by Chris Bunch
• • •
Chesney was as experienced as Joshua in long, dull N-space passages, and so the two stayed out of each other’s way as much as possible. The ship was small, a converted eight-crew long-range scout of the Chambers-class, which Chesney had named the Resolute. The engine spaces had been roboticized, as Wolfe had done with his own ship, the Grayle. The crew spaces were still anodized in the soft pastels the Federation thought lessened tension, and Wolfe supposed Chesney preferred them that way; they must remind him of his service days.
Something nagged at Wolfe, something about Chesney. But it didn’t surface, and so he let his back brain worry at it. He spent the long hours working with the Lumina in his carefully locked compartment, reading from the ship’s extensive library, or sleeping. He took over the cooking, since Chesney’s idea of a good meal was to reconstitute a steak, fry it gray, and cover it with freeze-dried mushrooms and whatever soup came to hand.
Chesney had hidden a bug inside the wardrobe catch, which Wolfe found and deactivated within an hour after jumping from Ak-Mechat VII. Neither man brought it up.
Wolfe discovered Chesney had more than one good, perhaps excellent, bottle of wine aboard. He nipped constantly, on the sly, an experienced secret toper. Joshua wondered if he was as sly about his alcoholism when alone. Since they were far from action, and a Chambers-class ship in transit could be piloted by a drug-hazed gibbon, Wolfe said nothing.
Four ship-days out, Chesney told Wolfe the destination and the clients. They were to pick up the bomb materials on Bulnes IV, then make a short jump to deliver it to the rebels on Osirio, barely twelve light-years distant. “Seems straightforward enough,” he said. “Don’t suppose, Joshua, you’d be willing to dig through the library, see what the piddling match is all about, though? Not that it matters, but it might be interesting. Even valuable, if the slok comes down.”
Wolfe obeyed, also curious, and reported some success.
“I suppose it’s some government-take-all planet with a colony, dissidents dissidenting from the official policy, helping rebels and that, then?” Chesney said. He’d been quick to inform Wolfe that not only did he despise politics, but he utterly hated any government that did more than maintain a military and police force.
“Not exactly. The whole situation’s interestingly backward. Better listen closely,” Joshua said, “because I don’t think I’ll get it right more than once. Osirio, where we’re to deliver the package, was the mother planet. Evidently their best and brightest went out to Bulnes, where we’re supposed to make the pickup, and colonized the system. Osirio was brain-drained and is currently in a state of what the ‘pedia called decadent autocracy. Aristocratic thugs who run things badly, much like Earth’s czars, so there’s an active little rebellion bubbling. Assassinations, no-go districts, the stray conventional bombing here and there. The rebels, as far as I could tell, don’t have any particular program other than blasting the rascals out. The real dynamism is on Bulnes IV, but the government of Bulnes owes its legitimacy to the mother planet.”
“Good Lord,” Chesney said.
“Yeah. They’re afraid if Osirio falls, they’ll tumble right after it.”
“Who’s right?”
Wolfe shrugged. “The people out of power aren’t killing as many people as those in power. Yet. Maybe they’d do better, or maybe they’d start their own pogroms if they won.”
“Thank heaven it’s not for us to say,” Chesney said. “But with a mess like that, it’s certainly tempting to make the easy profit.”
“I don’t follow,” Wolfe said.
“The way that wonderful voice we contract our services through set the deal, we get 250K when we pick up the plutonium, or whatever it is, 750 on delivery.”
“I know.”
“We could do a little personal renegotiation, arrange to get the 750 from the rebels first, then write off the 250 and go about our merry way, then, couldn’t we?” Chesney saw the expression on Wolfe’s face. “No, I s’pose not. Probably be too messy to arrange, not to mention dangerous while we loop around their silly world, bickering. We’ll play the cards as they lay, I suppose.”
• • •
Chesney was fond of talking about the war, particularly about the atrocities of the Al’ar. Wolfe listened and made little comment. Chesney seemed less interested in conversation than in his own monologue.
