Deuces Wild: Stacking the Deck
by L. S. King
appearing in Ray Gun Revival
"Suicide Run, part two"
Slap took in the scene, looking for a way of escape—or a chance to fight. Except for the three soldiers charged with guarding Carter, the Confeds and Granger's men stood at the edge of the clearing, weapons trained on Slap and his friends, an impressive and deadly half circle. Carter sat in the gravlift, at the end of the ramp, looking sick.
Tristan, standing near Slap, didn't move—he had locked his gaze with Granger's, unintimidated by the man's smarmy, superior attitude, his eyes smoldering like black coals. Granger's men stepped forward, closing the distance to the ship.
"Out of the 'lift, Donegal," one of the Confeds said.
Carter slowly climbed down, face pale.
The commander gestured a second time, and several Confed soldiers crossed the clearing. This time their rifles were aimed at Slap. One of Granger's men stepped forward possessively, PBR raised. "Mr. Granger?"
Granger turned, and he frowned, his eyes narrowing. "He comes with me."
The commander strode forward, shaking his head. "My superiors want this one."
Slap tried not to hunch—what would either of them want with him?
"Our deal, Commander Baldwin," Granger said, in a tone one would use to correct an errant child, "was to help you get your AWOL mad scientist back. This boorish bumpkin is of no concern to you."
"Our deal, Mr. Granger," the commander replied tersely, "was to help you capture that pirate—and only because he was in our way as much as yours. This Separatist is necessary for our war efforts against the Eridani."
Uh oh! I ain't goin' back to that place! Slap looked around at all the weapons pointed at him. He couldn't fight, not all of them; but he wasn't going back. If he had to make them kill him, he wasn't going back!
Granger laughed—low and soft, and a shiver whipped up Slap's spine. The man's silky voice, fancy Dapper Dan clothes, and manner masked...what? Something...something horrible. Evil. Sure, Tristan could be smooth and high-falutin'—yet dangerous underneath, but not without...without a soul.
"Oh, come now. How can one uneducated hick make or break your war with Eridani?"
Baldwin drew his PBG. "He's ours."
"I think..." Granger barely lifted one eyebrow, but his men all swung their rifles to point at the commander. His lip curled slightly in a smile. "...not."
Baldwin cursed at Granger, fingering his weapon, as he carefully lowered it. The colorful imagery of the profanity drew Slap's attention—none of it was possible, anatomically, but it was highly imaginative—even as he glanced at Tristan for direction; certainly his friend would find a way to put this hitch in their captors' plans to good use.
A loud whine rose behind Slap, and he turned to stare at Bertha's engines, his surprise turning to shock as he saw them pivoting up. Is she taking off? What—?
Someone slammed into Slap, knocking him face first into the grass, his breath jarred from his lungs. Hot dirt peppered his skin. The wash from the engines let up, and Tristan's voice in his ear hissed, "Let's go!"
Slap bounded up and ran for the ship. Everyone had either hit the ground or been rolled away by the wash, and only a few were struggling to their feet. Carter had been closer; he was already up the ramp and standing by the controls.
Tristan's game leg slowed his pace, and he fell behind—Slap whipped around, grabbing Tristan around the waist, and continued on, half-carrying his friend.
He expected to be fried by a particle beam or hit by some other weapon any second—nearby sizzles and pings told of near misses by the chasing men. He dove for the rising ramp, Tristan beside him. They barely made it; the ramp tumbled them the rest of the way inside as it shut.
The engines' whine rose again. Tristan leapt to his feet and tore for the nearest ladder as fast as his limp allowed. He didn't even ask who could have started the engines—did he know about Addie? How did the girl know how to start engines anyway? Slap followed, half out of curiosity, half to intervene before Tristan could kill her for stowing away.
Partway up the ladder, the ship tilted, and he hung on until Bertha straightened up again. That addle-brained gal ain't trying to fly the ship, is she?
Slap got to the bridge seconds behind Tristan, just in time to hear him snarl, "Out of the way!" and snatch Addie out of the pilot's chair by her arm.
"You could at least say thank you," she spluttered.
"Hush, Little Girl! Don't distract him. Let him get us outta here."
