The Scoundrel Worlds: Book Two of the Star Risk Series

by Chris Bunch

  “I am disappointed,” Grok said. “No one has suggested a way to make use of my turning my coat with Mr. Nowotny. Can’t my treason be used somehow?”

  Von Baldur thought hard, then shook his head.

  “I cannot come up with a way, my friend,” he said. “Plus, the way the situation has developed, with Nowotny taking a personal interest, no doubt at the instigation of his superiors, he might get suspicious, and decide to take you for a one-way boat ride.”

  “He would not be the first to try that,” Grok said, “nor would it be the first time that I came back by myself on the boat.” But he subsided.

  “Find Nowotny,” Goodnight said, “make a buncha bangs, and then I can go off on my mission of love, as soon as Riss tracks down her perfume.” He snickered.

  “Don’t laugh,” Riss said. “It’s just liable to work.”

  “I’m not laughing,” Goodnight said hastily. “I’m admiring.”

  “You’d better be,” M’chel snarled.

  • • •

  Step One was finding Ceberus’s headquarters.

  That was simple. They put operatives on all of the security firm’s offices, noted which one Nowotny visited the most.

  They staked that one out around the clock, taking note of half a dozen Cerberus operatives. These, then, were tailed, but not by the experts.

  The Cerberus personnel were far more experienced than the door-rattler guards Star Risk had hired, of course, fully trained at detecting and losing a tail. But it’s almost impossible to shake a tail when there’s half a dozen of them, each working no more than a block or two, letting another operative take over, dropping off and picking up in another half a dozen blocks.

  Similarly, when a Cerberus agent would duck into a department store, intending to leave by another exit, all of the store’s exits would be covered by Star Risk people.

  It took three days of monitoring traffic, and then Star Risk had two Cerberus central offices located, one at a location not on the ex-premier’s list.

  Cerberus Systems played its cards very close, not trusting anyone.

  One office was in a high-rise, the other two were storefronts, including what King and von Baldur had decided was the main office. The other was three doors away from a police station.

  “That one shall be yours,” von Baldur decided.

  “No problem,” Goodnight purred. “Just line up the steaks for afterward.”

  • • •

  Jasmine King crouched in a streetside stairwell, behind Friedrich von Baldur. Both of them wore nondescript gray coveralls with back emblems reading: STREET SURVEY.

  Inside the coveralls were pistols and blast grenades. Both of them carried tubes a little less than a meter in length, about twelve centimeters in diameter.

  Across the street was the office Star Risk had decided was the center of Cerberus’s operations. And sitting outside it was a very expensive lifter, a Sikorski-Bentley.

  “I would dearly love to know what Strategic Intelligence Division Leader Caranis is talking to Nowotny about,” von Baldur said in a whisper.

  King didn’t answer, making sure she had the sequence right for that tube under her arm.

  “Ah well, ah well,” von Baldur said. “Another time. Duck down. Here he comes.”

  The door opened, and Nowotny limped out, cheerfully talking to Caranis. The head of Ha got in his lifter and took off. Nowotny went back inside for a few minutes, then left with two employees and an obvious bodyguard.

  King and von Baldur saw movement inside.

  “The watchman,” von Baldur said. “I shall try to bounce the beastie so we don’t obliterate him. There is no need for bloodshed.”

  He gave it another five minutes, then nodded to King.

  Uncap the cover … slide the two-piece tube to its full length … snap open the peep sight on top of the cylinder … pull the safety pin out of the rear tube … break the seal over the trigger housing and pull it down.

  Von Baldur did the same with his tube.

  “I shall go first,” he said in a normal voice, making King start a bit. “That will open the place up some, and give you a chance to do the real damage.”

  King grinned, feeling the sweat of excitement on her palms.

  Von Baldur made sure Jasmine was out of the back-blast area, aimed carefully, and pressed the trigger bar up with a thumb.

  The rocket inside the tube swooshed out across thirty meters and smashed into the office door.