One time, after third-meal, Chesney asked Joshua, “What made the bastards so cruel? Why’d they kill so many women, children, and civilians who weren’t even Federation officials?”
“That wasn’t cruel to them,” Wolfe said. “Women breed warriors, children — what they called hatchlings,” he said in Al’ar, “ — grow up to be warriors. As somebody back on Earth once said, ‘kill ‘em all. Nits grow up to be lice, don’t they?’ The Al’ar think — thought anyone who does things the hard way is a complete fool.”
Chesney looked away for an instant, as if some very private thought had surfaced, then back at Joshua. “You were their prisoner, when you were a child, or so the fiches had it, which was why the Federation made you into a supercommando,” he said. “So you dealt with them face-to-face.”
“Sometimes.”
Chesney shuddered. “That would’ve been horrifying. Like walking into a spider’s web. But at least you got to see them when you killed them. That must’ve been a pleasure.”
Joshua said nothing.
“Thank heavens,” Chesney said, “they’re dead, or at any rate gone from this spacetime. We don’t need any more nightmares like them, right?”
Wolfe thought of the “virus” that had driven the Al’ar from their own universe and was now invading Man’s. Again he kept silent.
• • •
They came out of N-space on the fringes of the Bulnes system and wormed their way toward the fourth planet. There were three planetary fortresses orbiting the planet and patrol ships crisscrossing the world.
“Piffle,” Chesney said. “Their security chatters like a band of langurs, never keeping silent to see what’s going on around it. This should be as easy as stealing coins from a dead man’s eyes. Their search patterns are lattices like your grandmother’s pie.”
“I don’t think my grandmother made pies,” Wolfe said. “I remember her being quite busy representing her district.”
“All right, then your first popsy’s see-everything blouse.”
“I wasn’t that lucky,” Wolfe said amiably. “My first love was the daughter of the Federation’s secretary of state. She wore tunics that fastened at the neck, hung loosely, and never gave me anything to dream about, plus the baggy knee-trousers that were the style then.”
“Ah, but once you got the tunic off,” Chesney said, deliberately lascivious, “then you beheld a garden of delights?”
“Nope,” Joshua answered. “I never even kissed her, and I’m not sure she knew I did more than exist. In any event, it was more pouting than passion on my part.”
“Ah,” Chesney said. “Unlucky you. As for me, my first was the tutor my father brought in to teach my brothers some language or other. A definite tart. But when my father caught us doing the naughty, that was the last we saw of her. I’ve often wondered …” Chesney shook his head.
“What happened to your great first love?” he went on, changing the subject, making conversation while his fingers touched sensors and the Resolute closed on Bulnes IV.
“She went away to school and married the graduating valedictorian when she was a freshman. Perhaps a successful marriage was what she intended for a career. They both were killed in the Al’ar raid on Mars.” Joshua remembered the girl’s easy smile, seldom directed at him.
“Just as well — that she married someone else, I mean,” Chesney said. “A warrior doesn’t need any more anchors than his own mind can provide.”
“Yeah,” Wolfe said sarcastically. “That’s us. Footloose, carefree rebels, leaving a trail of broken hearts as we wander the stars.”
• • •
<
br /> Wolfe came out of his compartment yawning. Chesney was at the control panel, on the com. He saw Wolfe, said, “Received … clear …” into the mike, and broke contact.
“You’ve got contact with our customers?” Wolfe asked.
“Right. First an hour or two ago, then they put out another signal just now,” Chesney said quickly. “Damned amateur worrywarts. Babbling like they’ve never heard of intercepts or locators. Had to cut them off, as you heard.”
“The only way conspirators get experience is the hard way,” Joshua said, easing into the copilot’s seat. “Unfortunately, most get dead in the learning.”
“And isn’t that the truth,” Chesney said heartily. “They even had a password for us. ‘Freedom or death.’ How terribly jejune. We’re about sixteen hours from planetfall, by the way. How about some coffee?”
“Sure,” Wolfe said, getting up. “Have it ready in a minute.”
“Keep one hand for yourself,” Chesney warned. “I might be jinking us around a trifle. There might be a det-bubble or two I’ve missed.”
