Deuces Wild

Deuces Wild: Stacking the Deck

by L. S. King

"Rock and a Hard Place"

Tristan leaned back and rubbed his eyes. "I don't think you appreciate the situation you're putting me—and Carter—in. Running a blockade isn't much more than suicide."

"I figured between you and this ship and Carter knowing Confederation stuff, it'd be easy."

"Not hardly."

"Well, we need this cargo. The tariffs have eaten into our profits, and fueling killed us."

"We'll make do."

Slap crossed his arms with a determined expression. "But those colonists need those supplies."

Tristan rose and marched to the galley. "Your altruism is going to get us killed."

Slap followed on his heels, doggedly. "Look, Tristan, there's families—kids—suffering because of this blockade. We have a chance to do something."

With a sigh, Tristan faced the cowboy. "It's about time you learned you can't save everyone." He paused, his past swimming in his mind's eye, and softly added, "Sometimes you can't even save yourself." He turned back to the counter and added water to his cup, swirling the grounds before dumping them out.

"Tristan—"

"Go tell Carter what you want to do. Maybe you'll listen to him."

"I will!"

Slap stormed out, exuding self-righteousness and indignation. Shaking his head, Tristan poured another cup of coffee. Altruism—faugh!

Carter's voice broke the blessed silence as he strode into the lounge. "Captain? I thought we weren't going closer to Confederation space than this. But Slap asked me about hauling cargo to Regesh III. Are you really considering running that blockade? We're going to end up dead or prisoners, and personally, I don't like either alternative."

Tristan dimmed the display in front of him. "Slap wants to take that risk. I don't. I thought you'd talk some sense into him."

"He's pretty determined."

"That I am." Slap came up behind Carter. "We have to help those people."

"Look," Carter said. "I know this hits home, having been a rancher, but you don't understand the dangers here."

"We've got his scheming mind, this ship, and your engineering skills. Not to mention, a planet is awfully big to be able to keep locked down. There's got to be holes in their net to slip through—"

Tristan barked a laugh. "If it were that easy, the planet wouldn't be in trouble, would it?"

"Slap, I know the way the Confeds run a blockade." The cowboy started to interrupt, and Carter raised his voice. "It's not a piece of pie to get through it."

"You two are the ones who came right into the atmosphere in a wormhole with ol' Bertha. Can't you do something like that again?"

Tristan shook his head as Carter replied, "No. You don't realize what this ship went through. Structurally, she's been...er, compromised. For conventional use, she's fine, but we can't put her through that sort of stress again. Not without a complete refit."

Slap was silent for a moment, looking pensive. "But still, we can't just turn our backs—"

"Yes, we can," Tristan snapped.

"You made me owner," Slap yelled. "Doesn't that give me some say?"

"That's a legal fiction, and you know it."

"Then why did you do it?"

Tristan kept his voice level, not wanting to escalate the dispute into a shouting match. "To try and keep Giselle out of line of sight of the Mordas—they'd blown up my last ship, remember?"

"Then why don’t you take ownership back?"

Slap's petulant tone set Tristan's teeth on edge. "Because those things don't matter to me. If you want, I'll change ownership, or dump you and this ship and go off on my own."

"You wouldn't—"

Tristan stood. "Don’t—tempt—me!"

Carter stepped between them. "Calm down!"

"What's going on?" Addie asked from the door. "I could hear you yelling in my room."

"Nothing that concerns you." Tristan sidestepped to get past Slap, but the cowboy grabbed his arm.

"Wait a minute, Tristan, we ain't through discussing—"

Tristan yanked free of the cowboy's grip. "Yes, we are."

"What are you fighting about?" Addie's eyes were huge with curiosity.

"None of your business."

"Why not?"

Tristan glared down at her, teeth clenched. "You're not crew."

She flinched, and Tristan took the opportunity to shove past her. Slap ran down the corridor after him. "You aren't walking away from this like you always do."

"What are you talking about?"

"You always try to get away with winning an argument by walking off after you have your say. I ain't letting you get away with it this time."

"I'm not trying to get away with anything. I've said we're not running this blockade, and that's that."

"No, it ain't!"

Tristan spun and jabbed a finger at Carter. "Talk sense to this yahoo, will you?"

Carter backed toward the ladder to the lower deck. "I've got come calibrations to do..." He almost fell trying to get his footing on the rung.

"Carter—you know this is insane. Back me up."

"I'm just the engineer. You two are going to have to work this out yourselves." His silvering blond head disappeared downwards.

Tristan faced Slap. "I won't stand here and bicker endlessly without resolution. I said 'no,' and I won't change my mind." He continued on to his cabin.

"But—"

"No." He banged the switch, shot inside, and quickly hit the lock behind him. He jammed his fingers through his hair as Slap pounded on the door, yelling at him to come out and talk—that cowboy was going to drive him to drink!

