Chapter 8: “The Battle for Karaool”

Valkarr ran, when he could stand at all, and had just fallen into the co-pilot’s seat next to Cara Nee-Yool, when the racing Delirium Plus steadied in its ascent.

As the thrust was reduced and shields brought to full power the Dacoomans gave no indication of slacking off their fire. Pressing his “C” ring to the BCS panel, Valkarr assumed full command, his battle perspective increasing with the altitude.

“C-scrape, coming up,” advised the weapons Helper, seated behind Nee-Yool. Tactician De Largon occupied the panel immediately behind Valkarr.

Reaching back over his shoulder, handing his pocket prognosis calculator to the Tactician, Valkarr smiled at his pilot, “How about us doin’ the old ‘X-Y,’ honey?”

Nee-Yool, a lovely descendant from Oriental Earthlings, and a capable Helper in her mid-twenties, was intently studying the constantly changing screens before her as she confirmed, “Go for it…now!”

Never looking up, she ticked off the sequence, “X-Y, seven-seven, five-five—Open!”

The numerical odds (battle capable craft) were one to five; a deceptive figure when dealing with the Combine. While they had been surprised during their raid, the eight ships of IGCC’s “Rockrat Task Force” were using on-board SensCom, AL-Alta’s System 3, and software pirated from the Bal-Moors (before their mysterious demise).

Not only was each ship supplied with collective and individual assessments, but within minutes several options were being presented.

Escape would have been easy enough, but the Karaoolians would soon fall prey to the fair-sized force from Dacooma. Wretched as the Listrongs were, the invaders from the neighboring planet were far more barbarous, having recently become the subject of Cyncorian lampoons for their fanaticism.

The main galactic gripe against Yeokalani was that she charged too much for her goods and overtaxed her unionized procuresses (the best in Sector SC). Still, there was trade. The Dacoomans, on the otherhand, were crusading Nattelites; refusing morphine to the maimed.

Reports of “The Beggars Grasp Incident” had aroused company interest in slime sea scooping, but Research and Development studies had just begun, and a firm “proposal” was still weeks away. The loss of Karaool could easily translate as lost business.

Valkarr and Faldon, men of considerable wealth themselves, would rather deal with Yeokalani through IGPH than smuggle from a Dacooman Karaool. To them, the course of action was obvious; but they alone could not make policy.

The expense of recapture (after occupation) plus the potential lost revenue (from a late start in slime refining) figured heavily in the choice of the “X-Y maneuver.”

Political considerations had to be weighed against company and union by-laws, then placed against a table of the particular job’s structure. Voting would have to be fast, and proxy credits were changing hands like crazy.

During the “open” phase of the maneuver there would be four minutes of apparent chaos among the IGCC forces. Two ships (bearing IGPH markings) would pretend to be disabled.

Faldon, who had come to this job in his personal Pirate-X9S cruiser, would make no beans about heading straight for the attack command ship. He would take that out; and within the four minutes.

The Plus was still being hotly pursued by three strafe-whackers, two of which had been on her tail since liftoff. Leveling to fly with the planet’s horizon, Valkarr led his pursuers, ever faster, toward the Karaool’s day/night terminator line.

Squad leaders (Valkarr, Faldon, Job Foreman Vilra, and Supervisor Pardlam) communicated their respective comments and arguments via high-speed SecureCom touch-coders, each contributing to the developing plan. Meanwhile, union arbiters and insurance lawyers were working out a justification for the soon to be agreed upon action.

Sufa hurried to relieve Helper Marnoe at the weapons conn, and was just settling into readiness when Valkarr, in heated debate with Vilra, broke into voice communication:

“All you’ll have to do is smell the stuff, and you’ll know what I’m talking about!”

With a glance at the running vote total, Valkarr fingered something on a message slate and passed it to Sufa.

“Careful how you word those,” he said as he went back to the foreman, “yeah, well sure…you could do that, I suppose.”

One of the messages was to the Beggar’s Grasp, which was inactive and in tow of IGPH FS307. It was an instruction to the Guardian Officer for an SQ setting.

This seemingly innocent toggling by the guardian would activate a secure comm-link between Valkarr and Faldon during the forthcoming battle. The dialog began immediately.

