Hells jesters, p.33
Hell's Jesters, page 33
Kelly did an admirable job of hiding surprise. “An hour is plenty of time.”
“You too, Harrison?” Yoshenko snorted and looking to Red. “This is craziness.”
Jerry’s smile approached ridiculous proportions. “Last I checked, crazy is what we do.”
The Jesters erupted in laughter.
Grinning wildly because doing anything else would derail the momentum Tim pumped a fist in the air for attention. “Look, I was at Orpheus and Gallaton and a whole bunch of other shit holes only a few of you probably remember. We’ve always had things go wrong. But we’re still here. We’re still winning. We are still going to win. Am I right?!?!?”
Laughter went loud and ragged as the Jesters bawled their approval. Even Yoshenko’s gloomy expression thawed.
Tim turned. “Am I right, Red?”
The leader of the Jesters shook out her shoulders, as though dusting them off. Fire returned to her stare and with it came the lopsided smile they’d all seen so many times, had counted on.
“Of course you’re right, Tim.” She took a long series of moments to look around the whole throng. “What I am trying to figure out is why you’re all still standing around talking about it. Let’s get to work, Jesters!”
HOLOGRAPHIC RECEPTOR ON>>>
>>>SCANNING>>>SCANNING>>>HYPER-CHANNEL 666789 - NOVA TERRA - GOVERNMENT SPONSORED>>>RECEPTION>>> Alexi Noovin, seated with the other High Councilors atop their dais above the floor of the Galactic Assembly, hands a data pad to an aide and, with a glance at his peers, stands.
“It is our understanding there is a motion from the floor to hear a petition from the Assemblyman from New Jefferson?”
“There is.” Ansolm Levine stands from the upper tier benches of the Assembly.
“Seconded,” calls an Assemblywoman from amongst the Outregion Bloc.
With a sigh caught by the holocamera microphones, Noovin says, “Very well, the floor is yours for ten minutes, Assemblyman.”
“I have been granted the full time allotments for forty systems,” Levine says, striding to the aisle and beginning to make his way down, “as you will see on your readers.”
Noovin glances at a holoscreen built into his armrest. Moffett of Plymouth growls something into his ear but he waves it off. “We agree, Assemblyman. Am I to assume we are about to be treated to some oratory?”
“Some.” Levine moves slowly, deliberately, his expression grave. He produces a data pad from his robes.
“You need notes, this time?” Noovin looks suddenly nervous. “You’re slipping, Ansolm.”
“It’s not notes, necessarily. A little bit of history, instead, something I had to fish out of databanks that have been curiously locked to public access.” He throws the Councilors a glance. “Considering their content I’d have no idea why an honest government would want them hidden.”
“History, Assemblyman?” Moffett groans. “Really, Noovin, this body has more important considerations that Mr. Levine’s flights of fancy.”
“This comes to us from Old Earth, nearly half a millennium past, a more innocent age, to be sure, but no less troubled.”
“Assemblyman Levine, please...”
“’When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another’,” Levine reads, “’and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation’.”
“Oh, lovely words, indeed,” Moffett sneers. But Noovin has frozen, a single streak of sweat glimmering down the side of his face.
“’We hold these truths to be self-evident’,” Levines continues, “’that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed’.”
“What are you doing, Ansolm?” Noovin asks in a throttled voice. The entirety of the Assembly has gone silent.
Levine’s voice is rising to a crescendo as he reaches the Assembly floor. “’That whenever any form of government becomes destructive to these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness’.”
Roars and shattering applause descend from the upper tiers of the Assembly chamber, not at all deterred by the stony stillness amongst the lower ones.
“Five hundred year old rhetoric is what you hold up our proceedings for, Levine?” Moffett snarls, standing from her seat at the dais. She glances at Noovin, who has not moved, is watching Levine like one might gawk at an explosion.
