The Scoundrel Worlds: Book Two of the Star Risk Series

by Chris Bunch

  “All of you said no. Don’t make yourselves out to be liars.

  “You can draw half of your outstanding pay at any time from Jasmine King, who manages our finances. The rest will go into the offworld escrow accounts you specified, on an E-weekly basis.

  “There’s a bonus if we accomplish the mission; a nasty taste in the mouth and whatever you’ve managed to get paid if we screw up or if the contract is canceled.

  “It’s a very standard deal, and all of you’ve signed it before we took you on. Don’t try to be a barracks lawyer and change things. We will not love you for trying it … and you won’t succeed. We have better lawyers than you do, nanner, nanner.

  “You’ll be free, off shift, to go off the grounds into the city or anywhere else — in pairs or more only. Some of that’s to keep you safe — some people tried to take out two of us last night. For your hot skinny, all three of them are dead now.

  “But the other reason I don’t want you wandering around on your own is obvious.”

  “You really don’t trust us,” a bearded man called. “Do you, Chas?”

  Goodnight grinned. “Glad to have you with us, Erm. It’s been a while. And you’re right. I don’t trust any of you, like I said before.

  “Now, get to work keeping us alive … and we’ll do the same for you.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Fra Diavolo, contrary to M’chel’s expectations, wasn’t a lecher at all.

  Diavolo — no one ever claimed they knew his real name — was gaunt, medium height, austere and ravaged like a Greco Christus. Most solemn, he showed Riss around his vast estate, just outside the city of Tuletia.

  He explained that he’d been a writer for more than fifty years, but it wasn’t until twenty years ago that he’d discovered the “way to my people’s hearts” — passionate exposés of social evils, mixed with more than enough sex and violence to keep the reader nailed to his screen.

  “Then one day,” he said, “I realized I had no more interest in fiction, at least not as long as my people were burdened with injustice and the evils the rich do with never a thought.”

  Now, he wrote shorter pieces that were lapped up by the holos as he railed against injustice.

  “Particularly poor Sufyerd, a man doomed to die for his religion who’s a judas goat for the real culprits.”

  “Culprits?” Riss asked. “Plural?”

  “Of course,” Fra Diavolo said. “One man … or woman … couldn’t manage to steal a copy of those plans, and convey it to the Torguth without backup. He or she must have accomplices, and I’m determined to winkle them out, and then, once they’ve confessed, to not only free poor Sufyerd, but assist him in restoring his reputation and winning monetary satisfaction as well.

  “I only wish,” he said, losing a bit of his Jovian dignity, “I had a specific plan to accomplish that.

  “That is why I was delighted to hear Reynard was bringing in outside experts, although I expected a much larger team.”

  “We bring in support when we need it,” Riss said. “There’s no point in wasting the client’s money with a bunch of straphangers.”

  Diavolo nodded understanding. “Do you have any plans?”

  Riss smiled. “We certainly wouldn’t be broadcasting them to anyone, even someone who’s Sufyerd’s ally.”

  Diavolo nodded. “You’re right. For obviously you’ve realized almost everyone involved, including probably myself, has, ultimately, his own agenda in this matter.”

  Riss made a noncommittal noise.

  “So let me try again. How may I assist you?”

  “You, personally?”

  “Yes … and, as I’m sure you’re aware, there are a fair number of people who’ve decided to devote their time to helping me.”

  He took her to a window and pointed out. Riss saw a collection of cottages, in military line. Outside them were a hundred or more people in dark brown uniforms, drilling.

  “My organization doesn’t have a name. We don’t need one, for I doubt if we’ll ever have a parade or a medal ceremony. You’re looking at some of my people out there, the ones who have been able to join me full-time. Poor people I’ve been able to help who want to repay me in the only way they can; middle class who see there must be changes in Dampierian society; even a scattering of those rich who have a bit of prescience.”

  “Right now,” Riss said, “I don’t think we’re in need of marching soldiers.”

  “There are many more like them who serve anonymously, when and how they can.”

