StarCraft II: Devil's Due

by Christie Golden

  “Hell, he ain’t quiet,” Tychus said. “You’ll find that out soon enough.”

  “I’m just enjoying the potato chips,” said Jim, munching another one. “And I want to listen before I speak.”

  Ash nodded approvingly. “Let’s get down to business, then. I understand that you said my plan was crap.”

  Tychus shook his head, swallowing a bite of the sandwich. “Nope. I said it was shit. There’s a difference.”

  Jim smothered a chuckle as Ash’s face darkened. “I doubt you will come up with anything better. But Scutter told me to listen and decide which of us is right. I like to obey the man who pays me. Let’s start with an overview before we get to specifics.”

  He took out a pocket-sized holoemitter and placed it on the table. At the touch of a button, the Covington Bank building appeared, then proceeded to slice itself into sections like a three-dimensional blueprint.

  Jim started, spilling his beer. “What the fekk, man, do you want everyone in the sector to know about this?”

  Ash laughed. “Scutter owns this place, right down to the dirt on the floor. I could bang a senator’s wife right here on the table and no one would bat an eyelash.”

  Jim threw up his hands in surrender. “Don’t mind me. I just like to be smart sometimes.”

  Ash ignored him. “The Covington Bank is one of the sector’s most secure. It has state-of-the-art security systems, walls thicker than a man is high, and a reputation that discourages all but the most die-hard.” He flashed a grin. “That’s us. Now—the creds are only going to be inside the bank where we can get at ’em for thirty-seven hours. It’s a narrow window, but we have a few days before the chrono starts ticking. We have something working for us, and something that seems to be working against us but really isn’t. First off, we have an ace in the hole.” He pointed to the fourteenth story of the massive building. “The bank itself occupies the entire lower level, but there are other businesses here, and from the tenth story up, it’s luxury penthouse apartments.”

  “Don’t tell me,” said Jim. “Scutter O’Banon owns one of them.”

  “Not so you’d ever find out, but yes,” he said. “For the last few years, he’s had an inside man who’s been operating from here. This is going to help us out in all kinds of pleasant ways.”

  Tychus allowed that it certainly would. “What’s the thing that seems bad but isn’t?” Jim asked.

  “Well”—Ash half-smiled—“it seems that during our narrow thirty-seven-hour window, the Interstellar Marshals Convention is in town. Over a thousand law enforcement officials are going to be running around the place.”

  Tychus grunted. “Shit, Ash—how the hell could that possibly be anything but bad?” He finished off his sandwich with a single bite and fished out a cigar.

  “Think about it,” Ash said, his voice a trifle condescending. “Sure, they’re marshals—when they’re on duty. You think lawyers at a convention are going to be working on their cases? Hell no. They’re going to be attending seminars during the day, conveniently all holed up in one lavish hotel. After the speeches and seminars and boring lunches, they’re going to be drinking, gambling, eating, watching strip shows, patronizing prostitutes, throwing up, and passing out, just like everyone else does after hours at a convention on Bacchus Moon.”

  Jim nodded.

  “Our inside guy sees this convention every year, and that’s exactly what he reports. Listen—they’re going to be in town, but the last thing on their minds will be enforcing the law. It’s party time, and this is Bacchus Moon.”

  “The town and the bank are going to be lulled into a false sense of security,” Jim said before Ash could continue. “The bank’s going to think, Hey, we’ve got the safest money in the sector right now—there’s a thousand law officers right down the street. Who’s gonna try anything with them in town?”

  Ash nodded. “And that, my dust-kicking friend, is why it seems to be a liability but actually is a plus.”

  Tychus nodded, lighting the cigar. “Makes sense. Regardless, ain’t a thing we can do about it.”

  “Go on,” Jim said.

  Ash leaned forward slightly. “I said I would follow my boss’s orders. I’m going to listen to your plan with an open mind, because I want to do this successfully. But I will tell you this: I’ve been breaking into banks for six years. Places that are so beyond your abilities you can’t even have wet dreams about them. Rafe and Win here have been with me for most of them. We know what can and can’t be done a lot better than two low-life dirt-pushers like you.”