“Life!” Levine bellows with an upraised fist. “Liberty! And the pursuit of happiness! Hard things to come by with an Alliance planet-buster hovering over your capital, Councilors.”
“And maybe it would be better if it carried out its mission, Mister Levine.” Spittle flecks from Moffett’s mouth. She whirls to the chamber exit. “This has gone on long enough. Sergeant-at-Arms, please remove the Assemblyman, again, from our presence.”
“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary, Madam Councilor.” Levine tosses the data pad casually to the floor. “Though I completely agree; this has gone on long enough.”
“Don’t do this, Ansolm.” Noovin is barely heard over a rising babble from the Assembly. He stands slowly. “Don’t.”
Levine offers his longtime rival a sorry smile. “We’ll all be leaving now.”
With that, the Assemblyman of New Jefferson stalks from the floor. He is followed by the delegates for every Outregion world, a silent and grim procession that snakes down from the upper tiers to the exits, leaving the rest of the Assembly on their feet with shouts of dismay or confusion.
While Moffett waves furiously at someone out of sight, makes a throat-cutting motion, Noovin slouches back into his chair, conflict across a face that suddenly looks so much older than—
>>>SIGNAL LOSS>>>TRANSMISSION CUT AT SOURCE>>>
REAL SPACE RE-ENTRY flashed across the HVT-XI’s view screens, caught Jerry Rodann furiously mopping sweat from his brow.
“Are you all right?” Cory asked from the second officer’s chair to his right.
Jerry dabbed the soaked handkerchief at his face one last time and shoved it into a pants pocket. “I’m fine, kid.” He glanced about the cramped bridge—cockpit, really—as holograms swam and flashed, the transport’s sensors resetting after the hyper jump, orienting to the New Jefferson System. “Let’s do this.”
The system display solidified, showed the outline of the gravity well and the star at its bottom with five satellites, New Jefferson the outermost of these. The false Syntar transport they rode had come out of hyper rather deep into the well, but from the direction its legitimate double would have been expected. That double already should have been dragged out of hyperspace by gravitic mines ten light years distant and destroyed by Red’s strike force.
Should have, Jerry thought with a gulp, or else this is going to be a real short trip.
“The transponder’s broadcasting the all clear,” Cory said. Clad as Jerry, in a severe gray uniform with silver trim, she looked every centimeter the Syntar merchant officer. The disguise was probably overkill, but no one had been really certain how far the charade would have to go before they sprung the surprise. “If Mr. Jones’ codes are correct, we should be projecting a pretty good illusion of a Syntar ore hauler out of Plymouth.”
The transport’s tactical display pinged, showed a refitted, earlier generation destroyer closing from their aft quarter. “That’s not a Navy vessel.” Jerry manipulated a sensor control, nodded at the resulting readout. “She’s local militia.”
“Not the Navy,” Cory said, “that’s good right?”
“We’ll see.” Jerry keyed the communicator. “This is Syntar 1-5-1-Charlie, flying out of the Foundation.” It surprised him how easily the bored drawl of a long-range hauler returned. “Our serial numbers, mission packet, and manifest are transmitting on the open. Do you read?”
“This is Liberty’s Hope, New Jefferson Militia, and we read you, 151C.” A globular hologram materialized, held an image of a scrappy-looking young officer in a blue-gray uniform. “You’re a bit on the late side, aren’t you? We’ve been expecting you for twelve hours.”
Jerry improvised a jaded hauler’s smile for the hologram. “Foundation’s not a short walk, Captain.”
The militia officer nodded knowingly. He glance off to one side, listening. “All right, 151C, your course plot has been changed. Traffic is being diverted to the Fleet Docks at the L3. Alter your heading accordingly.”
Jerry’s heart leapt into his throat and beside him, Cory stifled a gasp. Out of the corner of his eye, Jerry noted the Navy dock at the number three Lagrange Point, synchronously orbiting with New Jefferson. A swarm of blips crowded about the station, transports of various makes and missions, a regular space traffic jam, but circled at a menacing distance by flights of Alliance Valkyries.
