Читать книгу South of the Ecliptic - Donald Ph.D. Ladew - Страница 11

Piehl decided to pull everybody in close until they were in space. At the ship Piehl took a quick status report from Shorty.

"It goes well, Captain. We should be done this evening except for some minor cleanup and a final load of stores."

"We're going to skip shake-down, Shorty, so there can't be any room for error." Piehl stood and walked over to a tool locker. He removed a bottle of brandy he knew Shorty kept hidden there, for ‘emergencies’, poured himself a shot and one for Shorty.

Shorty chuckled. He never had been able to put anything over on Piehl.

"Captain, the boys have been extra careful. They've double and triple-checked everything. I even cleared the docking bay and ran the back-up engine at standby power. It went fine. I realize it's not one hundred percent military power, but if I say it'll go, it'll go."

"I know, Shorty. You and your men have done miracles. I'll go forward now, see how the IMP is shaking down."

As Piehl moved toward the ship he stopped and stared at it as if he was seeing it for the first time.

I'll be damned. How the devil did I miss it. The men had put three coats of metal-seal in the green, black and gold of the Legion on the ship. Then they polished it to a high gloss.

By all the gods great and small, that's how a ship should look.

Their only concession to the times was a small Imperial Merchant flag away forward. Piehl was surprised they hadn't painted the full-sized Mars Legion sigil across the center of the hull.

He knew it was somewhere on the ship, no way they'd leave it off.

Piehl laughed to himself. If it wasn't for the Imperial seals and the correct codes some nervous captain in the Imperial Fleet will surely try to blow us out of the sky as soon as we leave the planet. Probably think he's in a time-distort, back in the old wars.

When Piehl reached the flight deck he spoke quietly. "IMP, bring me up to date."

"I am 99.93% fully integrated. I have done a down-load of all primary data copies to the back-up block in the aft hold."

"Good. Stand by, I'm going to transfer all data and events of the last four days. I want an interpretive study with a report. I'll take it in my quarters later." Piehl was brisk. He slotted a data cube into Imp’s reader.

"Right, Captain."

"Pass the word, all work crew and ship's crew in the docking bay at 21:00 hours. We'll party. There's a lot of M.L. troopers around the docking area. I want to bring in as many of them as possible.

Piehl went to the flight deck and was surprised to find every seat manned except for the captain's console. The Whistler had taken station in the Astrogator's cube and Flex was at the copilot's station. The Sufic major had Environmental Systems and Damage Control. The Lady Lociranou looking delicious in her light-weight jump suit was at the comm control center. Finally there was the sergeant, quite at home through the forward hatch, warming up the weapons control systems.

The Sufic major came to attention and everyone else stood by their positions.

"Captain's on deck!" The sergeant bellowed.

"Ease up, gentlemen, ladies. This isn't Legion cruiser. I’m not getting ready for a inspection."

They sat down, grinning. Piehl knew someone had put them up to it. Probably Flex. He wasn't displeased.

"What's this all about, Whistler?"

His pelt rippled rhythmically. "We have been running through several of the flight drills, sir. We're cross training positions, Captain."

Piehl sat down in the captain's chair and keyed in the overview. "Alright, Mr. Ing, carry on."

Piehl's eyes kept going to the Lady Lociranou. Great legs! Very trim, and a cute way of biting her lip when she concentrates. Damn, this won't do. How the hell am I going to avoid her once we're in space.

She turned and looked at Piehl. Then as Piehl continued to look she blushed and turned back to her console.

"IMP, everyone one up here seems to be posted. What's the Princess doing?"

"Aside from making strange facial gestures and body movements in the direction of Mr. Holtzman, which I interpret to be human/sexual in content, she has taken over the galley and ship's stores. I must say, sir, she does well. She wouldn't let the men throw away anything."

Making eyes at Flex, Piehl thought. She is what, seventeen. Not my problem. They'll have to work things out for themselves. Ahhh, for the good old days when all you had to worry about was being vaporized by the enemy or eaten alive by an admiral.

Piehl got out of his chair, slipped quietly off the bridge and headed aft to his cabin.

"IMP?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Did you scan the trade goods for anomalies before loading."

"Yes, so far it is clean."

"All right, keep a sharp eye. That would be the obvious way to slip something aboard."

"Aye, Captain."