“Standby to close the open,” Nee-Yool was ready, and looked at Valkarr for the first time. She smiled seductively at her Journeyman:

“So, you’re bored with the Holybody already? You want to take her home? Maybe we ought to take her with us to Cyncor. She could stay at my cube, till our tour is up. If she’s as hot as I’ve heard…”

He interrupted, “You’ll have to be the one that talks her into it. I don’t think she likes my style.”

The vote was overwhelmingly in favor of intervention, and even as the interim “stall-period” drew to a close, contract negotiations were set in motion.

“How about it Suf?” Valkarr didn’t look back, and Nee-Yool was again the professional, busily preparing for the pull-back roll.

“I’ll get two for sure, maybe the third, I donno yet.”

“A ten thousand share bonus for all three, Suf, and I’ll see you a Helper’s license.”

“Twenty-five seconds,” the pilot began her countdown.

Faldon had charged directly at the command vessel, drawing heavy attention in what looked to be a ramming. Cloaking at the last instant before a feigned collision, the X9S slid in dead flight, passing less than two hundred meters from the hull of the mother ship.

Under total shutdown for only fifteen seconds, three timed photon mines, with full-stop retro-packs, were manually jettisoned, and full throttle restored.

Disengaging the cloak just before reaching the convoy’s rear guard, Faldon started firing, and continued his heading—away from Karaool. Two of the rear guard support fighters pealed off from their formation to give chase, as it started to look like the seemingly errant craft’s course might be Dacooma.

“Ten seconds,” Nee-Yool called up her battle-code dispatch screen, “Nine…”

Supervisor Pardlam’s Holo Ghost had attracted the least attention, primarily because of its configuration (bulk fuel tanker), and the pitiful pleading for help over all RS frequencies. Her course was a direct line retreat. If fact, she was (next to Faldon’s X9) the farthest Combine ship from Karaool: the seal on the envelope.
“Eight…”

It wasn’t so much an explosion, just a “glow” at first. From the center of this swirling mass of high technology came a pin-sized and very bright light. Within five seconds it outshined all the lights in the heavens.

The very ether was alive with radiation sensations.

Most senior IGCC lifers were awed.

The Dacoomans were astonished.

A flair of incendiary brilliance, the flash of the photon mines was soon gone.

“Two. One. Open closed. X-Y, zero.” A smile of sweet submission passed over the beautiful pilot as she concluded verification of the final execution code sequence. With a swing that reminded her of the old style “G-simulators” in amusement parks, the Delirium Plus nosed up hard, over right, and down fast.

The first “strafer” was hit before it became visible to the cockpit crew, and the second was kind enough to be directly behind the first in the line of fire. The third (totally freaked out) did a dive-evade, screaming downward toward the upper atmosphere.

Valkarr had the helm now.

“Gutsy little bastard, aren’t you?” He cursed, breaking into a smile as he took the challenge and followed in the dive.

* * *

The photon blast had removed twelve ships from the core of the Dacooman assault force. Except for the X9, each of the IGCC craft, in its SynchXauto turn, eliminated one of its three pursuers. The Ghost, like the Plus, had knocked out a second. Underestimated and undercovered, Pardlam preened in his command as the “unveiling” approached.

Faldon, who had topped out at a chaseable tease, followed through with his diversion, beaming bogus commands forward, as the X9’s cipher-comm systems were going to the third level in keeping up with the surprisingly complex code changes being monitored.

Nee-Yool wanted any further variations sent directly to her via the Grasp connection, as spot polls were running nine to one in favor of corporate espionage as a probable cause for the surprise conflict.

“Give me some of that action,” said Valkarr to Sufa (who was subbing for Kelmaran as Odds Keeper), “and line up that shot!”

The allure of a Helper’s license was not lost on Apprentice Sufa. He had indeed taken his time with this aim, not yet having fired since the strafer pulled up from its desperate gamble.

Valkarr reached to the inside pocket of his flight jacket, removed his bottle and took a large swig. After a gasp, he passed the bottle to Sufa.

“Here,” he said, trying hard not to make the Aguran more nervous, “after a shot of this, you’ll be able to rope it and tie it.”

Sufa took his swallow, and Tactician De Largon coughed a hint, extending his hand for the next snort. As his eyes watered, Suf came down hard on the fire.

Many shots were wasted this time, but Valkarr steered the streaming spray until the scatter pattern caught its intended.

The debris had barely finished breaking on the shields when Records credited the kill.