  “Very well,” Riss decided. “Do you have any sources on Torguth? Specifically, within their intelligence apparat?”

  “I have two,” Fra Diavolo said. “Both of them are purely mercenary, and, I suspect, double or even triple agents. And their services are expensive.”

  “Either I or someone else in Star Risk would like to talk to one of them, with a single question. And we can pay very well indeed.”

  “Might I ask you a question?”

  Riss smiled, but didn’t answer, since at the moment she wasn’t sure exactly what information would be wanted.

  “Very well. Are you prepared to go to Torguth? Their government has become most restrictive on travel permits.”

  “I am,” M’chel said. “Or another of my partners. And we can insert ourselves anonymously, without exposing your person.”

  “I’ll make the proper approaches, guaranteeing nothing,” Diavolo said. “What else?”

  “Two of my partners had an … encounter … with the Masked Ones last night,” Riss said. “It came out badly for them.”

  “I have heard of the gunplay at L’Montagnard,” Diavolo said.

  “I would like the address or addresses where I might encounter a few of those people.”

  “Might I ask … no. Even an old man such as I can learn, eventually, when someone has been gifted with a closed mouth. I can provide some names quite easily.

  “But first I’ll have to give you a warning. You should know that most of the Masked Ones have close ties with L’Pellerin’s Dampier Information Bureau, as well as with some of our less savory right-wing groups.”

  “I’ve heard that some of them are, in fact, members of the DIB,” Riss said.

  “Ah,” Diavolo said. “And you’re not afraid?”

  Riss shook her head. “We don’t worry about cops. Especially those who don’t have the guts to come into the open.”

  Diavolo looked at her with respect. “From a callow youth, I would expect such brashness. But from a mature woman … you clearly are a force to be reckoned with.”

  “I would hope so,” M’chel said. “But I think there are some people on this planet who haven’t learned that.”

  “I’ll give you the names just after dinner,” Diavolo said. “My intelligence may not be the equal of yours, but it isn’t that bad. Unlike that of L’Pellerin, who fancies he has every Torguth spy under close watch, and, should the situation between our systems worsen, will be able to promptly arrest them.”

  He laughed humorlessly. “He is in for a surprise if that occurs. I … we … know of at least a dozen more. Not to mention whoever stole the Belfort defense plans and then betrayed Sufyerd.

  “Now, shall we go into the dining room? I’m anticipating the one daily drink my doctor allows me.”

  He smiled wolfishly. “Yes. Yes, Miss Riss, I’m very glad to have met you, and hopefully will be able to help your cause. For it is time, time past, for this lazy, complacent society of ours to be picked up by the scruff of its neck and shaken until its teeth rattle!”

  EIGHTEEN

  Grok left the mansion making quiet burbling noises — his race’s version of humming. He wore, in spite of the evening’s mildness, a large cloak over his long, silky fur, and on his head, a rakish, bright red beret.

  Under the cloak he carried a folding-stock carbine and a pouch of grenades, plus the usual dagger and blaster on his combat harness.

  He, too, wasn’t pleased with what had happened
the night before. Three bodies wasn’t nearly enough to compensate. Grok had thought he’d go for a stroll, hoping some of the Masked Ones would be following and, even better, try for a rematch.

  He was across the street, heading for one of the riverfront walks, when a man stood up from a bench. Grok’s hand moved inside his cloak.

  The man held up both hands palm out, signaling peaceful intents, and limped toward Grok. He was very thin, tall with broad shoulders. One side of his face was a bit shiny, immobile, the result of extensive reconstructive surgery.

  Not believing anyone except his partners had peaceful intentions, Grok had a blaster half-drawn, safety off.

  “Amanandrala Grokkonomonslf, I greet you,” the man said in Grok’s own language, even if rather vilely accented, his voice not much above a whisper.

  “I return your greeting,” Grok said.

  “I am Walter Nowotny, Cerberus Systems,” the man said, switching to Basic. “I thought we might talk.”