"I'm going down-time for a couple hours. Keep me posted."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

Piehl woke a few hours later, had a quick turn in the fresher and changed to a ship's uniform, the multi-pocketed, jumpsuit used throughout space. He looked in the mirror and wondered what the Lady Lociranou could want with a burned out middle-aged ex-general, a losing general at that. He knew the emotional reasons, but what looked back at him from the mirror wasn't the stuff of which Holo stars were made.

His hair and beard were salted gray. At the moment, deep-set eyes weary with fatigue; not a very romantic picture.

Ah well, he mused, better this way. The last thing I need is involvement with a woman, any woman.

Piehl went over to his personal locker and removed the battered case that held his 'Syrinx'. Piehl ran his hands over the old case, remembering the good songs and the different places he'd played. He put his index fingers on the translucent metal strip along the edge of the case and moved hands and fingers outwards towards the edge thinking the name of the instrument as he'd been taught.

It opened quietly. A Syrinx is large for a lap instrument. To Piehl it felt alive. He thought soft then ran his fingers easily up and down the frets, picking out an old Earth folk song. It sensed his intent and tripped through each melodic line in counterpoint.

Good, cheerful stuff. The hands and the heart remembered. He sat for a few moments and went over the old Legion songs the men would request. They liked drinking-songs, fighting songs, songs of brave ships and men, and of course, simple and sentimental love songs.

Fighting men have little in their lives that is complex; too much battle, not enough love, and of course, drinking to forget, or remember.

Not for me to criticize, he thought, I know the life better than most. There was a knock on the door.

"Who goes?"

"Ing, sir."

"Come in, Major, I've been sitting here remembering times and places I played for the men."

"I too remember, Captain; of course, we got it across the comm-net. I sang for the ship on the day we decided not to retreat. A bright moment, sir."

"I know, I heard of it later. How in God's name did you survive? I heard your ship was hit by a double bolt from the Imperial battle cruiser Tarnwall."

"No reason I should have, Captain, except for a bit of luck. I was in-capsule trying to conn the ship to the middle of the Imperial Fleet. The capsule was faced away from the direction of the hit and blown right off its mounts into the captain's cubby.

"It wedged in there somehow and the blast doors closed automatically. There I was, stuck, couldn't move, couldn't see, couldn't do a thing; so I connected the CommSys to all the emergency channels and sang rude songs about the Imperial Navy for eighteen hours."

Piehl laughed. "By God, Ing, it was great. Well, let's go out and see what's going on."

"Aye, sir."

Piehl closed the case and headed for the portside hatch. Even before they got to the hatch, Piehl could hear the echo of voices and laughter. There was an occasional snatch of song coming from the docking bay floor. Three hundred men sat on makeshift chairs and tables made from the tag ends of hull plate and stress beams. Half the onboard supply of liquor was already gone. There'd be trouble if they hadn't brought of their own. Piehl had forgotten about a Legionnaire's thirst.

"General, you better hurry or it'll be gone before you start," one of the men shouted.

Piehl went among them, sharing a bite to eat here, a joke and drinks wherever he stopped. One young man hardly out of his teens piped up.

"Take me along, General Piehl, I've listened to my Dad's lies for years. I want a chance to make up some of my own."

"I'd take you all, but I have no fleet this time, just a merchant pretending to be a cruiser." Piehl gestured toward the ship. "I think it will do."

The Whistler and Piehl walked over to the lift platform and got on. They raised it up about six or seven feet and Piehl laid the Syrinx case down.

"Somebody got a chair?" One of the men tossed up a crate. Piehl stood and looked around the docking bay. All of the men became quiet, and looked up expectantly.

"Alright, men, first things first."

"IS THERE BLOOD IN THE STEEL?" he shouted.

"OUR BLOOD IS IN THE STEEL," they roared back.

"Good! Then THERE'S STEEL IN THE BLOOD!"

He pulled his ship's knife from his belt, held his hand up to the men and with his knife cut a diagonal line across the palm.

A close look would have revealed a network of old scars. As the blood welled, he walked across the platform to the hull of the ship. When he held his hand next to the hull, there was a hush in the huge room. Then he pressed his hand hard against the hull.

"I JOIN MY BLOOD WITH THE STEEL!

I JOIN THE STEEL WITH MY BLOOD,

AND THROUGH MY BLOOOD,

THE BLOOD OF FREE MEN!"

Piehl sang it loud and clear.

There was another great cheer from the men.

