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Tor let the computer direct a last correcting burn that reduced the DropShip's closing speed to just over a meter per second. The freighter Invidiouswas large on the bridge screen images from aft, under the DropShip's tubes.
Like most JumpShips, the old freighter was built around the needle-slim dagger of a central drive core. Those clean lines were broken, however, by an unsightly clutter of cargo modules, the stubby, rounded prow of the pressurized crew section, the off-center bulge of the Invidious'second DropShip still strapped to the aft cargo compartment, and the menacing, misshapen blisters of the ship's meteor defense particle ca
Aft, far aft of the freighter, the red disk of Trell now appeared as a crescent of light caught in a black circle that seemed to be devouring the star. It was an artificial eclipse, Tor knew, brought on by the Invidious'jump sail ten kilometers aft
There was a burst of field-induced static from the bridge speakers, and then a man's voice speaking. "DropShip on vector four-five, reduce speed to point five meter per sec, over."
Tor touched a button, fed a correction into his computer console. There was another, almost imperceptible nudge. "Complied, freighter."
He'd kept ship-to-ship chatter to an absolute minimum on the approach for fear of giving something away. So far there had been no challenge, no order to change course or kill vector. The freighter's deck watch must be satisfied with the DropShip's IFF broadcast
The last sliver of Trell sun was swallowed by the black jump sail, and the DropShip plunged into shadow. The hull of the freighter was only a few hundred meters distant now, masked in shadow, but outlined by the glimmer and steady-paced blinks of acquisition and ru
Tor touched a console key, and a flashing red light appeared on the screen well off to one side, against the backdrop of stars. That was the Kurita warship's location, 12,000 kilometers away. There was still no transmission, no indication that anyone suspected anything was wrong.
He opened the ship's intercom. "All hands... stand by. I'm going to tell them who we are."
The freighter normally carried a crew of fifteen. Three of the original crew had gone with Tor to Trellwan and died there. The memory was still an anguish of guilt in Tor. He did not know how many of the remaining twelve of his crew were still alive aboard the Invidious,though it was unlikely — or so he prayed — that so many trained starship hands would be casually wasted.
A bigger question was how many guards might be standing watch over the ship. Tor couldn't even guess at that, though conditions would be pretty cramped with more than ten or twelve passengers.
He glanced at the screen, which was recording time. It read 55 hours, 30 minutes exactly, with the seconds flickering away to the right of those numbers.
There were a number of ways to attack a JumpShip in space. If it was unsupported, there were several positions a DropShip could take that would threaten the vessel — aft of the jump sail, for example, or close forward of the stationkeeping drives, assuming the defensive weapons had been neutralized.
If the DropShip opened fire on the Invidious'weapons blisters, the Unionwarship would detect the radiations and investigate. If the freighter suffered any damage at all — perhaps a torn sail or an explosion in a weapons pod — the warship would investigate. Or, at the very least, it would try to raise the freighter on a ship-to-ship frequency to find out what was happening.
Tor had been prepared to try such an attack if their approach had been discovered, but his primary plan was still on schedule so far. He knew that one or more of the ship's officers would meet them at the docking lock. If he and his men moved fast enough, they might be able to storm the ship and take it before the Invidious'deck watch could get off a yell for help.
Might. If the watch officer was awake and on the ball, he would have at least enough time to get a message off to Trellwan. The warship might pick up a general, nondirectional broadcast, but unless the two ships were in active communication, with the frequency open, it was more likely that the warship wouldn't pick up the message.
It would take only a little over five and a half minutes for a beamed message to reach the spaceport's ground ante
Then again, if the Duke had discovered the deception with the computer manifest, Tor might be met by a squad of marines with drawn guns.
The computer made a last-minute correctional burn. The DropShip's bridge rang with the clear bell tones and rattling thumps of magnetic grapples swinging home, of docking flanges clamping down to secure the vessel to its berth on the freighter's hull.
"Docked," he a
The next few seconds would spell failure or success.
* * * *
As soon as Lori's coded message had reached him, Grayson brought the hidden Shadow Hawkto its feet and began moving along the wadi. He was headed toward a place where the bank had partly collapsed, offering a natural ramp up and out of the gully and onto the flat ground southwest of the port. The port itself was still masked by smoke, but the ground com ante
And 'Mechs. Grayson was getting moving radar images of at least eight of them, though the continuing ECM jamming was scrambling his images and making it impossible to get a hard fix. All the 'Mechs seemed to be moving toward the north end of the field, and none were closer than two kilometers away. From the look of things, the plan seemed to be working.
A light haze of smoke was drifting across the southwestern perimeter, dispersing before a light northerly breeze. The Shadow Hawkreached the chainlink fence at the port perimeter, and stepped over it to the ferrocrete apron. A hovercraft weapons carrier whined through the smoke a half-kilometer ahead, heading north, but it ignored Grayson.
He'd been counting on that. Though the Duke's men knew all too well that Grayson had made off with their captured Shadow Hawktwo days before, there was still a company of 'Mechs in the area. Any casual observer would most likely assume that the battle-scarred machine moving across the southern edge of the port was friendly. The field officers who would know differently would be at the Castle monitoring combat communications, or in the field piloting their 'Mechs and with other business on their minds.
The sounds of continued combat drifted down the rising ground to the north. If the Lancers' three 'Mechs could hold out just long enough for him to destroy the ante