Vicky Peterwald: Target (24 page)

T
HE
next jump took them into an occupied system, which was very welcome. The
Spaceadler
had developed a problem.

As the commander took his seat to approach the next jump, he got a serious frown on his face as he studied his board. “We’ve used a lot more reaction mass than we should have,” he muttered.

“We haven’t gone any farther,” Vicky pointed out unnecessarily.

“I know. That means we’ve got a problem. One of our tanks is leaking to space.”

“You want to get out and take a look?”

“I may be your intrepid and overmasculine savior, but I’m not getting into space with the emergency suits they’ve got aboard this tub. Not unless I have to.”

“You can seal the tanks off from each other, can’t you?”

“No, Your Imperial Grace, I can’t. This is a private yacht and built on the cheap. It meets Greenfeld safety standards and not a penny more.”

“Let me guess,” Vicky said. “It’s cheaper to build just one big tank.”

“If they could get away with it, no doubt they would, however, the laws of physics decree that you keep the size of your tanks to a minimum to hold the pressure you need. We have six reaction tanks on this little tub, but plumbing is expensive. They’re all on one set of pipes. If one of them develops a leak, all six leak out through it.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Do you mean can your intrepid and high-on-testosterone savior hop into one of those dangerous space suits, step outside, and stick a wad of chewing gum on the offending gasket or worn-through tank and save the day? No. Not unless you have a wad of chewing gum.”

“I brought a lot of things with me when I ran, some of which I think you have come to value. But of chewing gum, not a stick.”

“Darn,” her intrepid hero said.

“As much as I’m enjoying your humor in this mess we’re in, I must ask. What do we do next? Do you think someone sabotaged the boat to come up sick, lame, and lazy, as Admiral Krätz would say, at this particular system?”

“About sabotage, I doubt it. Remember, this tub has been tied up to the pier for a year, just basking in the warmth of space. No use. No maintenance checks. My guess is that something that’s been going bad picked this moment to go all the way.”

“Don’t you hate it when someone else does that? So, wise and dirty-minded pilot, what do we do about it?”

“You got any money on you?”

“I have most of the money my loving stepmom paid to have me kidnapped and held for torture. I haven’t counted it yet.”

“I think you need to count it. I’m setting a fast course, one point five gees, for the planet down there. It has a basic space station, no elevator, but enough to handle a small ship of our size. We’ll have to hope we can find a mechanic who can do our work and stay bought.”

“I’ll go count their ill-gotten gain,” Vicky said.

P
OZNAN
Station looked like it had seen better days. It also looked like it had been put together in stages, some of which were now holding on with little more than spit, glue, and baling wire. Those were the commander’s words, not Vicky’s, but she liked the phrase and put it away to remember and use later.

Long before they got close to Poznan, the commander had pulled several tricks out of his bag, and the yacht was now squawking as the
Happy Trails
out of Badenburg. That had not involved a trip outside to change any name on the hull. It seems the external name had already been painted out. Someone had been thinking ahead, even if a complete overhaul of the ship’s tankage had not been in the cards.

They also dressed for the occasion. The commander had clothes for Vicky.

If you could call them clothes.

The leggings were one-size-fits-all, which, for Vicky’s curves, meant a lot of thin spots. There was something that might pass for a skirt. Actually, it was just a thin bit of ruffle that wouldn’t hide anything if she got any bit of lighting behind her.

It also didn’t cover the rounded derriere that had been the bane of her trainers since it popped out about the same time her chest had developed its own mass of roundness. One woman body trainer had finally told Vicky, “You have to have something to counterbalance all that weight up top. Besides, I hear a lot of men love curves.”

Since that woman was a thin, willowy bit of nothing, Vicky had a hard time believing that she’d ever heard anything of the sort.

Though, of late, she was starting to place some faith and credence in the woman’s words.

The sweater was dial-a-size. Vicky selected one size too small.

The entire ensemble got a wolf whistle from the commander, who had decked himself out in a more conservative yachtsman’s outfit, complete with a hat sporting fake admiral’s scrambled eggs.

Vicky gave him a glare.

“We’ve got to look the part of owners, or at least me the owner, you the rented bimbo, the kind who can afford to flash the kind of cash you gave me.”

“Bimbo, huh? Maybe I ought to have the money and you be the bought hunk of flesh.”

“It’s a man’s world. No doubt you’ve heard that.”

“Never liked it when I did, but I think I’ll let you live for a bit more. You do have your pleasant side even if it isn’t brains.”

