Transcript

Chapter IV · Blood on My Jets

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Chapter four of Blood on My Jets by August Boutris. This LibriVox recording is
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in the public domain. Read by Ben Tucker. Chapter four. Flight coveralls
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are designed to be air tight when fully zipped. Hoods with transparent face plates
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and oxygen leads can be hermetically sealed to the collars, and every ship has
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emergency plugins for the oxygen tubes. In combat, all spacemen keep their hoods
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thrown back like Mackinaw hoods, so that if a hole is blown in the
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hull, they can slip the hoods on and plug into the emergency oxygen supply.
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Struggling into a full dress spacesuit is too complicated a job to entrust to
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the few frantic minutes that spell the difference between life and death. And meanwhile,
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the coveralls are far more comfortable in flight. Besides, anyone who had
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seen what a space suit does to a figure like Pats will agree that it's
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a dirty shame. While Pat was climbing into her outfit, I was outlining
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the plan we'd have to follow. As long as I was going to go
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along with this offer of hers temporarily, at least, I might as well
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do it, right, I got into a cab accident or something. I
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said. That accounts for the shape I'm in. You're an old friend of
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mine, and since I'm in no condition to fly and fight at the same
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time, I'm taking you along as co pilot. We'd mental stick me for
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your pay. Of course, I'll make sure he does that way, there
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won't be much kick about you coming along, especially if I make it a
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both or neither proposition. When we get out in space, you show me
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how to get to Thorston's bubble and the asteroids, and that's it. We
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deliver the pile charge, shoot back out into space, fake the signs of
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a big battle, and yell for help over the radio. There will be
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a squawk about you being a woman then, of course, But hell less
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space bombs are supposed to be devil make care, aren't we. It was
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a great little plan, all right. If we give SBI the location of
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Thorston Space, and it wouldn't hold up delivery of the pile charge any longer
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than it would take to salvage it. Meanwhile, space would be rid of
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Harry Like. It'll work, all right, she said, I wish I
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was sure the SBI didn't have anything big on me. It'll be a bad
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enough stink as it is, she grinned, But we'll make out. Weedman
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was out at the field, fuming over the fact that I was an hour
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and a half late. He surprised me, though he didn't boggle over taking
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pad along once I gave him a story about being lightly hit by a car
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and having to take my friend along. Padd had had a tight cloth strapped
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across her breasts, her hood, over her face, and I had gotten
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her into the ship fast. Okay, okay, who gives a damn what
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happens to you, as long as the job's done, Weedman said, But
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I couldn't believe him somehow when he added, I don't even care who does
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it personally. He slipped an envelope into my pocket. Something for you,
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he said. Don't open it until your past mars, and don't let your
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friends see it for a while. Anyway, he chuckled and surprised me by
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doing it. He looked secretly happy over something, as if he knew about
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something awful that was going to happen to me. You'll have some sweet explaining
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to do to your friend olk. I'd love to see it. But there
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was still that note of something more than laughter, more than most feelings in
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his voice. He wouldn't say more than that. He just shoved me into
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the ship and slammed the hatch. I kept watching him in the starboard screens
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as we checked off the instrument board. He was a little figure at the
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edge of the field, staring wistfully up at the ship, his mechanical arm
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in his pocket. I couldn't wait until we were past Mars to open the
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letter. Of course, we'd be too close to the belt by then.
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I read it while Pat was at the controls WelCom. I don't know exactly
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why, except that you're the best there is, I guess. But you've
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been picked for this job. As you may have guessed, Transolar Express is
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a blind for some pretty big government bureaus. This isn't a ship the TSN
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canceled, of course. It's a top secret job built according to the specifications
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laid down by the Titan Labs. When you hit Titan, turn the ship
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over to the technicians there and they'll install the additional equipment that's part of your
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cargo of pile fuels. The rest of your load really is fuel, but
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it's not meant for the Titan pile. It's just for the engines and the
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ship. When it's ready, you'll fly the ship to God knows where.
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You won't refuse. I know because I wouldn't either if I'd been given the
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chance to fly the first ship into hyperspace. Luck weedman. When I'd finished
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it, I went back to the engine room and took a look at the
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drive. Then I went to the cargo compartment and stood looking at the hatches.