• • •
“Interesting place to schedule a pickup for,” Wolfe said. “Right in the middle of university grounds. Very clever, unless they’re professorial, in which case it’s suicidal.”
“Which way would you bet?”
“Six to five. Against. On anything.”
“That’s safe,” Chesney said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to be somewhat busy.”
Chesney brought the Resolute screaming in from space, just at dawn. “Hopefully they’ll think we’re a meteorite for a moment or two, and by then we’ll be below their radar horizon and invisible long enough to grab the geetus,” he said. “Buckle up.”
He flared the ship barely a thousand feet up. Wolfe heard antigrav generators groan and saw red warnings flash on the control panel.
“Shut up,” Chesney grunted to the blinking lights. “Stop sniveling, you bitch.” His fingers danced across sensors, and Wolfe remembered a pianist he’d seen.
Chesney was very good, he decided, as the ship spun and dodged without, as far as Joshua could see, any warnings of detection.
“Always well,” Chesney grunted, “to be careful. Touchdown, six minutes …”
There was a city below. He extruded spoilers, killed the drive. “Don’t want to go too slow,” he said. “Or some traffic cop’ll throw a rock and knock us down. One minute sixteen. Here we are.”
He put reverse thrust on as the Resolute shot over long rows of housing into open country, then towers and great buildings loomed ahead, gold and red brick in the dawn’s light.
“And here we be,” he said, braking sharply. The Resolute bucked and fell a few feet, and Chesney moved the slide-pots of the antigrav system up, and the ship stabilized. “Just on time.”
The Resolute settled toward a huge cement pad, marked with regular lines. Beyond was a large stadium. The Resolute touched down with never a jar. “I’ll keep it just grounded, so we don’t punch a nice easy-to-spot ship-sized crater in their parking lot,” Chesney said. “Perhaps you’ll see to the niceties, then? Do take a gun. Freedom-lovers can prove most unreliable.”
Wolfe picked up his heavy blaster, went to the lock, opened the inner and outer doors, and looked out. On one side was the stadium, on the other a low building, on a third a large grove.
He extruded the gangway as a small gravsled came from behind the building and shot toward the Resolute. There were two women and a man aboard, and, in the back, a large case.
The lifter grounded ten feet from the Resolute, slewed sideways, its skids striking sparks from the tarmac.
“Freedom,” one of the women shouted as she jumped out.
“Or death,” Wolfe replied dryly, wondering if enough starships grounded on Bulnes’ campuses for a password to be needed.
“I’m Margot,” the woman said.
“And I don’t have a name, and hope that isn’t your real one, either,” Wolfe said. “Never give away what you don’t have to.”
The woman appeared angry, then perplexed.
The other two lifted the case out and staggered toward the Resolute. Margot glanced at Joshua as if expecting him to help. Wolfe didn’t move, but kept the gun ready. She gave him a dark look and helped the other two.
“All right,” she said when the case was in the lock. “You’d best lift, before the Inspectorate makes a sweep over us.”
“You’re forgetting something,” Joshua reminded her.
Her eyes flickered. “Oh. Yes. Sorry,” she said. “Sorry I forgot, but my mind was on security.”
Joshua decided she was a rotten liar. The other woman brought a packet from the gravsled. Wolfe opened one end.
“It’s all there,” Margot said. “Don’t you trust us?”
Wolfe made no reply, shuffling notes. “Good,” he said at last. “Now get away from the ship. We’re going straight up and out.”
The three ran to the gravsled, and the driver lifted it away.
“Go!” Wolfe shouted to Chesney and hit the close sensor on the lock.
It slid shut as the Resolute went vertical. Wolfe grabbed for a handhold and fell against the lock door as the secondary came on, then gravity shifted as the ship’s own system went on.
He looked out the tiny bull’s-eye port at the shrinking parking area, the suddenly tiny gravsled, and, from the copse of trees, two gravlighters lifting out of concealment.
“Hit it hard,” Wolfe called. “Our customers just got stopped!”
