"Yeah," Alvec said. "And the way we've been going, we've got a great big holo sign reading Hurrah, We're Here! welded to the bow of the ship."
Joseph sighed. "I am haunted by the feeling that we have just refused to grasp a lifeline that fate has thrown us. Whatever happens now, my friends, I pray that the God is watching over us, for I fear we are utterly outside of human help. And too many depend on us for failure to be tolerable."
Joat nodded. If Joseph was right, Amos and his party were in the hands of the Kolnari. She shuddered. A fate that makes death seem like a fun alternative.
CHAPTER TEN
"Don't tell me!" Seg said, his long multijointed fingers dancing over the control console. "You set the customs corvette onto them!"
"Yes," Bros sighed.
Remember, he's a romantic, but not necessarily a complete idiot. Not intellectually; emotionally yes, but he could still figure things out. He probably even had a gifted amateur's grasp of the profession—just enough to make inspired guesses about thirty percent of the time, including some occasions when a professional wouldn't see the unlikely. The rest of the time he'd be dead wrong and unwilling to admit it.
"Why? Ahhhh . . . to convince their next contact that they're on the wrong side of the law! That they have no choice but to descend deeper and deeper into the depths of crime. And meanwhile, you'll be closing in! Fiendish!"
Bros frowned. That is my plan, stripped of the adjectives. And put like that, it sounded pretty lame, particularly now that he knew about Nomik Ciety's link to Joat. Or did it just sound bad because the Sondee was saying it, with mezzo-soprano warbles of excitement on the vowels?
Too late to do anything about it now. "Let's go," he said. The next move would be up to Ciety. Just enough of his shipping capacity had disappeared for one reason or another to make him pretty desperate; in his line of work, clients didn't really deal well with delays. On the other hand, there hadn't been enough to make him suspect Intelligence was onto him. Bros hoped.
* * *
Silken lay back with a delighted little purr and Nomik laid his head on her bosom. She reached down and stroked his dark blond hair, damp from his exertions.
"You missed me," she said in a pleased little growl.
"You bet I did." He snatched her hand and kissed it. "You're one of a kind, Silky. And there's no substitute for the best."
She laughed and wiggled playfully. He looked up at her and smiled, scooting himself higher in the bed to kiss her. She turned again, sliding out of the bed and padding across the polished black basalt and stark-white Schwartztarr fur rugs to the autobar. She returned with a bottle of champagne and two tall flute cones of carved glass, smoking with chill. He admired the grace of her arm as it curved to pour the priceless Terran wine.
"We are good together, aren't we?" she said, slipping back into the satin tangle.
"Especially at times like these," he murmured, winding his arms around her.
The bed rotated and tilted to face the wall that was a single sheet of crystal, giving a view of stark airless white mountains and the banded blue and aquamarine of the gas-giant beyond.
Eventually they leaned companionably against the head of the bed and each other, quietly sipping chilled champagne, filling each other in on their doings.
"I think I may have found a new agent for the organization," Silken confided.
"Oh?"
"I met the most amazing young woman on Schwartztarr. She's about my age and owns her own ship. Well, she and her bank. Her reputation is crystal clean, she's considered a fair dealer and she gets her cargo to destination on time and in good condition. She's discreet, she's smart," she glanced over at Nomik, "she's got guts. Would you believe it, she went eye to eye with me over something and didn't blink."
"And you did?"
She laughed. "Yes, I did. I couldn't help it, the woman was right."
"You gave in to her, just because she was right?" Nomik had turned to look at Silken, amazement written all over his face. "I don't believe it. What is this woman . . . a witch?"
"Mmmm, no." She chuckled, "Maybe a kindred spirit. And she did have the whip hand." Silken shrugged and he kissed her shoulder. "The thing is," she tapped his nose lightly with one slender finger, "she's got a massive debt to New Destinies. They've fined her a hundred and twenty thousand credits."
He frowned. "What did she do, poison the water, blow a hole in the station, ram a passenger liner?"
"According to my source, she took an unauthorized space-walk and entered the station through an emergency repair hatch."
