Hell to Pay: A Mercenary Warfare Adventure

by Zen DiPietro

  “And in your learned opinion, are you and I some of those ‘right people?’”

  Her crafty expression returned. “Oh, yes. You, me, and Omar. Whoever you’re working for.” Her crafty expression returned. “And, most definitely, Ditnya Caine.”

  2

  Only a foolish man would fail to savor the irony of Cabot’s situation. Somehow, the universe had made him the go-between for the highest levels of the Planetary Alliance Cooperative and the premier purveyor of smuggling and other assorted crimes.

  The mere idea of these two entities working together seemed preposterous. Add to that the fact that he himself, Cabot Layne, was in the position to make it happen…well, he was willing to bet no one ever saw that one coming.

  He sure hadn’t.

  But now that he found himself in this situation, it seemed a shame not to capitalize on the turn of events.

  Love and war, one might argue, have definite rules for fairness, regardless of what the old cliché said. But in business, oh, by all means, all was fair.

  It was one of the rules he lived by. He’d long ago created the rules of sales as his own personal guideline, but he sometimes added to the list. This particular situation might warrant the addition of a rule or three.

  He intended to enjoy the experience to the fullest.

  He rolled into Ditnya Caine’s office feeling bulletproof. As soon as he entered and met her eyes, he knew she understood exactly where he was coming from.

  She was literally the best of the best when it came to business, after all.

  “Care for a drink, Cabot?” She slanted him a knowing look. For a woman in her seventies, she had remarkable strength of presence. Her silver hair was like well-coiffed metal, and he was pretty sure her bones were just as hard. She was a woman like no other.

  “Alturian brandy, if you have it.” He smiled benignly. The expression was his signature, and it seemed a shame not to use it in this instance.

  She turned her back to him and poured the drink into an expensive glass. He recognized the decanter set. From the ’08 collection of Caravon’s premier glassware company. Ridiculously expensive. No doubt she’d chosen it for its ability to intimidate people with the ridiculous price tag of the set.

  Few people knew it, but Ditnya Caine did not care about finery. She didn’t do business for luxury goods. She did it for the pure love of commerce. For the art and game of it. And, of course, for the power.

  She set the glass down on her desk, too far for him to reach it. He had to rise halfway to get a grip on it.

  One point for Ditnya Caine.

  He took a hearty gulp. If Ditnya was paying, there was no need to take casual sips. Plus, he felt the pause gave him a certain presence. A statement that he wouldn’t be intimidated by her, even though they both knew she could squash him like a bug.

  Because they both also knew he had something she wanted.

  Oh, what a delightful position to be in. He wished he could stay in this moment forever. This was what business was all about. That feeling of having the drop on someone. Of a rare and special jackpot about to fall into his lap.

  This was the stuff of life.

  Ditnya sat down with her own glass of brandy, tossed some of it back, then fixed him with a look. “I take it you’re my point person.”

  He inclined his head in modest agreement. “I serve at the pleasure of the PAC.”

  Oh, that was fun to say.

  Rather than looking annoyed, her mouth twisted wryly. “I’ll just sit here until you’re done gloating. Then you can fill me in.”

  She sat back, pointedly, and swirled the liquid in her glass.

  He gave her another of his pleasant but meaningless smiles. “I’ve helped the PAC see the benefit to having your help to solve the slavery problem, which apparently you both find intolerable.”

  Her expression didn’t become less suspicious. “And what’s it going to cost me?”

  “Cost you?” He pretended not to understand. “Nothing but the ride there, really. Plus, whatever losses you’d incur during your absence on Dauntless. The PAC has concerns, as I’m sure you’ll understand, about you bringing your own ship and crew to Jamestown. So, I’ve been tasked with bringing you.”

  “And I’ll need to pay you for that,” she finished.

  “Well, of course. Travel isn’t free, is it? I’m experiencing significant losses in my shop while I handle all this. Which, frankly, has nothing to do with me.”

  “Except it does,” she added. “I don’t know how, but you’re tied in with important people in the top of the PAC hierarchy. That’s how you got involved in all this to begin with.”

  “A purely business arrangement,” he assured her.

  “I don’t think so. Not that it matters for my purposes, but I see no reason for the PAC to hire you to serve as liaison to me, much less cruise around doing who knows what all. A simple transaction doesn’t account for it. Someone trusts you. You’re in deeper than you admit. Maybe deeper than you realize.”

  He didn’t care to think about how accurate she might be. “If it doesn’t matter for your purposes, then all that’s left to negotiate is the price for me to transport you and the rules the PAC will impose.”

  “Let’s go over the rules first.”

  He’d have said the same. “First off, you’ll have no assistants, no colleagues, no one. You will be the sole representative of your interests.”

  She blew out a breath. “Pigie will be displeased about that. I’ll leave it to you to break the news to her. What else?”

  “There will be a stop at a PAC outpost for a search. No contraband and no objects of unknown origin can be on board, and no technology not hardwired into the ship will be permitted to be in your possession.”

  “No doubt I can expect all my communications and voicecom access to be monitored as well.”

  “They didn’t say as much, but I think it would be safe to assume,” he agreed. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that his own communications hadn’t been monitored on board the ship. He’d managed, and no doubt Ditnya would as well.

