said dryly.
“Well, none of those intrepid buccaneers had ever been on a spaceship as anything but passengers. The sum total of experience for the gal at the helm was two summers steering a boat loaded with tourists around a lake.”
Kris winced. “And if they’d captured the Wasp . . . ?”
“They’d all get jobs as deckhands or something on the pirate ship, but Jackson, the guy running the show down here, has a merchant officer and some crew that would be running the ship.”
Kris put two and two together and didn’t like what it told her. “So none of our prisoners know where they’d be taking the Wasp to outfit it with guns or to sell its cargo.”
“Ignorant as the day they were born,” Penny said.
“I’m not following you,” Jack said. He’d been issuing orders to his Marines to do what they could to help the survivors of the slaughter while half-listening to Kris and Penny. “Are you talking about some kind of pirate base?”
“Exactly,” Kris said. “You don’t operate spaceships without a dock to handle repairs. You need facilities to overhaul reactors and engines. Why steal stuff if you don’t have a marketplace that will take anything you bring in, file the serial numbers off it, and ship it back out to the trade lanes? You’ve seen the size of the fleet-support bases that Wardhaven has.”
Jack nodded.
“Somewhere, these pirates have a support system. Probably smaller, but it’s there. We can keep chasing after this or that pirate ship, or we can find the base and squash the cockroaches in their nest. Which would you rather do?”
“Taking down a nest sounds like my kind of job,” Jack said with a grin.
“So who is this Jackson guy?” Kris asked, turning to the Annams.
They shook their heads. “I have not been to town in over six months,” he said. “It is worth your life to ask questions when the gunmen come to collect food.”
“No surprise,” Penny said. “The crew of the ketch didn’t know much, either. I doubt any survivors of this shoot-out know a whole lot, but whoever is running this show would have our klepto captain close at hand. I suggest we talk to the survivors here and see if anyone wants to talk to us about what’s going on here. Anything they tell us is more than we know right now.”
The three of them split up. Kris ordered Chief Beni to look over the trucks. One of them might have a computer, map system. Something. With a Marine guard at her elbow, Kris started her own walk through the dead and dying.
Workers from the local plantation were trying to separate the pile of bodies around the food carts. These poor souls had been between the gunslingers from the three middle trucks and Sergeant Bruce’s Marines. The thugs had opened fire on these starving people and mowed them down in droves. The bodies were piled four or five deep.
Apparently, just getting between the shooters and their Marine targets was enough to sign your death warrant. The milk of human kindness seemed to run mighty thin in this neighborhood.
Or just limped.
A few quick orders from their officers had adjusted the Marines’ fire lanes. The troopers to the right and left had concentrated their fire on the hostiles in the center. The Marines in the center had divided their aim between the shooters on the right and left.
That was the difference between being a trained fighting man and being a member of an armed mob.
Kris shook her head slowly. How could fools with guns hope to stand against a trained fighting team?
Now, out along the former gun line, Marines moved quickly to help those still breathing. One was getting yelled at for her effort.
“You’re all gonna die,” the gunslinger tried to yell. It came out little more than a croak. “Once Jackie gets her hands on you, you’re gonna die long and slow, and I’m gonna laugh and laugh at you.”
The last was unlikely as the voice sputtered down and ended with a hacking cough.
Kris turned her back on that scene and
“Well, none of those intrepid buccaneers had ever been on a spaceship as anything but passengers. The sum total of experience for the gal at the helm was two summers steering a boat loaded with tourists around a lake.”
Kris winced. “And if they’d captured the Wasp . . . ?”
“They’d all get jobs as deckhands or something on the pirate ship, but Jackson, the guy running the show down here, has a merchant officer and some crew that would be running the ship.”
Kris put two and two together and didn’t like what it told her. “So none of our prisoners know where they’d be taking the Wasp to outfit it with guns or to sell its cargo.”
“Ignorant as the day they were born,” Penny said.
“I’m not following you,” Jack said. He’d been issuing orders to his Marines to do what they could to help the survivors of the slaughter while half-listening to Kris and Penny. “Are you talking about some kind of pirate base?”
“Exactly,” Kris said. “You don’t operate spaceships without a dock to handle repairs. You need facilities to overhaul reactors and engines. Why steal stuff if you don’t have a marketplace that will take anything you bring in, file the serial numbers off it, and ship it back out to the trade lanes? You’ve seen the size of the fleet-support bases that Wardhaven has.”
Jack nodded.
“Somewhere, these pirates have a support system. Probably smaller, but it’s there. We can keep chasing after this or that pirate ship, or we can find the base and squash the cockroaches in their nest. Which would you rather do?”
“Taking down a nest sounds like my kind of job,” Jack said with a grin.
“So who is this Jackson guy?” Kris asked, turning to the Annams.
They shook their heads. “I have not been to town in over six months,” he said. “It is worth your life to ask questions when the gunmen come to collect food.”
“No surprise,” Penny said. “The crew of the ketch didn’t know much, either. I doubt any survivors of this shoot-out know a whole lot, but whoever is running this show would have our klepto captain close at hand. I suggest we talk to the survivors here and see if anyone wants to talk to us about what’s going on here. Anything they tell us is more than we know right now.”
The three of them split up. Kris ordered Chief Beni to look over the trucks. One of them might have a computer, map system. Something. With a Marine guard at her elbow, Kris started her own walk through the dead and dying.
Workers from the local plantation were trying to separate the pile of bodies around the food carts. These poor souls had been between the gunslingers from the three middle trucks and Sergeant Bruce’s Marines. The thugs had opened fire on these starving people and mowed them down in droves. The bodies were piled four or five deep.
Apparently, just getting between the shooters and their Marine targets was enough to sign your death warrant. The milk of human kindness seemed to run mighty thin in this neighborhood.
Or just limped.
A few quick orders from their officers had adjusted the Marines’ fire lanes. The troopers to the right and left had concentrated their fire on the hostiles in the center. The Marines in the center had divided their aim between the shooters on the right and left.
That was the difference between being a trained fighting man and being a member of an armed mob.
Kris shook her head slowly. How could fools with guns hope to stand against a trained fighting team?
Now, out along the former gun line, Marines moved quickly to help those still breathing. One was getting yelled at for her effort.
“You’re all gonna die,” the gunslinger tried to yell. It came out little more than a croak. “Once Jackie gets her hands on you, you’re gonna die long and slow, and I’m gonna laugh and laugh at you.”
The last was unlikely as the voice sputtered down and ended with a hacking cough.
Kris turned her back on that scene and
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