Pirates of the Outrigger Rift

by Gary Jonas

  Randol quietly sat back down. Everyone in the room remained silent for a moment as the reality of what just happened set in.

  Oke sprouted an almost childlike smile. “What?” he asked. “Why, this is wonderful! How did you come to see the light?”

  Randol remained silent.

  “Is there something wrong?” Hemming asked, staring closely at Randol. “This is completely unlike you. Is there more going on here than we realize?”

  Randol shook his head. “I have reconsidered my position and decided that it is in the best interest of Nebulaco. It’s as simple as that.” He looked down at his shoes and closed his mouth tightly.

  “All I can say,” said Oke, “is that it’s about time.”

  Maxwell grinned. “I, too, am heartened by this change of position, Lord Randol. Are you sure this is what you want to do? After all, there are other options if you choose to go down that path. Of course, those options could result in dire consequences.”

  Randol gave Maxwell a cold stare. “Let’s just have the formal vote and be done with this.”

  Maxwell’s smile did not waver. “As you wish, milord.” He rose and cleared his throat. “On the resolution that the corporation be redistributed, with each lord selling off five percent of his or her holdings, and with the shares being purchased at today’s market value, which currently stands at one thousand, two hundred and thirteen credits per share, such a resolution requiring a unanimous vote of the Council of Lords during formal session, how do you vote? Lord Oke?”

  Oke smiled. “Aye.”

  “Lady Hemming?” Maxwell said.

  “Aye,” she said.

  “Lord Randol?”

  Silence.

  “Lord Randol?” Maxwell said. “What is your vote?”

  Randol sighed. “Aye.”

  “The resolution passes,” Maxwell said. “The sales transactions will be processed by the corporate accounting department from your personal holdings, and the stock will be offered on the Exchange. The funds received will be handled by the Galactic Bank and disseminated appropriately. Let the resolution be signed and recorded.”

  Maxwell produced a notescribe, and the lords each placed a palm on the device to legally sign the order. Maxwell then keyed the device to upload the order and execute the stock sale.

  “There is another item on the agenda, which we discussed when we last met: a review of the suspicious entries in Lord Randol’s account,” Maxwell said, holding up his hand to halt the expected questions. “However, I am pleased to announce that this matter seems to have been resolved. It appears that the data was, in fact, manipulated. I wish to proffer my apologies to Lord Randol. My only excuse is that I was doing my job.”

  Oke spoke. “Don’t trouble yourself over it, my dear fellow. I’m so overwhelmed by the outcome of today’s events that everything else is meaningless.”

  “I think you’ll be reconsidering those words soon, Lord Oke,” Randol said.

  “Whatever can you mean? This is wonderful. We should celebrate. And to think, you made it possible.”

  Randol scowled. “Don’t remind me. Celebrate while you can, Oke. But I suggest you prepare yourself for some changes.”

  Hemming entered the conversation. “Quit speaking in riddles. What are you talking about?”

  “The stock we just sold is being gathered together with a huge block of what we had assumed was stock owned by many different entities. In a very short while there will be a new majority stockholder, someone with so much stock that, even with all of our holdings combined, we won’t be able to out-vote him. There will be a new corporate lord, and he will rule as he wills.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Hemming asked.

  Randol grinned. “I couldn’t. They have my daughter.”

  “But if you were under duress, surely we can cancel the sale,” Maxwell said, his voice full of concern.

  Randol shook his head. “It is done. There isn’t anything anyone can do to stop it now.” He turned to face Oke and Hemming. “I just hope you two are happy. You got what you wanted.”

  The Elsa was making good speed. Randol’s mechanics had patched up her drive for the rescue. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.

  Hank watched the viewscreen as they entered the Outrigger Rift. He could see the husks of derelict ships scattered everywhere, along with asteroids and other bits of space junk. All the debris swirled slowly in impossibly complex orbits around the dangerous gravity rifts that gave the area its name.

  “This is like old times,” he said. “Except I would be doing the piloting and you’d be snoring in the bunk back there until we arrived.”

  “It brings back some memories,” Elsa said. “I still remember every recovery and mapping mission.”

  “Well, it helps that we put your mind into our old ship. The memory banks already had our mission data in them. I can’t even remember what I had for lunch.”

  “Pizza,” Elsa said.

  “Crap.”

  “What?”

  “I’m hungry again.”

  Hank concentrated on the minute course adjustments needed to counteract the sudden shifts in gravity and the ever-present asteroids as they closed in on the pirate base.

  Chandler sat beside him. Sai was in the back getting the vacsuits ready. Hank didn’t know what to make of Chandler. He wasn’t a bad sort, really. He had his good points, but he was too damned moody for Hank’s taste, and the man had the unforgivably annoying habit of being right all the time.

  “We’re almost there,” Hank said. “That’s the rock over there.”

  He pointed to a dark form that was rapidly expanding in the viewscreen. From all outward appearances, it was a barren, deserted asteroid. If their information was correct, there was a pirate base hidden on the far side.

  Sai came into the cockpit to take a look. “Nothing much to look at, is it?”

  “Nope, but it is one hell of a hiding place.”

