Frue cried, “Fucking squids. They’ve shut down our light-drive systems! Remotely. System’s locked.”
“Now we’re screwed. No way to outman or outrun that. Can you hail Mathias?”
Frue hesitated. “If these squids’ technology can carry radio signals along the hyperthrust highways, maybe. I hope they haven’t disabled that too.”
“Then do it!”
Frue fiddled with the controls, sweat greasing his face, his cheeks flushed. He punched in some coordinates which looked like numbers, but Yul could not be sure. A strange series of garbled electronic sounds came over the com, Rangenkro make, fortunately for him and Frue, then some crackly voices.
Frue barked out a command. “Put me through to Mathias. This is important! Code DZ56A.”
A pause. Then a woman’s voice sounded over the com. “I can relay the message to Mr. Mathias. What’s your emergency, lieutenant Friscas?”
“Call me Frue. This is for Mathias’s ears only. Repeat, for Mathias only!”
Another pause. Then the static frequency discharges dissipated and the high and low of Mathias’s voice came over the com, calm, measured. “This is most awkward. An insecure channel at the very least, Frue, not to mention the timing. Very inconvenient.”
Yul dashed over to the panel and snarled into the console. “Listen to me, Mathias. This is important. Don’t talk, we need backup.”
“Is this Yul or Regers speaking? Where are you?”
“It’s Yul. We’re on Phebis, Phobos some fool place. Get the hell over here.”
“Where the hell is Phebis?”
Yul flapped his hand. Frue brought up the data on the info set. “Moon of Iom, sector 6.1. Local coordinates: 300-100.A61 Orion sector. No, Delta sector.”
“Well, fly the Albatross in. What am I, your bloody valet?”
“Can’t, it’s complicated. Look, do you want the stuff or not?”
“Do you have the samples?”
Yul paused. “Sitting on them. You’ll need backup to secure it. Lots of it. You may need artillery.”
“Where’s my ship?”
“In bad shape, I’m afraid. Best to forget about it.”
There was a long pause and an angry curse on the other end. “Yul, you have the balls to call me up demanding backup with the Albatross incapacitated? This will be deducted from our contract! I’m guessing there’ll be little left of that when this is all over.”
“Not a chance, Mathias, we had a deal.”
“Listen, soldier, buddy, if you have the merchandise, I’ll maybe make some concessions, but otherwise...” The threat hung like a wet rag.
Yul didn’t trust what he was hearing. “What’s to stop me from running to the competition?”
Mathias’s icy snuffle burst over the com, a cold forewarning of what was to come. “You do that and you’ll be pissing iron stars by the end of the day. I thought you needed backup. Where are you going to run to?”
“Just letting you know I have options. Hurry up, or you won’t have any merchandise left. Bring as much firepower as you can.” Yul cut the channel, not wanting to hear another one of Mathias’s facetious remarks. “Stupid cretin. Frue, work for me, tell me some good news.”
“The Orb is a class D midfighter. I’m guessing more a Recon or scout craft than a war vessel, with a minimal crew.”
Yul scoffed. “That’s what you said last time—minimal crew.”
“Yeah, well, we may be able to con them into believing we’re disabled, sidetracked on some spurious mission, technical failure or malfunction, some shit like that.”
“Sounds desperate.”
“It is. Recall we have no weapons.”
“You’re not giving me anything, Frue.”
“Me?” Frue exploded. “What the hell are you giving me?”
“Land this piece of crap.”
“What do you mean, land it?” Frue stared aghast.
“You heard me. We can hide on the moon, fight on land if need be. Or better yet—”
“Mathias will hang us out to dry. You don’t just bilk billionaires.”
“Mathias wants his stuff badly enough. We’ll dodge these squids until he gets here.”
“How do you propose we get to him what we don’t have?”
“That’s his problem.”
“Why don’t we just fly this thing somewhere else?” Frue wailed. “The Orb’s a fortress.”
“What part of impossibly bad idea don’t you get? We can’t keep flying this craft. They can track it. It’s built into their systems.”
Frue rubbed his temples in acknowledged defeat.
“Can you get the tractor pad lowered?”
Frue closed his eyes in frustration. “Damn it, Yul. It’s part of their weapons systems. I’ve told you, I have no access! I can’t decipher the weapons systems. We’re sitting ducks.”
“Any chance of getting the Albatross online?”
“Are you kidding me? You saw it. It’s a write-off.”
“What about the lander?”
“Possible. The landing bay seemed intact when we stormed by it. Unless the Zikri have fouled it up.”
“Okay, work on getting the tractor port open. If you can’t, I’ll rig explosions from the Albatross. We can use Lander to get off this crate. It has minimal impulse boost and can put us into Vraigon in a few weeks.”
Frue shook his head. “I still think we should fly this thing—”
Yul cut him off. “Shut up and listen. The Zikri’ll follow us to the end of the universe. We have to ditch this heap.”
He was about to open the hatch and go to the hold when Frue quavered. “We’re gonna die. I feel it in my bones.”
Yul snarled at him. “Quit being a wussy and guide me. You died hours ago when the Zikri tracked us here. Better yet, you died when you stepped in the Albatross. We both did.”
Frue sucked in a gulp of air.
“Watch the readout. If they get close, let me know.”
“If I’d have only known... Okay, make your way down here—by this route, away from them.” Frue motioned a trembling hand to the readout. “Five more moving blips near the tanks. According to this layout there’s another way, longer, a better
