Unsurprisingly, we headed for Engineering as soon as the crushing pressure of liftoff eased. The rim tramp we had boarded at the shipyard was brand new. It had been finished, but not yet delivered, when we’d arrived. I’d immediately seized it in Cord’s name. We were using it as a test bed for Hari’s weapons designs. It looked normal enough. The only difference I could see between now and when we’d seized it was a ring of three equidistant bumps around her middle.
“All right, Hari. I think I’ve been pretty patient. But if you don’t start explaining…”
Hari continued to act mysterious as we worked our way aft and entered the engine room. Finally, he waved at the inertial drives. “Look at those, Val. No, I mean really look that them.”
Puzzled, I followed his wave with my eyes. “They look a bit large for a ship this size, but they look conventional…” I began, but then I began to notice small differences. “Well, why would they…? Look how they…?” I turned to Hari. “What is this, Hari? These engines look all right at first glance, but then…”
Hari grinned. “You're beginning to get it.” He said. “Time hasn’t stopped out here. In fact, some of the most brilliant minds in the Empire ended up out here, where they were comparatively free to experiment. Take these engines. I’ve seen the specs and test results. I suspect that they’re better than Empire systems of five hundred years ago.”
I snorted. “Don't tell me that these rimworlders have that mythical superengine. It never existed.”
Hari nodded soberly. “You’re right, of course. There never was a superengine — just a slow decline in the capabilities of Empire manufacture. What these engines have is highly developed refinements of the standard system.” He patted one of the engines paternally. “These engines are powerful enough to require that the ships be equipped with gravity compensators. Figures I’ve seen indicate that they’re capable of over 3g constant boost, and nearly six in short bursts.”
I was jolted. “Are you serious? I mean, you’re saying these tramps could outrun a strengl fighter!”
Reflected light gleamed through thin hair as Hari shook his head. “True, but they can’t maneuver like a strengl. They’re not fighters. And that’s the point. I don’t think you understand how different things are out here. That’s really why I shanghaied you today. It’s vitally important that you understand the rim if you want to win this. Try to fight Jonas with Empire tactics, strategy and equipment, and you'll lose — he has the weight of metal. But the rim is different than you or he suspect. You have the chance to come up with completely new and unconventional tactics that can offset his advantage.
“You see, in the Empire, scientific and engineering development effectively stopped about four hundred years ago. A strengl fighter built last month is identical to the strengls used in the Horsehead Rebellion four hundred years ago.”
I nodded. “Except that a four-hundred-year-old strengl would be better built. I know, Hari. Sheol, look how much trouble we had finding techs qualified to rewind Valkyrie ’s jump engines! It’s one of the reasons I think Cord may be right.”
Hari was looking exasperated at my interruption. “My point is that the development you’re noticing applies to the whole vessel. They’re not based on any standard imperial design. They were designed from the ground up to trade here on the rim. They’re small, since except for a few grain haulers, the rim worlds don’t tend to trade in large shipments and bulk cargoes. They have oversize and better inertial drives because space isn’t crowded around rim planets, and their captains want to get to their jump points as quickly as possible. Their jump engines, on the other hand, are fairly small, since jumps are usually short. Their nav comps are specially designed for the rim. They’re fantastically accurate in computing short jumps, but would be almost useless for running a course from, say, here to Prime, where most jumps would be two or three times as long.”
He took a deep breath. “Taken individually, each design feature merely improves a bit on standard technology. However, put them together, and you have a vessel that’s bigger and less maneuverable than a fighter is, but faster than a corvette. They have the mass to mount some sizeable weapon power, and the speed and maneuverability to deliver it — if they can steer clear of the strengl s.”
This was the best news I’d had since enlisting with Cord. “Okay, so a strengl could outmaneuver them. But they have the advantage of being jump capable. We should be able to come up with some interesting tactics — if we can arm them. Now,” I teased, “tell me you’ve discovered a superweapon to arm them with!”
Hari shook his head. “No, no superweapons; but I think you'll find what we have interesting. The idea’s simple. Actually, the biggest problem we faced was making sure they had good enough targeting capabilities. Finally a young man here came up with one of those ‘why didn’t I think of that!’ solutions. Care to guess what it was?”
I grinned. “Nope. Suppose you just tell me.”
A wide grin split Hari's skull-like face. “People.”
I was puzzled. “People? What does that mean?”