“Give that man another round!” proclaimed Valkarr, intercepting the pass of the bottle from Nee-Yool and grabbing another gulp before handing it back to the gunner. To the Tactician he added, “How about it, Doctor? I show four moves; what’s your pleasure?”

“What about the High Priestess?”

“You Cyncorians never cease to amaze me.”

“I mean, do you wish to reinstate her in the capital, as if she had prevailed there in her bunker, or would you have her reclaim that which was lost? Of course, a ground assault would be more expensive…”

“Thank you, Doctor, I agree,” Valkarr looked at Cara and smiled, “There’s this one nightie she has…well, you just gotta see it. I bet you’d look great in it!”

She smiled, “You and your threesomes,” then, with new inquisitiveness, she returned to the puzzling Dacooman codes.

“It’s settled then,” Valkarr, given back his potion, took another drink and put the bottle back in his jacket. Again to De Largon, “What’s the situation at the palace?”

“The phaserous gas should be wearing off, we haven’t much of it left, though we have plenty of the immunizing agent.”

“I’ve got some extra gas grenades, enough for a few chambers,” Valkarr was entering all scenarios into his main-frame prognosis work-ups. He and De Largon went over the plans of the palace checkpoint-by-checkpoint, the notes of each appearing on the screen of the other.

“I’m for staying closed on this,” said Valkarr, passing Sufa a select list of stock options, “though it would be nice for somebody to know where to come and give us a hand.”

Faldon, at his great distance, would have to be the one to watch their backs.

Until the invasion’s backup forces were removed, and the threat of damage from betrayal diminished, the IGCC ships were each operating under the “Protocol of Mutual Suspicion.”

The Plus increased its speed, but not its altitude, and headed in the direction of the main fray. Nee-Yool explained to the fleet that the course was a move to help defend the Beggar’s Grasp, since the line of flight (from space) would appear to be over Laonlasa, for which all sensors were set.

The indicated action was in reasonable accordance with several computer recommendations. In fact, Valkarr began running out of “reasons” for declining suggestions that he do what was, indeed, being done.

“I can’t keep this up much longer, I’d rather fight than make excuses!” Valkarr swore, then addressing De Largon, “What’s the score, and whose move is it?”

“Not counting the craft on the planet’s surface, fleet odds are down to 2 to 1. Milart seems to be getting the worst of it on our side. We’re still waiting on the Ghost.”

“Me, I’m banking on her.” There was some truth in what Valkarr said. Manufacture of the prime imagers was done “in house” on Bellran, and he stood to gain handsomely from a major contract.

Turning to Sufa he was strictly business, “Go back and tell Kelmaran to get the Holybody ready to move again. Keep her chilled out, I don’t want her yapping, just ready.” Punching page-tones summoning three relief crewmen to the cockpit, Valkarr added to his Apprentice, “And keep a tranq-shot ready for that love-sick giant of hers.”

With a nod of assured understanding Sufa left for the holding compartment.

Nee-Yool, having heard a call for her relief, was staring mischievously at her smiling Journeyman. Releasing his seatbelt, he spoke to her in Bellranese, “She ought to be about ready to wake up now.” Rising, offering an assist as she stood, he whispered, “Here's your chance to make a helluva first impression.”

The relief personnel, all male, entered to take their stations requiring a minimum of update, being all players. There was an occasional lurch, or sudden dip, but it was mostly stray fire; as the Plus, for the moment, enjoyed a relatively low significancy rating.

Before exiting the command cabin, Valkarr handed his TradeMate calc and proxy card to the Tactician. Placing a hand on his elder’s shoulder, he advised the “non-player”:

“There are coded sales triggers here that Faldon will be able to interpret from the boards. Let them run their course, no matter what the figures look like. If the Ghost comes through, this could wind up being a piece of cake.”

Stepping out, he shot back, “For your sake, if GCGlass goes below a hundred, grab all you can get your hands on!”

In the J-lock, as they helped each other into their assault gear, Valkarr asked, “Any ideas?”

Cara knew, “Vilra—or someone in that squad.” Her case was well presented in the docu-disc she submitted. Valkarr immediately inserted the report into his calc and began reading.

As the shuttle chamber door opened, Cara saw the High Priestess of Karaool for the first time. Even “Too Cool Nee-Yool” did a freeze at the resemblance between herself and the knocked-out knock-out who was ruler of the planet below.

