Rama was smiling in satisfaction. "I will begin inspecting the engines, of course, but if they are in as good a condition as the weapons, I have no doubt the ship will be operable without major effort."
They discussed it, and decided that an outlying planet had probably built her during an emergency, never had to use her in battle, and sold her for scrap when the planet could afford a proper defense station. Cale was concerned but optimistic.
The news, though, was good. Rama proudly showed them around the Chaka-class, whose powerful main armament was now supported by several smaller lasers and three heavy Alliance-pattern quickfirers, effective even against battle cruisers, that had actually been added. “We’ve inspected her drives and engines,” Rama said, “And her life support is fully functional. However, there are a number of atmosphere leaks we haven’t been able to track down. It won’t be a problem for more than a month, but it should give the crew something to do.” In addition, of course, she would need a good cleaning.
Minetoo
was also now ready, complete with armament. Originally, the Din-class had been designed as a combat cargo hauler. They had been designed to ground in the middle of a battle and resupply troops. They had strengthened frames and reinforced hulls to withstand the rigors of battle, and mounted either two medium laser turrets or a mix of lasers and quickfirers. They also featured oversized cargo doors to permit rapid unloading in combat environments.
The ships sold for surplus had their weapons removed, of course, and later purely commercial versions had never mounted them. However, the vast majority of the ubiquitous freighters still shared the strengthening and reinforcement that had made them a workhorse for nearly a thousand years.
This one had once been armed. Rama and his crew had salvaged laser turrets from two old Delta-class frigates that had turned out to virtually match the originals, and required very little adaptation. Even the battle comps and weapons station simply bolted in. “Good old military standardization!” Zant had exclaimed. Rama’s crew wasn’t finished, though. The cavernous forward cargo hold now contained two cruiser-sized quickfirers, mounted on tracks. By opening the huge cargo doors, they could be rolled out to protrude past the hull; not exactly an extra turret, but certainly the next-best thing. As a bonus, the hold could still hold an
enormous
amount of collapsium-plated ammunition for the weapons. The rear hold, of course, was reserved for the boats and simple facilities to work on them.
The layout was nearly duplicated in the last Din-class, though cruiser-sized lasers and a dedicated fusactor substituted for the quickfirers.
Cale and Zant were delighted. None of the vessels was a true warship, but all were large enough to be impressive on a viewscreen, and each of them packed enough firepower to overwhelm anything smaller than a frigate.
Finally, it was time for Cale, Dee, and Zant to return to Ilocan's 'Government in Exile'. Cale knew he was no salesman, and dreaded trying to convince bureaucrats that his plan could work. Nevertheless, he
must
have skilled in-system pilots to fly the boats, and crews for the 'base ships'; and the only place to get them was from the mine.
They took
Minetoo
, with one of the lifeboats and one of the gigs as cargo. Rama turned out to be qualified for interstellar operation of a Din-class, so he piloted the ship back to the atmosphere mine.
Their ship caused a bit of excitement. Since
Minetoo
was similar in size to the ships transporting the mined gases and elements, the Ilocanos failed to notice at first that it was a stranger. A flurry of excitement accompanied the realization, alleviated only when Cale finally succeeded in establishing contact with President Jessica Johns.
Irritation was still evident in the faces of the six executives comprising the 'Government in Exile' as Cale and Zant were seated in the lunchroom/lounge/conference room. Ster Mong, the Minister of Defense, looked particularly unhappy, which worried Cale. He was counting on Mong to support their idea.
Jessica kicked it off. "All right. You're back, and you say you have a way to break the stalemate. Let's hear it." Her tone was skeptical, and her expression not particularly friendly. Cale suspected that as the stalemate dragged on, frustration and fear of failure grew and fostered pessimism and skepticism.
Cale nodded. "Before we begin," he said, "Can we get someone in here who's an experienced in-system pilot?"
Mong waved a hand. "You've got one, son. Before I got into government, I was an atmosphere miner for over ten years. Get on with it."