“We both know that a ‘Gunner’ on an Empire warship is a tech manning a station monitoring targeting computers. Right?”
“Of course.”
“Well, there's a young man here that's addicted to ancient adventure stories; some of them he even claims are pre-spaceflight.”
I snorted. “Ridiculous!”
Hari shrugged. “Maybe. Anyway, according to him, projectile weapons called 'guns' were once mounted on seagoing ships and primitive aircars called ‘airplanes’. He found a description of one of these things, and showed it to us. These vessels had weapons that were mounted in turrets penetrating the hull, and those weapons were controlled by a man standing behind them and manually aiming them — the gunner.”
“Come on, Hari! No human can compute ballistics accurately or fast enough to control a space weapon! Besides, you'd have to have a person for each weapon.” That, of course, was the case with infantry weapons. But even infantry weapons have target-seeking and range-finding systems. Unaided humans control artillery? Or ship-mounted weapons in space, where relative speeds can run to thousands of kilometers per second?
Hari shook his head. “Of course no human can be as accurate or fast as a computer, Val. But for one thing, he doesn’t need to be. According to these books, gunners were highly trained to deal with such factors as wind, rain, and even gravity. However, in space, none of those things is very important. There is no wind or rain, of course. Gravity computations can be complex, but not at battle distances. Even at ranges up to several thousand kilometers, a human can control his weapon in space. A laser beam travels straight, regardless; and even a projectile wouldn’t be deflected enough that aim couldn’t be easily corrected.
“For another thing, humans can be trained to be quite accurate. We’ve done some experiments. Using a quick-firing projectile weapon, we’ve found that a man can quickly learn to observe the impact of his projectiles, and gradually correct his aim. We call it ‘walking’ the projectiles onto the target. And their initial accuracy continues to improve.”
I suppressed a snicker. Hari was an engineer, not a soldier. The rawest recruit learns to walk his fire onto his target within a few minutes — with infantry weapons.
By this time, he’d led me to what was obviously the inside of one of the strange bulges. A transparent ball some three meters in diameter was set into the hull, protruding through it. Most of the ball was crammed with interconnected boxes. The boxes filled all but a narrow, tunnel-like cleared space. The ball was set in a series of gimbals. The back of the ball was open, and three men were wrestling two long tubes into it. The tubes were attached at one end to a small, boxlike affair. As the tubes settled into their positions, I saw a rudimentary seat attached to the back of them.
Hari rested a hand on the transparent plas, which was almost ten centimeters thick. “We call this a ‘ball turret’,” he said. “Those tubes are quick firing projectile weapons.” He waved a rather intense-looking young man forward. The man appeared to be about twenty. “This is Jerith, the young genius who came up with all this.”
The man flushed. “I’m honored, Commodore. But I’m no genius. I just noticed something I thought we could use.”
I cleared my throat as I acknowledged the introduction. “So, what do these projectile weapons throw?”
“These, sir,” Jerith replied. He dropped a metal cylinder into my hand. The cylinder was about twenty millimeters in diameter and eight or nine centimeters long. One end was pierced by four equidistant holes.
“They’re actually small rockets,” Jerith said with the pride of a new father, “In space, you can see their drive flare, though we use radar to walk the rockets onto the target. This one is unplated, but the ones in the guns are plated with collapsed metal.”
I gasped. “But that would make them mass…”
Hari nodded. “About fifty kilograms in a one-gee field.” His skull-like grin was back. “You should see what they do to a hull!” He exclaimed. “They… well, what am I talking about? You're going to see! However, think about a collapsium-plated mass of fifty kilograms impacting an area only twenty millimeters in diameter at a relative velocity of several thousand meters per second. We've had them penetrate both sides of a target hulk, depending on what they hit inside. Of course, if they hit the magnetic fusion bottle…”
I nodded, and examined the turret with care. I wasn’t unfamiliar with the turret concept. They were common in tanks. But this ‘ball turret’ appeared to move in ways that a tank turret couldn’t. A tank turret rotates and has a laser or particle beam projector that can elevate. In this thing, it seemed that the whole ball elevated as well as rotating, giving an impressive field of fire — apparently an entire hemisphere.
“Let's see,” I said, “Your operator sits in the seat attached to the back of the weapons. How does he control the turret?”