"That's it?'
"That's it," Silken shrugged, grinning delightedly. "Now, here's my idea. What you could do, is, buy up her debt to New Destinies and offer her the opportunity to work it off."
"You think this paragon will go for that?" Nomik raised an eyebrow. "What about that pristine reputation?'
"I think she'll go for it. She's sure to lose her ship if she doesn't and then what good will her reputation do her? Believe me Mik, she'll repay that debt almost double before she's free. Just keep it light until she's in too deep to turn back. After that, who else is going to ship with her but you?"
"You're always thinking of me aren't you, Silky?" He kissed her and gave her a squeeze.
"Mmm hmm. She'll be with us in a day or so and you can check her out for yourself."
"Why don't I check you out just one more time?" he asked. "Make sure you got home in one piece."
Silken giggled as he rose over her.
* * *
The Wyal dropped into normal space. Joat blinked at the scanners. For a moment she thought that transition stress had finally gotten to her after all these years.
"There's nothing here!" she said.
"Correction: interstellar gas and micrometeorites," Rand's voice said. "And an F-class star three-point-seven parsecs to the galactic northwest."
"Identify yourself."
Alvec pointed silently to the screens. A ship had been waiting, stealthed, engines on minimal standby to reduce the neutrino signatures of the powerplant. Now it was coming online. Joat glanced at the data. Nothing standard, not a Central Worlds signature, but the emissions were enough for a very large merchantman . . . or a light cruiser.
Kolnari? she thought. The tiny hairs along her spine crinkled erect in atavistic reflex.
"I have visual," Joseph said from the navigator's seat. His voice relaxed from tightly controlled fear to mere tension. "Not Kolnari, I think."
"Guardship," Alvec said.
The image on the screen was the conventional cylinder-and-globe of interstellar ships not meant to transit atmosphere, but with a hacked and haggled look.
Rand spoke. "A modified fast freight carrier," it said. "Mass reduced to increase delta-v. Shield generators, lasers, particle beam weapons, and missile launchers here—" a dot appeared on the image "—here, here. A more precise estimation of capabilities is impossible without information on the craft's computer installations."
Joat pursed her lips. "Highly illegal setup," she said. "And why didn't Silken—" that lying bitch "—give me the right coordinates?"
Alvec cleared his throat. "They always do this, Rohan does. Gives 'em a chance to make sure you're not a ringer for the Fleet."
"You knew about this arrangement?" she accused, unmollified.
"Yeah, well . . . yuh. Been around here, oh, a while back . . ."
Joat glared at him. Al was their pilot just now, and he didn't look up from his screens. Ask no awkward questions, get no fibs. "So, you know anything about Rohan itself?"
"It's a big moon," he said. "Big enough to hold atmosphere if it had one. Be a nice, livable planet if they terraformed it. Cold, though, a long way from the primary."
"Why have they not done so?" Joseph asked.
Alvec laughed. "They're pirates, folks. Building things isn't their strong suit; besides, keeping habitation restricted makes it easier to control traffic. That's why Yoered Family picked a moon in the first place
."
"Wait a minute," Joat said. "The Yoered Family runs Rohan?"
"Yup."
"Then why would they give Ciety a base there? He's their competition."
"They've gotten a little fat and lazy, from what I hear. They let the freelancers do the scut work, and rake a percentage off the top—plus selling information, repairs and stuff, all at fantastic markups." He looked over at Joat. "You can probably fool around with Nomik Ciety, Boss, but whatever you do, don't mess with the Family. They're way too powerful and they have zero patience."
Joat grinned, a wolfish expression. "And I bet they have no sense of humor."
"I wish I could say yes to that," Al said with a sigh.
"Attention Wyal. Stand by for transition, microjump—slave your control system to ours for approach."
Rand maintained an injured silence. "Do it," Joat ordered. "It's only for a couple of minutes."
"How would you like to turn over control of your legs and arms for a few minutes?" the AI asked.
"Gruddy. I managed to write a program that can be sarcastic."