  It exploded with a crash, and flame spattered the early evening’s dusk.

  A moment later, a battered, dust-covered watchman tumbled out the door, and staggered off into the night.

  “A lucky man,” von Baldur murmured, turned, bowed to Jasmine.

  She aimed into the office, and with a convulsive jerk, fired.

  Her rocket spat out of the tube, and into the office, where it exploded.

  A satisfying gout of flames reached out.

  “Shall we continue our stroll?” von Baldur said, stripping off his gloves and depositing them in a trash can. “Surveying streets and all.”

  • • •

  The young woman walked down the corridor, past closed offices, to one that had no sign at all on the door. She tried the door, frowned ostentatiously to show her disappointment that the firm inside had dared close before her arrival, and put a bulky envelope down against the door.

  Unhurriedly, M’chel Riss walked to the lift, and was gone.

  Ten minutes later the envelope exploded. The shaped charge blew the door off its hinges, and a cascade of incendiaries sprayed the interior of another of Cerberus Systems’s offices.

  • • •

  Chas Goodnight touched his forehead politely to the pair of policemen coming out of the station, continued past to the closed office that was another Cerberus backup station. He slid a parcel out of his bulky jacket, touched three studs, and held the parcel against the glass door that was reinforced with steel bars.

  Fat lot that’ll do, he thought, walked on to the corner and turned it just as the bomb blew the office apart.

  I do love making big things into little things, he thought. He triggered his bester and went across the street, scaring the hell out of two lifter drivers who didn’t know whether to brake or scream at the blur in front of them, then continued down an alley.

  By the time the cops came after him, he’d jumped into the lifter Grok was behind the controls of, and was headed for an expensive steak house.

  • • •

  “How dare you?” Walter Nowotny hissed in a lethal whisper.

  “Now, now, Mr. Nowotny,” von Baldur said. “I truly have no idea what you might be talking about.”

  “You know goddamned well!”

  “I certainly do not,” von Baldur said.

  “We’ve hardly declared war on you!”

  “But I thought I saw you lurking behind some goonish-looking demonstrators a few days ago,” von Baldur said. “I am terribly sorry if it was a case of mistaken identity.”

  “You bastard!”

  “Try to control yourself, my friend,” von Baldur said. “After all, I remember you blowing me up not so very long ago on a world named Glace. And did I curse at you?”

  Nowotny glowered out of the screen, then jerked as he heard, just off pickup, a giggle from Jasmine King.

  “All right,” he said. “You want to play like that, we can do the same.”

  “Tsk,” von Baldur said. “I thought more of Cerberus Systems than to suspect they could no better than play copycat, although I swear on my mother’s honor I am still at a loss as to why you are distressed.”

  Nowotny’s face got redder, then the screen blanked.

  “You should have kicked him some more,” Jasmine said. “I’ve never seen someone have a heart attack.”

  “I am afraid, my dear Jasmine, that Walter Nowotny is the sort who gives heart attacks, not suffers from them,” Friedrich von Baldur said sadly.

  • • •


  “Once before,” L’Pellerin said quietly, “I warned you that you did not wish to become my enemy, von Baldur.”

  “I thought we agreed I … and Star Risk … are not.”

  “Circumstances have changed,” the secret policeman said, smiled politely, and broke the com connection.

  “I do not like people who do not need to make threats,” von Baldur said to King. “They worry me.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Chas Goodnight sniffed.

  It was definitely Passion’s Embrace.

  Ah, he thought. The true instincts of the hunter.

  After Star Risk got lucky on Riss’s suggestion, M’chel had bought a bottle of what was supposed to be Hopea Ardwell’s favorite perfume, and made sure Goodnight had it “memorized,” not only waving it under his nose at periodic intervals, but drenching his pillow with the scent.

  Ardwell lay motionless on a large beach towel three meters away.

  Goodnight decided Passion’s Embrace wasn’t to his tastes. He preferred scents more subtle.