"Piehl! Piehl! The Legion! The Legion!"

Piehl shouted the last with them. As a ritual it was old in the dawn of seafaring, the natural predecessor of space faring. In ancient times a sailor wouldn't take a boat to sea without first killing a bird and placing its bleeding breast against the prow to bring good luck or good fishing.

Somewhere on each man's hand there was a similar cut and somewhere in the ship they would have placed a drop of their blood to preserve and to protect. Piehl suspected even the Whistler had put a drop or two of his own somewhere on the hull.

Piehl raised his hand for quiet. "Thank you, men. Those of us who are outward bound will do our best and better for having had you here. We will do our duty. That duty will be far easier because of your help. In six months I expect to take a drink with each of you. Will this be so?"

"Aye, aye, General," they all roared together; and one old marine added as an afterthought, "I sure as hell ain't never disobeyed that order, Sor." They laughed long.

"General, how about a few songs to prime the journey?"

Piehl sat in the chair, put the case across his knees and pulled out the Syrinx. The men watched with anticipation. He unzipped his suit and placed the back plate against the bare skin over his ribs. He immediately felt a familiar warmth.

"So what'll it be, men?"

"Spacer’s Gal, General; Reef Stars, Midshipman Bill, The Battle at Carney's Rift, shouted others.

After things quieted down a bit, Piehl played out a few minor cords, then a major to get the feel, bumped the volume up and thundered into 'Spacer's Gal'. It was rolling bouncing tune and everybody sang, if not with skill, with plenty of liquor-inspired enthusiasm. Over it all, a booming baritone emanating from his whole body, was the Whistler's voice.

They did several more in the same vein until it looked as if their voices were going to give out, then Piehl eased into 'Mary Rose, I left You', which the Whistler sang in a fine tenor, and many a tear found its way down a grizzled spacer's cheek.

Faintly, in the background, Piehl heard a pure soprano singing the refrains; to his surprise, it was the Princess.

Piehl beckoned her to the lift. "Your Highness, will you sing one for us?"

She climbed onto the platform, blushing. "I don't know, Sir Aubrey, I heard most of these songs from my father when I was a little girl. He is very fond of spacer songs, but I've never sung before a group."

"Don't worry, Miss, just pretend you're in the bath," Flex called up to her. She blushed even harder.

"Easy, girl," Piehl said. "I'll give you the line and keep it moving. Easily done, Your Highness. Do you know ‘The Captain's Lament’?"

"Oh, that's too sad. How about `Jenny Roy and the Star Fox'?"

"You know that, all the verses?"

"Of course I do!" Her voice had the old Royal arrogance.

It was an old song from the first-contact days about a beautiful Earth human girl and a handsome alien called the Star Fox and forbidden love. Piehl played a fine intro to set the tone and she sang it perfectly, never missing a beat or a word. At the end the applause was deafening. She blushed more and laughed, clapping her hands with the men.

"Well, men, it's time to get on with it. All hands stand to!"

The Legionnaires leapt to their feet as he played the opening cords of the Legionnaires Hymn. When it was done, the men gave a great shout and slammed their heels down on the steel deck.

Piehl put the Syrinx away and moved toward the ship, saying a few words to each of the men, shaking an offered hand, taking a salute. He saw Shorty headed his way with an intent look on his face.

Shorty asked him to wait a moment. "Captain, you may not want to hear this, but I want you to listen anyway. Blair Prince is out beyond the Rim somewhere."

"He's a damned Pirate!" It was not a subject Piehl wanted to discuss.

"Will you listen!" Shorty waited for Piehl to calm down. "I don't know what went wrong between you two, but one thing I do know," he said with great conviction, "Blair Prince is not and never was a coward or a dishonorable man. Those who were less than he sought to bring him down. Lies were spread about him. You are known as a fair man, Captain, so weed out the rumors and get the facts straight. Like you, he did not surrender, but chose survival for his men and himself. He took the lot and went to the Rim."

"But what about the reports of piracy? Attacks on helpless settlements?"

"I suggest you review your intelligence, cross-correlate; you may find the so-called victims weren't that at all."

"Why are you telling me this, Shorty?" Piehl asked.

"Because, Captain, you're going to need all the support you can find out there, and no matter what you think, Colonel Blair Prince is your friend and always has been." He reached over and keyed something on Piehl's wrist comp.

