by Chris Bunch
“I like the way you put that ‘as safe as you can,’ ” Spada said. “That would suggest you know the realities of being able to patrol an entire asteroid belt with only eighteen ships.
“Since you don’t know much about these bandits, may I assume they most likely look like everybody else in the Foley System?”
“They are human,” King said positively. “At least all reports of contact say that.”
“Which means,” Spada said, “we also must worry about infiltrators, spies, saboteurs, double agents and such.”
“That brings me to the second item,” King said. “We’ll need crews for these ships besides the pilots. Plus we’ll need ground support — maintenance, supply, logistics, security, and the rest.
“We can’t afford the fat an Alliance squadron would have. You have a budget of seven hundred and fifty thousand credits a day.”
Spada nodded. “That’s not much, these days,” he said. “But on the other hand, these days there’s a welter of ramp rats to be had. There’s no problem with that.
“You sound like you’re most experienced, Miss King. I suppose there’s little benefit to be gained by bargaining.”
“You can try,” King said. “But I truly think you’ll be wasting your time.
“And there are others here on Boyington who have the Galactic Cross.”
“There are,” Spada said. “But none of them are as pretty as I am.”
He was about to say more when a flier stumbled, fell toward the table.
Grok didn’t see Spada move. But the drunk was somehow caught, and pitched sideways, to thud down on the floor.
“I do despise policemen,” Spada said, as if the incident hadn’t happened. “And rebels have a terrible tendency to not meet the payroll on time.
“Give me a day to consider. Then I’ll be in touch, either way. I see you put your hotel’s com number on your card.
“It might just be a pleasure doing business.”
FOURTEEN
The man backflipped out of the door, skidded on the rough aggregate that made up sort of a street, sat up groggily. He wore moccasins, the bottom half of an orbital spacesuit, nothing else.
“I told you once,” the voice from inside the Dew Drop Inn boomed, “I on’y drink with people I like. There ain’t no second warning.”
The voice was deep, resounding, but quite female.
The miner bleared at the door to the bar, blinked twice, then sighed and curled up for a nap in midstreet.
Riss and Baldur looked at each other doubtfully.
“Perhaps we should have brought Grok,” Baldur said. “I am definitely opposed to combat as a recreational pastime.”
“You and me both,” Riss agreed. “So don’t stand in my way when I start running.”
“It might well be the other way around,” Baldur suggested, and they went in.
The bar was pretty standard for any workingman’s joint: There were beer pumps every three meters; alk dispensers between them, the alcohol and beer reserves safely stowed somewhere beyond brawling range; and half a dozen barkeeps, all chosen for size, combativeness, and ability to talk away a fight, or be the first to swing a meter-long club as a last resort.
The only nonstandard item was an animated panel overhead, showing the asteroid belt, and blinking lights for settlements or mines.
The Inn had half a dozen men and women peaceably playing chess, either conventional or three-dee in the back, and one woman at the long bar.
She was a little less than a meter and two-thirds, in any direction. She wore her hair cropped short, as did most miners for convenience, a one-piece ship’s coverall, and heavy boots.
In front of her was a plas bottle, half-full of a clear alcohol, a small vial with a tiny spoon, half a dozen twisted cheroots, and a glass of water.
Riss and Baldur bellied up, ordered brandy, water back, were served.
M’chel glanced at the woman.
“You wouldn’t be L. C. Doe, by chance?”
“I am … and not by chance. A damned fine name I picked myself.”
“Buy you a drink?”
“Sure. Buy you a snort?” Doe rolled the small vial down the bar.
Riss hesitated, then opened the jar, took out a spoonful, inhaled.
She jerked a little.
“Pure quill,” Doe said. “I’m tight with th’ quack that makes it.”
Riss blinked, took a deep breath.
“Makes your heart go.”
“Makes everyt’ing go,” Doe said. “At least, until you run out, and then everyt’ing is real, real slow.”