Jerith grinned. “Feedback receptors in his helmet. The gunner moves his head slightly in any direction, and the turret rotates in that direction. Simple, intuitive and the gunner doesn't have to think about it, or be well trained. Most people catch on in a few minutes.”
I let myself be talked into squeezing into the seat. Jerith strapped me in. “I apologize for the cramped quarters, Commodore, but the turret is entirely self-contained. We didn't have time to figure out how to move the rockets into or out of the turret while it was moving. All this,” he waved a hand at the boxes squeezing us in, “is ammunition.”
Once seated, it wasn't uncomfortable, but an overwhelming sense of being cramped set in. Jerith slipped the helmet onto my head, then retreated and closed the small door. I looked around. In front of me were two handles attached to the rear of the box that joined the tubes. Each handle had a large red button set into its top. Suddenly an intercom hummed in my ears.
“All right, Commodore. Between the handles in front of you is a switch marked ‘Armed’. Flip it on.” I did so, and the turret immediately began slewing wildly.
“Easy, Commodore!” the voice shouted. “Hold your head still!” I froze my head, and the turret instantly steadied. After a few seconds, I twisted my head slightly to the left. The turret slewed, and suddenly I was looking out between the tubes at the planet we’d just left.
“It doesn't take much motion, Commodore. We wanted the turret to be as responsive as possible. Now, turn your head slightly to the right.”
I tried it, cautiously, and the turret obediently swiveled. I raised my head slightly, and suddenly I was looking into open space. The response was immediate but, I thought, easily controllable. I was beginning to get excited. I moved my thumbs back to the red buttons, and pressed them both. There was a thrumming more felt than heard, and two trails of fire spewed from the tubes. Yes, I thought, it wouldn’t be a problem to walk those onto a target.
A few minutes’ practice with the ‘ball turret’ made me quite confident that I could handle it. Maybe Hari and Jerith had something. Using the feedback helmet, I could control the turret quite well and very quickly. Certainly, a targeting computer would be faster and more accurate — but perhaps a man would be enough.
The intercom came to life again. "Now, Commodore, we’re going to be coming up on the target shortly. It's a scrap ore carrier. Lower the goggles from your helmet. They’re really radar repeaters that will magnify and let you see your target. Without them, you wouldn't be able to see a ship at ten meters.”
I lowered the goggles, and everything went black. I was just about to ask if something was wrong when the voice resumed. “The Captain will be rotating the ship in a moment, to give you a shot at the target. When the ship appears, you're cleared to fire. The range will be five hundred kilometers.”
Suddenly, a shape appeared at the bottom of my goggles. I lowered my chin slightly, and the image was suddenly in the center of my field of vision. Excited, I mashed the red buttons. The streams of fire looked different through the goggles, and I had to remind myself that I wasn't really seeing the fire, but magnified radar images of the tiny, fast-moving rockets. I think even the first rocket hit the hulk. At any rate, I had no trouble holding the ship in my sights.
“Cease Fire!” the command came over the intercom. I released the buttons. “The Captain would like to know if you’d like to try it on a combat approach,” the voice asked.
“Yes, I would,” I replied. “I assume we were pretty much stationary relative to the target just now?”
“Yes, sir. The Captain says that it’ll take about an hour to adjust our orbits to make a combat approach. If you'd like to step out of the turret, just turn the arming switch off.” I did so, and the turret swiveled back to its original position and froze. Young Jerith opened the turret, removed my helmet, and released the safety straps. I squeezed out of the cramped turret.
A grinning Hari was waiting for me. “Well?” He asked.
I was trembling with excitement. “You may really be onto something!” I exclaimed. “I want to try it on a combat vector, but it looks like this may work!”
We launched into a technical discussion. Yes, the gunner would have to stop when he exhausted his rockets, but the Captain could rotate the ship to move another turret into position to compensate while they reloaded the first. Besides, most space combat consisted of hours of maneuvering to permit seconds of actual fighting. Yes, they envisioned using the equidistant turrets to provide overlapping fields of fire.
The most limiting factor of the designs was the requirement that each turret be totally self-contained. They were working on it, but had no solutions at present. What about using lasers in place of the finite ammunition supply of the guns?
Hari shrugged. “We’ve got one rigged up in one of the other turrets,” he replied. “The main problem there is that there are no atmospheric particles to make the beam visible. It requires much more sophisticated sighting equipment. Besides, the magnetic bottle of the power unit takes up as much room as the boxes of rockets — and unfriendly strangers will be targeting the turret,” he added. “Imagine what would happen if a particle beam hit the magnetic bottle.”
