The Agent Gambit

by Sharon Lee

  "Where is he? Run away, eh? Thinks it's done, does he? I'll-"

  Her partner jumped in front of her, hands on her shoulders, heels braced. She shook like a mastiff and he held on; he continued to hold on even when she raised her fist-and lowered it.

  "Well?" she yelled at him. "I'm insulted. And I should take it, eh? Be meek. Be mild."

  The man shook her, though she did not appear to feel it. "Polesta, the Sergeant was right. You're drunk. You made a mistake. He showed you it was a mistake. It's all over, okay? No harm done." He glanced over his shoulder, catching the green gaze of the man at Redhead's right.

  "A mistake," he repeated, urgently.

  "A mistake," Val Con agreed gently. "No harm done."

  Some of the dreadful tension left the man; he returned his attention to Polesta, pushing at her shoulders. "Come on. Let's get some coffee and something to eat. We're due to move in another hour. You'll lose your kit again if you don't sober up some before then . . . ." Talking so, he led her away to claim a table near the back of the room.

  Val Con took the glass Miri put in his hand and finished off half in a swallow.

  "I think you're right," he said.

  "About which?" she asked, noting with approval that his face once more had the proper depth of color and that his shoulders had loosened up a little.

  He put the half-empty glass on the bar and twisted his head to grin up at her. "I need a haircut."

  She grinned back. "Maybe. Might grow it a little longer, instead, and tie it up with a ribbon, like Jase."

  "No, thank you," he began, but then the subject of this conversation was with them and he cut off what he'd been about to say.

  "What say we all grub together," Jason boomed "We got a little over an hour before we shuttle out-"

  Miri reached up and captured an ear. "Before you what?"

  "Shuttle out. Did you think we were going to stay on Lufkit, my small? No wars here-Now, darlin', don't twist it off, I'm attached to it. Part of a matched set, as they say."

  She released him and slid to the floor. "Where's Suzuki?"

  "It's what I've been telling you, love. You and your partner have been invited by Senior Commander Rialto and Junior Commander Carmody to dine with them in the admittedly limited elegance of the back dining room of this establishment, there to talk over old times and weep into our kynak."

  "Tough Guy-"

  He was at her shoulder. "Let us, by all means," he murmured, "dine with Suzuki and Jason."

  IT'S POSSIBLE, Val Con thought, leaning back in an unsteady plastic chair and sipping carefully from a steaming mug, that the only reason people drink kynak is because even coffee tastes good afterward.

  He set the mug back on the table and sighed very gently. Across from him, Suzuki smiled.

  "I have not yet thanked you for saving Polesta's life," she said in her soft voice.

  His brows twitched together. "Saving her life?"

  "That kill has four moves, does it not?" She didn't wait for his nod. "All who watched saw that you executed but three-and so Polesta lives. I am thankful for that because she is one of the unit's strongest fighters-a berserker. It is unfortunate that the traits that make her so valuable in action cause her to be such a trial when we have been inactive." She paused to drink coffee.

  "I admire the skill with which you were able to subdue her," she continued. "I would not have thought it possible, short of killing, which is why I believe Redhead would not fight."

  Miri snorted. "That waste of time? Best thing anybody could do would be put her away. She's bats, Suzuki."

  "Valuable, nonetheless. As you well know. I did not say you would come out the loser in such an encounter, my friend, but that you would not take from me what you know I consider essential to the unit." She laid a hand on Miri's arm. "You chose your partner wisely."

  Miri laughed and picked up her mug, forestalling the need for an answer.

  "Besides," Jason commented, "Polesta's probably so mad now she'll take on the other side all by herself when we hit Lytaxin. Give the rest of us a paid vacation." He shook his head at the little man, both admiring and envious. "My lad, you are fast."

  "Best remember it," Val Con returned, retrieving his mug and finishing off the contents.

  Jason laughed and turned away. "So, then, Redhead, what about signing back on, taking that promotion we offered you? Lytaxin'll be a job o'work-I won't lie to you, my small-and we'll be in sore need of you. I don't doubt you've found civilian life a trial-and travel's expensive when the client's not paying." He held out a large hand. "What about it, Redhead? A lieutenant's badge and the chance to get shot at first? You'll not turn it down?"