“Maybe I’ll just stick to the one,” Riss decided. She passed the vial to Baldur.
“I better not,” Baldur said. “I get nosebleeds quite easily.”
“Well, hooty-tooty,” Doe said, and took a noseful of the drug. “I assume you came in looking for me.”
“We did.”
“Did you see that buttbreath I pitched out into the street?”
“We did.”
“When I’m on a toot, I generally don’t like to deal with anybody. So, meaning no offense, unless you want to talk inconsequentials, take a hike.”
“It’s about the Miner’s Aid. Which you’re president of.”
“Aw, shit!” Doe snarled. “Goddamned business. But …” She looked down the bar. “Bennie, gimme a sober.”
The bartender reached under the bar, took out a tiny bottle, and handed it to Doe.
“Damned shame,” she muttered. “To have to go and spoil t’is nice, building high. But …”
She opened the bottle, drained it.
Doe shuddered, shook, and Riss thought for a moment smoke was going to roil out her ears. Her eyes reddened, and she swallowed hastily twice.
“All the joys of a hangover in ten seconds,” she muttered after a while. “Plus a detox to boot.”
She swallowed again.
“It better be damned fine business, all I can say.”
“I don’t know about fine,” Riss said. “But it’s important.”
She introduced herself, Baldur.
Doe examined them carefully.
“Maybe we better go find a quiet corner,” she decided. “I assume I can drink a beer without it getting in the way of t’ings.”
Riss drained her’ brandy, tapped the top of the glass with a forefinger, and Bennie refilled her glass. He waved the bottle at Baldur, who shook his head no.
They found a table, away from the chess players.
“You notice I’m bein’ particularly kindly,” Doe said. “Here you are, Transkootenay’s goons, and I’m talking to you, instead of pitching you out the door.”
“Which you could try to do,” Riss said.
Doe lifted her massive eyebrows.
“Girlie, are you calling me?”
“Nope,” Riss said. “Just putting in a notice that I don’t get pushed a lot.”
Doe considered.
“Now, a few minutes ago, I would’ve had your ass out in the alley. But now … especially since you’ve got business … we’ll set matters aside. Besides, I t’ink I could take you, but you got a look in your eye suggesting I’d need a bit of repair myself.
“So set t’at aside. Although, I got to warn you, if you two are gonna suggest that what’s going on is somehow the fault of Miner’s Aid, t’at we’re linked up with these high-grader bastards, t’en we’ll go back to misunderstanding each other.”
“We are not in the business of wasting time,” Baldur said. “Ours or anyone else’s.”
“So talk,” Doe invited, leaning back, and letting beer slide down her throat. “Although you note my suspicious nature, since there were a couple of pukes from — what was it? Cerberus something or other — snuffing around, saying t’ey were about to be the muscle in the belt, working for Transkootenay, and wonderin’ if maybe us miners were getting cute, trying to drive Transkootenay out, and set up some sort of a Co-op.
“Shit. Transkootenay’s not the worst outfi
t to contract for, and damn few miners want to take on the headaches of bossin’, least of all me. Tried it, hated it.”
“We had not even thought of that,” Baldur lied. “What we are contracted for is to first provide security for Transkootenay and you miners; second, to find out who these ‘high-graders,’ as you call them, are, and deal with them in a manner that seems appropriate.”
“High-spoken gent, ain’t he?” Doe said, lighting a ghastly smelling cheroot. “And kinda cute, for an old fart.”
Riss hid her grin, while Baldur tried to bury his reaction.
“Hokay,” Doe said. “I got your mission requirements, as t’ey tell me military sorts say. What do you need from us?”
“Not getting into accusations,” Riss said. “But these bandits, whoever they are, seem to have some intelligence taps into your people.”
“No kid,” Doe said. “But who it could be, or even where to look, I couldn’t guess. Miners work alone, mostly, and when t’ey get in civilization, they run their mouths a lot.”
