system where the 'Government in Exile' of Ilocan was hiding, but he flatly refused to disclose how he contacted them, which pleased Cale.
He told the man to contact the 'Government in Exile' and warn them that a ship would be approaching them, but not to shoot until they had a chance to establish comms. Then he reminded the man that Santies could read, too, and that he should be very careful for a while.
They lifted from Angeles, just within their forty-eight hour deadline. Cale gave Tess the coordinates, and they boosted max for the jump point. It was two jumps to the nameless system housing the 'Government in Exile,' but they were relatively short. Still, it gave the three of them time to become very good friends by the time they reached their goal.
According to the Stellar index the system was uninhabited; but either the index was out of date, or it didn't consider atmosphere mines to be habitations. The mine in question was sited on a small airless moon circling a gas giant. From there, specially designed scoopships skipped along the outer atmosphere of the huge planet, scooping up and compressing the atmospheric gases. They then returned to the moon, where the gases were unloaded, separated, and purified.
Mining was still going on, but now the mine housed the refugee government of Ilocan as well.
Cheetah emerged from the jump point and boosted max for the mine. It was only a few hours before Tess told Cale, 'We're being scanned by targeting radars, Captain. We're still too far out for them to get a lock, but they are definitely trying.'
Cale nodded. 'We're also still too far out to establish two-way comms,' he replied. 'But I think I should get things started before some fool takes a shot at us. Let's record them a starter message. 'Private vessel Cheetah to the Government in Exile of the Planet of Ilocan,' he began. 'We are volunteers come to help. Please do not fire. If Jessica Smith is there, please tell her John, from Peltir IV, sent us. If she is not there, please understand we are not hostile. I say again, please do not fire. We will establish comm link as soon as lag time is down to five seconds. No response is necessary, but do not fire!'
'Send that on a loop until we get within five light-seconds, Tess,' he continued, 'and let's hope Aunt Jessica is home.'
She was. As soon as two-way communication was established a thin woman with streaks of gray in her hair stared grimly at Cale from the comm screen. 'I haven't heard from Johnny in years. Why should I believe you?'
Cale shrugged. 'I'm sorry, ma'am. John got into some political trouble, and ended up being sent to the mines. That's why you haven't heard from him.'
She flinched visibly. 'Let me guess. The damn fool got to poking his nose into the wrong people's business. He never had a lick of sense.'
'If it's any consolation, ma'am, we did manage to escape,' Cale replied with a smile.
She shook her head. 'Well, I hope he's at least got enough sense to stay away from here. He isn't with you, is he?'
Cale suppressed a frown. He hated to lie to Aunt Jessie. In a certain sense, though, 'John Smith' wasn't here; only Cale Rankin. 'No, ma'am. There's just the three of us: me, Zant Jenfu and Delilah Raum. I'm Cale Rankin. We're here to find out how we can help.'
No missiles launched, no lasers flared. Cheetah grounded gently among several of the huge scoopships. They suited up and crossed to the mining dome, where Jessica met them with two men carrying Old Empire style blasters. The introductions went well, and soon they and six Ilocanos were sitting comfortably in a large room that evidently served as lunchroom, lounge, and meeting room.
'So,' Jessica said once they all had drinks, 'Exactly how do you think you're going to help?'
Cale shrugged. 'That's why we came here first. Before we can even plan, we need up-to-date knowledge of the problem.'
'It's a goddam standoff,' replied the man who had been introduced as Ster Mong, 'Minister of Defense'. 'They can't leave Homesafe without losing troops and equipment, and we can't get off-planet or resupply.'
'We're pretty self-sufficient,' Jessica added. 'Ilocanos can live off the land. But weapons, ammunition, and supplies have to be brought in, and the Santies are running a damned effective blockade. Some of our people are down to homemade weapons, bows, and spears. It's become a war of attrition. As Ster says, it's pretty much a standoff. Our main hope lies in the fact that Santiago isn't really a very wealthy planet, and they waste what they have on giveaways to the 'poor', who then have no reason to work their way out of poverty.' She waved a hand. 'Sorry. I was a schoolteacher, and I still tend to lecture. Anyway, our hope is that the Santie government will decide they're throwing money down a hole, and will back off.'
Ster Mong snorted. 'Might work, too, in ten or twelve years! The Santies have elections coming up in a couple of years. Any official that suggested backing off now would be committing political suicide. So, we sit on our butts here and send out 'press releases'!'
Cale was getting an understanding of the situation. This 'government' wasn't really doing anything effective. Questioning revealed that their last contact with the planet itself had occurred more than a month previously. Even if they managed to sneak past the Santie picket and get near the planet itself, they had no means of contacting the Resistance that couldn't be eavesdropped by the Santies.
'So,' Zant said when they were alone. 'These people are amateurs. Worse, they're bureaucrats. Without an organization to manage, they're helpless. I think we should work on our own. I damned sure don't trust any of 'em with our plans.' He glanced at Cale. 'Except maybe your friend's aunt.
Cale shook his head morosely. 'Not even her. She's a good lady, but whatever we do, we need to do it ourselves, and without any 'help' from these people.'
Still, they stayed around for a few days, to meet the people in the 'government' and those outside it who were willing to volunteer to help. A surprising number of them were qualified space pilots; or maybe not so surprising, given the number of skilled atmosphere miners. It was the first good news Cale had received here, and it gave him an idea.
'Believe it or not,' Cale began as the three gathered in Cheetah 's lounge after they had lifted off, 'I’m the legal owner of a surface and orbital ship scrap yard on Torlon.”
“Torlon?” Zant replied with a frown, “I heard they’d lost spaceflight.”
Cale nodded. “They have. The owner of the last operable ship deeded me his scrap yard before he left. Lots of military hulks in that yard.”
Dee frowned. “Okay, but what can you do with a bunch of scrap?”
“Maybe more than you think,” Cale replied with a smile. “Zant, I gather you’ve been kicking around this sector for quite a while.”
Zand nodded with a smile. “About thirty years.”
Cale responded with a nod of his own. “If you had, say, two thousand carats of flawless white diamonds, do you think you could hire a dozen or so men with orbital shipyard experience for a short-term job?”
Zant straightened, his casual smile gone. “Two thousand carats?” At Cale’s nod, he stroked his chin. “Haveta convert ‘em to gold or Alliance credits. We could do that at Freehold, if we was careful. Discount on diamonds shouldn’t be too bad.” He straightened, and his smile returned. “Sheol yeah. Go to Vishnu. They been hit pretty hard lately. They've been in a planet-wide depression for near two years, now. Lots of yards cuttin’ back, and the government is desperate for hard currencies. For two thousand carats we could damn near buy the shipyard, and pick up a load of weapons to boot.”
Cale shook his head. “We’d also have to charter a ship to get the crew to Torlon. Cheetah ’s too small to haul that many people.”
Zant looked at Cale with a hooded expression. “Yeah. But she's a beautiful li’l thing. Perfect for a little midnight tradin’.”
Cale’s smile was noncommittal. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” Zant continued. “I’ve done more’n a bit of midnight tradin’ myself.”
Dee looked puzzled. “Midnight trading?”
“Smuggling,” Cale replied. “Zant is saying that Cheetah would be a great smuggler’s ship.” His smile widened. “He’s right, too.”
“Damn right,” Zant confirmed. “Anyways, getting’ a ship shouldn’t be a problem, either.”
“It would help if the captain kinda forgot where he went. Torlon is my bolt hole.”
Zant winked. “Gotcha”. He looked lost in thought for a moment. “Sheol, I don’t think we’d have any problem