  Behind Goodnight was the very old-fashioned bulk of the resort’s main building, which included several restaurants, two nightclubs, and the obligatory casino. Flanking it were two very modern wings.

  The beach was quite empty.

  The tenth call that Grok had made to expensive department stores had paid off. King had paid that store’s perfumery a visit, figuring that an alien with an interest in perfume would start rather pointless talk.

  Deliberately vague, King had said that one of her friends, a Hopea Ardwell, had always talked about Passion’s Embrace, and now that Jasmine had gotten an unexpected bonus, she’d be interested in buying a little bottle, and maybe the clerk knew her friend Hopea, who she’d fallen out of touch with?

  The clerk, more than a bit envious, had said she certainly did. Hopea was one of her best customers, and had bought the entire line of Passion’s Embrace. She’d come into an inheritance, she could afford it now, and as a matter of fact had ordered some of the line’s new body lotion that week, and had it sent to the resort she was at.

  Which was?

  The clerk hemmed, and said she didn’t remember which one, but it was on the Gulf, and it had, what, something Secret Palazzo for a name.

  More com work, and the Gulf Palace of Secrets was found. Goodnight was put in motion, booking into a suite at the Palace the next day.

  Hopea was indeed there, as a snapshot and a twenty-credit note shown to a clerk proved. Chas Goodnight, sleek, obviously wealthy, and always formally dressed, watched her for two days.

  After the first day, Hopea began watching back.

  More money to one of the human staffers got more information. Poor Miss Ardwell. She’d really come here before the Season — Goodnight actually heard the clerk capitalize the word — was really under way, and seemed lonely. A pity, the man said, such a beautiful woman was unescorted.

  A pity indeed, Goodnight agreed. And so the next morning, wearing a real Earth-silk half robe over his trunks, Goodnight had ambled out to the beach when he saw Hopea spread her towel.

  He waited until she looked up, saw him, and smiled. He smiled back, and walked toward her.

  “A beach this crowded,” he said, “makes it hard to find a spot to spread out on.”

  “Crowded?” Hopea said, looking about, puzzled. Then she got it and giggled.

  Goodnight spread his towel a sensible distance from her, and settled down.

  “And who are you?” Hopea cooed.

  “Someone who’s spent a lot of time looking for you.”

  “Oh, that’s ever so romantic.”

  “Nope,” Goodnight said. “Accurate, Miss Ardwell.”

  She jerked up to a sitting position. “Who are you?” she hissed, eyes flickering about.

  “The name’s Goodnight, but you can call me Chas. I mean no harm. I’m working for a man you used to work with.”

  Ardwell’s lips went into a thin line. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course not, Hopea,” Goodnight agreed. “And it’s a long ways from Ha, isn’t it?”

  “You’re talking strange, mister. Now go away before I call one of the resort guards.”

  “I don’t think you’ll do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “First, you don’t have anyone booked to buy you dinner tonight, let alone a midday meal on one of the floats out there.”

  Ardwell relaxed a bit. “Are you a cop?”

  “I hope not,” Goodnight said. “I’m just somebody who’s interested in hearing people talk. And, if it’s interesting enough, willing to pay.”

  “Pay?” Ardwell’s eyes glittered a little.

  “Pay well,” Goodnight said. “Plus, if you’re able to help me, you’ll have the warm feeling of saving a man’s life.”

  Hopea looked at him intently, then shook her head. “No. Oh no. I took my settlement and told them I’d never talk to anyone about anything, and I don’t want to get in trouble with them. Trouble or … or worse. Like poor Balkis Faadi got into.”

  “Oh well,” Goodnight sighed. “I can tell my boss that I tried.” He stretched out on his back.

  Ardwell looked at him, puzzled, for a while, then she lay back down.

  Without turning her head, she asked, “How much could you pay? It takes more money than I thought it would to live the way I want to.”

  “Let’s say, oh, ten thousand credits a day for being interviewed.”

  Ardwell jerked up. “Ten thousand is a lot of money. Just for talking.”

  “It is,” Goodnight agreed.

