by J. S. Morin
July snorted, leaning on the arm of Hatchet’s chair. “What kind of vapor-brain doesn’t encrypt his computer in this line of work?”
A few of the gathered outlaws spared a glance in Carl’s direction before Yomin replied. “Who says he didn’t? Earth Parliament mandates certain design flaws that only the manufacturer and Earth intelligence agencies are informed of. It can still be devil’s work to hack them but not with the hardware in your hands.”
Grixlit Gthaa fixed Yomin with a reptilian glare, punctuated by the blinking of his nictitating membranes. “If only the manufacturer and Earth spies know about these flaws, how did you find out about them?” It was the first time Hatchet’s sitharn friend had spoken since the Mobius crew arrived.
Yomin knocked on her own head. “Hello? Earth Navy cyber warfare specialist here. I’m on the list of people to tell. Most of my job on the Odysseus was defensive, but I’m trained in all forms of Earth Navy data-based combat and intelligence.”
Carl threw a dart, missing the bullseye by a few centimeters. “Skip to the part where you found something we can use.” He took a mouthful of beer as he sauntered over toward the serious side of the rec hall.
“I cross-referenced with the factory shipment Jaxon and Rachel tagged. Dragovic is having it delivered to a Harmony Bay courier on the edge of ARGO space.”
Jaxon leaned over to his wife. “Looks like I was wrong about the Nebula Consortium. I owe you a spa trip next time we’re in civilized space.”
“You’re banking on that being far enough off that I forget. I won’t,” Rachel whispered back.
“Lay it out, kid. What’s in it?” Hatchet asked with a scowl. “That bastard better have been playing real loose with customs laws to make this worth all the trouble.”
Yomin grinned. “Not just customs laws. This is a violation of the Primordial Preserve Act. This is genetic material from the beginnings of animal life on Hades Breath. The Earth Academy of Sciences and the Galactic Genetics Federation would cordon off the whole planet if ARGO had jurisdiction. But they don’t, and Harmony Bay outbid the Nebula Consortium and Zammos for exclusive rights to the primordial soup of this place.”
Carl watched Reebo’s dart tosses over his shoulder. “What’s it worth?” The ethics of the transaction were secondary in this case. It wasn’t like anyone could just pour that primordial soup back into the can and pretend nothing had happened. Some little microbes or free-floating mitochondria were getting a first-class ride across the galaxy long before their distant descendants would invent frequent traveler programs.
Yomin pretended not to have heard the question, but she punched away at her datapad. A series of ledger entries appeared. She zoomed until one was readable from anywhere in the rec hall. It showed a pending transaction from Harmony Bay. The amount listed was for 2.5 million terras.
Hatchet let out a low whistle. “This disputed zone might just be worth the trouble after all. Hot damn. That’ll buy us some good hooch.”
If anyone had looked queasy over the notion of selling some world’s precursors to developing animal life, their concerns evaporated in the face of a massive payday. It was just as well that Esper was back on the Mobius, reading stories to the Schultz kids.
Jaxon scratched the top of his head. “So… how do we get a hold of the shipment?”
An image of a ship appeared. “This is the Sokol. It’s a light transport, usually for passenger runs. But this isn’t a large shipment, and it’s not the sort of vessel that throws up a lot of warning signs for Earth Navy customs inspectors. It’s… more heavily armed than its class would indicate. But, operating out this far, that’s not unheard of.”
Carl snorted. He had his own notions about what customs inspectors were looking for. But he kept his mouth shut and let Yomin continue her briefing.
“Looks like they’ve got a rendezvous with another vessel named the Crichton. We’ve got coordinates and an astral depth.”
Hatchet stood and walked up to the holographic image, leaning in close to study the ship. “How fast can this thing move? Can we overtake it before the exchange?”
“Better question,” Carl said, throwing another dart, which hit the cork backing surrounding the target. “Can we fake an ID on that Harmony Bay ship and have them just hand us the cargo?”