"C'mon, Tristan!" Slap slammed his fists as he shouted. "You just can't let hide in there!"

"He stays in there a lot," Addie said, ambling over to Slap. "What's he hiding from?"

Slap muttered under his breath, but wasn't going to say what he thought in front of Addie, despite the fact she could, at times, use language that would make cowboys blush. "Look, Little Girl—"

"I told you to stop calling me that!"

"Then grow up!" Slap flushed at losing his temper, but Tristan had him feeling lassoed. Those people needed help. He could just see folks starving, suffering, all because they didn't want to be sucked into the Confederation. He mumbled an apology and hoofed it to his cabin. He had to figure out how to make Tristan change his mind...

"Look, Slap," came Carter's muffled voice from above some equipment, "I agree with Tristan. It's too dangerous."

"But don't you realize what those people are going through?"

Carter swung down from his perch and faced Slap, his blue eyes somber. "I lived as a Confed most of my life. I know what billions endure on many planets because of them. I managed to get free, but I can't fight them. We can't fight them." He squatted by a toolbox and began digging for something.

"We've fought them—on Eridani."

"We had no choice." Carter grabbed a strange-shaped spanner and hoisted himself back up into the space he'd vacated and wriggled back behind some casing. "You can't save the whole galaxy."

"Now you sound like Tristan."

"Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"He doesn't care about anyone—you want to be like that?"

The engineer slid down and faced Slap. "I am like that." He sighed, slapping the spanner into his hand. "Look, I was young and idealistic once, but the hard reality is, the Confederation is a gigantic mechanism that can't be stopped. Someday, it will collapse on itself, but until then, there's not much anyone can do."

"But—"

"Look at history—it's all the same. Even governments that begin as benign end up malignant. A great philosopher once said man is as bound to government as he is to his bowels." He shrugged. "We can't save ourselves from ourselves."

Slap waved his arms. "I don't believe you! Either of you! How can you just walk away from this?"

"Mr. Cowboy, you sure are making lots of noise today," Addie said.

Slap twisted to see her wrinkling her nose as she sauntered over, and he scowled. "You're making a nuisance of yourself, Little Girl."

"Yeah, well, everyone is yelling at everyone else, and no one will tell me what it's all about." She tipped her head. "But it sounds like politics."

Carter chortled. "What do you know about politics?"

"I know it makes people fight. I saw a lot of that back home with everything going on about forming a government now with the Mordas gone."

"I can only imagine," Carter murmured. He raised his eyebrows at Slap. "Now, excuse me, but I have some repairs to do."

Slap opened his mouth, but Carter had already disappeared back into the bowels of his engines. He turned to Addie, wanting to slice into her for jumping in and giving Carter a chance to back out of the discussion, but he doubted Carter would change his mind. He was too afraid of the Confeds.

"What's wrong?" Addie asked.

"Thousands of colonists are starving, not that you'd care," Slap tossed over his shoulder as he stormed to the ladder, too angry to care if he said something hurtful.

"Why wouldn't I care?"

"It's not your stomach achin', is it?"

Addie clambered up the ladder behind him. "What do you mean?"

"If it ain't about you, it doesn't matter. Someday, I hope, you learn the whole galaxy doesn't exist just for you."

A prolonged sigh followed along behind Slap, and Addie stated, "I know that!"

Sure ya do, Slap thought, but saying it out loud would likely only set her off. He continued toward his cabin, trying to figure out some way to keep that contract. Either way, though, he had to contact the agent and update him...

Slap got up from his bunk as the chime repeated, this time punctuated by pounding on the door. He hit the switch to see a human thunderstorm raging, black eyes boring into him with murderous intensity.

"Why didn't you tell me the colonists were Medan natives?"

Slap blinked. "What difference would it have made?"

"I would have lifted off immediately and gotten far away from this planet. Now you've gotten us sucked into the middle of a situation that will likely kill us all."

"Huh? Why? How?"

"The queen herself has asked that I intervene, since it's her subjects under the blockade."

"But then, why doesn't she ask the Cygnus Hegemony for help?"

"She has appealed to them, but they are hedging—they don't want to risk an open conflict with the Confederation."

"They claim the territory but won't back it up—sounds like cowards to me."

"Politics aren't our concern. However, the blockade now is." Tristan glowered at Slap. "I am officially in charge of not only running it, but breaking it."

Slap scratched his head. "Um, how can the queen make you do what she wants? You're not Medani."

"No..." He sighed, his anger seeming to subside a bit. "I'm Mimendi."

"What does that mean?"

"Never mind. It just means...I am at her bidding." Tristan ran his fingers through his hair. "I have to talk to Carter..."

The engineer stared at Tristan as if he had morphed into an alien. "You can't be serious!"

