mind. Go ahead."
"What we may need to do is establish a suprapeer figure. A hero for them to emulate."
"I don't get it."
"Of course you don't. Listen, and I'll explain. . ."
They didn't have to wait long to put Doc's plan into effect. Ida had patched into the Sociopatrol Headquarters' system, blue-boxed a monitor on it, then left orders for the ship computer to wake her at the appropriate time.
They had been nailed cold. All exits were sealed and the Sociopatrol was moving in reinforcements. It was a large Delinq gang armed with riot guns and obeying orders with almost military precision as the leader snapped out commands.
"You three, behind those crates. You and you, over there."
There was a loud crump as the Sociopatrol peeled the outer lock door. The leader looked around. It was the best she could do. In a few minutes, they would all be dead. She took up position behind a stack of crates and waited.
Another, louder crump and the main door exploded inward in a shower of metal splinters. Screams from the wounded. The leader recovered, fired a burst at uniformed figures in the doorway. Ragged fire began behind her as the others started to fight back. Hopeless. The patrolmen advanced behind a huge metal shield.
A shout above them.
"Down!"
The leader looked as a slim figure dropped from a duct onto a mountain of crates. He was behind the advancing spearhead of Sociopatrolmen. She lifted her weapon. Almost fired. Again, there was a shout.
"Flatten."
She dropped as Sten sprayed the patrolmen with his willygun. Mass confusion and hysteria began among the attackers. A few tried to fight back. Sten worked his willygun like a hose, spraying from left to right and then left again. And in a moment it was over and there were twenty dead Sociopatrolmen.
Sten jumped down and walked toward the Delinqs. They came out of hiding, dazed. Staring at Sten as he advanced. One boy took a cautious step forward.
"Who's your leader?" Sten asked.
"I am." A voice behind him.
He turned as the woman came from behind the stack of crates. And froze.
Bet.
She fell. And fell. And fell. Screaming for Sten. Every muscle tensed for the hurt. A child again in nightmare fall.
And then there was a softness. Like crashing into a soft pillow, but still falling. And the pillow stiffened, and she bit. . .bottom? And was flung upward, tumbling over and over. Then falling again. Slower.
Until Bet found herself suspended in midair over a huge machine. A McLean gravlift that workmen used to hoist heavy equipment through the ducts.
Cautiously, she slid off the pillow and dropped to the floor. She peered up into the darkness. Nothing. She shouted for Sten. There were sounds above her, then a beam of light speared down. She threw herself to one side as patrolmen fired at her. Came to her feet and sprinted away.
Bet stretched luxuriously on the bed. Nuzzled up to Sten.
"I never thought—"
He silenced her with a kiss. Drew her closer.
"What's to think? We're alive."
Ida paced back and forth, glaring now and then at the door to Sten's quarters. She was very angry. "That's just great," she snarled at Alex. "She bats her eyes and no more Mantis trooper. Just another loverboy."