  “We could,” Grok said. “But if you think you are leading me into an ambush, it will prove very expensive. For you.”

  “I could offer my word, but I know Star Risk doesn’t think much of that from me.”

  “We think nothing of it, in fact,” Grok said. “You can walk about a pace in front of me until we reach the river, then I shall pick a spot where we can talk more comfortably.”

  “At your command,” Nowotny said, nodding his head.

  They walked in silence until they reached the river. Grok stopped by a commercial lifter station, indicated its bench.

  Nowotny sat down. “I came to offer you a warning,” he said without preamble.

  Grok grunted. “You mean a threat.”

  “Not at all,” Nowotny said. “You present no danger to Cerberus, so why should we threaten you?” He sighed. “I’m afraid the way you, and of course Miss King, were treated by us when you were our employees hardly makes you friendly, nor trusting of us. I’m afraid there’s nothing that can be done to change your opinions, nevertheless, in this case, my motives are fairly benevolent.

  “The warning I came to give you is to trust no one in this system,” Nowotny said. “You don’t have the resources to adequately cover your backs, let alone help this fool Reynard clear Sufyerd.”

  “Everyone not only gives us warnings,” Grok said, “but knows our business, as well.”

  “Come now,” Nowotny said. “Reynard has been babbling his intent all over Montrois for some months, that he is determined to find someone who’ll prove what he knows to be the truth. One and one and one and like that …”

  Grok grunted.

  “First, I don’t believe you’ll accomplish anything more than spending Reynard’s money. Second, I don’t think offering you a bribe to cancel your contract would work. I’ve tried that before, and it failed. Your von Baldur has an absurd system of ethics, considering the trade both our companies practice.”

  “He is most romantic,” Grok agreed.

  Nowotny almost completely covered his sudden interest except for a brief widening of the eyes. “You should be aware that the current situation here is quite perilous. Torguth has determined to right historical wrongs in the near future.”

  “You mean, invade the Belfort Worlds,” Grok said. “Are you on their payroll for that, as well?”

  “If I said we weren’t, you wouldn’t believe me. But we’re not.”

  “So I’ve been warned,” Grok said, standing. “Now, may I continue my digestive stroll?”

  Nowotny looked at him closely. “In a moment. Something you said a moment ago struck my interest.”

  “Ah?”

  “I got the impression you might think Friedrich von Baldur’s insistence on holding to a contract until it’s completed, failed, or the client fires him is not that, shall we say, realistic?”

  “It hardly is that, considering the world we live in,” Grok said. “Correction — galaxy.”

  “Perhaps you yourself might consider accepting a retainer from us.”

  “For what?”

  “Nothing that would put your partners in jeopardy,” Nowotny said hastily. “But it might be advantageous to both of us to know what Star Risk’s intent is, in any given situation, and also what sort of information you are able to obtain on the Sufyerd matter.”

  Grok growled, sat back down. “Let us talk.”

  • • •

  Grok bounded up the steps of the mansion and through the door. He decanted weaponry on a nearby table, went looking for someone to tell the news.

  Goodnight was sprawled in the first lounge off the hallway, flipping through pages on a zine holder. “You look cheerful,” he said. “Did you stomp a kitten or something?”

  “Not nearly that good,” Grok said. “I think you should be proud of me.”

  “I nearly always am proud of anybody as big and mean as you are.”

  “I have sold Star Risk down the river, as I think you say.”

  “To anybody I know?” Goodnight said, undisturbed.

  “Cerberus Systems!” Grok said excitedly. “Their man Nowotny approached me, and sounded me out to report on all our findings.”

  “And you accepted?”

  “I did.”

  “For how much?”

  “Ten thousand credits per meeting. That should help defray expenses, I would think.”

  Goodnight was on his feet, and clapped hands with the alien.

  “Good. Very, very good. I was starting to think you were a little too clean-cut for the likes of us.

  “Did you get the first payment?”

  “Nowotny said he would have it at our next meeting.”