If we’re stuck out there when Red hits...
“Ah...” Jerry keyed the communicator. “Um, Captain, I’m in a bit of a rush, you see—”
“Hold on, 151C.” The militia officer was again listening to someone out of sight, his smile slipping momentarily in disgust before flowing back into place. “Yes, I see.” He glowered through the hologram at Jerry. “You have my apologies, 151C. My mistake, all Syntar traffic is being routed directly to the orbital yards for loading and unloading.”
Jerry barely hid his relieved outrush of breath. “That’s no problem, Captain.”
“Be on your way, then, 151C.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Jerry fed power to the engines.
“Well,” Cory whispered, “that went well.”
The transport’s AI blatted a warning before the words were fully out of her mouth. Jerry glanced in confusion at the sensor display, which showed targeting beam patterns painting their hull. Tactical showed the destroyer still lingering at their flank.
“One thing more, 151C.” The militia Captain’s hologram reappeared. “Are you running some kind of internal jamming?”
Jerry swallowed once to steady his voice. “Of course we’re not.”
“Really? Because we’re having a hard time getting readings inside your hull.”
Jerry threw Cory a frantic look. “Check our energy signature. You’d know from that if we were generating a cancellation signal.”
The officer looked aside, his face highlighted by a holographic gleam for an instant. “Inconclusive.” His features crinkled in suspicion. “Maybe you should decelerate, 151C and prepare for—”
“Captain, this is First Officer Xiang,” Cory said in the irritatingly bright tone of a junior officer. “I’m sorry but the Captain has had the helm for forty-eight straight hours and can be forgiven a little forgetfulness, can’t he? We’re loaded with reflective blastisteel plate to be cut for ray shields for the transuranic processing plants, planet side. That could be playing havoc with your sensor readings.”
The militia officer frowned at his readouts.
“It’s on our manifest,” Cory added with a brilliant smile.
The captain began to shake his head but stopped, blinked once, then stared straight through the hologram. “I don’t know what it is that you’re about, 151C.”
The pause that followed thundered with Jerry’s accelerated pulse. His free hand slipped to the release lever fashioned into the center of his controls that would blow charges set all along the false transport’s hull. If they’re on to us...
“But,” the militia officer resumed, “I suppose you’d best be at it.” He smiled and there was an almost impish glee for an instant in his eyes. “Good luck to you all.”
Jerry smiled back before killing the connection.
“What the hell was that?” Kelly’s voice sounded from a speaker, patched from the innards of the transport.
“I...I’m not sure.” Jerry glanced at Cory, who had acquired a gleam of sweat. “But we’re in.”
“Great. How long is it till we hit the orbital yards?”
Jerry touched the tactical hologram. “Ah, it looks like forty minutes.”
“All right. Good job, Jerry.”
He turned and patted Cory’s thigh. “And good job to you, kid. That was some quick thinking. Thanks.”
She nodded and whipped a handful of her blue-black mop from her eyes. “Yeah. Though, why do I get the feeling I’m going wish they’d figured us out and chased us off?”
Jerry laughed. “I know what you mean, kid.” He gave the transport a touch of power, a slight course adjustment as they sailed down the gravity well to New Jefferson and the docks in its orbit. “I know what you mean.”
NOW I KNOW WHY IT WAS militia running the system picket screen, Kelly thought as she watched her holograms.
The tactical display was receiving its feed from the transport’s AI, patching all its sensor data through to her Hellhound, huddled in darkness in the converted hauler’s belly. That display, constantly refining as the data poured in, showed the system’s periphery prowled by militia formations, a small cluster of Alliance ships about the Fleet Dock—including a medium cruiser—but the bulk of the Navy force circling New Jefferson from a far orbit, above the ship yards.