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They were sealed, welded shut. I went back up forward and waited
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until Pat had to leave the controls for a few minutes. The minute she
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dropped through the hatch, I was over at an emergency tool kit, and
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a few seconds later I was ripping off bulkhead panels with a screwdriver. I
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got a fast look at banks of dials and instruments, and slapped the panels
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back up before Pat got back. Then I went down to my cabin and
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just sat on a bunk, staring at the wall. That cocky little bastard,
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that frozen faced terrier of a man, cursing me with all his heart
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because I was getting the chance he'd have had if he hadn't given his right
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arm too soon, and he had wished me luck. I was proud then
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of being an earth man, of being a fighting man, of having earned
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the right to get my name in the history books. I stood there a
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big dumb check ass. All of a sudden it had hit me. I've
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been asking a lot of questions lately and getting only partial answers. Now I
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had all the answers, and I hated every one of them. The misdirection
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in lying on Weedman's part was clear as a bell. It had been designed
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to get me off Earth and headed for Titan without anybody knowing the real reasons,
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even me. They knew that if the real secret ever leaked out,
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every renegade and pirate in the system would swarm down, battling to the death
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to get their hands on the ship. So they pulled the purloined letter gag.
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They hid the ship and its mission and plain sight. They sent me
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off in her to deliver the engine parts to where the hyperspatial drive could be
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assembled, and from there I'd be able to fly her to whatever star they
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chose, ghosting along in the universe where the speed of light, as we
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knew it, was not the fastest speed a ship could hit. They'd given
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me a good excuse too, pile fuels, a big enough cargo to justify
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using me in a special ship, but not so big that I couldn't handle
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the opposition I'd get from the Belt gangs, who'd fight for it, sure,
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but who'd try a lot less hard and discourage a lot easier than they
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would if they knew what was really up. The only trouble with that was
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what they didn't know. Sure, what else could it be? Earth was
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thick with two bits, sneaks and spies who sold information to anybody with the
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price. Even Earth Government thought enough of them to cook up this big production.
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One of them must have dug deeper than any one thought. Thorston knew
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that was a cinch. He knew so well that he hadn't even wanted a
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chance of fight out in space where the drive might get shot up. He'd
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sent Pat out to decoy me into him. I stood there, cursing,
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my big fists closed into sledges Pat Pat, that beautiful, wonderful actress,
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Pat, who was death with a gun and arson for me with her lips.
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All my life, I'd been getting mad at people and things during the
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war, I was crazy mad at Marty's afterwards. I was mad at anybody
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who wanted to push other people around. I got mad at Pat because I
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thought she was plaguing me for a sucker. And Pat had taught me what
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hatred could do. She had given me love to replace it. Ann plagued
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me for a sucker. I stood there, Ash Holcombe, the toughest man
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in space, maybe not the smartest, No, not the smartest, the
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dumbest, the stupidest chump, who had ever fallen for the oldest gag in
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history, And nobody knew about it. Back on Earth. They were sure
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they'd gotten away with it. Even Weedman, weedman with the grin mort weedmen
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who had gone helling around in a hundred dives with me, who didn't need
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obvious signs like long hair or breasts to spot a woman's figure. He thought
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everything was all right too. He was probably shaking his head with envy back
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on Earth, thinking of all the fun I'd be having in hyperspace. Nobody
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knew the mess the system was in except me, and nobody could do anything
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about it now. Except that thought knocked me out of the raging mood.
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I'd been working myself into I couldn't afford to lose my head. I've been
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wondering how Thorston was going to work a rendezvous right in the middle of the
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belt with renegade Martys that had held out from the war, swarming all over
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the place, just waiting for a prize like this. The answer was simple,
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He'd work out an alliance with them. Probably the Martys thought they could
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use it to reconquer the system. If I knew Harry, he had other
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plans, but they were probably just as bad. What in the hell was
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I going to do? One more thought hit me. That was the worst
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one of all, because it held out an impossible hope. It was all
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right to picture Weedman getting a boot out of me taking a woman along.
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Under ordinary circumstances, that might have been true, But this was too big,
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too important. There were two alternatives. Weedman must have known I was
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a do O. I could assume that, but knowing how important the job
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was, Weedman wouldn't have let pass come along, no matter what. If
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he hadn't thought she and I were working together, and that one stopped me
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cold. Was she or wasn't she? End of Chapter four