* * *
Eglund was visible in the viewscreen and she keyed it to a higher magnification. A bright disk sprang into view, blazing against the velvet-black of space with the gem-clear blue of an aquamarine.
"There's a thick haze of hydrogen-methane atmosphere," Rand said. "That accounts for the blue coloration."
"A lovely color," Joseph added.
"How many moons?" Joat said.
"Seven that I can detect, not counting planitesimals," Rand said. "Several are water-ice, one is mostly sulfur compounds. The others are rocky; the largest is approximately Mars-sized."
Odd, Joat thought. None of them had ever been to Terra, but humanity still used the original system for comparisons.
Rohan swung into view. A yellow-gray dust speck against the great jeweled surface below, trailing swiftly above clouds and storms vaster than worlds. Closer, it became the size of a tennis ball, tiny and sharp-edged. Dendritic patterns of craters, paler flatlands—no significant atmosphere, then.
Joat swallowed and rubbed her palms against the legs of her coverall. Nomik. The knowledge lay in her mind the way a stodgy dinner did in the stomach, making her thoughts feel logy and slow. Too much conflict, too many warring fears, hatreds, needs . . . memories.
And I'm holding things back, she thought, glancing at her friends. It's not fair to them, I should tell them everything. She knew that, but her mind refused to process the data; her mouth could not speak the words.
This is a lousy time to suddenly need psychotherapy, Joat thought sourly.
"Attention." The voice of the escort vessel broke in. "Relinquishing control. Enjoy your stay."
"Sarcastic nuddling," Joat muttered. She locked the restraints around herself and lowered her hands to the controls. "I'm taking her in."
She ignored Alvec's surprise and Rand's silence. This was something she could control.
* * *
The main dome of Rohan roofed over a crater a kilometer and a half in diameter; she could see through the transparent cover, down to the surface. Most of it was open space, vaguely seen greenery and trees, small lakes—sensible, not to waste open breathable space on buildings. Those would be under the crater's surface, or burrowed into the mountains on either side. The cruel peaks slid upward on either side as the Wyal descended, jagged against Eglund's brightness. Banded patterns of shadow and colored light slid across the empty wastes of rock, down into the pulsing strobes of the landing field. The ship slid into its cradle like a hand into a glove, only the faintest ringing tock of sound as contact was made. Almost immediately it began to move, trundling them to a docking ring in the side of the great dome.
Nowhere else did they have this system of hauling ships to and from the landing/launch pad. Only the Family would have felt it worth the enormous expense. By crowding ships together around the station's rim, they made it too dangerous to launch independently; insuring total Family control of arrivals and departures.
"Gravs off," Joat said. They all felt a buoyant lightness as they switched over to planetary gravity, about four-tenths standard. "Connections on."
There was a slight subliminal difference as the ship plugged into stationside power and life-support. Joat took a deep breath. "Time to hit dirtside," she said.
Time to find Uncle Nom.
* * *
The representative of Yoered Security looked bored as he lectured. He was a slight dark man with a small clipped mustache that looked as if it had been painted on his upper lip, dressed in a utilitarian dark-brown coverall. A few assistants stood behind him, one in a suit of powered armor; the visible ones looked as if they were close relatives—which they were. Yoered Family had started off as a crime "family" planetside, and moved out of the Central Worlds sphere several generations ago. They married in-clan . . . a standoffish bunch.
"Right, you've probably heard this before, but listen carefully anyway," the enforcer said. "This is Rohan. Yoered Family owns Rohan and everything on it. We have rules; you obey those rules, and you can get what you want here. First rule: nobody offers offense or violence to a member of our Family. Punishment—death."
He made a gesture. Behind him the wall flashed to holo; it showed an iron cage hanging by a chain from a massive oak tree in the underdome. Inside it was a human figure, incredibly emaciated, like a skeleton held together by strips of dried gristle. It moved . . .
Joat swallowed as the image disappeared. The enforcer went on:
"Second rule: no stealing, no destruction of clan property, no unauthorized assault, no welching on debts. Punishment—penal servitude." He smiled, a neat, contained little expression. "You may have noticed how clean we keep things?"