Valkarr, laughing, found himself thinking Cara’s smile could serve as the Galactic Standard for warm and sensuous. She slipped into the seat next to the Holybody, strapped herself in, and tested the tightness of the belts holding the High Priestess.

Bel-Haggel was at the front of the small cabin explaining the palace bunker system to Kelmaran, and had seen the Helper enter, but couldn’t begin to conceive of “woman as rival.” Valkarr made his way through the cramped module to its front, and motioned for the guard to take the one empty passenger seat.

“I don’t like this boss…” Kelmaran began, but didn’t finish. The Priority Sync Signal sounded.

Valkarr couldn’t concern himself with strapping in, nor could Bel-Haggel. Sufa and the two sub-contracted mercenaries rounded out the entire palatial assault team at seven (counting the guard), and their time had come.

As Nee-Yool adjusted Yeokalani’s blanket, the Holybody began stirring slightly and stared to moan; but playtime was over.

The breakaway of the survival shuttle was not a subtle affair for those on board. Combine employees aren’t used to surprises on the job, and while the crew knew the moment was at hand, there was a “rudeness” to the Al-Alta’s takeover of the battle.

“You didn’t let me down, did you, big guy?” Valkarr could hardly be heard over the loudness of the atmosphere rushing about his diving command.

Bel-Haggel couldn’t hear, but Kelmaran pointed to one of the auxiliary buttons and answered, “I got it boss, there!”

The boulder sized craft was almost in a dead fall, then the ride began to smooth out, allowing the two at the conn to pilot and target their impact point.

“See…look, at this…” Kelmaran had made impressive notes on the bunker briefing, and at a glance Valkarr saw the Apprentice’s concern.

“Feed it to SensCom,” he ordered. There was no choice now. The command system had to know everything. “PMS” was no longer applicable. The show had begun.

What had gone before was a reflection on the talents and experience of the various Craftsmen, their Masters, and the crews. What remained was the execution of System 3’s evaluation. Not one commander in the task force knew what to expect at this point, but company confidence in the operating system was high.

Sufa called out in surprise as their support, the Delirium Plus, pulled up from its escort and headed, full throttle, for deep space.

Nee-Yool had gone back to using both her hands on data devices, while Bel-Haggel was convinced they were out of control and crashing. The mercenaries, both from Galgua, sat stone-faced, rigidly gripping the arms of their seats as they bit down hard on their Cyncor rope.

From space, and from the planet’s surface, the coordinated action of the active Combine ships was a move of exemplary execution. The individual dogfights were dropped, and the common trajectory clear: Dacooma.

In an instant, the planet below became insignificant.

The Dacoomans, already weakened, their forces strained, were caught flat. The conclusion was rapidly drawn that they had been elaborately set up. The Karaoolian incident seemed to be a perfectly staged diversion designed to leave the home planet vulnerable.

So certain were they, the invasion was called off. Ground forces were being recalled for takeoff to defend the homeland. Ship to ship communications were filled with upper echelon theories of fear, treason, and betrayal. They were naming names.

Enter: the Ghost.

The Holo Ghost was a prototype in an entire line of “holo-class” vessels, vehicles, weapons, assorted devices, and household appliances, employing lots of trickery to achieve truly amazing results. For the purposes of this “demonstration,” Supervisor Pardlam chose to act in his patently personal flamboyant manner. His “fuel tanker” suddenly appeared to be six battle-star cruisers, with escorts, and they moved steadily toward Karaool.

Faldon also seized his moment. Faking a self-destruct, turning tightly, he emerged from the colorful explosion, eliminated his straggling pursuit, cloaked, and headed straight for Laonlasa. Before he dared not be silent, he sent one last message through the Beggar’s Grasp connection. It said, simply: “ETA, 10.”

Valkarr laughed, “Like hell, ‘10!’”

The flames of the palace were bright enough to steer by as the controlled plummet neared its end. He was focused now. “Scanning central chambers, looks pretty quiet. Gas must still be in effect.”

“One mile,” checked Kelmaran, who took a last look at his bunker chart as standard visibility went to zero.

“Five hundred feet,” his hand went to the added detonator button. “Sixty feet! Target chamber dome at 101 point 1.”

“Claim it!” Valkarr’s voice rang through the bulwark’s blasting, and the momentary hover changed to a short forward surge.

Then, except for the rumble of distant fire, there was silence, as the shuttle came to rest on the polished marble floor of a large, smoke-filled, mirrored hall.


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