• • •
Wolfe let the radiation counter clatter for a moment, shut it off, and set it down beside the case. “Whatever’s in there is hot,” he said. “I have no intention of opening it, even in space wearing a suit. I’ll take their word it’s what the rebels want.”
“Good,” Chesney said. “What about the money?”
“It’s real, as far as I know,” Joshua said. “But I’m hardly an expert on Bulnes’ coins of the realm. Here, give me a hand.”
He and Chesney lifted the case down the passageway, lashed it down in the small cargo hold, and returned to the control room.
“I need a drink,” Chesney said. “You?”
“Maybe later.”
Wolfe waited until Chesney had the cork out of the bottle, about to pour.
“How much did the Inspectorate pay you to rat them out?”
The bottle jerked and wine spilled across the table. “What are you talking about?”
“Come on, Merrett,” Wolfe said. “When I came out of my room, before we went in-atmosphere, you were talking to somebody. You heard me, jumped like a goosed doe, then came up with a cockamamie explanation that the rebels were the chatty sort. How much?”
Chesney eyed Wolfe. Joshua took a small pistol out of his shirt, laid it down on the table, put his hand on top of it.
“Half a mill,” Chesney said reluctantly.
“Where’s it to be delivered? I assume you’re not planning to go back to Bulnes and collect?”
“I have a number-call account. They’re transferring funds now.”
“Good,” Wolfe said. “You can com your banker right now, and transfer 250K to an account number I’m going to give you. Remember, the split’s equal, right?”
Chesney blinked, then a smile creased his face. “You don’t care about them any more than I do.”
“Why should I?” Joshua said. “I’m no more political than you.”
Chesney picked up his glass, drained it, refilled it.
“You know,” he said, “I might have found myself a real partner.”
“Maybe,” Joshua said. “But don’t think that game works twice. Not on me, not on the people we’re making the delivery to.”
“Of course not,” Chesney said. “For openers, their security — the Inspectorate I heard you call it — wouldn’t have any reason to pay me if they had both sets of baddies and the geetus as well, now would they? This way, they’ve already made the transfer, and now they’re waitin
g for me to tip them the wink once I reach Osirio to get the rest. They’ll be waiting a very long time. Partner.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
NOT FOR PUBLIC RELEASE
Do NOT DISTRIBUTE BELOW EXECUTIVE LEVEL
The management of Hykord Transport GmbH has determined we will no longer accept cargoes either directly or for transshipment from companies who are part of our Galactic Efficiency Group for the following sectors:
Alkeim, Garfed, Montros, Porphyry, Q11, Rosemont, Saphir, TangoZed, Ullar, Y267, and Yttr.
In addition, no cargo intended for any of the so-called Outlaw Worlds will be accepted.
Finally, we no longer accept shipments to any scientific or military presence in the worlds formerly part of the Al’ar sectors.
This decision has been reluctantly reached not because of various distressing rumors, which are utterly absurd to anyone who takes a moment to consider their probability, but due to the hugely increased insurance premiums leveled.
Management hopes that this situation will change shortly, and Hykord Transport GmbH will be able to return to its proud motto: “You Crate It, We Carry It. Anywhere, Anytime.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“It looks tropical down there,” Chesney said gloomily.
“The gazetteer agrees with you,” Wolfe said. “I quote: ‘Most of the planet is tropical to subtropical, with extensive rain forests which have been heavily exploited by the Osirians. These forests are the home of many interesting fauna, including the primeval and exceedingly dangerous tarafny, click here for holo, many species of snakes, including the aggressive, dangerous-to-man …’” Wolfe let his voice trail off.
“This is the motherworld,” Chesney said in amazement. “They’re not decadent — you have to have accomplished something for it to get rotten. And why am I always going to places where the bugs are not only bigger than I am, but carnivorous?”
“You must’ve been lucky in another life,” Wolfe said.
“Ah well,” Chesney sighed. “Here we go. In-atmosphere. Ring up our clients if you would, and see if they’ve got the soup on.”
Wolfe touched sensors, opened a mike. “Freedom,” he said.
