The Jupiter Theft

Klein looked him over coolly. “All right, Captain, I’ll tell you,” he said. “The chamber was inside the heel of a pair of my boots. The grip was in the other heel. The barrel was the handle of my safety razor. The spare clips were stacked in the bottom two thirds of a bottle of aftershave lotion, under a false reservoir. I was able to retrieve it this morning, thanks to Commander Jameson, along with the rest of the equipment concealed in my kit.”

Boyle stuck out a big hand. “Give it here, mister,” he said.

Klein lifted the gun slightly, not pointing it anywhere in particular. “It’s a very compact piece of ordnance,” he said conversationally, “barely three eighths of an inch through the grip, but it’s fully automatic. It’ll fire under any conditions—no lubricants, just a double-chain fluorocarbon film bonded to the moving parts. It’s designed for riot control. It fires a stream of explosive microflechettes, one hundred rounds to a clip. It could cut a man in half.”

“You’d have to be crazy to take a thing like that aboard a spacecraft,” Boyle rumbled. “Hand it over.”

“Captain Boyle,” Klein said. “You are hereby directed to render all assistance and cooperation to an authorized agent of the Reliability Board under the directive governing the conduct of officials in the employ of GovCorp.”

Boyle continued to look Klein in the eye until Klein averted his gaze slightly. Then, with a contemptuous glance at the slim, squarish weapon, he dropped his outstretched hand and stood, legs apart, with his hands clasped behind his back.

“What is it you have in mind?” Boyle asked.

Klein looked around at the group clustered on the broad ledge behind Boyle: Kay Thorwald and Captain Hsieh, Ruiz and Maybury and Dr. Chu, with Mike Berry pressing forward to hear. He looked over at the silent and attentive crowd. Then he said, “Captain, perhaps we’d better go to the far side of the enclosure with one of the Chinese representatives and discuss it there.”

“Spit it out, mister,” Boyle said. “We’re all waiting to hear.” He stood fast, solid as a rock.

Chia said, “We will need volunteers. Go on, you say it.”

Reluctantly Klein said, “We’re going to carry out our contingency orders.”

“What are you talking about?” Boyle said.

“Major Hollis and his men are dead—in the line of duty. But Deputy Commander Yao’s men are capable of carrying out the mission. It coincides with their own orders.”

“Nuke the Cygnan ships? You’re insane. You’d never even make it to the air lock of this tin can we’re in, let alone cross empty space to our own ship!”

“You’re wrong, Captain. Loyalty Officer Chia and I have worked it out very carefully. We’ve reconnoitered the immediate area personally, on our outing with Commander Jameson. We’ve spent weeks interrogating every member of the crew as to their recollections of the layout of the enemy ship—many of them were conscious or semiconscious when they were brought in—and we’ve pieced together an escape route. You yourself drew such a map, if you recall. We’ll want that too, by the way.”

Jameson flinched as he listened to Klein. So that was why the man had been so friendly, so inquisitive about his experiences in Cygnan territory!

Boyle growled, “There’s fifteen miles to cover—uphill—before you even get, to the hub of the ship. And the areas as densely populated as Hong Kong.”

“The Cygnans don’t like to travel across open spaces. There are service routes. If we encounter any of the enemy, we’re armed. Captain, it’s no different from crossing any other enemy territory. I was a counterguerrilla during the Baja uprising—”

“A fine piece of butchery that was, Boyle said curtly.

“I don’t like your attitude, Captain,” Klein said.

“You’re not required to, Mister Klein. You were giving me the information I’ll need to evaluate your plans. Get on with it.”

The encircling crowd listened neutrally to the exchange, jockeying for position. Jameson managed to force his way to the forefront, Maggie at his back. His further progress was blocked by a grinning Gifford.

“Sorry, Commander,” Gifford said. A muscular young Chinese from the Struggle Brigade was backing him up with a fist wrapped around a chunk of the cementlike terrace material.

“You’re flirting with mutiny, Giff,” Jameson said.

“Nothin’s happened yet,” Gifford said. “In the meantime, why don’t you just stay put.” He gave Jameson a friendly wink.

Up on the next ledge Klein was saying: “I don’t have to do this, Captain, but I could use your help, so I’ll tell you. Our chances are reasonable. We’ve got weapons and we can get more. Between Chia and me, we’ve got a full range of electronic surveillance equipment we brought aboard as buttons, zippers, uniform tabs, and the like. We can drop spy-eyes and acoustic detectors to guard our rear, and we have subminiaturized mobile probes we can send ahead for reconnaissance.” He was holding something invisibly small out in his palm to show Boyle.

“And then?” Boyle said. “How do you get across to our ship?”