  Hank slowed their approach and moved in. He flew in low, hugging the surface, following the rugged terrain. He spotted the outcropping in the distance that had served as a landmark on their sketched map and eased the Elsa into a landing next to it.

  Hank switched off the main engines and got out of the pilot's seat. “Here we go, Elsa. Keep your ears open for us. If all else fails, call the Confed. But only as a last resort. We want to get Helen out alive.”

  Hank, Chandler, and Sai got into their vacsuits, packed their weapons and other gear, and then did a final pressure test before exiting the Elsa through the rear airlock.

  It had taken them some time to determine what weapons to bring while they were preparing at Randol’s mansion. The lord had quite an armory, though there was a limited amount of equipment that could be carried practically.

  The asteroid didn’t have a lot of mass, so there was little gravity. It was easy to unload the hovercycles and gear from the hold. Hank looked toward their destination. It was dark country, only dimly lit by the light reflected from the nebulas of the Rift.

  They climbed onto the hovercycles and accelerated across the plain toward the rocky outcropping where the airlock to the base was supposed to be hidden. The speed of the cycles pressed them against the seats and made them hang on tight to the control bars. The magpulse created a spray of dust behind them as they raced forward.

  They slowed as they neared the gray outcropping. They began a slow pass parallel to the rock wall and tried to make out the entrance.

  For a too-long moment they thought they were on a wild goose chase, but then Sai discovered the airlock door. They parked the hovercycles nearby.

  Hank and Chandler drew their pistols and Sai her preferred whisperblade. It was showtime.

  They entered the airlock and cycled through. When they got a green light they broke the seal on their helmet visors.

  “Jeesh! It stinks in here!” Hank said.

  Sai smiled and Chandler just shook his head.

  The inner door opened, and they faced a long
, dark corridor roughly carved out of the stone heart of the asteroid. Every ten meters, a glow-bulb hung, casting off a soft yellow light. The corridor appeared deserted. So far, so good.

  They padded forward as quietly as possible, each of them scanning the shadows. The gravity field on the base was a comfortable 0.75G.

  Sai took the lead, her whisperblade poised to do a quick recon or a silent kill if needed.

  Hank checked the sketch displayed on his comlink. “Take the next turn.”

  They followed the rocky wall and Sai stopped at the corner. She launched the whisperblade and checked the area ahead using its cameras. The video feed on her com looked clear. She nodded and made the turn. She caught the returning blade in midair with her right hand in a practiced snatching move.

  Just then, they heard the sound of footsteps. Hank reached out, grabbed Sai, and pulled her back. A lone man appeared at the end of the corridor, walking purposefully forward, a toolbox in hand. Just as he passed them, he stopped.

  Sai tensed and prepared to attack.

  The man dug a hand in his pants and scratched himself. “Ah,” the man sighed and walked on, continuing out of sight.

  Sai blew out a breath and rolled her eyes. She peeked around the corner again. It was clear.

  They rushed forward. Chandler kept an eye on the rear. The corridor extended another twenty meters, then forked off. One branch led to the main base, while the other led around the perimeter. They followed the latter.

  Sai reached out with her cyber-psi senses and scanned the area ahead. There was a problem. She held up her hand and motioned for the others to stop. There was a motion sensor ahead of them. She wasn’t sure if it was for security or simply a light control, but she didn’t want to take any chances. She located the wiring leading to the sensor and disabled it before they entered the sensor’s range.

  They continued forward, hearing only occasional voices. It certainly seemed like the security was very lax. The pirates were a disorganized bunch, but Sai thought they’d encounter more of them. Sai watched from the shadows as two pirates passed them by. One stopped to take a leak in the corner.

  “Really?” Hank whispered. “Pissing on the wall? Who the hell does that?”

  “This from the man with the most disgusting cabin in the universe?” Sai said.

  “Yeah, but I don’t piss on the freaking wall. These guys are gross.”

  Vincent Maxwell sat in his office and felt like he owned the universe. Nothing could stop him now. He couldn’t wait to see the looks on their faces when he stepped forward as the proxy representative of a group of buyers with the largest block of Nebulaco stock in existence. Then Randol would fully understand.

  He’d be able to placate Oke and Hemming. He would simply explain that he had only accepted the request because it would have been awful to consider an outsider on the council. He was going to humbly accept because it was better for the corporation. Unfortunately, he would have to resign his position as security director if he became a lord. Luckily, he already had a replacement in mind from his organization. The lords would accept because to fight would require too much effort, although he was sure it would pain them at times when he outvoted them.

  Fools, he thought. They should actually be happy. Ultimately, they would benefit from his leadership. He had already made inroads with other corporations using his intelligence network. Key people in the right positions would provide shipping information to be targeted by Glenn. He would repeat the process for each megacorporation in turn.

  Nebulaco would be exempt from attack. Their profits would rise, and the value of Nebulaco stock would soar. He would become more rich and powerful, and even those fools on the board would be richer than ever before. That was all right because he would be the one in total control of the corporation. Let them have their comfy mansions and easy lives. They were of no consequence to him.

