looked closer. “I’d say that this is an Aqaba main battle tank.”
“You’d be right,” Ho said, “and I’ve got five more of them onboard. Anyway, get your lot inside this one; we’ll be getting under way shortly. And don’t come out unless I tell you to. We’ll have an escort, and they’re a nosy bunch.”
“An escort?”
“The NRA occasionally has a go at the barges. Sank two a few days ago, so now we have a couple of patrol boats to keep an eye on things.”
“Got it.”
“There’s just one more thing,” Ho said. “Where’s my money?”
Michael stared around the inside of the tank, which was dimly lit by the soft glow of emergency lights. This one was the manned version, designed to control a squadron of unmanned Aqabas. By Fed standards, it was crude, and because it did not use AIs, it carried a crew of five where the Feds would have managed with one.
Crude or not, it was an impressive machine. Michael would never forget how they had looked advancing toward his position during the Hammers’ abortive attempt to take the NRA’s Branxton base. The Aqabas had been a terrifying sight. An autoloaded 95-millimeter hypervelocity gun backed up by missile pods and defensive lasers made sure of that. At that point an idea popped into his mind, fully formed and ready to go.
But was it feasible? he wondered.
“Hey,” he said to Sergeant Shinoda, “you ever operate one of these things?”
“Me? Hell, no. First time I’ve ever seen one up close.”
“I have, sir,” Mallory called out from one of the drone tank controller’s positions. “I was in a logistics battalion attached to a marine armored division.”
“Easy to drive?”
“Far as I remember. I think there’s a simulator which shows you how everything works.”
“And how do you start it up?”
“Let me see. The panel to your left … yes, that one. Lift the safety flap, put the switch to the first position, and that fires up the fuel cells. One more click brings the auxiliary fusion plant online. Flicking the switch all the way brings up the main propulsion plant.”
“What?” Michael said, unconvinced. “It’s that easy?”
“It is … well, once you’ve inputted the right authorization code, of course.”
“I knew there had to be a catch,” Michael said, the disappointment bitter.
Mallory stared at him. “Are you thinking of using this thing, sir?”
Michael nodded. “I was,” he said, “but without the authorization code, it’s just a big useless lump of ceramsteel.”
“It is, but in my day, tanks straight out of the factory,” Mallory said, looking around, “which this one almost certainly is, all had the same factory code.”
“Which was?”
“Ah, now let me see …” Michael felt as if he were about to explode. “I think it was ‘system’ … Yeah, it was.”
“‘System’?” Michael hissed. “The code is s-y-s-t-e-m? You got to be shitting me.”
“I am not, sir,” Mallory said a touch defensively.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out.”
“Let’s do it, sir.”
So they did, and Michael found out that no, Trooper Mallory was not shitting him. “Well I’ll be damned,” he whispered as the cramped crew compartment came alive in a coruscating display of colored status lights and holovid panels. “Is this thing armed?”
“Wait one,” Mallory said. Her fingers flew over one of the panels. “It is. It has full loads: 95-millimeter projectiles, machine gun rounds, missiles, decoys, smoke grenades, chaff dispensers, everything.”
“That’s standard operating procedure for heavy weapons systems being shipped into a combat zone,” Shinoda said. “It means they can go straight into action if needed.”
An evil smile crossed Michael’s face. “Well, things are looking up,” he said. He looked around. “Anyone fancy being a Hammer tank commander?”
Mallory had been dead right, Michael realized. Driving the Aqaba was simplicity itself. Once set to auto, the weapons systems pretty much took care of themselves once the target priorities had been set. “Let’s take five,” he said. “Somebody open a hatch; this place smells like a brothel.”
“You would know,” a voice said in a stage whisper, provoking an outbreak of laughter.
“Yeah, yeah,” Michael said.
Kleber pushed open the hatch; he peered out.
“Anything worth looking at?” Michael asked.
“Nothing.”
“Back to work then, folks. We’ll keep at it for another hour, then decide what to do with our newfound skills.”
“There’s too much we don’t know, sir,” Shinoda said. “You’ll have to go talk with the captain.”
Michael grimaced. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to.”
“I know. He won’t be happy; that’s for sure.”
“Maybe he will be if I give him what’s left on my card.”
“DocSec will come after him. You do know that?”
“I do.” Michael sighed. “Let me see what he says.” He slipped through Aqaba’s hatch and wriggled his way out from under the netting. He paused to make sure there were no patrol boats in sight, then adjusted his chromaflage cape and made his way to the bridge.
Captain Ho spun around in his chair when Michael appeared. The man did not look happy to see him. “Kraa damn it,” he snapped, “I thought I told you to stay put. The Hammers are like flies on shit out there. They have surveillance all over this river.”
“I know, and I’m sorry, but we need to talk. Besides, this cape is too good for any Hammer holovid.”
Ho’s eyes narrowed. “I thought there was something odd about you,” he said. “You’re not a Hammer, are you?”
For a moment Michael toyed with the idea of lying, then decided the truth might pay better dividends. In any case, Ho had them by the balls; for all Michael knew, he already had DocSec waiting for them on the wharf at Ahenkro Junction. “No,” Michael said. “I’m a Fed.”
“I knew it.” Ho paused. “See this?” he went on, pointing to a red button on the arm of his chair only a few centimeters from the tips of his fingers.
Michael nodded.
“That’s the hijack alarm. If I push it, it locks down. Unless I release it inside five seconds, the sky falls in on your head. You might kill me, but you won’t get to the button in time, I can guarantee that.”
Michael sighed. “Nobody’s going to kill anybody,” he said, “so spare me the threats. I’m here to talk to you, that’s all. If you can’t give me what I ask, we’ll go over the side where and when you tell us to, and you’ll never see us again.”
The tension was palpable, Captain Ho’s body radiating mistrust. “I can listen,” he said eventually, his finger not moving one millimeter. “What do you want?”
“One of my guys was a Hammer tanker, so this is what we thought we’d do …”
“Kraa!” Ho hissed through pursed lips when Michael had finished. “That’s a big ask.”
“It’s important. You must know that.”
“I was a planetary defense officer once.” Ho looked away. “I spent most of my time on oceangoing missile defense platforms, so I never saw combat against the NRA, though I knew plenty of people who did. Some were friends of mine. Quite a few of them are dead now …”
Michael’s spirits sank.
“… killed in action, so there’s no way I’d do anything to help the NRA …”