"I don't have a choice. But I can give you one. I know you don't want to take any chances with the Confeds, so you can stay here." Tristan pursed his lips. "I'm also off-loading Addie. She's nonessential, and it's too dangerous."

Wiping his hands on a cloth, Carter gave a lopsided grin. "You sure you're not taking this as an excuse to get rid of her?"

Tristan snorted. "Almost worth the risk."

"You aren't afraid someone will try to kidnap her again?"

"The queen is going to provide accommodations for her while we're gone. If we don't return, she will arrange for Addie's return to Zenos."

Carter leaned against a conduit, eyeing Tristan. "You're really going to do this."

"My back is against the wall. Just let me know when you have the ship ready, so Slap and I can leave."

"What's your plan for breaking the blockade?"

"That's the one favor I want to ask before you go—details on a Confed blockade, so I know what to expect."

A low whistle escaped the engineer, and he stared at the floor silently. Finally, he said, "Give me a little while, and I'll get you what you need."

Satisfied, Tristan left Carter to his work.

"Hi, Tristan! What are you doing?" Addie asked, bouncing into the lounge.

Not again. Without looking up, Tristan replied, "Working."

"What work do you do? Besides piloting and bossing everyone?"

"Get out."

"What?"

"Get—out."

"I don't have to get out. This is the lounge, and I'm a paying guest! I don't know who you think you are—"

Finally glaring up, Tristan said, "I'm the one who's going to push you out an airlock."

"We're on the ground, Mister Smartie." She stuck out her tongue.

Something snapped. Tristan rose, one hand darting out to capture her wrist. "Let's see how it works anyway, shall we?"

Addie squealed, and it rose to a scream as she twisted in his grip while Tristan dragged her across the room.

Just as he got to the door, Slap barreled in. "What's going on?"

"He wants to space me!" she wailed.

Tristan shoved her at Slap. "Get her out of here. Now."

Muttering to the girl to calm down, Slap led her away. Tristan returned to his seat and continued working.

The cowboy came back in before too long. "I know she can be a pain, but—"

"She's off this ship as of now. The Medan queen said she would keep that she-devil until we returned. I'm going to suggest she ship her directly home—use the kidnapping as an excuse that it's too dangerous out here for her."

"But—"

"No argument. This blockade mission is too dangerous. She's gone. Now. Understand?"

"It's really going to be that bad?"

Tristan leaned back, feeling drained. He considered trying to explain the details, or state odds, or ask the cowboy if he believed in an afterlife. But finally, he merely replied, "Yes."

Slap slowly nodded. "I'll...see Addie's safe off the ship."

As the cowboy left, Carter entered and crossed the lounge, data crystal in hand. "This should help you out."

Nodding a thank you, Tristan asked, "Will you be able to answer some questions after I've reviewed this?"

"Sure. Just give me a shout on the comm. You know where I'll be."

Entering the dark galley, Slap called the lights to half and got the fixings to make a sandwich. He needed strength after the fight he'd just had with the wildcat. But in the end, she'd gone with the Medanis. He might miss her, just a bit. He didn't think Carter or Tristan would, though.

He heard voices in the lounge but could only make out some of the conversation:

"...guarding the Lagrange points, but with this ship's military drive...can jump in anywhere. Now you could..." Carter's voice lowered and Slap couldn't hear anymore.

Tristan objected to something and Carter replied, "A blockade carrier's shielding is rather high, but her armor is paper-thin. Her weapons consist of about twenty anti-fighter turrets. She depends on her defensive turrets, the sentry turrets at the Lagrange points, and her complement of fighter craft to defend her—"

"Exactly. Two squadrons—a total of forty-eight, mixed anti-fighter, bombers, and interceptors. Giselle cannot take on—"

"You could double-jump. First time, about ten light seconds away, do long-range scan. Ten light seconds is far enough for the fighters to have to really push it to get there in any decent amount of time. Once the fighters are far enough away from the carrier, you can jump into point blank range with weapons hot.

"The prime jump-in point for Giselle would be within 100 meters of the carrier's aft launch bay, where only two turrets could target them. You could take out the two turrets, wreck the aft launch bay, cripple the engines, and given enough time, even cause enough damage to explosively decompress the engineering section."

"'Given enough time.' This is before fighters return and smear us into oblivion?" Tristan's sarcasm was thick enough to layer onto Slap's sandwich. "And this is assuming a commander would be moronic enough to launch everything and leave the carrier unguarded."

"Well..."

Slap carried his plate to the lounge and hoped he sounded casual as he interjected, "So...you think you know how to break that blockade?"

Tristan glared at Slap and turned his gaze back to Carter. "A straight-out attack won't work. We have to find a way to outsmart them, not outfight them."

