“I’ve heard of it, but I’d always thought it was a myth.”
“Well, it isn’t, and whatever you heard is probably true.”
“Not your first trip, then?”
“No.”
“Maybe you’re not such a clean-living, straight-up white knight after all. Crossways doesn’t sound like the sort of place heroes hang out.”
“Shut up, Max.”
Once through the low atmosphere docking bays, Ben hailed an auto-cab, and the little tub-shaped vehicle bounced them halfway round the circumference of the station.
“Who is this Mother Ramona?” Max asked. “What does she deal in?”
“She doesn’t deal in narcotics, and she doesn’t deal in death. That’s good enough for me. Just be polite, speak when you’re spoken to, and if she offers to make love to you on the couch, don’t refuse.”
“But . . .”
“Don’t refuse. She considers that very impolite.”
• • •
“Ben Benjamin.” Mother Ramona held out her hand, and he took it. “I’ve secured you both passage on a freighter heading for Chenon.” She looked at Max.
“Who’s your shy friend?”
Ben didn’t have to be empathic to know how uncomfortable Max was in Mother Ramona’s lair. He was trying hard not to stare at her, but his eyes kept resting on the marbled skin displayed to excellent advantage by her low-cut dress. Maybe the Ecolibrian in him was having a hard time with the fact that she was an exotic, but the man in him was definitely drawn by the cleavage.
“Max Constant, one of my new business partners.”
“Finished with the Trust?”
“I think it’s finished with me.”
Max shuffled his feet. Ben hoped he’d not act like an ass.
“So, you said you had something to trade. What are you selling?” Mother Ramona pushed the clutter to one side and perched on the edge of her workbench. Her skirt fell open to reveal her elegant pale legs. Ben tried not to smile. He knew she was doing it for Max’s benefit.
“Platinum. A lot of platinum. Or rather—potential platinum.”
“Ah.” She nodded.
“Can you broker a transaction? For a percentage, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And I’ll need a short-term loan against it.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Let me show you the planetary survey.”
A few minutes later Mother Ramona looked up from the reader and nodded. “You’ve got your loan, Benjamin.”
“Good. Do we need to go through channels? Is Chaliss still running Crossways?”
“Chaliss was a thoroughly unscrupulous man. He met with . . . an unfortunate accident. My dear friend Norton Garrick seems to have stepped into his golden slippers. Garrick and I go . . . way back.” She patted the couch absentmindedly and smiled. “I’ll make arrangements in return for the appropriate commission.”
Mother Ramona looked straight past Ben at Max, who shuffled again. “What else do you want?” She turned to Ben.
“You’re sure you can trust Garrick?”
“He’s a businessman.”
“Can we buy his loyalty?”
“Platinum buys you a whole lot of that, especially from me.”
“I know. That’s why we’re here. Will it buy Garrick? Is his word good?”
“I can vouch for him.”
“You’re that close?”
She smiled.
“Can you set up a meeting with him? I have something to attend to first on Chenon and then I need to talk to Garrick. There’s big profit in this for everyone.”
“Oh, Commander Benjamin, I love it when you talk dirty.”
Briefly he told her everything he knew about the situation, including Cara’s relationship with Ari van Blaiden. When Mother Ramona agreed to a deal, she stuck to it. Buying loyalty from a stranger seemed to be a lot more secure than trusting a friend.
“You know what I think?” Mother Ramona leaned forward. “Since the Trust has already said you’re all as good as dead, they’re playing for keeps.”
“The colony is in the way, and so are the psi-techs. I guess one big calamity now stops people asking questions later,” Ben said. “Who worries about the dead? They’ll hold a memorial service and move on. It’ll blaze in the headlines and on the space-log for a while, then everyone will forget.”
“According to my contact on Earth, the Trust’s Board got the same story that was released to the public. The settlers have been wiped out by a virus. They’ve promised a thorough investigation, but naturally they’re cautious because of possible infection.”
“That must have caused a huge stink on Earth,” Max said.