  “Aw, now, that done gone and hurt my feelings,” Tychus said, blowing smoke right into Ash’s face. “Why don’t you just hear me out and use your own best judgment like you said you was gonna do?”

  Slowly, Ash sat back in the booth and nodded. “Sure, sure. Let’s see what the guy with the neck that’s thicker than his head can come up with.”

  Tychus smiled around the cigar. Jim smothered a grin of his own. Both men loved it when people thought Tychus was stupid. It was such a kick to prove them wrong.

  “When Scutter O’Banon sent Cadaver—”

  “‘Cadaver’?” asked Rafe, frowning.

  “Guy who looks like a walking corpse,” Jim supplied helpfully. Rafe made an “Ah” of recognition and nodded.

  “—to ask me and Jimmy here to work for him, it was because of our reputation. We ain’t the sort of men who come up through the ground. We come in through the front door, during business hours. In broad daylight. And we get out the same way.”

  Ash stared for a long moment. “You’re a fekking lunatic, Tychus Findlay.”

  “Now, now, your momma shoulda taught you to watch your language, son,” Tychus said. “Let me tell you what I can do if you give me three days’ lead time and enough credits.”

  Edward Baines had the night off, and he was planning on celebrating. Any day that got Tychus Findlay and James Raynor out of Deadman’s Port was a good one, and they should be gone for a while. With a little luck, permanently.

  He slipped in through the narrow doorway, hearing the soft sounds of a quartet, and felt his heart lift.

  This place was an oasis for him. Baines didn’t get to come here often enough, and he was already looking forward to a glass of something pleasant and an evening of soft, soothing music. Tonight his favorite singer, Tanya, was scheduled to perform.

  His eyes adjusted to the dim room, lit only by candles, and he eased into his favorite seat close to the stage. The quartet finished up and their leader stepped up to the mic.

  “Thank you, thanks very much. Now, we know that most of you came here expecting to hear the magnificent Tanya, but she won’t be able to join us this evening. Instead, we have a special guest here to sing for you tonight. I hope you’ll enjoy her performance.”

  Baines sat down, a bit disappointed. He loved hearing Tanya, but it was also nice to hear new talent as well. He gave his drink order to the waiter, then settled in.

  The quartet packed up, and for a few moments the stage was empty. The crowd began to murmur, although they were genteel murmurs. Baines’s drink, scotch and soda, came, and he sipped it, frowning slightly.

  Then the spotlight came on. There was a lone microphone stand. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome … Kyttyn!”

  Baines’s eyes widened.

  The young woman—he could not imagine calling her a “young lady”—who came onstage was dressed in tiny striped scraps of clothing. She wore large fake cat ears and a tail sewed onto the rear of the microbikini that covered—well, not very much at all. Her body was toned, tight, and in-your-face.

  “Hey, everyone!” Kyttyn said cheerily. Her pert little nose was painted black, and three whiskers adorned her cheeks on either side. “Tonight, I’m doing a special performance for one very lucky Mr. Edward Baines.”

  Another spotlight practically blasted Baines’s retinas as it glared down at him.

  “Mr. Baines … or should I say Cadaver … this is just for yo
u, from Jim and Tychus.”

  And she launched into something loud, and raucous, and screaming, peppered with words that would make a marine blush to hear.

  The spotlight stayed on Edward Baines for the duration.

  There was no green on Bacchus Moon.

  Jim had been looking at images of the place, and it was wall-to-wall plascrete and neosteel. The only areas where living things seemed to grow were on the grounds of the acres-wide luxury hotels. The rest was solid city. It had once been a verdant and pleasant world, he learned, with the sort of land that his parents would have tilled with care and from which they would have reaped bountiful crops. But because of its convenient location, its destiny had been determined early on.

  He, Tychus, Ash, Win, and Rafe were approaching at night, and the only spaces where there were not bright lights were the oceans, dark and black and open. Every single landmass was glowing from coast to coast, crowded with people, glitz, and glamour.