Smart, Kelly considered. They’re distant enough to quickly break free and accelerate to combat speed. That must be Geiger out there. Ah, yes... Her AI highlighted one of the contacts and labeled it the A.G.N.S Immolator. A caustic hint of bile rose at the back of her throat as a holographic pointer brushed across one and then another light carrier, identifying the second as the Bedford. Of course, I knew it would have to be. A quick scan revealed Valkyrie flights on the prowl. And some of those could be the Wolves now.
“Problem, Kelly.” Jerry’s face appeared before her in a globular. Strain made him look ancient and Kelly wished she hadn’t been swayed by his pleas to be here. “We’re seventeen minutes from the orbital yards and receiving instructions.”
“Yeah? So?”
“They’re already designating us a berth,” he said like it should be obvious. “Because they’re diverting all traffic but Syntar’s to the Lagrange, the yards are running ahead of schedule. They’re waiting on us.”
“Oh crap, I see.” Kelly’s veins cooled with a rush of clarity that was partly adrenalized panic, partly the training that allowed her to force it down. “They’re going to expect to board us—”
“—for an inspection, yeah.” Jerry’s lips pressed into a tight line that just barely quivered at the corner. “When can we expect Red?”
Kelly glanced at the holographic mission counter she had her AI keeping constantly displayed and suppressed a gulp. “The assault element was to run an hour behind us, so as to give us time to reach the yards and maybe be jockeying for a dock, but not to actually be docked.”
“Let alone being searched by Alliance marines,” Jerry said.
“You’ve got to stall things, Jerry.”
The pinched line of his lips twitched once. “All right, I’ll think of something.”
“Make it quick.”
The globular dematerialized. An instant later, another replaced it, Tim Watkins grinning tightly from its false brilliance. “How goes it?”
Kelly was instantly grateful Jerry had contacted her by a private channel as opposed to the tactical frequency. “All is well,” she half lied. “And you?”
“I’m about as well as anyone could be, riveted into a big coffin and relying on someone else’s eyes.”
Kelly chortled quietly. They’d crammed two squadrons of Hellhounds into the converted transport, all veterans and volunteers, all under her, with Tim acting as the junior squadron leader. Even with their combined experiences, Kelly doubted the seasoned Jesters had ever expected a trip as strange and unnerving as this one. “Everyone is about where we want them,” Kelly said by way of relaxing him
“At least until Red hits,” Tim replied. “Then we’ll see if everybody’s where we want ‘em.”
Kelly nodded, not so much an agreement as an acknowledgment of his concern.
“Well, I see at least one ‘friend’ who is exactly where we thought she’d be,” Tim said. A smaller hologram, keyed from his end, popped up in the corner of the globular, showed a planetary display and a contact blinking from geosynchronous orbit: the planet-buster. “Is there a chance they’ll take that monster with them when Red’s diversion starts?”
“No, she’ll stay where she is. She’s only designed for one job, and fighting’s not it. She’d be worse than useless in an engagement.”
“God I hate that thing.”
Kelly smiled wickedly. “That’s why your squadron gets her.” The smile dropped slightly. “But, Tim, make sure to make it a clean kill. She’s a big ship and New Jefferson’s densely populated. We don’t want anything particularly big raining down on them.”
Tim winked through the hologram. “There won’t be enough left of her to burn up in the atmosphere.”
“This is Syntar 1-5-1-Charlie, answering New Jefferson Orbital Control on the open—” Jerry’s voice, remarkably droll and weary-sounding, broke in on one of Kelly’s side channels. The former Hauler clearly wanted her listening.
“I’m needed, Tim,” she told Watkins hurriedly.
“Is that Rodann?”
“He’s answering a hail from the yard controllers, yes.”
“A little early for that, isn’t it?”
“I’ve got to go, Tim.” She cut the transmission.
“—I know we’re drifting off a bit, Control,” Jerry’s voice continued. “We’re experiencing fluctuations with the port grav drive. My first officer is working on it, but in the meantime I’m decelerating a little harder, going to bring her in nice and slow—”