Mother Ramona’s blue hair fell across one eye as she nodded. “But the news broke after the second ark ship left, so the top Ecolibrian heavyweights were all out of the way. The FPA is smoothing it over with the other fundy factions with a sweetener from the Trust.”
“Any news of the second ark?” Max asked. “There are thirty thousand settlers still out there somewhere.”
“Nothing yet. I’ve got spies out. We traced it through three gates and then lost it—in the records anyway—at the Dromgoole Hub. I’ve got people checking their databanks and jump logs. We’ll find them if there’s anything to find.”
“Since there isn’t a plague, do you think we can presume that whatever is happening on Olyanda isn’t happening with the knowledge of the Board?” Ben asked.
“That would be my educated guess.”
“Is that good or bad?” Max asked.
“We’ll never find out sitting here,” Ben said.
Mother Ramona stood up. “I’ll make a call about the platinum. Then I’d like to get to know your new associate.”
Max watched her leave the room and breathed out. “What does she mean by get to know?”
“I warned you about the couch.”
“Yes, but she’s . . .”
“What? Older than you? A criminal? An exotic?”
“She’s not Gen.”
“This is for Gen, and for Cara, and the Ecolibrians. Don’t let me down.”
“Uh—I won’t, but bits of me might.”
Mother Ramona came back to the doorway.
“I’ve found a lab that can test your samples right away and certify them. My driver will take you.”
Ben nodded.
“Take two of my enforcers,” she said. “The lab’s straight, as far as straight goes on Crossways, but don’t take stupid risks.” Mother Ramona handed Ben a credit chip and waved him to the door. Then she turned to Max.
“And now, Max Constant, tell me all about yourself. Is this your first visit to Crossways?” She stepped forward, smiling.
• • •
Cara settled down to contact Ben at the appointed time.
*Hello, love.*
*Hello, yourself.*
*Where are you?*
*Mother Ramona’s den. Where are you?*
*Our bed.*
*Ah.*
She caught the echo of thoughts that made her heat up in all kinds of unexpected places. She giggled.
*What’s new?* she asked.
*This afternoon I deposited more credits in the bank than I ever thought to see in my lifetime. I’ve got a clean account, DNA matched and totally legitimate. Crossways has an excellent banking system. How about you? You sound tired.*
*We’ve been cleaning up after the storm. The settlers have been uncommonly cooperative, but Lorient has been giving us grief over the arrival of the wheat shipment.*
*It arrived? Crowder can’t send a transport home, but he can send an extra shipment to back up a false story. What’s going on?*
*It’s a drone pod. Probably been on its way for some time. It landed on the floodplain by the estuary off course by almost a hundred klicks, thanks to the storm. I tried to tell Lorient that we’ve more to worry about than using resources to retrieve something we probably won’t need, but he’s taken prairie wagons to
get the seed. Damn stupidity. It’ll take him days to get there, even presuming there are no more storms.* She paused, conscious of the fact that Ben didn’t need bothering with her troubles. *The upside is that it keeps him out of our hair for a while.*
*Have you got a psi-tech with him in case of emergency?*
*No. He won’t have any of ours anywhere near him. He’s taken a mechanical comm unit, much good may it do him on this bloody planet.*
*You can’t help someone who won’t be helped. You take care of yourself, you hear? Get back in touch tomorrow. We’re leaving here tonight for Chenon.*
*Stay safe.*
*Always.*
She tried not to make a disparaging remark. He was good at taking care of others. Himself? Not so much.
• • •
Max ran his hand across what was left of his hair, now cropped to stubble. He studied his reflection in the mirror in Mother Ramona’s den. He hardly recognized himself in the practical flight suit.
Ben’s long hair lay in strands on the floor. Ben caught his eye and shrugged as he fastened his own buddysuit neck. “It’ll grow back. Got your ID straight?”
Max nodded. “Ric Dubeau. How do I address you if I’m supposed to be your assistant? Are you Fredo or Mr. Damiani?”