  “Interviewed where? Some prison or something?”

  “Not unless you call this place a prison.”

  “I don’t know,” Hopea said doubtfully.

  “Plus, of course, there’s meals,” Goodnight said. “And maybe some credits to go gambling with, and somebody to take you dancing.”

  “You’re no cop!” Ardwell said firmly. “Cops don’t think like that.”

  “I told you that already. And did I mention that we’ll pick up your bill here?”

  “I’ve been here almost two months.”

  “I know,” Goodnight said.

  “What do you want me to talk about?”

  “I’d like you to tell me about working in IIa. No details about anything that was classified. I just need to get an idea of what it was like, from the time you came in … no, from the time you left your apartment, until you got home at night.”

  “Will I have to testify? I mean, like in court.”

  “I don’t think so,” Goodnight said. “If someone wants you to be a witness, they’ll have to clear it with me, and I’ll not let anyone at you.”

  Ardwell thought hard, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

  “I always kind of liked Maen,” she said. “I don’t know why, I’m sure. Maybe because I couldn’t believe anyone could be that tight-butted.

  “I mean, I knew he was a Jilanis, and I’ve read the tabs about what they do in their services. I even got him to invite me to one of them once, thinking that might be kicksey, and he said his wife would be real happy to go with us.

  “That wasn’t what I wanted, if you know what I mean.”

  “I’m sure I do,” Goodnight said, uncapping a tube of tanning oil. “Or maybe I don’t. Would you like some of this fine ointment?”

  Ardwell looked at him kittenishly. “Would you put it on? I mean, I can’t really get my back and the backs of my legs.”

  “Delighted,” Goodnight purred, and Ardwell rolled onto her stomach. Chas set to work.

  “Isn’t it funny,” Ardwell said, “that I’d sort of like somebody who’s a real meterstick, and when somebody else tries to come on, I’d tell him to forget it.”

  “Somebody else?”

  “Never mind,” Ardwell said. “Nothing happened.”

  “Somebody else,” Goodnight persisted. “Could his name be Caranis?”

  “What made you think of
him?”

  “Something Sufyerd said about his boss not being exactly the most honorable man,” Goodnight said, adding, tactfully, “and I got the idea from Maen that Caranis had romantic thoughts about some of his people.”

  “Romantic?” Ardwell snorted. “If you think trying for a knee-wobbler against the back of his damned lifter is romantic — which he figured he was due because he bought me a couple of drinks. What did he think I was? I mean, am?”

  “Is he rich?”

  “Not a chance,” Ardwell said. “He’d like you to think he is, with that lifter, and his clothes, and the way he tries to put on.

  “But when he slips, he uses slang like any other worker, like I did, until I taught myself better.”

  “Interesting,” Goodnight said. “You’d think that someone living a lie … or a pretense, anyway … would get looked at by the DIB.”

  “Those idiots,” Ardwell said. “They think that because they’ve got truth machines and a whole flock of people trying to follow you around that they know everything. Show you how stupid they are, they think poor Maen’s guilty, and they’re going to kill him.”

  “You don’t think he’s guilty?”

  “I know better.”

  Goodnight held back his reaction.

  “Might I ask how you know?”

  “I just know … I have a feeling for people.”

  Goodnight’s hopes sank. “So who do you think is the traitor?”

  “Nobody in our cell, that’s for certain,” Ardwell said firmly.

  “Caranis?”

  Ardwell hesitated. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice deliberately neutral.

  “But you wouldn’t mind too much if he was?”

  “I’m thirsty,” Hopea said. “Will you buy me a drink?”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  Goodnight got up lithely, held out a hand, and pulled Hopea to her feet.

  “What’s that little tiny bulge at your back, just below your waistline?” she asked. “A gun?”

  It was the small battery powering Goodnight’s bester powers, at the base of his spine.

  “You’ve got a good eye,” Chas said.

  “Maybe. But I like looking at men’s butts,” Ardwell said.

  “You shameless creature!” Goodnight said, pretending shock.