“As much as I hate to end these delightful exchanges, I think we better clean up our act for the paying public.”

“Clean up my act, in this?” Vicky said, taking in her scanty clothing with a wave of her hand.

“You’re the distraction. Money’s the motivation. With luck, we’ll get in and out of here faster than our last quickie.”

“Promises, promises.”

But when they sealed locks with the station, Vicky was all professional arm candy for the skipper.

Gerrit had advised the port control of High Poznan that they had a leaky tank and would need service. They were directed toward the small yard. Small as it was, all the piers were empty.

Clearly, business was way down.

They exited the yacht, arm in arm, with Gerrit’s hand on her butt, to find a man waiting for them. Iwo Mackiewicz was a hard, grizzled man in coveralls who offered Gerrit a callused hand to shake.

“How are things in Badenburg?” he asked.

“They’re hard all over,” Gerrit admitted. “And I have this immediate problem. I need to get home from my vacation before my wife gets home from her vacation. You know what I mean?”

“Let me guess, her side of the family is the one with all the money.”

Gerrit offered him an envelope with a quarter of Vicky’s blood money. “And now you have a nice chunk of money.”

Iwo thumbed open the envelope, eyed the contents, and pursed his lips. “You really do need your work done fast. Let me tell you what I can do for you. I’ll get you and your lady friend out of here in two, maybe three hours, and you’re going to give me another one of these envelopes.”

Gerrit scowled, but said, “I think I can arrange that.”

“Good. I’ll get my welder on the job.” He hollered into a mic for Tazio and got an answer to the effect that he was already on it.

“Can I watch?” Vicky gushed, wishing she did have some chewing gum to snap. Didn’t all women in her alleged calling chew gum? “I just love to watch strong men working hard.”

“Yeah, I can believe that,” Iwo muttered. “You can go down the next two decks of the pier and take a look. Maybe you can see him. Maybe not.”

“Go ahead, honey bunch. Have fun.”

Vicky sashayed off. She could feel male eyes, four of them, undressing her. Not that it would take all that long to do it in the flesh, but it seemed to take longer in their imaginations.

Once back on board, she was going to make Gerrit pay for his fun.

Two decks down, there was a viewing port that let Vicky spot a guy in a solid workman’s space suit. It was almost hard enough to pass for armor. He had a sensor attached to one wrist as he went hand over hand along the external end of one tank. If the leak was along the internal side, this was going to turn into a several-day exercise, but most of the wear and tear was on the outside.

Vicky could hope.

He went down one tank, and up another, and was going down the third when he paused.

His “I found it” was likely intended just for his boss, Iwo, but Vicky’s computer had hacked into their net within the first five minutes of being docked to the station.

Vicky glued her nose to the glass and watched as the fellow slapped a patch on the problem area, then pulled up his welding tools and went to work. He ran a good, professional bead on his weld. Vicky had her computer zoom in on the work and check it against its own database for good welding work.

The guy was passing, but Vicky’s paranoia was not allayed.

C
OMPUTER, CAN YOU ACCESS THE READOUT ON THAT SENSOR THE GUY IS CARRYING?

Y
ES, MA’AM.

D
OES IT SHOW A LEAK?

Y
ES, MA’AM.
I
T SHOWED A LEAK FOR REACTION MASS.
T
HE ANALYSIS OF IT WAS THAT IT MATCHED WHAT IS IN OUR TANKS.

To Vicky’s great surprise, she wasn’t being set up. Even better, her own computer was now able to follow what she was thinking and answer the next question before she asked it.

Things were looking up.

Vicky waited until the guy was done and jetting away from the boat before she climbed the stairs back to where she’d left Gerrit. She did it quietly, and she stopped at the rung that gave her a peek at where she was going.

Which turned out to be a good idea.

Iwo had a gun on Gerrit.

“I told you, I’ve got one more load of cash like that. That’s all.”

“Then you got a credit chit with a whole lot more money, don’t you?”

“My wife has one.”

“You have one. Don’t kid me. Give it up.”

“Man, I don’t have it on me.”

“Don’t kid a kidder. Cough it up, or I’m going to send off a message full of pictures of you and that dame you got hanging on you. Nice pictures.”

So things hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped.

Despite the skimpy clothes, Vicky has still managed to secrete her automatic about her person. It wasn’t the one Greenfeld had issued but the one she’d picked up on Wardhaven waiting for the Fleet of Discovery to get under way.

The one that Kris Longknife suggested.