“If you hear anything, or have any ideas, we would appreciate a com,” Baldur said.
“I ain’t experienced at playing counterspy,” Doe said. “But I’ll listen, and if it ain’t one of my friends, well, we’ll see. You want anything else?”
“We do,” Riss said. “As Mr. von Baldur said, we also are tasked to provide security for you miners. We’ll be providing security flights, but we can hardly make the whole belt safe.
“So what we’re proposing is to sell any interested miner a compact ship-to-ship missile system.”
“Holy dragon poop,” Doe said. “I don’t t’ink Transkootenay — or SysGov — are going to be dancing around you dumpin’ flower petals when you tell t’em you’re arming us dangerous wildasses.”
“We are not proposing to consult them,” Baldur said.
“Also,” Riss continued, “we’ll be selling, at not much over our cost, individual weaponry, and long-range com gear, linked to our command center.
“Later, when we have a target, or think we do, we’ll make various autocannon available for site defense.”
“Whoooh,” Doe said reverently. “You clowns don’t screw around.”
“We don’t have the time to,” Riss said. “Now, I need some more skinny on how you miners operate, or, rather, how we can keep these high-graders from getting to you.
“You said you work mostly by yourselves. Would you be willing to pair up, or work in small groups, for better safety?”
“Not a chance,” Doe said firmly. “We’d be watching everybody else all the time, waiting for t’em to steal our claims. Or trying to steal their claims.”
“I kind of thought that’d be the answer,” M’chel said. “What about the idea of convoying miners to their claims from here, and picking them up when they’re ready to come in?”
“That’s a big negatory,” Doe said. “Same t’ing applies.”
“Right,” M’chel said. “Try an idea of mine. I’ve gone through the incident reports of miners getting robbed or killed. How long after they stake a claim, which I found out can be done by com to the Transkootenay office here in Sheol, have these women and men been hit?”
“Sumbeech,” Doe said. “I don’t think anybody asked that.”
“Would it be hard to monitor whatever frequency is used, and then go after the miner who’s obviously found something interesting?”
“Hell no.”
“Then that’s got to be changed,” Riss said. “Can you convince miners to physically file their claims with Transkootenay, Miss Doe?”
“It’s L. C., by the way,” Doe said. “I can try, and I’d be listened to over some stranger. Especially when I point out t’at could be one way you get killed.
“What next?”
“A big one,” Riss said. “The high-graders base themselves somewhere. Nobody knows where. Would your people mind being a little nosy?”
• • •
“… Miners are pretty nosy anyway,” Doe’s voice said from the tiny speaker. “Problem is, if t’ey get too nosy, somebody’s gonna bob it for them. Maybe with a blaster. But I can put the word out.”
There was a pause.
“I still can’t believe,” Doe said, “You’re gonna sell us missiles. Real, live, shoot-back-in-anger missiles.”
Riss shut the recorder off, looked around the ultra-plush wardroom of the Boop at the other four members of Star Risk.
“That’s generally all there is on the tape,” M’chel said. “Hell if I know if we’ve got the miners on our side or not.”
“Probably not,” Jasmine said. “I suspect it’ll take something concrete before they get on board with us.”
“Yes,” Baldur agreed. “Such as having one of these so-called high-graders in hand, while we apply some drug-oriented interrogation to discover what we need.”
“Or else just tying them to a table,” Goodnight said, standing. “And pulling their frigging toenails out.
“Sorry, people. I’m off.
“Dinner with little brother. I’ve got a couple of questions to ask.”
“Do keep us posted,” Riss said sarcastically.
“I shall, I shall.”
“I, too, have work,” Grok said. “There are circuits to be cast, SOI’s to be written.”
• • •
Chas Goodnight boomed laughter. His brother, Reg, joined, ruefully.
“It would’ve been even funnier,” Reg said, “if I hadn’t been the one the cops came looking for, instead of you.”
“But see,” Chas said, “I knew you had a solid alibi.”