“I’m a freelance systems engineer. That probably doesn’t rate formal address on Guaylar. Call me Fredo.”
They left the Dixie in dock on Crossways. Ben paid a hefty bribe to make sure she stayed untouched, and they caught a freighter to Nevitz Station. From there they hopped a regular shuttle to Chenon. In less than twenty-six hours they were docking at the spaceport with forged papers and altered ident chips. Max’s heart hammered so hard that he felt sure the immigration officer would hear it and pull him up, but the false ident was obviously good enough.
Max envied Ben, who seemed to breeze through the whole procedure as if he hadn’t a care. Once through security, out of the terminal, and into Arkhad City, however, Ben exhaled sharply, and it was only then that Max realized he’d probably been equally nervous.
“Do you know where we’re going?” Max asked.
“Somewhere I’ve never been before. Somewhere well away from my apartment.”
“You have an apartment here?”
“I did, presuming my grandmother hasn’t disposed of it already. Did Mother Ramona say how long ago they pronounced us dead?”
“If she did, I didn’t register it. Sorry.”
“No worries. I don’t intend to try and contact Nan. I don’t want any attention drawn to her or Rion and the family. My apartment’s on the south side. We’ll try the east of the city.”
Max was grateful that Ben knew his way around. They checked into an unremarkable three-room business suite in a mid-range hotel, the kind of accommodation a reasonably affluent freelancer might afford between jobs. It had the advantage of being hooked up to every communications net on the planet.
“I need sleep,” Max moaned as he dropped his bag on the common room floor. “My body clock is completely scrambled.”
While Max tested the bed, looked in closets, and examined the plumbing, Ben ordered tea and sat straight down in front of the comm console and computer matrix.
“I’m going to try and get past the office security systems at Crowder’s HQ,” Ben said. “I need to access the main database.”
“Can they trace you back to here?”
“Maybe—if they’re looking, but not if I’m careful. Look, Max. You don’t have to get involved. You’ve got a life of your own to sort out. I brought you back because you’d be dead meat on Olyanda, but you can please yourself, now.”
“I told Gen that we’d find a way for us to stay together,” Max said.
“Nearly getting yourself toasted by Lorient’s heavies is a hell of a way to do that!”
“Yeah, I thought I made a very thorough job of it.”
“What will you do now?”
Max had intended to cut and run, and find a bolt-hole big enough for himself and Gen and Firstborn, but when it came to the crunch, it didn’t feel right. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll come along for the ride, at least until it gets rough. I’m not saying I’ll be any good at the rough stuff. I’m a natural-born accountant, but I don’t like the idea of thirty thousand settlers still frozen on a transport somewhere. It scares the hell out of me that these kiddies might just leave them floating—or worse. It could have been me on there.”
Ben nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll not deny it’ll be useful to have backup.”
“Even from me? I thought you thought I was a pain in the butt.”
Ben shrugged slightly. “Gen’s a friend. I trust her judgment.”
“Thanks. I’ll not let you down. I’ve got a vested interest in what happens on Olyanda. I want Gen away from Olyanda, safe, with me. After this is all over, I’ll probably get a job with some private firm, cooking their books. Legally, of course. I’ve worked for Alphacorp, so I’ve got all the right qualifications. It’s boring.” He shrugged, “But, hey, I’m good at figures, and it’s steady. With a family to support I’ll need the credits. I’m kinda looking forward to being a family man. I might even apply to work for the Trust. I reckon they owe me.”
“Would you get in?”
“I’ll keep the Ric Dubeau identity. I’ve got a few strings I can pull in the records department. Someone I knew from Earth who transferred here to Chenon, in fact. I’ll probably be able to get a posting on one of the better colony worlds and take Gen with me. Olyanda’s given me the taste for colony life.”
“You have a contact in the records department?”
“Yes.”
“A good contact?”
He shrugged. “I’ve not seen her for a while, but good enough. An old girlfriend.”