  It was beautiful, after a fashion, but Jim found himself thinking about it in a way he hadn’t before. He had grown up on Shiloh, where every bit of energy was carefully safeguarded and used as efficiently as possible. The amount of energy required to run the capital city of Semele, where they were headed, was likely enough to power all of Shiloh. He’d liked the glitz and the glamour and the high life, but now its waste and crassness were spread out before him, starkly and almost lewdly, and Jim realized that even the things he used to enjoy now had a pall cast over them.

  He settled back, mentally counting the hours until this was all done. Having made his decision, he was ready—more than ready—to turn his back on this life.

  Their destination approached rapidly as they made their descent. Jim shook his head quietly as the lights of the city seemed to surge to meet them, and they docked in the starport that Jim just knew would have jingling slot machines available the second they disembarked.

  “I don’t like how you’re looking, Raynor,” said Ash. Jim started from his reverie.

  “I don’t like big cities,” he said. “Especially garish ones.”

  “That’s fine,” Tychus interrupted as he was directed in for docking. “With the money we’ll get from this haul, you can buy yourself your very own planet and decorate it just how you like it, Jimmy.”

  That brought a chuckle from everyone but Ash, who continued regarding Jim thoughtfully. Jim and Tychus had discussed what would happen after they made off with several million credits. Jim would receive his share and be quietly dropped off somewhere on the way back to Deadman’s Port. They hadn’t chosen to inform Ash and the rest of Scutter’s boys of this change in plans. Ash disliked them enough as it was.

  They had rooms in one of the more middle-of-the-road hotels, neither too ritzy nor too much of a dump. They would check in, then Ash and his boys would begin reconnaissance while Jim and Tychus hooked up with Tychus’s contacts.

  The sooner they did, the sooner it would all be over, and the better Jim would like it.

  A vessel designed for only one person without much cargo also was vectored in for docking at the Semele port. The ship had been following the vessel bearing Jim, Tychus, Ash, Rafe, and Win ever since it had departed Deadman’s Port. The man piloting it reached out with a gleaming metal hand to press a button.

  “Acknowledged,” said Ezekiel Daun.

  The place was every bit as high-intensity, bright, obnoxious, and loud as Jim had expected it to be. Hovercars and -bikes whizzed past their taxi as it ferried them to their hotel, the Bellissima Grande Hotel and Casino, and Jim worried that the driver might have a heart attack, considering how loudly he yelled and how vigorously he gestured at other drivers.

  The streets were crowded and bright as day, even at this hour, and attractive women called out to them as they made their way the short distance from the street to the hotel’s entrance. Tychus whistled and said a few lewd things, but Jim just kept his head down. Inside, it was gaudy and crowded and thick with smoke. The constant sound of bells and whistles and the shouting of players as they won—or lost—bombarded his ears, and when at last he and Tychus settled into their own musty rooms, Jim leaned against the door for a moment.

  Even here, the world of high-stakes gambling and partying intruded. The walls were thin, and he was treated to the sounds of just how much his neighbors were enjoying their bedrooms. He headed into the sonic shower, threw on some clean clothes, and met Tychus in the lobby.

  Tychus looked surprisingly good. His suit, like Jim’s, was understated but well tailored and fit perfectly across his broad shoulders. He had a fine cigar clenched in his teeth, and his eyes gleamed with delight as Jim walked up to him.

  “I like this place,” he said. “Lots of distractions. For the marks while I work, and for me when I’m done.”

  “It’s all yours,” Jim said. “Where do we go first?”

  “Don’t tell me you ain’t gonna even try to enjoy your last big fling,” Tychus chided.

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

  Tychus slipped an arm around his friend’s shoulder in a mock-paternal gesture. “Jimmy, I’m going to make you have fun if it’s the last thing I do. Fortunately, our meeting with my contact takes place in one of the most popular hotels on this whole glitzy moon. Come on.”

  Twenty minutes later, Jim felt as if he had stepped out into an entirely new world. The little bar called the Blue Note, in the Rapture Hotel and Casino, was so far removed from the almost frantic energy and neon colors of every place else Jim had seen as to be almost disconcerting. The décor was comprised of stepped forms and sweeping curves, and there were freestanding pieces of art made of inlaid wood and steel in repeating patterns of chevrons and sunbursts, as well as paintings adorning the wall. Soft jazz came from somewhere; the leather seats were incredibly comfortable; and the waitress spoke in a soft voice and had something approaching a genuine smile as she brought Tychus and Jim their drinks.

