wants.
"Spada, clear."
As the ships climbed and came back into a classic Immelman, cut from secondary drive to antigrav, and, skids extending, settled in for a landing near the Boop-Boop-A-Doop, Sheol realized it was not going to be carpet bombed and strafed.
"Sonnovabitch," a miner, drunker earlier than most, managed as he gathered Baldur into an embrace:
"We got us a space force!"
The pilots and the two other members of each ship's crew were quartered in a hotel Transkootenay owned.
They were allowed out into the streets, since none of them knew anything specific they could leak.
While they unwound from the series of jumps they'd made to reach the Foley System, Grok and a group of electronics techs went to work.
Each ship had a black box installed. None of the techs knew what the boxes were intended to do, and only Grok tested them to make sure they were operational.
The boxes had started life as Search and Recovery locator beacons, intended to 'cast screams for help when a ship was in trouble. Grok recircuited them so they still 'cast on demand. But instead of a plea for rescue, they broadcast various electronic signatures. These signatures could be varied, from those of mining ships to yachts to merchant vessels to Alliance warships. All of the signatures were quite "real," having been stripped from the current Jane's.
Riss had tea with Redon Spada, and a very quiet time it was.
***
"This here's Johnny Behan," L.C. Doe said to M'chel with some distaste. The man was stocky, with a trimmed beard and hair. There were four others behind him. "He doesn't drink, at least not to amount to much. And when he does, like these other parygons of virchoo, his mouth doesn't flap.
"I've used them for delicate work for Miner's Aid. They've volunteered to help, without knowing what they're volunteering for, just like you asked."
"Ladies and gentlemen," Riss said, "thanks for your faith. Now you're going to go drinking, on Star Risk's tab. And then you're going to have a nice, quiet, invisible vacation on Glace.
"No risk, no pain, with pay."
Miners on Sheol were a little surprised when a nice, quiet rock-shifter named Behan started barhopping. He still didn't drink alk, but he frequently took hits from an inhaler, which evidently was enough to put him in low orbit. Other miners asked for a taste, and were refused. Nobody got that offended, figuring Behan was just beginning his career as an inebriate, and didn't know all the rules yet.
He said he'd had it, right up to his pooper-pump, with these goddamned illegitimate high-graders, who liked to do it with their own mothers.
So what if they'd blown up the claims office? He knew where his claim was, richer than Jesus or Croesus, depending on how fried he was at any given moment.
And he, and some friends, were going back to work their rocks, go back to getting rich, and anybody who got in their way would have only himself to blame.
***
The news vids announced that Star Risk's patrol ships were off on a training flight to Welf, the system's innermost, mostly uninhabited world, for some shakedown drills.
Then, Star Risk spokesman M'chel Riss announced, they'd begin aggressive patrolling in the belt.
Johnny Behan's ship, followed by four others in raggedy formation, lifted off Sheol, and vanished into hyperspace.
But they didn't jump for the asteroid belt.
Instead, they linked up with the Boop-Boop-A-Doop and Spada's patrol ships, "high" above the system's plane. Their ships were left in a parking orbit around a dead planetoid, and a fuming Baldur shuttled them on to their promised vacation at one of Glace's more secluded, if expensive, island resorts to keep them out of the way while the trap hopefully developed.
"I should never have admitted that I know how to fly," he grumbled to Riss. "You and Grok will be out having the best of times, while I am driving a bus."
"What's my excuse for missing getting killed?" Goodnight asked, equally unhappy.
"Why, you're busy trying
"Spada, clear."
As the ships climbed and came back into a classic Immelman, cut from secondary drive to antigrav, and, skids extending, settled in for a landing near the Boop-Boop-A-Doop, Sheol realized it was not going to be carpet bombed and strafed.
"Sonnovabitch," a miner, drunker earlier than most, managed as he gathered Baldur into an embrace:
"We got us a space force!"
The pilots and the two other members of each ship's crew were quartered in a hotel Transkootenay owned.
They were allowed out into the streets, since none of them knew anything specific they could leak.
While they unwound from the series of jumps they'd made to reach the Foley System, Grok and a group of electronics techs went to work.
Each ship had a black box installed. None of the techs knew what the boxes were intended to do, and only Grok tested them to make sure they were operational.
The boxes had started life as Search and Recovery locator beacons, intended to 'cast screams for help when a ship was in trouble. Grok recircuited them so they still 'cast on demand. But instead of a plea for rescue, they broadcast various electronic signatures. These signatures could be varied, from those of mining ships to yachts to merchant vessels to Alliance warships. All of the signatures were quite "real," having been stripped from the current Jane's.
Riss had tea with Redon Spada, and a very quiet time it was.
***
"This here's Johnny Behan," L.C. Doe said to M'chel with some distaste. The man was stocky, with a trimmed beard and hair. There were four others behind him. "He doesn't drink, at least not to amount to much. And when he does, like these other parygons of virchoo, his mouth doesn't flap.
"I've used them for delicate work for Miner's Aid. They've volunteered to help, without knowing what they're volunteering for, just like you asked."
"Ladies and gentlemen," Riss said, "thanks for your faith. Now you're going to go drinking, on Star Risk's tab. And then you're going to have a nice, quiet, invisible vacation on Glace.
"No risk, no pain, with pay."
Miners on Sheol were a little surprised when a nice, quiet rock-shifter named Behan started barhopping. He still didn't drink alk, but he frequently took hits from an inhaler, which evidently was enough to put him in low orbit. Other miners asked for a taste, and were refused. Nobody got that offended, figuring Behan was just beginning his career as an inebriate, and didn't know all the rules yet.
He said he'd had it, right up to his pooper-pump, with these goddamned illegitimate high-graders, who liked to do it with their own mothers.
So what if they'd blown up the claims office? He knew where his claim was, richer than Jesus or Croesus, depending on how fried he was at any given moment.
And he, and some friends, were going back to work their rocks, go back to getting rich, and anybody who got in their way would have only himself to blame.
***
The news vids announced that Star Risk's patrol ships were off on a training flight to Welf, the system's innermost, mostly uninhabited world, for some shakedown drills.
Then, Star Risk spokesman M'chel Riss announced, they'd begin aggressive patrolling in the belt.
Johnny Behan's ship, followed by four others in raggedy formation, lifted off Sheol, and vanished into hyperspace.
But they didn't jump for the asteroid belt.
Instead, they linked up with the Boop-Boop-A-Doop and Spada's patrol ships, "high" above the system's plane. Their ships were left in a parking orbit around a dead planetoid, and a fuming Baldur shuttled them on to their promised vacation at one of Glace's more secluded, if expensive, island resorts to keep them out of the way while the trap hopefully developed.
"I should never have admitted that I know how to fly," he grumbled to Riss. "You and Grok will be out having the best of times, while I am driving a bus."
"What's my excuse for missing getting killed?" Goodnight asked, equally unhappy.
"Why, you're busy trying
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