Addie actually shut up. Slap shoved her into the co-pilot's seat as the ship rose through the air.
"Fighters incoming," Tristan murmured.
Slap reached past Addie and brought up a display. Sure enough, lots of red blips were headed their way.
"Time for one pass. Hold on."
The ship twisted like a corkscrew and headed back around, with all four plasma cannons firing—each targeting a different troop shuttle. Slap's stomach flipped, not from any feeling of the motion, since the inertial dampers were doing their job, but from the visual of flying upside-down.
"What are you doing?" Addie shouted.
"The top turrets can't hit targets on the ground unless the ship is belly-up," Carter said from over the comm.
Slap switched to monitor for a moment to show the grounded ships aflame. Bertha finished her pass and lifted through the clouds. He brought the first display back up and dug his fingers into the back of Addie's seat. "The fighters are almost on us!"
"Are we the green thingie?" Addie asked, pointing.
"Yes, and the other ships are red," Slap whispered. "Now, shh!"
Bertha climbed higher but then rocked and shuddered—Addie gave a frightened cry. Slap could feel a change; he had to hold on to the chair tightly now to just keep his balance. Tristan swore one earthy word, flicking the comm open. "Carter?"
"Fore upper deck inertial dampers and grav are compromised."
Tristan's jaw muscles jumped. "How long to fix them?"
"Not sure, Sir. Working on it."
"We're easy targets in the air or on the ground—make it fast!"
"Understood, Sir."
"What are you gonna do?" Slap asked.
"Flying is dangerous—we can be smeared into jelly as I try to avoid them. But landing would make us an easy target."
Slap nodded. "Yeah, like shooting ducks in a barrel."
Bertha shook again, and Addie squealed.
"Strap in," Slap said to her.
The ship rocked, and Addie scrambled to secure herself. Slap was only saved from being flung into the bulkhead by his grip on the chair.
"What's going to happen?" Addie whispered, her eyes wide.
"Carter..." Tristan growled.
"Doing my best, Sir. I'm activating the emergency cross-links on the waveguide conduits from the other three generators into the failed generator's waveguides..." Carter's voice faded out and back, "I'm boosting the power output of the other three generators. There! That should be enough to last use until I can properly fix it."
Whatever Carter said he was doing must have worked; Slap found he could stand without feeling like he was going to slam sideways.
Tristan banked the ship to begin assault on the Confed ships firing on them. With Bertha's weaponry and Tristan's piloting, the fight wasn't that long, but it seemed like it to Slap as he watched the red blips glow yellow and blink out. Tristan's face was intent, but he had a gleam in his eye—was it the piloting, the fight, or merely the challenge that energized him?
Just as the last fighter disappeared from the display, Carter's voice cut in: "Uh, Captain, we have a problem."
"What?"
"A battle fleet just arrived."
Tristan muttered under his breath. "Are you sure it's a full fleet?"
"Yes, Sir. I'm reading three battleships, a command carrier, two assault carriers, six—"
"I don't need a run down." Tristan dove Bertha down toward the planet again, plunging under the clouds.
"All those ships just for us?" Slap asked.
"They were probably on stand-by as reinforcements for the blockade," Carter said. "And either when we took off or when we blew their troop shuttles, they responded."
"It seems overkill," Slap muttered. "Why all that for one out-of-the-way planet?"
"Carter, is our signal still masked?"
"Yes, Sir, and I've already disabled the warhead transponder we'd used upon entry."
"So, we're sight-only?"
"Yes, Sir. Unless they launch directed scanner probes."
"What are you going to do?"
"I can try to fly this thing past an armada—or hide. Any suggestions for a third alternative?"
"Well..." Carter drew out that one word in a way that made Slap wince.
"Sane alternatives," Tristan quickly amended.
Bertha was so low now, she almost skipped over the tops of the snow-covered mountains. Slap's stomach complained at the swoops and turns as Tristan wove around cliffs and craggy, icy tors. Addie let out one alarmed squawk, then clapped a hand over her mouth.
"They'll launch the probes," Tristan muttered. "We need to mask ourselves. Carter, can you use the multi-spectral analyzer? Look for concentrated metal deposits?"
"Already doing that, Sir."
