Timothy Zahn - Warhorse

A light went on: the Scapa Flow’s laser had locked onto its target. “Captain, this is Professor John English aboard the research ship Milan,” he said, putting just a touch of professorial stuffiness into his voice. “We’re doing some highly delicate work here, and we’d greatly appreciate it if you’d keep your distance.”

“Would you now,” the other came back. “May I ask what sort of work that might be?”

“We’re banding space horses, of course,” Ferrol told him. The Dryden, he noted, hadn’t slowed its approach in the slightest. Not that he’d really expected it to.

“Trying to learn their movement patterns and social habits. Though I presume a mere civil servant like yourself wouldn’t have heard of our project.”

“We don’t get the more esoteric scientific journals out on border duty, no,” the captain said with a dryness that showed he didn’t believe a word of it. “Going to strap thirty-six square kilometers of tachyon transceiver to it, are you?”

“Our version is considerably more compact,” Ferrol said, improvising easily. “It’s an experimental system, capable only of transmitting random blips of tachyon static. We hope that a modified version may someday be adapted for direct ship-toship or ground-to-ship communication.”

“Certainly a worthwhile goal to shoot for. As long as we’re on the subject of ships, perhaps you’d care to explain why yours isn’t listed on our registry.”

“Oh, we’re probably too new,” Ferrol said, keeping the bulk of his attention on the capacitor countdown timer and the scene on the main tactical display. The Scapa Flow was almost exactly broadside to the Dryden’s approach vector, a fairly lousy position to be in. “We registered only a couple of months ago, just before we headed out,” he added. “You really ought to make it a point to have your registry updated more frequently.”

“Ah,” the other said. “That must be it. No doubt the procedure will be simplified once you get your miracle micro tachyon transceiver under better control. I don’t suppose that along with your registry papers you’d happen to have written permission from the Tampies to be out here poking around their yishyar system?”

“Of course we do,” Ferrol said, trying to sound simultaneously haughty and injured. “And a Senate directive, and a release from the Starforce, and a half-dozen other pieces of official pontification. It’s astonishing sometimes how much paper it takes to run even a simple scientific expedition. Let me dig everything out of storage and have the computer send you over some copies.” He touched the cutoff switch. “Mai, when I give the word, swing us around so that the calf’s between us and the Dryden. Don’t worry about straining the tether or netting—we’re not going to be keeping them, anyway.”

“Got it—hold it a second,” Demarco interrupted himself. “Another blip just popped into view. Directly astern… looks like a damn Tampy ship.”

Ferrol hissed between his teeth. “Same orders,” he told Demarco. “Back behind the calf when I give the word.”

“We’ll still be in full view of the Tampy ship there,” Reese pointed out, his voice tight. “In fact, we’ll be broadside to it—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ferrol cut him off. “They’re too far back to reach us with an ion beam, even if they have one, and they’re not likely to use anything heavier.”

Reese frowned at the tactical display. “Why not?”

“Because they might hit the calf, of course,” Ferrol growled. “Besides, I don’t think they’d risk doing anything that far out of official character, not with the Dryden sitting there watching.” He released the cutoff switch, throwing a glance at the timer as he did so. A minute and a half to go. “Just one moment longer, Captain,”

he called. “We’ve got the stack of papers here and are copying them for transmission.”

“Of course you are,” the other said, almost soothingly. “Well, it’s been fun, Captain, but I think we’ve run this one pretty well into the ground. Shall we go ahead and call it quits, or are you really determined to waste more time sending over a set of forged documents?”

Ferrol felt his lip twist. If there was one thing he hated, it was having to put up with a condescending sense of humor. “Are you officially notifying me that I’m under arrest?” he countered.

“Consider yourself notified. You didn’t really expect that spun-sugar story of yours to get you very far, did you?”

“It was worth a try. You’d be surprised at the number of people whose brains go into coma-mode when they see official-looking paper.” Ferrol snapped his fingers and gestured to Demarco. The other nodded, and abruptly the drive roared to life, pushing Ferrol back into his seat.

He expected the Dryden’s captain to react with surprise or even anger at the sudden maneuver; but if the other was even annoyed it didn’t show in his voice. “Whatever you’re planning, Captain, let me assure you that it won’t work,” he said calmly.

“Our sensors show your outer hull and Mitsuushi ring are carrying a heavy positive charge, and we both know you can’t possibly outrun us in normal space.”

“I trust that after we’ve been officially arrested my people will be taken aboard your ship,” Ferrol said, ignoring the other’s comment. The Scapa Flow was beginning to move now; another minute and the Dryden’s ion beams would be at least partially blocked by the quiescent space horse calf still wrapped in the Scapa Flow’s netting. “I’d just as soon your melted-face chummies out there don’t get their hands on my ship, either.”

“You have something against Tampies?”

For a moment the memories flooded back; ruthlessly, Ferrol forced them down. He couldn’t afford emotional distractions right now. “Let’s just say I know what they’re capable of,” he said shortly. “Despite Senate propaganda to the contrary.”

The Dryden’s captain seemed to digest that. “Interesting comment,” he said after a moment. “Perhaps we can delve into the subject in more depth on the trip back. As it happens, the Tampies out there aren’t connected with this at all.”

Ferrol snorted under his breath. “Not that it matters,” he said. “Even if they’re not just out here to monitor your poacher hunt, it’s a sure bet that it was the Tampies who gave you the original orders.”

The pause was brief, but it was long enough for Ferrol to recognize that his gibe had hit a nerve. “Our orders came from the Senate, Captain,” the other said evenly.

“You really ought to be on our side,” Ferrol told him. “As long as the Tampies have a monopoly on ownership and control of space horses, you and I and the whole Cordonale are going to be stuck dancing to their tune. The only way to break that hold—”

“Prepare to receive boarders, Captain,” the other interrupted him. His voice was no longer bantering.

Well, Ferrol thought, gritting his teeth, it was worth a try. And perhaps more to the point, it had gained the Scapa Flow the rest of the time it needed. The ship was in position; the timer showed fifteen seconds to full charge. Slapping the laser cutoff, Ferrol keyed for all-ship intercom. “Mitsuushi in twenty seconds,” he announced.

“And brace yourselves—this could be rocky.” He shifted his attention to Demarco.

“The minute you have full charge on the capacitors, fire them both down the tether,” he instructed. “If I’m right, we’ll have the Mitsuushi back for only a few seconds—don’t miss the window.”

“Ferrol, what—?”

“Shut up, Reese,” Ferrol cut him off, his eyes on the tactical display. The Dryden was driving laterally now, swinging around the space horse calf to where it would again have a clear shot with its ion beams. A leisurely maneuver—at current solar wind fluxes it would take another hour or more for the charge on the Scapa Flow’s hull to be neutralized, and the captain over there knew it. Mentally crossing his fingers, Ferrol wedged himself tighter into his chair and watched the timer cross to zero. “Go,” he ordered.