Merchanter's Luck

And meanwhile the warship glided past them, while they played dead and helpless.

That was a panic move, that. The Mazia

A force left on the docks might have spotted that closure of seals; it might have been better to have done nothing. Might have—She could be paralyzed in might haves. She had two of her own out there—on that ship; on the station—no way of finding that out It hurt And there was no remedy to that either. She cleared it out of her mind for the moment, focused finally, functioning as she had not been functioning since somewhere back on Viking. So things were lost; lives were lost. She had several more to think of, and the captain of that ship out there was her senior in more than years and firepower. No match at all: the only chance was to go u

If that warship scented something out there, something sudden enough to draw it out, something was loose in Venture System.

Mallory, it might be. She fervently hoped so.

The red telltales winked to green, indicating the ports sealed. Deirdre and Neill had gotten them secure. In a moment she heard the working of the lift.

Com beeped. She listened. It was the characteristic spit and fade of distant transmission, numerical signal, an arriving ship for sure. She punched it through to comp, flurried through an unfamiliar set of commands,

Wording, the young-man’s-voice said, familiar sound by now, soothing. The answer came up. Finity’s End. Alliance merchanter, headed into ambush. She reached toward the com, and vid suddenly lost the movement of the Mazia

“Neihart’s Finity just arrived,” she said. “Headed into it.”

Two bodies hit the cushions and started snatching functions to their own boards, without comment.

Warn them or not? There was a chance of making a score on the Mazia

“Got another one,” Neill said; and then: “Allie; it’s Dublin.”

The blood went from her face to her feat.

“We’ve got to warn them,” Deirdre said.

“No. We sit tight”

“Allie…”

“We sit tight. We’ve got the Mazia

“What, premature? They’re headed into a trap.”

“No,” she said. Desperately. Just no. She had worked it out, all of it, the range they needed. The odds of the troops. Suddenly the balance was tilted. Near two thousand Dubliners; the Neiharts of Finity might number nearly as many—a Name on the Alliance side, armed and not for trifling.

“They’re not dumping,” Deirdre said. “The way that’s coming in they haven’t dumped. Permission to use scan.”

“Do it.”

The freighters were coming in at all gathered velocity—they knew, they knew what they were ru

“We’re moving,” she said, and committed them, a release of the grapples and a firing of the undocking jets. Lucy backed off and angled, and she cut mains in, listening to the quiet voice of the ghost in Lucy’s comp assure her she was doing it right.

“We go for them?” Neill asked, an optimistic assessment of their speed and their firepower.

“Ought to get there eventually,” she said. “Mark they don’t run us down. Just keep our targets straight” She asked comp for armaments, keying in that function.

“Sandy,” comp objected, “are you sure of this?”

She keyed the affirmative and uncapped the switches. A distressing red color dyed her hand from the ready light It was a clumsy system… a computer/scan synch that was decent at low velocities, fit for nullpoint arguments, but nothing else.

“Got another one,” Neill said. And, “Lord, it’s Mallory!”

Her hand shook above the fire buttons. She looked at scan, a flick of the eye that was in Norway’s terms several planetary diameters duration. The garble sorted itself out in com; and then she saw the angle on scan.

She fired, a flat pressure of her hand, at what she reckoned for the Mazia

And then something was coming at the pattern broadside: “Union ship,” she heard reported into her ear… and suddenly everything broke up, sensors out, a wail of alarm through Lucy’s systems.

It passed. She still had her hand on controls. “Hello, Sandy,” comp said pleasantly, sorting itself into sense again. Scan had not. They had ships dislocated from last estimated position. The ID signals started coming in again.

“That’s Dublin,” Neill said, “and Finity. Norway and her riders. Liberty. That was a Union ship that just passed us…”

“Outbound,” Deirdre exclaimed. “Lord, they’re ru

She sat still, with the adrenalin surge still going hot and cold through her limbs and an alarming tendency to shake.

“Do we contact?” Neill asked. “Allie, it’s Dublin out there.”

“Put me through,” she said; and when she heard the steady calm of Dublin’s Com One, she still felt no elation, “Dublin com, this is Lucy, We’ve got two missing, request help in boarding the station and searching.”

“We copy, Lucy,” Not—who is this? Not—hello, Allison Reilly, Ship to ship and all business. “Do you need assistance aboard?”

“Negative. All safe aboard.”

“This is Norway com,” another voice broke in. “Ridership Odin will establish dock; nonmilitary perso

She had cut the engines. She rolled Lucy into an axis turn and cut them in again, defying the military order. Let them enforce it. Let Norway put a shot toward them in front of witnesses, after all else Norway had done. She heard objection, ignored it.

“Dublin, this is Lucy. Request explanation this setup.”

“Abort that chatter,” Norway said.

“Hang you, Norway—”

A ridership passed them, cutting off communication for the moment—faster than they could possibly move. Norway had followed. Lucy clawed her slow way against her own momentum, and there was a silence over Lucy’s bridge, no of triumph at all.

She had won. And found her size in the universe, that she counted for nothing. Even from Dublin there was no answer.

They’ve got them,” the report came in via Norway com, even while Lucy was easing her way into a troop assisted dock. And in a little time more: “They’re in sorry shape. We’re making a transfer to our own medical facilities.”

“How bad?” Allison asked. “Norway, Lucy requests information.”

“When available. Request you don’t tie up this station. Norway has other operations.”

She choked on that, concentrated her attention on the approaching dock, listened to Deirdre giving range.

Norway sat in dock; the Union carrier Liberty was in system somewhere, poised to take care of trouble if the Mazia