  Miri looked at Suzuki, who nodded. "We would welcome you back. You know that. We cannot offer your partner what he has not earned, but he is a skilled fighter and we would be happy to add him to the roster. There is no reason why he should not be at your shoulder."

  No, Val Con thought, the equation flaring like iced lightning. No, it's a bad solution, Miri!

  She touched Jason's and Suzuki's fingers lightly. "Ask me later," she told them. "I'm glad you want me back." She tipped her head. "Favor?"

  Suzuki nodded. "If it is within our power."

  Miri glanced at her partner; he was wearing his no-expression expression, and her stomach tightened a little as she turned back to Suzuki.

  "We need to get to Prime without publicizing it," she said. "Port's got some kind of damn check going. We can't pass it-you can ask why, but it's a long story." She paused, waiting for the question.

  Suzuki drank coffee. "You want us to sneak you through the checkpoint and onto Prime?"

  "Yeah."

  The Senior Commander of the Gyrfalks shrugged. "I see no reason why it cannot be done," she said, looking at her Junior.

  Jason grinned hugely and leaned precariously back in his chair to stretch. "Piece o'cake."

  "See to it, then." She glanced back at her friend. "Other favors?"

  "No-yeah. Can the Treasury afford to buy some jewelry? I need cash, not geegaws."

  Suzuki's eyes dropped to touch the snake-shaped ring and rose again, quizzically. Miri laughed.

  "Other jewelry. Everybody's entitled to one geegaw."

  "Well, let's go find Ghost and see what she says." Suzuki pushed away from the table and laid her hand on Jason's shoulder in passing. "Want to start getting everyone together? It's time."

  "Nag, nag," he muttered, coming to his feet. "I'll just take Tough Guy with me, shall I? Have him ride up with Yancey's bunch."

  Val Con rose slowly. "Miri."

  He hesitated, then shrugged irritably. "Dock 327," he told her. "Level F. Meet me there, fifteen minutes after we hit."

  She turned away, taking Suzuki's arm. "Sure," she said.

  * * *

  "How long," Daugherty demanded, "is this going to go on?"

  "Until they tell us to stop?" Carlack hazarded.

  "Which could be in the next twenty years. Or maybe not."

  Daugherty had been on duty since early morning, just ten minutes short of finishing her shift when the order had come through: All Personnel to Man Port Access Yards Until the Present Emergency Has Been Resolved. She had cause to be bitter, Carlack thought, but none at all to be dramatic.

  "The Chief of Police thinks they'll have 'em before the night's out. They're desperate criminals, I heard on the band. Every cop on-world's looking for 'em, so they've gotta try and get off. The Chief was real sure they'd try it as soon as they could."

  Daugherty said something uncomplimentary regarding the Chief of Police's personal habits. She added, after a moment's further consideration, a rider that hinted at a far more accurate knowledge of anatomy than of practical genetics.

  Carlack sighed and considered sending down for more coffee and some sweet rolls.

  "Oh, blessed Balthazer," Daugherty whispered, but it didn't sound like a prayer.

  Carlack looked up. "What?"

  "Mercenaries," she snapped, on he
r way to the door. "Hundreds and hundreds of mercenaries, coming in the wrong damn gate!"

  SENIOR COMMANDER HIGDON was in a foul mood. This was not necessarily a bad thing; certainly, it was not unusual. A methodical man and a high stickler, he did not relish being delayed, nor did he allow the considerations of mere civilians to outweigh the obligations of the lowest soldier in his troop. He so informed the two models of civilianhood who had dared stop him as he entered the port gate at the head of his unit, demanding that all wait, line up, and show papers.

  Commander Higdon did not approve of papers.

  Daugherty gritted her teeth. "Police orders, Commander. No one to shuttle out without showing papers and being cleared. There are desperate criminals on the loose and the police think they'll try for the shuttle. Chances of catching them once they're on Prime go way down. If they manage to get on a spacer, they'll never be brought to justice."

