Pirates of the Outrigger Rift

by Gary Jonas

  “Quite a production, don’t you think?”

  “He isn’t a fool. If you’re going to perform fraud on this scale you have to go big. We have some good initial data, but the last piece of evidence is in the hands of Sai Collins. If I had that, I could prove the corrupt connection between Casey and Randol. Unfortunately, the Confed has prevented our security teams from doing their job.”

  Chandler nodded. “I think it had more to do with preventing them from destroying any more starport property.”

  “An unfortunate event. They acted with too much enthusiasm, to be sure.”

  “They are certainly a lively bunch. I still have a sore jaw from their giddy exuberance.”

  Maxwell sighed. “Again, Mr. Chandler, I apologize. My hope is that we can reset our relationship since I truly believe we got off track initially. That’s why I’m offering a proposition.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “If Randol gets hold of the datalifter and the pilot before I do, valuable information could be lost.”

  “So what exactly are you saying?” Chandler asked.

  “If you catch them, I’ll make it worth your while to bring them to me instead of allowing Randol to destroy the evidence.”

  Chandler licked his lips. “Would you? How much do you think my while is worth?”

  “A lot more than Randol is paying you. Remember my offer, Mr. Chandler. Call me when you have them and I will ensure that your financial problems are over.”

  Maxwell’s face disappeared and was replaced by the star field. Chandler returned to finish his shower. He had a lot to think about.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Trent was an agworld with just a few small urban areas with supply shops and entertainment venues for bored farmhands. Hank and Sai landed in a town called Last Chance, which consisted of little more than a fuel depot, a bar called Rocco’s Paradise Saloon—apparently a franchise—and a general mercantile resting in a clearing cut out of a thorny and inhospitable forest of tangled shrubs. They stopped at the store to purchase supplies just in case Chandler didn’t come through.

  If they did have to run, Hank didn’t know how long they would have to lay low. Thorne wasn’t likely to forget them any time soon, there was a corporate price on their heads, and their one safe haven appeared to be a pipe dream.

  Still, he had to admit that the prospect of sitting on some rock in the middle of nowhere wasn’t so bad, considering the company.

  Sai selected some rough-weather clothing, holding the pants up against herself to check the length. Hank drank in the sight of her. No, he couldn’t complain.

  “Honey, we’ve pretty much bought out the store. I think we’d better be clearing out,” Hank said.

  Sai smiled and carried an armload of supplies to the check stand. “I wasn’t sure what sort of weather to buy for, so I covered all the bases.”

  “That’s a good bet. You never can tell what you might need, or how much. From the looks of this stuff, I think we’ll be okay for about six months, more if we can find a nice spot.”

  “You folks looking for a homestead, or are you prospecting?” the clerk asked. He was a manta, a dark, oily-skinned being with a sleek dorsal organ that fell down his spine, and two smaller flaps folded along either side of his triangular face. He rang up their purchases using his uppermost set of forelimbs while his middle set folded the clothes and packed them into bags. The manta was a blur of effortless, fluid motion.

  “Both and neither. We’ll take it as it comes. We’re just looking forward to getting away from it all.”

  “Well, you’re definitely headed in the right direction for that,” the clerk said.

  After paying the manta, they left the mercantile and walked along the dirt road toward the tiny landing pad.

  “I still don’t understand it,” Sai said. “Chandler told me we’d be expected.”

  “Maybe the message just never got through.”

  “But without Randol’s protection, we may never be able to come back home.”

  “Would that really be so bad?” Hank asked.

  She looked at him and gave him a half smile. “You’re the country boy, remember? I’m a city girl at heart. I need the rush of traffic, the lights of a city skyline, the concrete and steel. Let’s face it, Hank. I can’t live without a proper toilet.”

  “You’re going to have to for a while. Hell, in six months you’ll be barefoot, milking cows, baling hay, working in the garden, and building campfires by rubbing sticks together.”

  “Well, what will you be doing?”