Time seemed to race faster than both ol' Bertha and Slap's heart rate, but when Carter finally spoke, it wasn't reassuring. "We have an interesting development, Captain. I think Slap hit on it earlier. Why would the Confederation take such an interest in this planet?"
"I don't want questions—I want answers," Tristan hissed. "We're running out of time."
"I know, Sir, and this complicates things. There's a base north of us. I'm giving you the coordinates now. Not that I think we should get too close, but we might want to take a peek. From the size, I'd guess it's a ground hub for forward operations."
Slap's mouth dropped open. "They want to foray into the Cygnus Hegemony when they're already at war with Eridani? Are they crazy?"
Carter's answering snort said it all.
"The Eridani war was not expected to last this long," Tristan put in. "They thought it would be an easy win. Their expansion here was probably put on hold, and they've been blockading this world as a way to hide this base—and their plans."
"But the blockade itself shows everyone they want to expand in this direction." Slap scratched his head, his curly hair tangling in his fingers. "I don't get it."
"There's a difference between staking a claim to pioneer a planet that's in an ambiguous section of space, and building a base to use as a hub for your fleet so you can begin an incursion." Tristan's fingers pulled up a second display for a few moments, then it disappeared. "Base noted, but I’m not getting any closer to get any further information. Give me coordinates that help us, Carter. We have to hide now."
"This mountain range has lots of canyons, caves, mines—"
"Pick one."
"Yes, Sir. This looks good."
Tristan's eyes flicked at his read-outs. "Copy that. Let's get out of sight."
Bertha shivered—the gravity wavered, Addie screamed as the klaxon blared, the lights blinked out leaving only the emergency lights in the bulkheads. Slap's stomach wobbled up and down, making him clench his jaw and swallow repeatedly.
Tristan flicked his hand to a switch. The warning alarm silenced, but Addie didn't. Carter was saying something but Slap couldn't hear for the caterwauling.
"Shut her up." Tristan ordered.
The lights came up, and down stayed firmly down. Addie stopped and gulped back a sob, her knuckles white as she clutched the arm rests. Slap let his breath out, relieved his breakfast wasn't about to become bulkhead decorations. He patted the girl's shoulder, as much to calm himself as her, and murmured, "Hush, gal, hush, now. Don't distract Tristan."
Face pale, Addie nodded, leaning back in the chair as if it could protect her.
"We've got company, Captain," Carter said. "Not Confederation. It's your friend."
"Turnabout is fair play," Tristan muttered as he pulled Bertha up and looped—flying upside-down. Slap leaned forward again and changed the display once again.
Tristan attacked Granger's ship—or tried to. Granger's pilot did some sort of roll and came around, trying to get on Tristan's tail, just like Tristan was trying to do to theirs.
"Captain,"—Carter's voice was edgy—"they have weaponry on par with ours. This could get messy."
A new voice filtered through. "Don't be stupid, Gaston. Our ship can annihilate yours. The Confederation fleet will blast you without a thought. I'll take you out of here—and your friends, since they seem to mean so much to you."
Tristan's lip curled in a slight sneer, then it converted to...something unreadable. He hit several switches on the comm. "What guarantee can you give me, Reggie? How do I know you won't just space my friends, or strand them here, or give them to the Confeds?"
"You used to trust me implicitly." The tone dripped with insincere hurt.
"Used to."
"This does present a problem, doesn't it, then. I tell you what, we will start by ceasing our attack on you. Reciprocate?"
The yacht pulled back, weapons no longer firing. The two ships flew in loose tandem. Slap was pleased he could read the display enough to see Tristan kept a lock on their ship.
"My finger remains poised."
A dark chuckle. "The Confederation would rather kill you all than let their mad genius get away again. However, they are my—albeit temporary—allies. They'll let me leave without question. I can get you away from this planet. All of you." A pause. "You don't really have much choice."
Tristan lips pursed, his fingers moving over the console in easy, practiced motions, and second display popped up showing little blue dots far above the planet. "I do want to get my engineer friend away from here unharmed. He has some new ideas the Confeds would love to get their hands on, however I don't trust you, and that's not likely to change." He tapped the console. "Carter, get ready to blow that blockade carrier with one of your MITEs when the time is right."