“Listen, Ramsey,” Hatchet said through gritted teeth. “I know you’ve got history with those corporate fucks. I was there for some of that. Remember? But we can’t just keep kicking an outfit that big in the cojones. Better just to space a freighter crew and walk away with the goods. Then we can put the cargo up for auction on the black market. Maybe we get the same buyer; maybe we don’t. But we separate ourselves from the event.”
Carl shook his head, splitting his attention between Hatchet and Reebo’s next toss. “I’ll get my hands bloody when I have to, but there’s no reason to murder couriers who are just trying to make a living. You think your little stunt picking up this computer core earned you any points, you’re out of luck. That was strike one, and I’m not sure how many I’m giving out.”
“We go light on the damage, and we can get that ship of theirs up and running again. Free ship. That sounds like reason enough to me. Hell, Ramsey, we’re crushed for bunks on both ships as it is.”
Even if he changed his mind, he couldn’t let Hatchet have his way. You didn’t let a bull run if you hadn’t gotten a chain around its neck already. This was going down Carl’s way or not at all. “Nope. We’re going to get both sides pissed off at each other and get away with it. Yomin’s resume says she can pull it off.”
As Carl lined up another dart, he found Hatchet blocking his shot. The captain of the Hatchet Job tore the dart board from the wall and threw it across the room. “Ramsey, you don’t bring a guy like me in because you want to play tickle-toes with your marks. I’m here to build you a rep as a syndicate boss no one wants to fuck with. I’m gonna do just that, even if I have to—”
Hatchet stopped mid-sentence. As he drew ever closer to Carl, his voice had risen and his fists clenched, until he was nose to nose with the captain of the Mobius. A sword blade hung just below his chin, held rock-still by Samurai. “This is between me and Ramsey.”
Samurai kept his blade hovering at Hatchet’s throat. “And I am Ramsey’s. So, I believe, are you. You act like this is still your ship. But if a man owns a ship, and another man owns his loyalty, where then does ownership of that ship truly lie?”
“It’s all right, Toshiro,” Carl said, gently guiding the blade aside. “I’ll tell you what. You want to know why we do it my way? I’ll give you a couple good reasons. First, that star-drive of mine might look like she belongs in a romance holovid or a beauty pageant, but she’s got an iron streak in her when it comes to murder. I’ll be walking back to Ithaca if I throw a starship crew out an airlock, and you’d be lucky if she didn’t pitch you out there after them. And lest you get any ideas about a change of leadership, let me remind you about the wizard back on that jungle moon who thinks of me as a nephew and has more blood on his hands than all of us in this room put together.”
“Fine,” Hatchet snapped. “We do it your way. Just don’t come crying to me when half the sector starts thinking you’re soft.”
# # #
Under normal circumstances, Mort and hover-cruisers got along as well as porcupines and soap bubbles. But after spending weeks in the jungle on aching feet, he was ready to buy this one a drink and cuddle afterward. The mountain home of the Ramsey Syndicate loomed ever closer and higher overhead as the search party and their pilot chauffeur approached. Eventually it swallowed them up via a mouth that looked suspiciously like the ass end of an Earth Navy battleship.
Blast that laaku. Roddy had weaseled his way out of command in the most cowardly of manners. He was already offworld by the earliest Mort could have returned to headquarters. Mort swore the laaku’s absence would only defer the tongue-lashing he’d receive, not avoid it entirely. If Roddy expected that Mort couldn’t maintain a
sense of offended dignity until everyone returned from the various extraplanetary engagements, he was sorely mistaken.
Lieutenant Kwon was waiting along with a handful of the generic stock-in-trade sailors that peopled the ship in its heyday. “Welcome back. I see you’ve been informed of the temporary command structure?”
“What structure?” Mort snapped. “That four-handed bastard gave up the keys to this jalopy. No one said anything about any other structure than that.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
Mort scowled in appraisal of the lieutenant. Like most of the syndicate, she wore castoff naval clothing in mild disrepair. Combined with her known association with science, it made her hard to take seriously as a thinker. But it seemed she had a candle in that lamp of hers. “Hmph. Well, no need to get all rank-conscious on my account. Carry on with whatever Roddy had you doing until I say otherwise.”