“Yeah,” Reg said. “Trying to convince that little redhead … I don’t even remember her name … that she ought to leave the dance with me.”
“I knew she wouldn’t,” Chas said. “If I couldn’t get anywhere, why should you be able to?”
“Damned tough assumption,” Reg said, and for an instant his smile vanished, then returned.
“Oh, well,” he said. “Just part of being a little brother, I guess.”
Chas had noted his expression.
“You aren’t still pissed at me for that, are you? If you are, I apologize. I beat my head on the floor.”
“No,” Reg said. “I’m not angry. I wasn’t, not really, even then. I guess I figured out early that big brothers do things like that.”
He poured more wine.
“To tell you the truth, the only time I got angry with you was in my sophomore year at Harvard, when the checks stopped coming.”
“I didn’t have any choice,” Chas said. “That was when they caught me, and the troubles started.”
“I know that,” Reg said. “But it was a bitch to have to quit Alpha Tau, and get a job. I never realized what snobs those bastards were — hell, I guess I was as bad — as when they’d come by the laundry, drop off their clothes, and hide their grins at seeing me, once one of them, now just another slavey in the working class.
“I got my revenge, though. Did you know that if you add a certain chemical to piss, take the liquid, and soak a smartass college puke’s dress shirt in it, when he starts sweating, like say when he’s trying to hustle some sister, that stink just rolls on out?”
Both of them broke into laughter.
“Ah, well, ah, well,” Chas said. “I guess it’s a bit of a miracle that we’re both on the outside, and you, at least, are rolling in it.”
Reg turned serious.
“I’m doing all right, I guess. But I’m earning every damned credit, especially with these idiots running around killing my miners. And Transkootenay’s not the easiest company to work with. They pay you well, but they don’t cut you a lot of slack. Screw up, and it’s the whisper of the ax.
“And they work your ass off. Look at me, Chas. I’m twenty-nine E-years old. No wife, no children, not even a home of my own. Hell, here on Sheol I don’t even have a real girlfriend.”
“Would you want one, here on Sheol?”
Reg’s smile came
back.
“Strong point, and maybe I should stop complaining.
“So tell me what you wanted to buy me dinner for?”
“First,” Chas said, “To see if a big-time operations manager like you could get better service and food out of this joint than the last time I tried.”
He glowered across the restaurant at the maitre d’. “You could and did, so now I know the hustle. From now on, I’m Reg Goodnight’s brother, and snap it up.
“Seriously, I had a couple of questions. Official type.”
“Go ahead,” Reg said. “If you can do me one, small, subtle favor.”
“You have but to ask.”
“Well, if you people need things, especially high-item things — ”
“Such as bangsticks?” Chas asked, amused.
“Those, but worse were the ships you people bought. I got a rocket from Transkootenay Central, tearing my lips off. I had to do some fast explaining.”
“What are we getting into, the old expense account disallowed bullshit?” Chas Goodnight asked. “I’ve got to say that kind of thing won’t sit well with von Baldur. Or me, come to think about it.”
“No, no,” Reg said hastily. “You’ll still be able to buy whatever, uh, tools you need. But do me a favor, and check with me about suppliers. The company that supplied your ships is someone Transkootenay doesn’t deal with, hasn’t for some time.
“There’s only a few big suppliers like them in this cluster, and we have our favorites.”
“You mean, Transkootenay takes a kickback from.”
“I can’t say what Central does,” Reg said. “I know I don’t have my fingers in the till.
“Anyway, go ahead with your questions.”
“These bandits … do you have any idea where they operate from?”
“Nary a hint,” Reg said. “Just like I told Baldur.”
“All right. Now a nasty one, all my very own. Is it possible that they could be tied in with the System Government?”
“Why on earth would they do something like that?”
“Oh,” Chas said, “maybe they want Transkootenay to do all the development, then find a way to break your contract, and slither in and collect all the geetus.”
Reg started to answer, then stopped himself, and thought.