This automatic had two options, deadly like the one Greenfeld issued, and the sleepy darts Kris preferred. Clearly, the local was threatening Gerrit with deadly force, but leaving a line of dead bodies behind might be too much of an invitation for attention, and attention was something Vicky did not want.

“Just let me check the registration on this love boat of yours,” the ship yard boss said, and pulled a tired old computer from his waist and began thumbing it.

He was in for a big surprise.

Vicky decided to save his heart the shock of discovering who really owned the
Happy Trails
.

Taking careful aim, she put three sleepy darts in his butt.

He seemed surprised at the soft pop the automatic made when firing the nonlethal darts. He glanced around—then his eyes rolled up and he began to collapse toward the deck.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Gerrit said, making a grab for the guy, the gun, and the ancient computer. Somehow, the commander managed to get his hands on all of them. He let them down gently to the deck. All except for the gun. That one disappeared into one of his pockets.

“What took you so long? How much fun can a gal have watching an ape swing around in a space suit?”

“Whatever turns you on,” Vicky said. “And don’t you go complaining. I got the drop on him, didn’t I?”

“Where’d you get those sleepy darts?”

“Do you honestly want a gal that kisses and tells?”

“No, but I’d like one myself.”

“I’ll mail order you one when we get to St. Petersburg. You ready to go?”

“You think I ought to leave him the second envelope after what he pulled on us?”

“I think he made an honest deal with us and, even if he didn’t stay honest, we ought to. With any luck, once he wakes up, he’ll be glad for how it came out and call us even.”

“Are you developing scruples? Scruples in a Peterwald?”

“No, I’m just thinking of practical things. Will that extra money help me where I’m going? I doubt it. Could it help keep him quiet, here? Possibly.”

The commander dropped the second envelope on the sleeping yard boss, and they retreated to their boat. Quickly, they resealed locks and headed for the cockpit.

The board readout showed the tanks holding steady. The commander started sucking down some more reaction mass from the station, taking his tanks up to 75 percent full.

Again, the tanks held the pressure.

“That patch is on the outside, right?”

“Yep, a good weld patched to the outside of tank 3,” Vicky said.

“Then we’ll hold at this. It’s enough to get us to St. Petersburg.”

Vicky nodded.

“Poznan Station, this is the yacht
Happy Trails
. We are ready to depart.”

“Yacht
Happy Trails
, you are not cleared for departure. I haven’t been advised by the yard that you have paid him.”

“I paid him in cash, and he looked like he was headed for the nearest bar,” the commander said.

“Damn, he’ll drink up my part of the pay.
Happy Trails
, you stay locked down while I go check on this.”

“Blast, I thought he’d let us loose while he did the checking,” Gerrit said.

“Computer,” Vicky said, “can you access the releases on the pier tie-downs?”

“Yes, ma’am, I can.”

“Could you please run the getting-under-way routine for this pier?”

“Yes, ma’am. Running the routine.” And the yacht began to back away from the pier.

“Are we clear? Is that welder out of our way?” Gerrit asked.

Vicky had the outside cameras run a scan of the area. “We are clear. No one in sight.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

The reactors had been kept as warm as the port authority allowed, or didn’t know about. Now the steering jets pushed them away from the station. In a moment, they flipped ship and were under way from the station at a tenth of a gee. Once they were ten klicks out, Gerrit upped the acceleration, and they gained weight, first a quarter gee, then a half, and finally a full gee.

About that time the station came back on. “What do you mean, leaving without authorization?”

“It’s not like you got a lot of traffic I got to dodge,” Gerrit said. “And you did get your share off Iwo, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, he got his, and I got mine. Why’d you sleep him?”

“He tried to renege on our deal. Up the price after the work was done. It’s likely not something he’s very proud of, considering that it was the little girl that nailed his butt. He probably won’t want you to ask him too much about it.
Happy Trails
out,” the commander said, and only then laughed.

“No doubt, approach will ask Iwo about the deal and how it went wrong,” Vicky said.

“And, no doubt, he’ll be asked often and late about how a cute little bimbo got the drop on him, him with his gun out and all.”

“You are horrible.”

“It’s a guy thing.”

“Speaking of guy things,” Vicky said, and left it hanging there.

“Guy things?” Gerrit asked.

“Yeah, you owe me. Lots.”

“What for?”

“The way you used me at that station! And letting him get a drop on you so your poor, cute little bimbo had to go and pull your chestnuts out of the fire.”

“Hmm. What do you have in mind?”

“Wait. Worry. Be very concerned.”

He grinned. “That sounds promising.”