"Those are his frequencies. Give it some thought, Captain. Safe journey."

Shorty headed out of the docking bay after his crew leaving Piehl with his mouth agape. There wasn't anything Piehl could say so he went back to the ship. The rest of the crew were in the galley/recreation area sitting around the table drinking coffee and spacer's brandy.

"Well, Captain, nothing left to do except get on with it," Flex said.

"No, we've got to wait a couple of hours; the King is sending a messenger with some special information I'm supposed to wait for."

"I don't like it, Captain," Flex said. "Last minute changes have a bad smell."

"Me either, but the King is financing this thing, so we wait. Apart from the fact he is the King and despite our late differences, I think he's a pretty fair example of what a king should be. Tell everybody, get some rest, the IMP will keep security."

The two hours went by quickly. Imp notified him when the messenger arrived.

"Captain, we've got visitors at the docking bay access."

"Visitors?" Why more than one, he wondered. "How many?"

"Two, Captain. One is a King's messenger and the other is dressed in civilian clothes."

"Do you have any extensors at the door?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Okay, record it. It doesn't feel right. I don't want anybody in here I can't look over first."

Piehl left the ship and walked across the docking bay toward the access hatch. The sergeant appeared in full kit at his right heel. He said nothing, just followed along. A couple of Shorty's men were still on the door as Piehl went into the passageway.

He looked over the Imperial Messenger. The uniform looked right. He held a micro-core toward Piehl. Piehl didn't take it, instead he asked for identification. The man produced it in a hurry. Piehl took it over to the IMP's extensor for scan.

The IMP spoke quietly. "Appears to be authentic, Captain." Piehl ignored the Imperial Messenger and spoke to the civilian in a hard voice. "Who are you?"

The man answered in a bored voice tinged with annoyance. "If you read the messenger's micro-core, you'll find out, Piehl."

"Mister, I asked a question. I'll ask you again. After that I will have the sergeant stimulate your vocal chords."

He spoke sullenly. "I am a messenger to the King's brother on Back N' beyond, I am to go with you. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get to my quarters." He started to move around Piehl.

Piehl reached out and placed two fingers at the juncture of the man's neck and collar bone, and pressed hard. The man hissed with pain and backed away.

"Mister," Piehl said coldly, "you don't understand anything. You don't go anywhere, do anything, without my permission, understand?"

The man nodded his head angrily. "Back up against the wall, now! Sergeant, search him."

His eyes looked uneasy and his hand started to move toward his waist. Piehl backed off a pace and had his stunner in hand in an instant. He didn't wait, just let him have half stun in the chest. It slammed the man against the wall and he fell forward on his face.

The Imperial Messenger was terrified. He fell to his knees pleading. "They made me do it, Captain. They would have killed me for sure."

"Who are they, mister?"

"I can't tell you that, Captain."

"You've got two ways to go. You can tell me everything, now, or I kill you. Believe it! Or you can go back to your friends and they'll kill you later. I don't care at all.

"Sergeant, strip this other gent, and do a full search. IMP, move your extensor in here. When the sergeant is finished, do a scan of his body"

"Got it, Captain."

"Now, mister, talk to me!"

He shivered. "Vice-Admiral Pariel, sir. He made me do it."

"Why?"

"I don't know, honest, Captain, I don't know."

"IMP, what do you find?"

"This man is a walking electronics shop. His excrement is probably wired!"

Two of the ex-Legion hands had been standing by, watching the whole thing with great interest.

"Boys, do me a favor," Piehl said. "Take this garbage away."

"How far, Captain?"

"A long way."

"Right, sir. Good goddamned riddance, too." One of them nodded toward the Imperial Messenger. "What about that one, sir?"

"No, I have no other plans for him." Piehl turned to the groveling messenger. "You go back to the palace and request to see the King and tell him everything that occurred here."

"I can't do that, sir. Great Gods, I wouldn't get past the main tubeway."

"Yes, you will. IMP, code everything that's happened here and send it on that special channel. When you have the proper acknowledgment, let me know. For now, you step in here. Just beside the access. Someone will come for you."

In ten minutes, six Sufic Warriors of the Imperial Guard showed up and escorted the messenger away. Piehl slammed the access shut and set for un-dock sequence.

"IMP, bring all your stuff, we aren't waiting for anymore messengers, real or phony. We probably aren't welcome where we're going either, but I want space. We can't maneuver here."