Krojac said, “What do you think those things are we’ve got mounted all over the ship. We paid plenty for those.”
“Do you have the fire-control apparatus, the combat computers, the disciplined crew—”
“I’m not talking about fighting a war with them.”
“I’m glad to hear that, at least. But what I’m saying again is, there’s a type we’d better not come up against. Forget about cutting the C.O. in.”
“Everybody likes money.”
“There’s a kind that likes opposition better. They swim against the current. Let’s not us make the current they swim against.”
“Nuts,” said Krojac. “We’ve got to resist to the limit, and give them every chance to lose their nerve. Obviously, we can’t fight the Space Force. But we can drum up so many legal specters and so many complications that maybe we can take the initiative away from them.”
Reagan said, “If Lindell calls them in.”
“Yes,” said Krojac, “if he does. O.K. We put the men down.”
Reagan nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
* * *
The following day, Lindell called in the Space Force.
Sheaster said worriedly, “This is getting pretty bad. We’ve got the Midas touch with a reverse twist. Everything we put our hand on turns to dirt.”
Reagan was frowning. “I don’t know. My nephew is second-in-command of Squadron 2337. The squadron that answered Lindell’s call is 2337.”
Krojac beamed. “That could be the end of our troubles right here.”
“I talked to him . . . just a friendly chat,” said Reagan, “and I think he got the picture.”
Sheaster said forebodingly, “He’s going to bribe the C.O., eh?”
“He’s going to try to get him to see reason.”
The screen lit up. “Sir, a Lieutenant Colonel Doyle, commanding Squadron 2337, wants to speak to Mr. Krojac.”
“Fast work,” said Krojac, smiling.
“Hold on,” said Reagan. “Hannie hasn’t had time to see him yet. This Doyle will just commit himself against us and that will make it harder all around.”
Krojac glanced back at the screen. “Tell him I’m busy, and can’t speak with him right now.”
“Yes, sir.” The screen blanked.
A formal message from Doyle of Squadron 2337 promptly arrived, warning that any construction or earth-moving work on Marshak III had been banned, and the Space Force would uphold the ban, using whatever degree of force was necessary.
“Hannie evidently hasn’t gotten to him yet,” said Reagan.
Krojac glanced at Sheaster. “O.K. Fire your legal broadside.”
Sheaster promptly sent out a complex legal document sixty-two pages long.
Lieutenant Colonel Doyle of Squadron 2337 sent back a sharp message reiterating his first warning.
Krojac looked at the two messages. “Something tells me Hannie is never going to convince this boy.”
“It certainly doesn’t look promising,” said Reagan. “Well, do we go ahead with the next step?”
“There’s nothing else to do. If we act invincible enough, maybe we’ll even convince Doyle.”
Reagan called Doyle of Squadron 2337, using a trick screen that showed, in the background, realistic recorded views of a prominent senator and a Space Force general. Reagan bore down heavy with an air of power, and the implied warning that Doyle was seriously endangering his career.
Doyle watched in silence. Shortly after the call, Krojac received a third warning, varying from the previous two only in trivial details of the wording.
Sheaster shook his head. “This boy won’t stop. He’s coming right through.”
Reagan said, “What we’ve done so far has been like trying to tie him up with rubber bands.”
“With enough rubber bands,” said Krojac, “we may do it. All right, start calling Doyle. First put on somebody to throw another legal block into him. Then put on . . . let’s see . . . Root is good at this. Yes, put Root on to explain to Doyle, in the most reasonable way, why it is we’ve got to put the men down there. After all, this wasn’t our idea. Lindell is forcing our hand. If that doesn’t work, hit him with the legal stuff again. Then somewhere in there, we want to get it across that he’s got a good spot waiting for him with us if he’s reasonable about this. Then dig up the highest-ranking ex-Space Force officer we’ve got that has any power of persuasion, and have him disagree with Doyle’s interpretation of the technicalities. This ex-officer has got to look like he’s living in the lap of luxury. See, to give Doyle a little incentive. He made it. So can Doyle.”
Sheaster put his head in his hands.