  Then there was the matter of the datalifter, the pilot, and the egotistical detective. If all went well, even that matter would be resolved soon. The detective was financially strapped enough that he just might come through. It would be ideal if Chandler tied all of them together in one nice neat package, ripe for slaughter. He would call to ask for his payment, and Maxwell would send Glenn to dispose of them.

  And who knows? The detective might just deliver them directly to Maxwell. That would be even better. Maxwell opened his desk drawer and removed a blaster. He extended it toward empty space and sighted along its length. He’d cleaned it after using it on Frederick Casey. He could clean it again after using it on the detective, pilot, and datalifter.

  Sometimes, there’s no substitute for doing a job yourself, he thought. He’d learned that lesson a long time ago when he’d had a different name.

  He’d been born Roger Chow. He never knew his father, and his mother was a stim addict who had cast him out at the age of eight. He’d picked pockets to survive the deadly back alleys of Empire City until he’d learned to bust heads. But his muscles weren’t his primary assets. His mind was always working on a better way. Soon, he was in charge of a street gang. They moved from muggings and petty theft to protection rackets, drugs, and prostitution. He was on top of the world, his world.

  But no matter what he accomplished, it was never enough. So he set his sights on the megacorporations, arguably the largest and most powerful criminal organizations in the galaxy. The only difference was that their crimes were legal.

  He knew he had the talent. All he needed was the opportunity. He watched and waited, and then, one day, it came.

  Vincent Maxwell had been a low-level exec just starting his career at Nebulaco, excited about his transfer from Empire City to Nebula Prime. It was a big promotion, and his future looked bright. The real Vincent Maxwell never made it to corporate headquarters. His body was found in a gutter. In his pocket was an identification card with his face but bearing the name of Roger Chow; with the help of a few well-placed bribes, every record related to Maxwell had been modified to match him.

  Thus began his new career.

  Maxwell shot up the ladder by displaying a talent for locating corruption. All the while, he padded his pockets with corporate funds. He orchestrated elaborate conspiracies in the name of Thorne and profited both from the illegal gains and from the search for the pirate villain. At the same time, Maxwell had kept his contacts in the underworld, never dealing with them in his Vincent Maxwell persona.

  It was the perfect plan, and it was about to reach fruition.

  He keyed into his secret account at the Galactic Bank. Surely there had been enough time for the stock transfers to have occurred. Once that happened, he could announce himself and begin his life as Lord Maxwell.

  He pulled up the first account and froze as he looked at the balance in the air before him.

  “The money,” Maxwell whispered. “What happened to the money?” The main menu appeared in the air before him. He raced through the security checks and made a balance inquiry on another account. One by one he checked them all. It was the same for all of them. Not only devoid of stocks, but devoid of credits altogether. Every one of his accounts was completely empty.

  The glowing green zeroes hovered in the air, mocking him.

  What could have happened? His mind snapped to the most likely explanation: Randol’s datalifter, Sai Collins.

  Did she do it on her own, or did Randol put her up to it? Either way, Randol was going to suffer for this. Maxwell still needed Randol’s daughter. But until he got his money back, he would return a piece of Helen each day to Randol. Starting today she wouldn’t be able to count to ten.

  No one messed with Maxwell and got away with it.

  Hank, Sai, and Chandler reached the section of the base adjacent to the detention area without event. It was relatively easy to avoid contact with the pirates. The base seemed to be sparsely populated, and the pirates didn’t seem to be particularly curious or interested in anything going on around them.

  Of course, from the pirates’ persp
ective, they were in the middle of the Outrigger Rift on a hidden base. What were the chances that someone would be able to sneak in?

  Hank checked their position on the com. “If this map is right, we need to make a cut right about here.” He stopped and pointed to the wall.

  Hank dug into their pack and pulled out a handheld unicutter. He donned his safety goggles and flipped the unit on. A bright white energy blade sprang from the tool. Hank set to work digging into the rock wall while Sai and Chandler stood guard, watching down the corridor in either direction.

  The unicutter made quick work of the wall. Soon, light spilled around the edges of the rectangular access hole Hank had created. He clicked off the unit.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m getting ready to make the final cut. Be ready to catch the block.”

  Chandler and Sai moved into position, averting their eyes. “Go,” Chandler said.

  Hank reactivated the unit and finished the cut. The block of stone fell free. It was heavier than any of them had expected. It slipped through their hands, nearly falling on Sai’s foot. She jumped back to avoid being crushed.

  The stone slab crashed to the floor. The three looked at each other. There was nothing to do but go for it.

  Hank charged through the opening, pistol in hand. He turned the corner to his left. Sai and Chandler rushed through the hole behind him.

  The room they rushed into was not the cell block.

  It was the galley.

  And apparently, they had arrived just in time for dinner. The room was filled to capacity with hungry pirates. This may have been why the rest of the base had been relatively unoccupied. It appeared to be meatloaf day.

  “Oops,” Hank said. He stopped suddenly and Sai plowed into him. “Gee, honey, I hope you remembered to call ahead for reservations.”

  Sai’s eyes widened. “Shit.”

  Chandler stopped behind them at the entrance. Damn Tenet! He lied about the map. There was only one thing to do. He had to take the only option available. He pulled his gun.

  Hank looked around.