“Then we might be able to take a shortcut through Crowder’s systems. Can you get in touch with her?”
“I think so.”
“Do it.”
Max tapped Ben’s handpad showing local time. It was the middle of the long night.
“Oh, okay. Let’s catnap now, and then we’ll be fit for action when everyone wakes up.”
Chapter Thirty-one
CONFRONTATION
Ben and Max shouldered past workday pedestrians along brightly lit traffic canyons gouged between slab-sided buildings, open to the black night sky far above. Ornamental gates gave way to a sudden oasis of calm. Max had made the call first thing in the morning and arranged a meeting here in a public park near the records building at morning break. Morning was relative on Chenon, but false daytime was almost convincing. The park was a showpiece of botanical engineering with multihued flora from a dozen worlds competing to catch the eye. It was too manicured after Olyanda.
They strolled to the appointed spot, third bench from the rotunda, beneath the spreading branches of a chestnut tree, a magnificent Earth specimen, and waited in silence.
“Max?” The woman who approached them was small and dark, not pretty, but lively. “Max? What have you done to yourself?”
Max’s bruises were fading now, but they still showed yellow around his eyes.
“Not self-inflicted, I can assure you. Lorin, this is a good friend of mine.” No names, no rank. “We need a favor and it’s a big one.”
“Am I going to regret this?”
“I hope not,” Ben chipped in quietly. “But there are lives at stake. Maybe lots of lives. We need information.”
She looked to Max, her eyes wide.
“It’s important, Lorin.”
“What have you gotten yourself into, Max? You can’t just expect me to break the law without knowing what it’s all about. You and I go back a long way, but . . .”
“Just talk to . . . to Fredo, and make up your own mind. Please. It’s important.”
Ben took Lorin’s arm and with a sideways glance at Max led her over the dusky pink of the garden’s well-manicured lawns. When they were out of earshot, Max saw them turn to each other and begin to talk, heads
close. At one point Lorin started to walk away from him, and Ben called her back, still talking intently. Then, after about five minutes, he stopped and backed off, hands spread apart as though he’d said all he could say and was waiting for an answer. When he didn’t get one, he started to turn away, yet even from this distance Max could see Lorin mouth the word: wait.
When they walked back, Max could see the tightness on Lorin’s face.
Ben raised one eyebrow slightly. “I had to tell her . . . about the . . . deal.”
“Ah, yes, the deal,” Max said.
“I agreed a hundred thou.”
“Fair enough.”
“In a coded account.” Lorin looked somewhere over Max’s left shoulder and then down at her feet.
Max nodded.
She half smiled, a facial movement that didn’t reach her eyes. “I should have asked for twice that, shouldn’t I?”
“Lorin . . .” Max said.
“Oh, don’t worry, lover. I said a hundred thou and I meant it. What do you need?”
“A copy of planetary contract EXC116/Sec18,” Ben said. “And I need to know whether planetary survey EXC116/RB809 has been filed and if so under what classification.” He didn’t need a copy of the file; it was the data from Gen’s first survey. “Is that too much to ask?”
“That doesn’t seem so top secret.”
“It’s not top secret. Probably not even classified . . . but make sure you don’t leave a trace. I don’t want anyone to know the information’s been accessed.”
“No problem.”
“Here’s where to send it.” Ben held out his handpad and Lorin met him knuckles to knuckles.
“All right. Be waiting. Two hours.” She left quickly without looking back.
“Well, I didn’t expect that!” Max said as they watched her retreating figure. “I thought we might talk her into it for the sake of being on the side of the white hats, but . . .”
“Never underestimate the power of wealth.”
“Yeah . . . I guess.”
• • •
Two hours later Ben accessed the Trust’s computer system from a public terminal in the transit lounge at the port, found the documents he needed already sitting in the anonymous mailbox he’d set up via Mother Ramona before leaving Crossways. He forwarded them to Mother Ramona and downloaded a copy into his handpad, confirmed the credit transfer, then got out fast in case anyone had traced Lorin’s snooping.
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