Chapter NINETEEN
The Sandbox's receiving officer observed Brad andhis party's approach through a clear pane in theair lock's pressurized section. The four huskydeckhands and the officer-in-charge heftedsnub-nosed rifles.
A pressure-suited deckhand responded to Brad'shand signal that his crew was aboard by conductinga visual safety check of the ship-to-utilityconnections. He turned away, and Brad felt the deckvibrate as the clamshells slammed shut. Kumiko andScarf moved up to stand behind Brad as pressureequalizers hissed. Moments later, the air lock'sinner door slid aside and they passed through.Opening their helmet faceplates, they returnedthe glares of the receiving party.
"Rimov, and gunnery is my business," said theofficer, "what in hell are you gonna do to my guns?"
Brad wished he were beside the grizzled spacefarerfacing their common adversary, rather thanconfronting him.
"Curtin, and my business is to make sure yourguns don't get you all killed. I want to check yourweapons control center, and every gun emplacement.First, central control."
"Hey," chimed in Scarf. "How about a drink with theship's commander? Courtesies of the space-ways,and all that? I'd sure like to sample some Inner Regionbooze."
"You guys ain't invited guests, no way," Rimovflashed back. "The Commander is fussy aboutthe people he drinks with."
"Well, you tell him..." Scarf raised a fist to addgesture to his words, but Brad waved him off,his eyes holding on Rimov.
"To hell with that," he snapped. "We're here todo a job and get back to our ship. I repeat: first,the fire control center, then each gun emplacement.Now."
"Our fire control center has been deactivated. Whydo you have to see each gun?"
"You know damn well, Rimov," Brad said, putting asmuch harshness into his tone as he could muster."Your pieces can be fired independent of centralcontrol; I'm going to make sure they won't be.Let's get on with it."
Brad noted that Rimov was staring at the intensityslide visible on the breechblock of his sheathedweapon. Rimov then tilted his head to scrutinizethe settings on Kumiko and Scarf's weapons. Hisbrows tightened, puzzled. It passed.
"OK, follow me," he said, pivoting and taking thelead.
The passageways were narrow, confining them to twoabreast. Rimov and one of his men walked ahead, theother three escorts followed close behind Brad andhis party. The corridors they traversed had beencleared; no encounters.
Brad, familiar with transports of the line,memorized their route. They had boardedamidships, lower starboard, and were headed foran armor-enclosed section near the stern. Thesurveillance and tracking gear and the laser-quads'fire control computers should be there. Thatpart should be relatively simple. They reacheda closed, heavy door. Rimov turned to Brad, hisface reflecting rage.
"You didn't answer my question," he growled."What're you gonna do to my guns?"
"Nothing you couldn't fix in a couple of workshifts," Brad replied, motioning to the door."Let's move."
Grudgingly, Rimov placed his palm on the disklock. A click and the heavy door retracted intothe adjacent bulkhead.
As Brad expected, the fire control center consistedof dozens of consoles, scopes, directional and powercontrol devices, and clusters of computer terminals.
Kumiko and Brad circled the small room as Scarfwatched from his position inside the entryway.Rimov stood beside Scarf, his guards along thebulkhead, tense, weapons directed at the deck.
Kumiko pointed to a console.
"I've got to see behind that panel, Brad," shesaid, pointing. "The master firing system controlsshould be concentrated there."
Brad turned and waved Rimov closer. Scarf didn'tmove; he got it all on his helmet intercom.
"Remove the panel," Brad said, pointing.
"Won't take my word, will you," Rimov growled.
Reaching over, he snapped several quickdisconnects, slid the panel forward, reached intothe recess behind, fiddled a couple of seconds,and pulled the panel forward again. It came loose,and he stepped back with it in his hands.
"Cut the power to this console," Kumiko ordered.
Rimov shrugged, moved to another console andsnapped several switches. Kumiko watched closely.Rimov turned back and observed her check severallights and dials above the space from where thepanel had been removed.
Satisfied, Kumiko drew off her outer glove. Herhand remained encased in translucent, skin-tightinsulation. Reaching into the cavity, she withdrewa tiny black chip. Setting it down on a nearbyshelf, she repeated the operation. Shortly,a dozen chips lay on the shelf.
Rimov flushed with fury as he watched Kumikowork, but remained silent.
Finally, Kumiko stepped back, pulled a plasticbag from a pocket in her suit, and dropped inthe assorted parts. Looking around the room,she went to a wall cabinet, opened the door,rummaged about and withdrew still more chips.
"Back up supplies," she said, adding them tothe others in the plastic bag.
Kumiko looked at Brad.
"The fire control center is out of action," shesaid. "Even if they do have more spares stashedaway, it'll take them at least twenty hours toinstall the parts and calibrate the system."
Brad turned to Rimov. "Let's start with the aft gunturrets, and take them, in order, moving forward."