“He had us install the astral relay,” Kwon said. “But that’s it. With his absence, work on the second installation is halted.” She fell into step at Mort’s side as he tried to hurry past before getting caught up in a bureaucratic morass.
“Second installation of what?”
“Another astral relay.”
Mort snorted and tried to subtly quicken his pace, but the confounded woman quickened hers to match. “We’re outlaws and criminals—scalawags, even. We’re not relay repairmen.”
“It’s not a repair. It’s a new installation.”
“Sounds like even less our business. Sit on it until Carl gets back. I don’t want to be seen as the substitute professor who gets bamboozled into canceling the homework and setting the class lizard free.”
That got Kwon to stop in her tracks with a look of such perplexity that Mort could barely contain a burst of laughter. “This is an astral relay. It connects us to the omni and standard comms with the outside galaxy. What the hell do lizards and homework have to do with this? Listen, if you want to just pass along authorization to me, I can handle all the tech needs of the syndicate until Ramsey returns. He won’t have any issue with what I’m doing.”
“That’s because Carl’s a little soft in the head when it comes to pretty faces. Maybe even yours. Now you scurry along polishing your astronoscopes and fiddling with your femtographic combobulators. Leave me in peace.”
Kwon stormed off in a gratifying huff as Mort smirked after her. He didn’t hear Mriy approach from his blind side until she spoke. “You see why I don’t crave command.”
Mort harrumphed. “This isn’t command. Bunch of criminal aspirants. Whatever dregs we’d become out there sailing the Black Ocean, they’re looking up in our direction. Chew on that a while and see what kind of organization you see around us.”
“Still, better than the jungle.”
“Damnation by faint praise… a time-honored tradition.”
Mriy hissed a chuckle. “Yes, this place is nothing like Meyang. I could do with an hour standing in the icy wind, sucking the heat from my marrow. But that wasn’t what I meant. Back here, there is no chance of encountering Tanny.”
Mort took a quick glance around to see that no one else had followed them down this particular corridor. The Odysseus was a minotaur’s labyrinth, but being in titular command tied a bell around his neck for others to heed and follow. “Not looking forward to a reunion, huh?”
“It’s been all I can manage to keep Kubu from bolting off and finding her. She is not the Tanny we knew.”
“Agreed. Once I nail Devraa’s head to the front door of this place, then maybe she’ll come to her senses. I don’t give a gambler’s promise about the brutes she’s with. Stack the lot of them in a pyre for all I care. But I’d just as soon not have to deal with Tanny until she’s gotten her head clear.”
Mriy flashed a smile—all fangs—fit to turn most men to quivering mush. Science had replaced those fangs with fakes for her. Mort wished she’d accepted his offer of enchanted ivory instead. “Then act like you wish to be here. Pretend. Insinuate yourself so that no one yearns to be rid of you.”
“Like to see them try.”
“Without you on the hunt for Devraa, there is no reason for me to be in the deep jungle, nor Kubu. His safety is the hardest to guard. I have my speed and my hunting instincts. You have powers few can comprehend. Kubu is large and threatening but ultimately no match for a group of soldiers who would see him as a threat. Please, do not storm off to the jungle if these humans vex you.”
Mort put a hand on her shoulder. For such a deadly killer, her fur was incongruously pleasant to the touch. “Not to worry. I think I can keep from wearing out my welcome until Mr. Big Mouth gets home.”
# # #
It took shuffling. It took negotiations. It took almost long enough to spoil the timing of the whole mission. But in the end, Carl Ramsey was captain of the Hatchet Job—with a newly anointed ID that said it was the Crichton—and Hiroshi “Hatchet” Samuelson was in command of the Mobius. The ruse called for slick talking, which put Carl at the head of the list of candidates, but no courier would ever believe that Harmony Bay had hired a shuttle modified six ways from Sunday to pick up such valuable cargo. The Hatchet Job might have been a rough-cut vessel, but it at least looked professional.
The Sokol was due by any minute, according to the course that Rachel had helped Yomin calculate. It was time for Carl to play his part. After a brief search of the Hatchet Job’s dash console, he found the comm. “Sokol, this is the Harmony Bay vessel Crichton. Channel is secure on our end. Please confirm yours.”