Reagan said hopefully, “Drop by drop, we’ll wear him down.”
Krojac nodded. “Where’s that trideo actress we picked up? We’ll put her on next, and in case he doesn’t go for that, we’ll hit him again with some more legal stuff.”
“O.K.,” said Reagan. “If we pile it on fast enough, maybe we’ll bury him in it.”
They promptly put the plan in action.
Doyle disagreed with Krojac’s legal specialist, listened patiently to Root, stated the regulations required him to act as he was acting, informed a new legal team that he was acting under regulations, showed no indication that he was eager for a bribe or afraid of Krojac, and listened unimpressed to his “brother Space Force officer.” Reagan never got a chance to try the actress on Doyle, because just before she was to go on, word came in that Squadron 2337 was entering a “potential war zone,” and would henceforth maintain complete communicator silence.
“‘Potential war zone,'” said Sheaster. “That’s us. Do you realize that?”
Reagan shook his head. “It looked hopeful for a few seconds now and then, but the fact is he went through that stuff like a fusion beam through an overstretched balloon.”
“The trouble is,” said Krojac, “it’s all been one hundred percent bluff. We don’t have anything to fight with.” He frowned. “Wait a minute.”
“What?” said Reagan.
“We’re armed. I’ll bet this ship, together with the Star Chaser, mounts more firepower than the whole pipsqueak squadron. What do you bet one of our ships outweighs a dreadnought?”
“Wait a minute, Nels.” Reagan said. “We’re not going to fight the Space Force. If you’re turning pirate, count me out.”
“No, no,” said Krojac. “Do you think I’m nuts? Who’s planning to fight them? But this Doyle must be under pressure by now. He’s going on, clinging to regulations, but he’s wondering about a lot of things.”
“No,” said Sheaster. “He’s not wondering about anything. He’s got his orders, and that’s that. He’s not wondering.”
“He’s wondering,” said Krojac stubbornly, “and he’s uncertain. Meanwhile, we’ve still got to get this work done. He’s going to get here about the time those earth-moving machines get set up. If we just let him go down and block us, we lose the chance to fulfill the contract. Lindell sits on the classification till the last minute, and we’re ended. There won’t be time to do the job.”
“We’ll still be alive,” said Sheaster.
“Suppose,” said Krojac, “this space kid and his popboats find a ship bigger than a dreadnought waiting for them, its big fusion guns already centered on them, and another big ship just coming up over the curve of the planet—then what?”
Reagan suggested. “They’ll try to contact us.”
“We won’t answer. What can they do?”
Reagan frowned. “Not being a Space Force colonel, I don’t know. They might think it was too dangerous to force the issue.”
Sheaster put one hand over his eyes, turned away, then turned back with a sudden thrust of the hand to the side. “Look. Let me try again. There are different kinds of people. There is one kind that when you pull a gun on him, you better be ready to shoot him.”
“Who’s ‘pulling a gun’?” said Krojac hotly. “Our guns are already there. We’ve got a legal right to move them around however we feel like it. Look, this Doyle is already up against a lot of pressure. We’ll give him an excuse to not interfere. This Doyle is a military man, and military men respect guns.”
Sheaster shook his head gloomily.
Reagan scowled. “It sounds as if it might work. But there’s something about the way Doyle has acted so far—”
“All right,” said Krojac. “What can we do if we don’t do this?”
“That’s a point,” said Reagan slowly. “O.K. We’ll try to scare them off.”
* * *
Krojac’s larger ship, the Empire, was ready when Squadron 2337 appeared off the planet Marshak III. The Empire held the ships of Squadron 2337 in the automatic sights of her guns, and replied to no calls. Slowly and ominously, Krojac’s other ship, the Star Cruiser, rose up over the curve of the planet.
Squadron 2337 lit up like a mountain range of erupting volcanoes. Two of the squadron’s ships streaked off at wide angles. Suddenly, a series of thuds jarred the Empire.
The first officer appeared on Nels Krojac’s screen.
“Sir, the Space Force ships have put our guns out of action, and implanted heavy missiles in the ship.”