  A few moments later, there was a soft rustle of satin. A tall, gorgeous woman, clad in a floor-length red dress and carrying a shopping bag from one of the finest stores in the city, slipped into the seat across from them.

  “Jennifer,” Tychus said, “damn, the years like you, honey.”

  She smiled, and Jim saw what he hadn’t observed at first, thanks to the soft lighting. This woman, despite her jet-black hair and slender figure, was actually much older than they were. But Tychus was right: she didn’t need flattering lighting to be breathtaking. There was an elegance to her movements, and her face was finely boned. She’d be a beauty in torn clothes and sitting in the mud, Jim thought.

  Jennifer smiled. “Tychus Findlay,” she said. “Long time no see. This must be Mr. Raynor.” She extended a slender, well-manicured hand. Jim found himself struggling against the urge to kiss it and instead shook it awkwardly.

  “How d’you do, ma’am?”

  Jennifer’s lovely smile widened. “Much better manners than you, Tychus. I like this boy.”

  “Don’t get too fond of him,” Tychus said. “He’s going straight soon, or so he tells me.”

  Jennifer’s brow furrowed in sympathy. “Really? That’s too bad,” she said, as if Tychus had just pronounced dreadful news.

  “Jennifer and her husband, Gustav, are from Umoja,” Tychus explained. “Can’t wait to see what she’s got for me.”

  “I love it when I hear from you,” she said. “You always give Gustav and me such interesting things to design.”

  If she hadn’t had Jim’s utter attention before, which she pretty much had, she had it now. With a small government and a lucrative economy, Umojans were known for cutting-edge technology. Jim, too, now leaned eagerly forward as Jennifer removed a gift-wrapped box from the shopping bag and handed it to Tychus. Tychus grinned and opened it.

  Inside was a beautiful patterned vest. The main color was black. There were small diamond shapes cut into the bottom of the vest, and in each nook sparkled a green or red gem. The colors alternated in a comple
x pattern all around the front and, Jim saw, even the back. It was beautiful, and elegant, and utterly not Tychus.

  Then Jennifer turned the vest and opened four cleverly concealed flaps. Jim realized that they were holsters, and that definitely was utterly Tychus.

  “My, my, ain’t that pretty?” Tychus said. “Jennifer, you do outstanding work.”

  “Ah, but such a nice waistcoat demands the right accessory,” Jennifer continued. She handed him another, smaller package.

  “I feel like this is my birthday,” Tychus chuckled. He opened the box to reveal an exquisite antique pocket watch. Jim whistled softly.

  “Gustav wanted to put your initials on it, but I recommended he refrain,” Jennifer said. “Here … let me show you how to set the time and wind it.”

  She removed it carefully from the box. “To set the time, pull this little notched knob called the winding crown straight up, like so. Set the hands to the time you wish, then push it back down. To wind it, turn the winding crown clockwise until you cannot wind further. Very simple.”

  “Very simple indeed, but effective.” Tychus grinned at her. “I’ll be sure to take very good care of it.”

  “These”—and she handed him a final box—“are for all your friends. Also watches, but not quite as nice as yours. You must make sure they wear them, or at least have them on their person in some fashion.”

  “I will, darlin’. You and Gustav are too good to me.”

  Jennifer’s smile widened, became mischievous. “You’ve admired them enough, Tychus. You can investigate them a little more closely when you’re in your room. But for now … why don’t you take them, and me, for a spin? There’s dancing right next door.”

  “Hell, honey, you know I can’t dance. I’ll step on those dainty feet of yours.”

  She laughed throatily. “I know. But it’s a practical test…. I just want to see how you’ll be able to move in the vest, see if I need to make any adjustments. Come on.”

  Tychus sighed in resignation. “You coming with us, Jimmy?” Tychus asked.

  Jim grinned. “Think I’ll stay here. You two crazy kids have fun.”