  Goodnight sat back down, shaking his head.

  “You’re still not there, young Grok. A real scum bucket, like me — like you want to become — always, always, always gets the money up front.”

  NINETEEN

  Screamer from the Montrois World (a supporter of the Independent Party):

  Torguth Fleet Imperils

  Belfort System

  Maneuvers Threaten

  Worlds Peace

  From Our Correspondents

  Torguth’s Grand Council today announced their fleet’s annual maneuvers would be held no more than five light years from our Belfort System, a move which was immediately denounced by Dampier’s Supreme Command as being a possible threat to our two systems’ peace, which has twice been broken by Torguth armed strength.

  However, Premier Ladier advised calmness, and said a special envoy will be dispatched to Torguth to present Dampier’s thinking on the matter at the appropriate time.

  “I have no doubt that calmness and rationality shall prevail,” he said, “and I advise no member of our citizenry to become concerned or inflamed about the matter.”

  However, former Premier Reynard viewed the matter somewhat differently, saying “the Torguth have very short memories, and once again are planning to test our strength. This matter should be met firmly, and Torguth advised that our own forces will be placed on standby, in the highest degree of alert, and not for peaceful maneuvering.”

  Other members of the reigning Universalist Party refused to view the matter with the same gravity as Reynard, and …

  TWENTY

  Riss and Goodnight went over Fra Diavolo’s list of the Masked Ones’ residences and hangouts, found one that seemed perfect.

  It was an elaborate mansion in a once-grand part of Tuletia, now gone badly to seed.

  “First, poor people don’t go to the cops every time there’s a loud noise,” Goodnight told Jasmine. “Second, what went and run de neighborhood down in de first place is thisyere commercial lifter station two blocks away. More nice noise blocking unpleasant things like screams and gunshots.”

  “What … exactly … are we going to do?” Jasmine asked.

  “Why, lass,” Goodnight said, and his voice had never been silkier, “merely offer some object lessons as to correct moral positioning.”

  His … and M’chel’s �
�� smiles were not pleasant.

  Riss found an announcement on one of the city’s holos.

  “Perfect for us, I would think,” she said. “A nice lecture, not far from our friends’ place, debating the need for More Equality and Less Secret Justice. Something staunch patriots like the Masked Ones will be sure to object to. Two nights from now.”

  “Heh. Heh,” Goodnight agreed. “Perfect like a mamoo.”

  That night and the next, Goodnight and Riss, wearing black coveralls under their street clothes, took a lifter to the mansion’s neighborhood.

  They carefully watched comings and goings, and shot several dozen amplified light films.

  “What we need,” Goodnight said, “is to catch these idiots just putting their masks on, before they start terrorizing the widows and orphans or whoever’s dumb enough to want to go to this damned talk.”

  “So,” Riss said, “if the suckers’ lecture is at nineteen hundred, I’d guess our friends will be assembling at eighteen hundred, maybe a little earlier, getting ready to go out and beat the hamhocks off these poor dissenters for being potentially traitorous and, worse for them, unarmed.”

  “Are you sure this is necessary?” von Baldur asked. “I know he is what he is, and that eventually we shall be on a collision orbit with L’Pellerin, but is it necessary this early in the game?”

  “I think so,” M’chel said. “The only thing a cop understands is greater violence.”

  “True,” von Baldur agreed.

  “Besides,” Grok rumbled, “I think an object lesson in how to correctly apply violence and terror is more than needed in these parlous times.”

  “You,” von Baldur said, “just want to go kick holy hell out of something or someone. And where in the hell did you learn the word parlous?”

  “This is true,” Grok said. “But, like humans, I should be able to put a most pious front to my sadism. As for my vocabulary, all of you should be envious of someone who realizes education is a continuing process.”

  The afternoon of the lecture, Goodnight posted a note in the guards’ wing. It said that anyone not on night shift who wanted to pick up an extra hundred credits or so, doing nothing all that illegal, should sign at the bottom of the sheet. All of the guards not on duty signed.