I shuddered.
A sudden grin broke onto Hari's face. “Besides, we've got better things to do with the lasers.”
“What better things?” I asked.
Hari just grinned. “Patience, Commodore. You’ll see.”
We began the combat approach. We could feel the ship begin to jerk and corkscrew, despite the gravity compensators. The Captain was taking this drill seriously. As well he might, I figured. Any Captain would be a fool to miss a chance to drill his crew under simulated combat conditions. I hurried to the turret, and Hari and Jerith helped me slide in and buckle down. One of the things I needed to know was how long it would take to man and arm the turret. The helmet slipped over my head and the goggles dropped. I heard Hari and Jerith scramble out of the turret, and flipped the arming switch.
The turret slewed as I tried to locate the target. The Captain evidently rotated the ship, as I suddenly saw the blip of the target appear. I swiveled the turret into position and mashed the buttons. As soon as the streams of fire appeared, the Captain began maneuvering wildly, as though dodging missiles and lasers. I found I had little trouble holding onto the target. Oh, an unexpected maneuver might cause me to slew off-target, but I could reacquire in seconds. In a few moments, we were past the hulk, and I secured the guns, flipping the arming switch off.
I scrambled out of the confined bubble. My excitement had me spewing questions without waiting for answers. Finally, Hari held up a hand in surrender.
“Easy, Val,” He chuckled. “I’ll try to answer all your questions. Yes, you’ve seen that they can do serious damage to a spacecraft — even a warship. Yes, they can be installed in any rim tramp, complete with support systems. And yes, they can be manufactured cheaply and quickly.”
“How soon can we begin arming the tramps?” I demanded.
Hari grinned. “That depends on how soon you can get bids, let contracts and all that nonsense. The Engineering specs are available. We could probably have the first guns and turrets made and begin the modifications as soon as we could get a ship here. Certainly by the end of the week.”
I waved a hand in irritation. “Forget about that contract guff. Find the best makers, and do it on a cost-plus basis. But warn ‘em that the most cutthroat accounting firm I can find will be auditing them. They do not want to make me think they’re profiteering, I promise you. Get ‘em busy soonest.” I paused, my excitement fading slightly. “Well, that’ll give me over thirty armed ships, if Jonas gives us time to finish them. Not a lot to face Jonas’ force of trained troops and military ships.” I shrugged. “But we’ll be able to give them a bloody nose.”
A sly smile spread across Hari's features. “Don’t give up yet, Commodore.” The man he waved forward reminded me of nothing so much as a rat, with a small, slight body and a narrow face with close-set, beady eyes that were constantly moving. I made an effort to overcome an instant dislike as Hari introduced him as Toms Tindarr. “Toms is the best asteroid mining boat pilot on the rim,” he concluded.
Tindarr grinned, a grin that looked somehow feral. Hiding my reluctance, I shook his hand. “’At’s right, Comm’dore," he said in a grating voice. “Yer boys here called f’r th’ best, an’ ‘at’s me!”
I hoped that my greeting didn't sound as insincere as it was.
Hari noticed my dislike instantly. “C’mon, Toms,” He said hurriedly, “Let’s show the Commodore your pride and joy.”
The grin was back, looking if possible even more feral, but the man started off toward the hold eagerly. Hari hung back as we followed.
“I know the first impression he makes, Val,” he said quietly, “But he really is the best around; and I've seen no sign that his personality matches his appearance. Try to ignore his looks and give him a chance to show what he can do.”
If I was disturbed by the appearance of Toms Tindarr, I was appalled by the contents of the forward hold. It took a moment for my vision to adapt to the dimness of the interior of the hold, but it was just as well. Squatting in the center of the deck was the ugliest assemblage I’d ever seen. It looked as though someone had gathered bits and pieces of various vehicles, and just bolted them together haphazardly. There wasn’t even a perfunctory attempt at style or grace.
Hari strode up and patted its side familiarly. I hung back in case it fell apart at Hari’s touch. “Here we are,” Hari said, “A typical asteroid mining boat — well, as typical as they get. There are some pretty strange designs out there.” I looked to see if he was joking, but he seemed serious enough.