  “Drinking beer in the ship. Why do you think I moved away from home? I got tired of doing all that work!”

  In the heat-distorted distance Hank could make out the shape of the Elsa, along with that of another ship parked next to her.

  “Something’s wrong,” Hank said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That ship wasn’t there before.”

  “So? Ships land here all the time.”

  “Elsa didn’t tell me about it.”

  “Maybe she scanned it and figured it was okay.”

  “No. She would have told me if any ship was landing. She’s a lot more paranoid than I am.” Hank raised the comlink on his wrist to his lips. “Elsa, are you all right?”

  No answer.

  “We’re in deep trouble, Sai.”

  As they neared, they saw a line of fifteen men in exo-armor waiting for them.

  “Should we run?” Sai asked.

  “Where to? There isn’t any place to hide. We’re completely in the open. Besides, maybe we can talk our way out.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “No, but I’m supposed to try to comfort the hysterical female in such a situation. I really think we’re screwed.”

  Hank was careful to keep his hands away from his pistol as they approached. The men seemed content to wait for them to get there at their own speed. Finally, they were within shouting distance.

  “Hank Jensen and Sai Collins?” the squad leader called.

  “Nope, wrong folks. I’m Kimio Tanaka, and this is my wife, Lizbeth.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Jensen, we’re here to help you. We were sent by Lord Randol. There was a mistake yesterday. Our man Jorgeson has disappeared. We suspect that he was bought off. Randol wants very much to speak with you, and he offers his protection. Do you need to see our credentials?”

  “Not really,” Hank said. “The fact that you aren’t shooting at us right now is good enough for me.” He turned to Sai. “See? I told you we could talk our way out of it.”

  The squad leader shook Hank’s hand. “We apologize for the confusion. We’re still looking into how this happened. Let’s get started. If you would follow us?”

  “Sure, that’s fine. One question though. How did you keep my ship from warning me? I have an automatic security system that calls me whenever someone comes near her.”

  “We know you are justifiably jumpy right now. We wanted to avoid you panicking and starting a firefight so we set up a suppression field to interrupt communications so we could get a chance to talk.”

  “Could you turn it off? I need to signal to get the doors open.”

  “Certainly.” The man took a device from his belt and aimed it at the ship. He pressed a button and immediately Hank’s comlink came to life.

  “There’s a ship, Hank! You’d better get out of there!”

  “Relax,” Hank said. “I know. These guys are Randol’s men.”

  “Not them, you idiot! There’s another ship in attack mode, swooping down on our position.”

  Hank looked up in time to see an angular-shaped, silver craft diving toward him. “Run! Everyone scatter! Elsa, dust off! You’re an easy target.”

  Elsa blasted from the surface just as plasma bolts struck the ground all around them. She managed to break away unharmed, almost barbecuing one of Randol’s security men in the process.

  Hank and Sai ran toward a depression in
the ground while Randol’s men tried ineffectively to hit the small ship with their pulse rifles. If nothing else, Hank was glad they made the attempt, as it drew the fire away from Sai and himself.

  Keeping low, Hank called Elsa. “Take them out, girl!”

  Hank and Sai watched as Elsa banked and rolled into position, vectoring toward the attacking ship that appeared too intent on the ground activity to notice. With one blast from her plasma cannon, Elsa struck the ship in the engine section, causing a small explosion. The smaller ship listed to one side and began losing altitude. The pilot had enough control to bring the ship to a rough landing a few hundred meters away. Smoke trailed from the ship’s damaged engine.

  The hold opened and men poured out. They crisscrossed the area with blaster fire. Several of Randol’s men flew back screaming as they were struck. Both sides took heavy losses.

  Elsa turned for a second pass and rained fire upon the field. The attackers fled for what cover they could find.

  Hank took the opportunity to move. Dragging Sai with him, he crossed the flat landing pad and headed toward the woods.

  “There are more ships entering orbit,” Elsa said in his ear. “Let me pick you up. We’d better get out while we have the chance.”