A moment later, a woman’s voice came over the cockpit speakers. “Crichton, this is Sokol. Comms are secure. Status?”
July, sitting in the co-pilot’s seat, caught Carl’s wrist as he reached for the comm to reply.
“What?”
She let go his wrist. “You know what. No hitting on her. You’re with Harmony Bay, not a freelance operator here.”
“What would make you think—?”
“You’ve got a type.”
Carl paused.
“C’mon, you can’t tell me you don’t have a thing for women pilots. Jesus, are you really that dense?”
“Best behavior. Honest.” Carl gave her a smile and switched open the comm once more. “Sokol, we’re making a last-minute alteration to the drop location. An informant on Hades Breath warned us of a possible data breach with Radovan Dragovic. Transmitting revised coordinates and depth.”
The look on July’s face was worth planets. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. If Carl had pulled off a mask to reveal he was Eyndar her expression could have shown less shock. “You just flushed the job out the waste reclaim.” She reached for the comm herself, but Carl held her in check with a raised palm.
Carl chuckled. “Relax. I switched comms. The only ones who heard that are in the rec hall.”
With a snarl, July backhanded him in the shoulder.
Keying a different comm this time, Carl cleared his throat. “Sokol, we’re on schedule. For security purposes, I’d like you to maintain comm silence as we approach the meeting site.”
“Crichton, this is Sokol, understood. Next communication will be at the exchange.”
Switching channels, Carl began another comm. This time he added a little gravel to his voice to go along with a phony accent. “Crichton, this is Milan Dragovic. Have problem. My brother is murdered. All deals waiting until I take care family business. Not worry. You still get strange goo. Deal still good. But delivery will not be today.”
As they waited, July was already plotting a course to bring them to their meeting with the Sokol.
“Mr. Dragovic, I am sorry to hear about your brother. But I have my instructions. I’m to bring the package to my superiors. I’m on a tight schedule here.”
Carl gritted his teeth and threatened the comm panel with a clenched fist. A moment to gather his composure was all he needed before making an impromptu change of plans. “You have boss. This, I understand. I make concession. You want delivery, come vi
sit Hades Breath. I shake hand. Give goods for payment in person. Good to meet new business partner. Yes?”
“I don’t have time to divert to the disputed zone.”
“And I don’t have ship to send. There is—how you say?—impasse. This is best offer I have.”
Carl closed his eyes and prayed to the little gremlins that gnawed at the edges of plans. All he needed was for the real Crichton to be out of scanner range of the exchange location. He didn’t care whether they turned around and went home or paid a visit to whoever the hell took over the Dragovic crime family. So long as they didn’t sit at the drop coordinates silently fuming, it would all work out just fine.
“Understood, Mr. Dragovic. My condolences on the loss of your brother. Hopefully we can continue our working arrangement. Crichton out.”
With a sigh, Carl slumped back in his seat, working his lower jaw loose. “Man, I’ve gotta wash that pidgin human out of my mouth. We got any whiskey on board?”
“You could have ruined everything,” July snapped.
“I’d have ruined everything if I tried to strong-arm them into heading home empty handed. By getting me to bargain down, I invested them in the outcome. I had to show them I was willing to compromise because they needed something to show the bosses back home. Kid, I know you can fly, but you’re not learning the stuff I do hanging around Hatchet. He didn’t get that call sign for his subtlety, if you plot my orbit. This… ? This is my ballgame. Move the pieces, get guys looking over their shoulders—or girls in this instance—then change the rules while their backs are turned. I’ve been at this for years.”
“And look where it’s gotten you.”
Carl scoffed. “Maybe it’s been a bumpy ride, but it’s not because I can’t talk my way around a couple hopped-up freighter captains trying to barter in the big time. Most of my troubles have been from opening cargo that was supposed to be ‘no questions asked,’ taking jobs that smelled fishy but promised too much money, sudden pangs of conscience, and a truly baffling amount of bad luck hiring computer techs. If jobs like this fell into my lap on a regular basis, I’d have retired years ago.”