Cale shrugged. "All right. As long as the Santies have control of the Ilocan system and the air above the planet, you cannot win. Ever. All you can hope for is for them to decide to quit; and for political reasons, any Santie official suggesting that is committing political suicide. "There's only one way Ilocan can win this war, and that is to deny Santiago free use of space."
"Great." Mong replied sourly. "Tell us something else we already knew."
"How about something you
didn't
know?" Zant put in. "How about a way to maybe win this damned war?" Glaring at all the Ilocanos, he gestured to Cale. "C'mon, Cale," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "These people don't want to hear about it. They'd rather sit here on this airless rock and complain to each other about how bad it is than do something about it."
Cale started to rise.
"Wait!" it was Jessica. "We're all a little discouraged and angry. But we represent our people." She glared around at her companions. "And we owe it to our people to consider any possibility. And to listen to any proposal. Please, continue with your presentation."
Cale felt warmth crawl up his face. "Well, er, I don't really have a prepared presentation. I'm not a salesman trying to sell you something, or a slicker trying to swindle you. I've invested three million Alliance credits in an idea I think will break the stalemate. But I need your help, and your peoples' help."
"Three million credits!" The shouter was a small, thin man. Cale didn't remember his name, but he'd been introduced as 'Minister of the Treasury'. "I suppose you expect us to reimburse you!"
Zant jumped to his feet. "I still think we should just go, Cale. These assholes aren't going to listen. They'd rather throw bullshit at you every five seconds!"
Jessica waved a hand impatiently. "Sire Jenfu. We
will
hear sire Rankin out, completely, and
without further interruption
." She glared around again. "Is that clear? At the next interruption, the interrupter will be evicted." She turned to Cale. "Please continue, sire Rankin."
"Yes. Madam," Cale replied, "but I would like to respond to the gentleman. Yes, I have invested three million Alliance credits. I am also aware that since I neither asked nor received permission from this body to do so, I am most likely not legally entitled to reimbursement. Strangely, however, I do not recall asking for it." The man flushed red and shifted uncomfortably, but remained silent.
"Now," Cale continued. "Obviously Ilocan has no interstellar presence with which to combat the Santies. Fortunately, I do. I own a ship salvage yard in another system. Yes,
Minetoo
is one of mine. That's why she looks so ragged." A few chuckles rewarded this comment.
"When we left here last time, my friends and I discussed how we could help break the stalemate, and the obvious answer was to get Ilocan into space, and disrupt Santiago's supply lines.
"Now," he continued, "you cannot create a space force out of thin air, but it might be possible to create one out of salvaged ships. After cashing in most of my assets, we went to Vishnu and recruited orbital shipyard workers. I'm sure you are all aware of Vishnu's economic problems; that meant we could afford to hire highly skilled workers for a short-term job off-planet.
"Our Vishnu Project Manager reminded us that one cannot turn a Din-class into a warship in a month. However, he came up with a better idea, one we will be showing you shortly.
"In essence, what we've done is convert small craft into intrasystem fighters. They're a motley assortment, including converted lifeboats, workboats, gigs, and even an admiral's barge. But all of them now have lasers or quickfirers mounted on their centerline. None has sophisticated targeting systems; all have targeting grids etched into their canopies or viewscreens. We have thirty-two of them. That's
one
of the things we need from you: crews to pilot them.
"Almost half of my three million went to the Vishnu government to purchase mines. Lots of mines. Our idea is basically simple. We will mine the jump points to Santiago and Ilocan. When the Santies figure out what we've done, they'll send minesweepers to clear them. This is where the gunboats come in; they're to prevent the Santies from clearing the mines."
"What about innocent traffic to Santiago or Ilocan?" Evidently, Jessica did not consider her ban on interruptions to apply to her.
Cale shrugged. "Simple enough. We'll post beacons with a warning from the President of Ilocan informing them that the jump point is mined, and that if they proceed to trade with a belligerent, it is at their own risk. There is no 'innocent traffic' to Ilocan anyway; any traffic going there intends to deliver goods to the Santies. I'm reasonably certain that will meet the requirements of interstellar law. Besides, wouldn't you rather fight it out in court than with guns on Ilocan?"