"Uh...yes, Sir."
Another tap. "Give me a sign of good faith that you'll help us and not your Confederation allies."
"Any suggestions?" Granger responded. "We don't have much time, you know. A fleet has arrived."
"Think about it for a minute. You're creative." Tristan paused, his eyes crinkling slightly, lips pursed in what Slap now recognized as his attempt to not smile.
The silence grew; Slap tried not to fidget. He thought he knew what Tristan was up to, but he couldn't be sure.
One of the dots blipped to yellow, and in a few seconds, Granger's voice broke the quiet with maddened invectives. Tristan cut him off: "Good show, Reggie! I do think trying to destroy one of their carriers will definitely hurt your shaky alliance."
"You! You did that! How would I have the means to attempt an assault on one of their ships?"
"You think we did that?" Tristan's voice was all astonishment. "When were we even near their craft? I would wager you've been aboard their ships, and I wouldn't doubt Dray has his spies in the Confederation, like Jacek Polk in the Cirque."
Granger's reply was physical—his ship began firing on Bertha again, but Tristan was already diving, evading.
Slap couldn't resist. "What are you up to, Tristan?"
"Confusion to the enemy."
"Which enemy?"
"Exactly." Tristan switched out the planetary display for another, still trading shots with Granger's ship.
"Could you chew it fine?" Slap grumbled.
"He had the channel open when talking to Reggie," Carter said. "The Confeds heard the whole thing. So they now have doubts about how trustworthy he is."
"Not to mention, my desire of keeping Carter's 'new ideas' from them, giving them pause in shooting first. They want Carter back badly."
"Not sure that's a plus, Captain. They might try harder for me now."
"What's so special about Carter?" Addie asked, wrinkling her nose.
Slap scowled. "I'm more interested in the ship shootin' at us."
"You've even got me a bit concerned over that, Captain. This dogfight can't last much longer."
"It won't."
Tristan pulled some whirled-up, corkscrew-ish thing and ended up heading straight for Granger's ship—firing everything they had, it looked like. Granger's red target dot turned yellow. It broke away, trailing smoke.
Slap whooped, and Addie cheered, clapping her hands.
"Now to hide before probes can find us," Tristan muttered. Again, mountains loomed below as they dropped under the clouds. Bertha slipped and dipped in spaces so narrow that Slap gulped and clutched the seat's back. Rock face seemed to almost scrape the ship, and the light dimmed as mountains blocked the sun.
They dove lower, and soon entered a grotto. The cave was huge; Slap hoped it was empty. "Can those probes find us in here?"
"Not likely." Tristan set Bertha down without a bump.
"Not impossible, either," Carter added.
Great. "So now what?"
"Carter can work on the inertial dampers and grav." Tristan unstrapped and glared at Slap. "Keep her away from me. I have too much to do to deal with—"
Addie scrambled up, following Tristan to the door. "Hey, I saved your lives!"
"No, you merely ended an awkward situation, for which I will not dump you here—which is my first inclination."
"You can't even say thank you?"
"You never do," he said over his shoulder, striding away.
Addie stomped a foot, eyes flashing.
"Leave it be. We have trouble crowdin' around right now. Be glad he's not overly mad at you for being here."
"But I did good. You know I did!"
"You did. But you know, sometimes you gotta do the right thing even if no one knows or gives you credit. Think about that, Little Girl."
Addie stuck her fists on her hips, her head tilted, eyes narrowed. "You sound more like my old aunt than a cowboy, you know that?"
Slap grinned. "Well, as long as I don't look like your aunt." He paused, wishing he could make her understand. She wouldn't, but he found himself saying it anyway: "The world ain't about you—you want folks to like you, try doing for them, without wanting anything back." He shook a finger at her. "Now, stay away from Tristan."
"Yes, Auntie." She stuck out her tongue and flounced off.
Slap rolled his eyes. He couldn't do much to help fix the ship or get them back in space, but at least he could make sure they were all fed. He ambled to the galley, trying not to think of the fleet above their heads somewhere, searching for them. How were they ever going to get off the planet now?
back to "Suicide Run, part one"
© 2006 - 2010 L. S. King