  "And a good thing that would be, too!" the Commander said with obvious relish. "Society is killing off all its good stock-its 'criminals'! Hunting them down and killing them off. We'll be a society of cows, if the police and the lawmakers have their way. Ought to hunt them down and nail their hides to the shed! To hell with all of 'em." That settled to his satisfaction, he turned to his Junior to relay the march order.

  "Be that as it may," Daugherty pursued, "we've got our orders and we're going to do our job. How do we know you haven't got those crooks mixed in with your outfit, there?"

  "I wish I might!" Higdon returned. "Can always use a good fighter. As for your orders-to hell with them, too. I've orders of my own, and a deadline to meet, and I'm afraid I have the means to convince you that my necessities are the more pressing." He raised his hand.

  There was a large sound in the night-the sound, Daugherty realized suddenly, of many, many pellet guns being brought to ready.

  She opened her mouth, not at all sure of what she was going to say-and was saved by the appearance of a smallish round-faced woman in standard leathers who marched up to the maniac at the head of the line.

  "What in the name of all that's damned is the hold-up?" she demanded. "We've got a schedule to keep, Higdon."

  "This civilian and I were just discussing that, Suzuki," he said. "She seems to think we're required-that each and every one of us is required-to show papers before boarding shuttle for Prime."

  "What?" The woman turned to Daugherty, who wished briefly that she'd never been born. "We are expected. We have a private shuttle. We are short on time. We take our own chances. No more delays." She walked away.

  Higdon raised his eyebrows at the two before him. The man, he saw, was decidedly pale. The woman was made of sterner stuff, but she was obviously well aware of her personal inadequacy in the face of an armed and at-ready unit of seasoned mercs.

  She stepped aside, dragging the man with her. "Okay, Commander. But I'm required to inform you that we will report your infringement to the Chief of Police."

  Higdon laughed and brought his hand down. Safeties were snapped on and firearms returned to holsters. In good time, the Junior gave the order to march.

  Line upon line of them marched across the field to the private shuttle, entering the hatch in good formation. In a much shorter time than one might imagine, the last of the mercs had entered the hatch; the door was sealed and the shuttle lifted.

  Daugherty, who had been on the line with the nearest police unit, reported this fact. The cop on the other end looked bored.

  "It's not real likely the mercs are hiding 'em," she told Daugherty. "The Chief's got 'em figured as loners. I'll let him know they wouldn't stop for the check, but it probably ain't worth a fuss. They've had this lift scheduled for the last ten days. No surprises."

  YANCEY, it turned out, was the slender brunette Jason had been with earlier in the evening. She grinned at Val Con, spoke a word of admiration for his skill, and handed him over to a man with bluish-black skin and a shock of bright orange hair.

  "Tough Guy's your partner 'til we hit Prime, Winston. Don't let anybody break him."

  He jerked a thumb at his charge. "Him? Better he makes sure nobody breaks me!"

  Yancey laughed and went away, and Winston tapped Val Con on the arm. "C'mon, youngster. Gotta pick up my kit and get in line."

  They did so, waiting in line rather longer than Val Con liked, though he spent a good deal of time craning his neck around tall Terrans, looking for a short, slender figure.

  "Sonny," Winston told him finally, "you can leave off worryin' about Sergeant Redhead. First of all, she's the toughest somebody in this whole damn unit-that's counting Polesta. Second of all, Suzuki'd skin alive whoever let somethin' fatal happen to her; and then Jase'd stomp'em to a grease spot."

  Val Con grinned. "I guess I'm wasting my time."

  "Yours to waste, boy. It just does seem-uhp! Here we go."

  They moved down the slender alley, out into the main thoroughfare, and down to the port-not so much marching as walking in rhythm, as a unit.

  Short of the port gate, they stopped, and the sounds of an altercation came to them faintly. The sounds of weapons being armed was rather louder and Val Con felt himself draw taut. Where was Miri?