She smiled broadly. "You sound like Johnny. Were you ever a lawyer?"
Too close to home. "Let's just say I've had experience with a lot of them. To continue, we've also refurbished three freighters, one Chata-class and two Din-classes; one of them is outside. They're also armed, and set up as base ships to host the gunboats.
"Now, there are three jumps between Santiago and Ilocan. Luckily, the two recal systems are uninhabited. The third attack group will be a special case and require an experienced commander, if one is available. The plan, such as it is, is for one of the base ships to go to each recal system between Santiago and Ilocan, mine the jump points, and then support the gunboats, which will patrol, looking for enemy minesweepers or freighters.
"This brings us to the
second
thing I will need from you: Letters of Marque and Reprisal."
Jessica broke into hearty laughter. The others just looked puzzled.
"Damn!" Jessica said when she regained control of herself. "If you're not a lawyer, you should be one. Who else would know about 3000-year-old legal documents?" She looked around, and saw that the others didn't understand.
"Old Earth," she said crisply, "pre-spaceflight. When wind-powered navies went to war, they were always short of ships, just like now. So, they issued Letters of Marque and Reprisal to private individuals who were willing to pay for armed ships. They were called 'privateers', and they attacked enemy merchant shipping. The letters kept them from being hanged as pirates.
"Thing is," she continued, staring at Cale with narrowed eyes, "there was damned little difference between a privateer and a pirate. If a privateer captured an enemy merchant ship, they took her as a 'prize', she, and her cargo were sold, and the privateer got the proceeds."
Cale smiled. "Not all the proceeds, madam. The government issuing the letters got the largest portion of the profits."
The Minister of the Treasury smiled sourly. "Now we know what made it worth a three million-credit investment. A single cargo could double your money."
Cale sighed and shook his head. "Sire, you continue to impugn my character and my motives. I do not expect to get rich off this war; I'm quite financially secure already. The contract I hope to sign with your government will provide that any proceeds beyond three million Alliance credits and a substantial government share, of course, be divided amongst the crews of the ships and boats. I had rather thought we might design a scale based on importance in the capture, or some such.
"Besides, if the people manning those boats are privateers, they will have a powerful incentive to capture a ship, rather than just destroy it. It could save a lot of lives."
Jessica frowned. "As I recall, one of the reasons privateers were outlawed was that crews had a way of disappearing. Privateers didn't care much whether anyone on those merchant ships survived."
"Outlawed? Outlawed? You mean they're illegal?"
Jessica grinned. "I doubt it. As I recall, there was an international treaty that banned them, but even some of the major nations refused to sign it, and since none of the nations that did sign that treaty have existed for almost three thousand years, I think it would be safe enough, legally, at the moment. But it'll be tossing a real bomb at Interstellar law. It'll probably take another century or two to work through the courts."
"Well," Mong asked, "What
about
prisoners? I'd rather not have to appear before a war crimes tribunal!"
Cale's smile returned. "That's the third and last thing I need from you, and the only one that will cost you money. Both of those jump points are in systems with plenty of moons." He waved vaguely around him. "You obviously have a lot of experience in building installations in airless environments. You'll need to establish prison compounds, where prisoners can be kept and cared for until they are exchanged or the war ends. Which, I suspect, won't be long. If we cut their supply lines and their trade routes, I doubt they will last very long. Now, while you think all this over, shall we visit the ship and see the gunboats?"
They suited up and trooped out to the ship. After giving them a tour of the berthing, eating, and recreational amenities now occupying the former crew's quarters, they moved to the after hold, where the gunboats were kept.
Cale had been hoping to impress one of the qualified pilots, and was glad Mong, the Minister of Defense, was actually qualified to assess their possibilities.
He offered Mong a ride in the converted gig, since it was smaller and more agile than the lifeboat, and Cale suspected an old small-craft hand would enjoy it.