The three from Wyal looked around. The waiting room was extremely tidy, with an almost painfully scrubbed look. The only messy things in its broad expanse were some of the other spacers.
The security operative gestured again. This time the holo showed a man operating a vibroscrubber machine along a walkway. He was naked except for a brief pair of shorts, and a thick pain-compliance collar around his neck. Haunted eyes turned towards the pickup for a second, and then the man's body jerked, muscles crawling under the skin. He gave a thin scream and turned his attention back to the task. Joat had never seen anyone working with such concentrated attention.
"That was a thief." The security man smiled more broadly. "Now, don't get me wrong. This isn't a tight-butt sort of place. You can get anything you want here, if you can pay—or anyone. You want to cut someone, just challenge them to a duel—the Family puts it on the holovid and takes a cut on bets. Want someone dead? You buy a license and hire a Family assassin; standard rate, one hundred fifty thousand credits, with extras depending on the target."
The smile never touched his eyes. "You can even get privacy, within the doors of your lodgings. Standard rate, one hundred and fifty thousand credits down and twenty thousand per standard month. Everything else is under constant surveillance—every corridor, every cargo line, every bar, every bathroom, every closet. Nothing gets by us. And yeah, by the way, we don't go in for all that evidentiary stuff. We arrest on suspicion, narcoquiz, and sentence the same day. No appeals." More teeth showed. "So enjoy yourselves, ladies, gentlemen, beings. Do a profitable business. But watch it."
* * *
"All functional," Rand confirmed.
"Good equipment," Joseph said judiciously, slipping the tiny button into his ear. "As good as the Naval Intelligence material we got from the military aid package."
"Sure it's not readable?" Alvec murmured. The other two heard him twice, a chorus-of-angels effect from the air and from the little transmitters tucked into their ears.
"I'm modulating it through the internal power lines," Rand said. "The encryption code is jiggered to look like the sort of random fluctuations you get there."
"Excellent," Joat murmured. "I know the virtual reality net here is legendary, Rand, but I need you
to spend some time trying to crack Ciety's computer."
"I have a sense of responsibility, Joat," Rand said testily. "You programmed it into me. But you can make good contacts in V.R., so I intend to start there. I should have some news for you on your return."
"Just remember the expense," Alvec warned.
"Our expenses are being covered by CenSec," Rand reminded them. "I intend to take full advantage of that. Even if they will not pay the fine, they can be billed for ordinary outgoings."
Alvec's face went thoughtful, then lit up. Like a kid in a bakery told he can have six of anything he wants, Joat thought.
"Fardles," Joat said in awe. "I forgot!" She hoisted a travel case containing the Crown rubies, still disguised in their laser crystal boxes.
"Rand is right," Joseph said. "We must not become distracted. Amos's life is in the balance, and with it the well-being of my people."
"Yeah, sure, of course," Alvec said to his departing back. "But that doesn't mean we can't go to dinner. It wouldn't be right not to take advantage of CenSec's generosity just a little."
"They'll expect it," Joat assured him.
* * *
"They do things in person here, the old-fashioned way," Joseph said, slightly surprised. On Bethel, virtual presence was all the rage—newly risen from stagnation and backwardness, the Bethelites put a premium on modernity.
"Would you trust the public net, here?" Joat asked.
Joseph grinned, although his eyes remained wary. "You have a point."
That was logical, given that a moderately talented tech could produce a holo of anyone doing or saying anything and no one could tell the difference between an actual recording and one that had been faked. Therefore all transactions were real time, face to face, with multiple witnesses. Offices might be obsolete elsewhere, but not here.
Ciety's was located in a quiet neighborhood; just off the underdome surface, which was the prestige area on Rohan. They walked through eerily elongated groves of trees, past flowerbeds and greenswards, beneath the clear dome and the blue sky that was the great banded jewel of the gas-giant. Despite the growing tension that knotted her stomach, Joat was still struck by the beauty of it, and the air of quiet and peace. Nursemaids and children were the commonest strollers; she saw a dog make a long dolphinlike low-gravity leap after a ball and pinwheel off through the air . . .
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