“There’s a pretty strange design in here,” I replied dryly. “You are joking, aren’t you?”
A strange, hurt look crossed Hari’s face, and I realized that he’d been serious. This… abomination was something he thought was important. Tindarr was glaring at me.
“Look, Hari,” I continued, trying to recover, “You’ve had some time with this thing, and have some familiarity with it. Maybe if you explain it to me, and why you think it’s so important, I’ll see the beauty in it, too.” However, I doubted it.
The boat was about 25 meters long, and some 15 in diameter, if you can use that term for something so irregular in shape. As I stared, some surfaces connected in my mind and I realized that the rear of the thing consisted of an inertial drive engine nearly the size of the one in the tramp, almost buried in fuel tanks. Sandwiched in the middle was what must be a large cockpit or small cabin. In front of the cockpit was a dizzying array of pipes and cables, jumbled into an apparently haphazard pile of varied shapes. I recognized the object at the extreme front of the thing, though. It’s hard to mistake a cruiser-sized laser for anything else.
Hari stepped back and considered the boat for a moment. Then he chuckled. “I forgot how they look at first glance. It isn’t until you appreciate the elegance of the engineering that they start to look good.”
I pointed to the rear of the thing. “Is that really an inertial drive engine back there? It's almost big enough to run this ship.”
Hari nodded. “Yes, both times. It’s an engine that's big enough for a small ship. After all, these things have to be able to push asteroids around. That's why they have this.” He patted the bizarre assemblage in front of the cockpit. “It’s a tractor/pressor generator," he added.
“What? I’ve only seen those on large ships… and judging by the ones I’ve seen, I’d say this one is huge!”
Tindarr grinned. “How else would ye hang onter an asteroid t’push it around?”
Hari was flushed with excitement; he was like a child showing off a new toy. “See, the miners cruise the asteroid belt looking for suitable asteroids. When they find one, they nudge it into an orbit that’ll carry it in-system to an orbital or moon-based plant where the asteroid is processed into its component metals and minerals. So, they have huge engines, huge tractor/pressor generators and huge ballistic computers for computing the orbital deflections and delta-vee requirements. The cabin, on the other hand, has just enough room for a miner to get out of his suit. It’s amazing that they spend days in these tiny cabins before returning to a larger mother ship.”
Now that I was beginning to understand its layout, the thing didn't seem as ugly. Homely, yes, but Hari was right; from an engineering standpoint it was a thing of beauty. Amazing power in a remarkably compact package. There had to be a way to use them. “I noticed the laser,” I said, “You obviously have something in mind for them.”
Hari nodded. “The laser’s mounted on the centerline,” he said. “No fancy targeting system, just some calibrated crosshairs etched into the plas of the cockpit screen. You aim the boat to aim the laser. Actually,” he added, “That’s nothing new. They use laser-equipped boats at the orbital factories to chop the asteroids into chunks for processing. We also thought about a centerline-mounted mass driver. A boat could handle one fifty centimeters in diameter.”
I was beginning to get excited. “These things could be better fighters than strengl s! How much acceleration do they have?”
Both Hari and Tindarr grinned. “More than the pilot can take. This model is rated for 12g — with a robot pilot, of course.”
“Aye, I’ll show ‘ee!”
Tindarr reached into the maze of pipes and touched some hidden latch. The cockpit clamshelled open. He reached into the cockpit and retrieved a helmet, which he began to don. “We’uns put tergether a show f’r’ee, Commodore. G’wan up t’ye bridge, ‘n see what m’beauty c’n do!” Somehow, when he was talking about his craft, Tindarr’s face lost some of its ratlike appearance.
Hari led me out of the hold and toward the bridge. “As Toms said,” he told me, “We’ve arranged a demonstration. The Captain is launching Toms’ boat now.”
At the bridge hatch, Hari paused. “You’ll see, Val. Toms is amazing! Don’t prejudge him.” I promised I wouldn’t, and Hari led me onto the bridge and presented me to the Captain, Fors Lentarr.
Captain Lentarr explained that Toms Tindarr’s boat had been jettisoned, and that Tindarr was setting up on an attack vector while we retreated to a safe distance. He also told me that the target hulk had been pressurized with flammable gas at three atmospheres, and all airtight hatches had been dogged. “If we’re lucky,” He said, “We may be able to see some of the hits. If,” he added dryly, “You left any compartments unholed!”
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.”