Carter scratched his head, smoothed his hair slowly with his hand, then rubbed his neck, and began muttering to himself. "We could ghost multiple jump sigs, maybe. Make them think there are two targets. The first squadron would launch...and then as the second started to mobilize, we could jump in and munch the bay before they managed it..."

Slap glanced from Carter to Tristan, who was silently regarding Carter with a peculiar expression, as if watching a laboratory experiment.

Carter continued, his eyes either staring at the table, or just glazed. "Problem then is getting the first squadron far enough away to not obliterate us before taking out the bay..." He pursed his lips. "No, no, idiotic, wouldn't give us enough..." He snorted and said, "We could play the mother ship card..."

As if being startled out of a sleep, he looked over at Tristan. "Is there any chance the queen has any ships or money to lend to the cause?"

Tristan's eyes crinkled in amusement. "I have a credchit from Her Majesty."

"That gives us some more options then."

"Us?"

Carter blinked, and his face flushed. "Uh..." His lopsided grin spread. "I guess I am going with you after all."

Tristan leaned back with a slight smirk. Slap just grinned. He picked up his sandwich and took a bite as Carter launched into his ideas.

"So, anyway, we could jump in with a ship that 'looks' bigger than she is, drop remotes in all different directions, and then peg the carrier in the confusion. We could reset the transponder to a battlecruiser signature, with some tweaks to the EMD and countermeasures, so the Confeds have a hard time reading what ship just jumped in. Then have it drop remotes with fighter-style transponders, meaning she's an assault carrier come to break the blockade.

"If we can ghost signal another battlecruiser class, they may think the Eridani have come. The Eridani have two ships—usually built side by side as a matched set—based on the same space frame. One's a battlecruiser, the other's a fleet carrier."

Slap stopped chewing and stared at the engineer. He didn't understand half what the man said, and his wild expression made Slap wonder about his sanity.

"We'd need seventy-two remotes total. The Emperor Fleet Carrier holds three squadrons. Its sister ship class is the GodSword Battlecruiser. If we really want to be nasty, we could make the remotes some kind of anti-fighter mines..." Carter took a deep breath. "Any way you look at it, it'll be a lot of cash to lay out just for the mission."

"Better cash laid out than our bodies."

Carter nodded. "All right, well, if we try—waitaminute..." His eyes glazed again for a moment, and he sat bolt upright. "Wait, wait, wait! What happens if we make it look like a mess-up?"

"A mess-up?" Slap asked, mouth full.

"Yes. What if it looks like Eridani were trying to drop a MIRV weapon into the L-point and mis-navigated it. Then a scatter-shot type dispersion pattern of mines would be expected...so if things were going off in all directions, they wouldn't look too hard at anything"—Carter whirled a finger in the air to indicate the ship—"that entered—and presumably burned up—in the atmosphere!"

Tristan sat up now, with intent interest. "It would look like someone was taking pot-shots at the Confeds from long range and botched it."

"Huh?" Slap looked from one to the other. "What's a MIRV? And what's this about burning up in the atmosphere?"

"It's a Multiple Independently targetable Re-entry Vehicle.... it's a missile warhead with lots of little missiles instead of one big one." Carter put his fists together, then "exploded" them outward, his fingers splaying. "If one were mis-navigated, and had many of the MIRVs entering the atmosphere, the Confeds wouldn't look too hard to see if anything else were among them."

"Ahhh." Slap nodded. "Like us."

"Exactly! That way they would never suspect we had even been there, which would mean they wouldn't be looking for us. And likely wouldn't call in reinforcements." Carter grinned. "Which means getting back out would be a hell of a lot easier, too."

Tristan shook his head. "Granted, we have to deliver those supplies, but we also have to break that blockade."

Carter's lopsided grin spread on his face. "You do know how to eat an elephant, don't you?"

Slap muttered, "Huh?" again, but they didn't acknowledge him.

Tristan barked a laugh. "First bite, the cargo delivery. Good. We need equipment. Cassiopeia Station should have anything we need, shouldn't it?"

Carter shrugged. "Not some of the stuff I'll need, no. But with your contacts, you can arrange for supplies to be waiting for us, can't you?"

"That I can." Tristan let his breath out slowly. "Once we commit to eating this thing, we can't back away. We have to give the Confeds enough of a black eye so that when the queen urges the Hegemony to act, they will see a weak opponent. That's my mission."

Carter stood. "I'll start making a list for Operation Elephant Entrée."

Tristan didn't trust a mere systems check. "Carter? We are flight-worthy?"

"Yes, Sir. I've double-checked everything."

With a doubtful sniff, Tristan flicked the comm and requested permission to depart. Assuming Giselle truly could get them free of the planet's atmosphere this time.

Fortunately for Carter's life and health, their departure was without incident. Most likely, the last unremarkable event in their lives for some time.

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