  As they ran, a small, one-man ship with MARLOWE emblazoned on the side landed almost directly in front of them. The hatch opened and Chandler waved toward them. “Hey! Over here! Remember me? Come on, and I’ll get you out of there!”

  Hank waved back but continued running. “No thanks, pal. We’ve got our own ride.”

  Elsa swooped down and caught the two in her tractor beam, along with a section of topsoil. Not waiting to draw them in, the ship raced away from the battle, sweeping Hank and Sai through the air behind her.

  “Yee-haw!” Hank screamed. “What a rush!”

  The cargo hold opened and the tractor beam pulled them inside. Hank and Sai landed hard, with dirt and grass flying all around them. Momentum carried Hank forward. He tripped over a hovercycle and landed on the pod containing the frozen pirate. Sai landed on top of him. He turned to her and grinned. “You know, we haven’t done it here yet.”

  “You are a sick man.”

  “Oh, come on, your life isn’t complete until you’ve done it on top of a frozen pirate.”

  Brock rose from the culvert and dusted himself off. Morons. He was surrounded by morons. This time they’d nearly gotten him killed. At least the girl had escaped again.

  He’d never counted on being shipped around Manspace, running around with inbred pirates and incompetent assassins. He had certainly never figured he’d be shot down on some rock, and in his wildest dreams he never imagined that he would see Mike Chandler again.

  Mike’s ship, the Marlowe, landed in the middle of the firefight attempting to pick up the girl and pilot. What was his angle? Brock never figured Mike for the bounty-hunter type. He’d been on the run too many times himself. So if the price on the girl’s head wasn’t it, what was the connection?

  Brock filed the question away for later and ran toward one of the intact pirate ships. He didn’t want to be left behind. As much as he would have rather stayed on the planet instead of returning with the pirates, until Brock had the actual coordinates of the base, he couldn’t end his mission. He was convinced that sooner or later he would catch a break.

  The ship was filling up fast. Just as he got to the doorway, the man in front of him turned and said “There’s no more room. Get the next ship.”

  “What if there isn’t another one?” Brock asked.

  “Not my problem.”

  Brock grabbed the man by the lapels and twisted, throwing the man into a tight turn across his shoulders and off the ship to the ground. “Now it is,” Brock said, sealing the hatch behind him. “Moron.”

  As the ship took off, Brock could see the man on the ground cursing and flipping him off as the exhaust kicked up dust around him.

  It was packed in the hold. Brock sat on the deck, leaned his back against the wall, and shut his eyes. He was going to try to sleep as best he could rather than try to make conversation. Speaking to these morons was pointless.

  Unfortunately, someone else wanted to talk. He felt someone kick at the side of his boot.

  “Hey, asshole,” a gruff voice said.

  Brock squinted one eye open and looked up. A behemoth of a man stood towering over him. He shook his head and closed his eye again.

  Thud! Again the man kicked Brock’s boot.

  “That was my brother you kicked off the ship,” the man said.

  “So?”

  “Well, me and my brother should be together. You kicked him off. I don’t like that.”

  Brock opened up both eyes and stared up at the brother. “We’ve taken off already. But if you want to be with your brother so damn badly, I can throw you out the airlock and you can join him.”

  “I’d like to see you try, little man,” the brother said. He made a big show of making a fist and rubbing it in anticipation of a fight.

  “I don’t think you would, Mattie,” a voice interrupted. It was Glenn, the new pirate leader. He walked over to them and looked at the pair. “I’ve seen what Brock can do, and I think you’d better back off. I’m sure your brother is fine.”

  “But—”

  “That’s an order, Mattie,” Glenn said.

  Reluctantly, Mattie turned away, glaring back at Brock as he did so.

  Glenn sat down next to Brock.