  Winston dropped a light hand to his arm. "Just relax. It's only Higdon throwin' one of his tantrums. Man's got the rottenest temper this side of Yxtrang. Just ain't happy 'less he's feelin' mean. I don't know how he keeps his unit, and that's a fact-you gotta think about more'n bonuses and pillage-right when you sign on, I think. 'Course, there're lots of people around, an' every one of 'em's got their own idea 'bout what's right-" He paused, and the sound of safety catches being clicked back into place reached their ears.

  "Now we'll get on."

  They made their way through the gate, across the field, up the ramp, into the shuttle, and down a hall, where they had to find something to grab onto-standing room only.

  Val Con stopped by a strap set too high in the wall and braced his legs. Shortly, the ship clanged as the hatch closed, the lights dimmed, and he heard the subsonic whine as the engine gyroscoped into full power

  "You okay, boy?" Winston asked.

  "I'm fine."

  The shuttle lifted.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  PRIME STATION.

  Val Con moved with the rest of the troop through Docking Tunnel 6, Level E, and into the main corridor. He touched his companion's arm.

  "I leave you here," he said. "Thank you for your care."

  Winston grinned. "Son, I don't want Sergeant Redhead wastin' me." He slapped the Liaden gently on the shoulder. "Be good now." He went on with the rest as Val Con dropped out of line and slid into DownTunnel Sirius, which accessed Levels F through L.

  The DownTunnel was a slow, easy float, designed for tourists, not spacers. He drifted to F Level, snagged a loop, and rolled lazily into the corridor beyond. Docking Bay 327 was to the left and around the curve of the Station's wall; he set off at a light bound, savoring the slight reduction in gravity.

  She was not at the entrance to the dock. He frowned, checking his inner clock. Seven minutes had passed since they'd hit.

  Fair enough-he had told her fifteen.

  Back against the corridor's inner wall, positioned so that he could watch the hall in both directions, as well as the entrance to Number 327, he settled in to wait.

  According to Winston, the mercenaries were to rendezvous at Dock 698, halfway around the station on Level E. From there, they would board private transport and be en route to Lytaxin within twenty minutes of hitting Prime Station.

  He frowned again, groping after some faint sense of importance attached to the planet's name. Lytaxin?

  Footsteps sounded beyond the curve of the wall and he stiffened, hand flicking to gun. With a grating effort of will, he relaxed back against the wall and a moment later exchanged a casual nod with a woman in the uniform and utility belt of an electrician. The sound of her steps faded to nothing in the other direction, and he strained his ears to catch the slight clues of Miri
's approach.

  She wasn't coming. He was certain of it, though no numbers appeared to support the certainty. She'd thrown back in with Suzuki and the Gyrfalks: The mercs were her safety; she wouldn't believe the Juntavas would hunt her there.

  Then he was running, streaking down the corridor, looking for an UpTunnel to Level E-and finally the numbers began, flickering and flashing like lightning before his mind's eye.

  A mistake, Miri! he cried soundlessly. And the harm done only too clear.

  He sighted an UpTunnel, grabbed the loop, and rolled inside, giving an extra kick to send himself rising faster; he ignored the loop at E level, tucking and rolling, spacer-style, and running on the bounce.

  Val Con ran, dock numbers flashing by and the equations flickering, flickering. At Dock 583 a load 'bot was jammed cross-corridor, while three humans yelled instructions at each other. He pulled more speed from somewhere, kicked, rose, slapped the top of the 'bot with both hands, flipped, and hit the corridor beyond, running. The shouts were meaningless sounds, far behind.

  Sixteen minutes.

  Access Tunnel 698 was empty, though he heard voices ahead. The mercs were still in the holding room, then.

  He was three feet into the room before a cry went up; and two more before the first of them moved to block him. He sidestepped, twisting, then parried an arm that came from nowhere, slapped aside a knife-

  Seventeen minutes and the numbers within danced maniacally before his mind's tired eye.

  A gun appeared in a hand before him; he scooped it away, spinning, into the crowd of bodies. There were fewer bodies now-he could see his goal and forced himself to slow the pace at which he moved toward her.

  A large obstacle dropped into his path; he dodged, only then recognizing the blockage as something called "Jason." His goal was half a yard ahead, watching him inscrutably. He called her name as heavy hands fell on him and his arms were twisted behind his back.