The target hulk, magnified by the bridge screen, appeared stationary. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then a tiny splinter of light appeared in the corner of the screen. At an impossible speed, it shot toward the hulk. As Hari had said earlier, the laser’s beam wasn’t visible. When the captain increased the magnification of the hulk’s image, though, it sometimes became possible to detect a pinpoint of white where the beam hit the hull. Suddenly a white pinpoint slashed across the hull, and there was a flash as it apparently ignited the gases inside the ore carrier.
However, that wasn’t what I was watching. I was watching the boat. It was incredible. The thing flashed across the screen, firing as it came. As it passed the hulk, it seemed to slow at an incredible rate, and the laser again raked the old ore carrier. Its speed and maneuverability were incredible. The thing was actually corkscrewing around the target’s hull — literally running circles around it.
With a flare of fire, hulk's image split in half. The halves began to drift apart.
I stared at Hari, dumbfounded. He was just shaking his head. “I’ve seen it several times, but I still have trouble believing it,” he said.
I began to get angry. “It’s a trick! Hari, if you think…”
He gestured impatiently. “Oh, Val, it’s no trick! I grant you that it seems impossible for a vessel under human control to maneuver like that, but it is true!”
“But… But how can a ship maneuver like that? And how can a man stand those acceleration stresses?” I demanded, “And don't tell me you found room on that thing for gravity compensators.”
Hari and Captain Lentarr burst into laughter. “No. As far as the maneuvering capability is concerned, I was just as flabbergasted as you are until Toms explained. He uses the tractor and pressor beams. If he flips the tractor on for a fraction of a second as he's passing, he’s whipped around the target. If he uses the pressor for a split second, he’s slowed. Leave it on a fraction longer, and he’s kicked away.”
“And as for his tolerance of high g,” he continued, “It's just a mixture of drugs and a skinsuit-type space suit. Toms can tolerate over 8g without blacking out.”
Ideas began pouring forth from all of us as our excitement grew. Finally, I drew a deep breath and tried to calm down. “Hari, you’ve done it! You’ve given us a real chance, if we have the time to get set up.”
The next weeks were a blur of activity as we arranged for the manufacture of weapons and turrets, and the modification of rim tramps and mining boats to accommodate them. The final design mounted six turrets, three spaced 120 degrees apart near the bow of the tramp, and three more, also equidistant but offset sixty degrees from the first, just aft of her cargo bays. This meant that the ship had complete coverage with at least two turrets covering any possible target.
Once the design was settled, the next challenge was the tramp captains. Captain Cony had kept them happily negotiating for weeks, but now we had no more time. I asked him to call a meeting of the “Captains’ Council.”
I was received with courtesy, and handed an agenda. I strode to the podium and took a deep breath.
“My fellow Captains,” I began, “I’m here today to tell you that weapons designs have been approved, and are presently being manufactured. We will be ready to begin refit of the first ships within the week.” I paused, and a rumble of conversation broke out. I raised my hand, and the rumble died. “This means,” I continued, “That we no longer have the luxury of time for these negotiations. Captain Cony is now handing out a copy of our only and final offer. The Viceroy will pay for modifications to your vessels and the removal of the modifications later. If any ship is lost or damaged, the Viceroy will pay for repair or replacement. In addition, each ship will be compensated for lost trade based upon an average of the vessel's income over the past year, pro-rated for the amount of time spent in the service of the Viceroy.”
This time the rumble was a roar. A man in the front row stood up, and the babble subsided. “What if a ship had a bad year last year, Commodore?”
I shrugged. “Then she’ll have a bad year this year too. The Viceroy is compensating you for your ships and effort in his behalf, not adopting you.” The roar flared again. I raised a hand and it subsided slightly, but I still had to speak loudly to continue. “I’m a trader, too.” I said. “I know that it’s our natures to try to get the best deal possible. I’m telling you right now that this is it. It’s non-negotiable. Those of you who wish to volunteer your services and those of your ships should give your names to Captain Cony. No,” I added, “You will not get a better deal by dragging your feet; and you'll be risking events catching up with you.”
The man in the front row hadn’t sat down. “And what if we decide that we’re not interested in the Viceroy's take-it-or-leave-it offer?” he asked belligerently.
My temper flared, but I held onto it. “Then you’re free to see if you can get a better offer from Admiral Jonas.” There was a murmur of hushed conversation. “Or you can try to pretend that nothing’s happening. But don’t plan on being very popular. When this dustup is over, be assured that the people of all the rim planets will know who the heroic traders were who fought for them — and which traders didn't.”
“That’s blackmail!” the man shouted.
I grinned. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?” I left the podium and the building. Even as I left, I could see the captains clustering around Cony, all wanting to show their heroism by being among the first to sign up. The man who’d spoken up was glowering at me, but he jostled into the throng. I wasn’t concerned. Any captain who wanted to stay on the rim would sign on.
Other problems were more complex. I still didn’t have a Flag Captain to command Valkyrie, or an Astrogator, and her refit was nearly complete. There were the thousands of details involved in the manufacture and installation of the weapons systems, and the transportation of the mining boats. Since they weren't jump-capable, they had to be brought to Outback aboard tramps for arming and pilot training. Luckily, Toms Tindarr turned out to be an excellent instructor, and since his students knew his ability and weren’t put off by his appearance, they paid attention and learned quickly. Within a couple of weeks, space around Outback was crowded with darting, speeding boats. We’d run out of scrap hulls, and the students were training using ship-sized asteroids as targets.
When the vidphone activated, it took me a moment to recognize the Guild representative I’d contacted when we’d first arrived on Outback.
“Good news, Commodore,” he crowed. “We’ve found an Astrogator on Gamma who paid off a Beta-class freighter a few months ago.”
“Great!” I exclaimed. “Get him here as soon as possible. Send him a round-trip ticket, so he won't have to worry about getting back to Gamma if it doesn't work out.”
The man smiled broadly. “She’s here on Outback, Commodore. I felt sure you’d guarantee her passage. Shall I send her over? I think you’ll find her quite… er… striking!”
“She, eh?” I replied. “Yes, by all means send her over immediately. As for whether she's striking, she could be a purple-furred quadruped for all I care.”
The smile didn’t fade. "Of course, Commodore. She says she can be there within the hour." After abbreviated courtesies, we signed off.
I keyed the intercom to Jax’s office. “Jax, a woman will be coming within the next hour or so to see me. Bring her right in; she may be a replacement for Con.”
Chapter V