  “Thanks,” Brock said. “So why is a pirate lord slumming with the grunts on a ground mission? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  Glenn smiled. “I want this organization to be a bit more ambitious, more professional. I want to make sure that everyone is pulling their weight. I can’t always do that from the Naglfar. Listen, Brock, I have been getting good reports about you. I need men who have intelligence, not just ruthlessness. From what I’ve been hearing you have both.”

  “I dance a mean rumba too,” Brock said.

  Glenn laughed. “I’ll be calling you up to the admin section tomorrow when we get back to base. I may have an opening for a commander and I think you’ll do. I can make it worth your while. You’re better than this and you know it.”

  Brock nodded. “Sounds good to me. I ain’t in this for the adventure. I’m in it for the cash.”

  Glenn smiled. “See? A man after my own heart.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Hank had followed Randol’s security ship to Mordi and landed. This time they were welcomed. After cleaning up a bit, they were herded into the library to meet Randol and Chandler.

  Hank had never seen such a thing in all his life. Randol’s library was loaded with real paper books, true antiques, not reproductions. How the hell did he find them all?

  Randol’s chair also fascinated him. He wondered if there was a toilet built into the seat. The old guy never seemed to leave it to take a leak. It had so many other gadgets built in that it would be a crying shame to leave out the handiest.

  Sai had given the old man the sealed pouch with the datastore. Randol had the password and was able to unseal it, leaving the data intact. He had at first attempted to pore over the information himself, but it soon became obvious that he needed Sai’s assistance. Since Casey trusted her, Randol reasoned that he should do so as well. Sai jumped into the task with vigor.

  Hank was completely out of his league. But he didn’t mind, since the little guy in the monkey suit kept bringing him beers.

  Chandler stood in the corner watching him with a disgusted expression plastered on his face. Hank figured he was pissed because the guy in the monkey suit didn’t bring any for him. He wasn’t a guest; he was hired help.

  Sai had three holos up, displaying columns of figures and bank account numbers, and she was explaining them to Randol.

  “Well, this data explains a lot,” Randol said. “Casey had been tracking correlations between bank asset fluctuations and pirate activity. Essentially, where money seemed to show up
after pirate raids.”

  “And I actually recognize some of this data as what Casey had me pulling from the Grid,” Sai said. “I didn’t know what it related to at the time, but put in context it makes sense. It looks like every event of piracy was followed by a series of transactions. I have a list of related account numbers, hundreds of them, where money has been transferred.”

  “Unfortunately, they’re drawn on the Galactic Bank. There is no way to determine who holds the accounts, and no way to access them.”

  “Can’t you just order them to tell you? After all, you are a lord,” Hank said as he swilled his beer.

  “No one orders the Galactic Bank to do anything. They are immune. Not even the Confed can regulate them. A necessary evil to encourage commerce,” Randol said.

  Hank grinned. “I always hear that, and I wonder—where is the necessary good? Don’t you think there would have to be necessary good to counter the necessary evil? I mean yin and yang and matter and anti-matter and …” As his logic drifted away from him, Hank was beginning to realize that he had possibly had a few more beers than was wise. In fact, he didn’t have any idea how many beers he had consumed—he’d lost count after the first eight—and the butler refused to allow him to continue building the pyramid he had started in the corner. He tried to be responsible, but without a pyramid to keep track how could anyone know when they’d had enough?

  “Excuse me, but is there a bathroom in this place? Or should I use your chair?”

  Randol stared at Hank for a moment before answering. “It’s down the hall.”

  “Fine. I suppose I wouldn’t share if it were my chair, either.” Hank then began to stagger out of the room.

  “Does anyone have a clue what he was referring to?”

  No one spoke.

  While Hank was gone, Sai delved more deeply into the files. There was a mass of raw data but no final report or conclusions listed. Casey had been stopped before he had the chance to put it all together.

  It was obvious that Thorne was being fed critical information. Not a single protected shipment had been molested, but fully twenty percent of shipments worth more than ten billion credits had been seized. Now she had the list of accounts that had benefitted from the corporation’s loss. The next step was obvious to her.