  “Then,” he continued, “there will be an intensive pre-boarding inspection to make sure we haven’t picked anything up along the way. After that, we’ll be permitted to board. You’ll have your very own security team to look out for you.”

  “To keep tabs on me,” she corrected. “Can’t say I didn’t expect that, too.”

  She took a breath. “Fine. I will agree to those terms for the purposes of this visit.”

  Her wording got his attention. “Meaning that as soon as parameters change the least bit, you will not abide by those terms?”

  She put her elbows on her desk and leaned forward to give him a long, hard look. “Here’s the thing, Cabot. If things go the way I want them to, I’m going to end up in the position of doing something the PAC probably won’t want to take credit for. As long as they’re willing to look the other way and pretend I’m not doing the dirty work necessary to rid the galaxy of slavers, then we have an agreement.”

  He knew she was right. He also knew the PAC didn’t always shy away from ugly necessities. Would they really be upset to let Ditnya take care of such ugliness for them?

  Cabot would leave that up to them.

  “I’m only authorized to talk about your visit to Jamestown. Whatever happens afterward will be between you and the PAC.”

  She smiled suddenly. It was a big, bright smile, full of wicked amusement. “That’s smart of you. I've always liked your business sense. A shame you didn’t set your sights higher.”

  He nodded. “Nagali has said the same thing.”

  He expected it would annoy Ditnya to have something in common with Nagali.

  Dityna laughed. “Well, you’ve got me pinned, don’t you?” She saluted him with her glass. “I hate that woman.”

  He smiled, this time genuinely. “Are you sure you want to do this? The PAC no doubt has their concerns about you being on Jamestown, but what about you? This
could backfire and give them information on you that you don’t want them to have.”

  “Are you concerned for me? How touching.” She didn’t look touched.

  “Not so much concerned as curious. I don’t know what your angle is on getting rid of the slave trade.”

  “No angle. This isn’t going to bring me any profits. In fact, I’ve spent a great deal on the effort. But it means something to me. I don’t have children, and I don’t flatter myself that I’ll have any impact on the galaxy after I’m gone. I figure at least I can do this.” She shrugged.

  Was she for real? He didn’t expect to ever know the truth.

  She changed the subject. “Let’s talk about the cost of my transport, then.”

  “First off,” he said, “it’s one-way. I’m overdue to check on my shop. You’ll need to find your own way back.”

  “Gladly,” she agreed. “And the money?”

  He’d given that some thought. It wasn’t his ship and it would be piloted by Peregrine, who most certainly did not work for him. He was out no particular costs, other than the profits lost by not being able to tend his store.

  On the other hand, he’d have to keep himself between Nagali and Ditnya, spend the weeks aboard the ship with Nagali, and also keep pretending not to know that Omar and Peregrine were becoming increasingly involved with each other.

  Plus, Ditnya was obscenely wealthy.

  “A hundred thousand cubics.”

  She barked out a laugh. “In your dreams.”

  “Counteroffer, then,” he challenged her.

  She pursed her lips, eyes narrowed. “Twenty.”

  “Sixty.”

  “Forty,” she countered.

  “Fifty for me, and ten each for Nagali and Omar.” He hoped her soft spot for Omar would get her interest.

  “Forty for you. Ten each for them. And I’ll owe you a favor.”

  “Don’t you already owe me a favor for helping you get rid of those slavers on Terceron?”

  “Perhaps. But then you blew up my operation on Ardino. So, you owed me one.” She gave him a hard look.

  “Right. Well, I guess we can clear the slate on the past.” The less she thought about how he’d ruined her efforts on Ardino, the better. “Sixty thousand total and a favor. Agreed.”

  She lifted her glass to him, and he did the same. After they both took a swallow, she added, “I do hope you’ll keep Nagali out of my way. If not…well.” She smiled. “I think you and I would both be unhappy.”

  Right. Because what was business without an underlying threat of menace?

  “I’m sure you’re right,” he agreed in his most benign shopkeeper tone.

  She finished off her drink. “This ought to be a unique adventure, at least.”

  He wholeheartedly agreed.

  AFTER REPORTING his success to Fallon and getting an official approval to get under way as soon as possible, an unenviable task fell upon Cabot’s shoulders.

  Per Ditnya’s order, he had to inform Pigie that she wouldn’t be coming with them. She’d been pleased at his request to visit her quarters, but whatever she had in mind, he doubted it was the news he had the task of delivering.

  The Trallian woman lacked height to put her on par with most species, but she more than made up for it with tenacity.

  Yes, tenacity. That was a nice word for it.

  Pigie put her hands on her stout hips. “What do you mean, I don’t get to go? When will I ever get another chance to visit Jamestown?”

  “I hear it’s not that interesting,” he said. “Just another PAC complex. If you’ve seen one base, you’ve seen them all.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she huffed. “You’ll get to see it for yourself. I had plans to lord the experience over other people and impress them with my mystique. That’s all gone now.”

  “What if I bring something back for you?” he offered. Pigie’s pique wasn’t really his problem, but since she worked as Ditnya’s assistant, he would undoubtedly find it useful to be on her good side.

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Something interesting. Something a person could only get from Jamestown.”

  She frowned as she thought it over. “I guess. It’s better than nothing. But find me something good, got it?”

  “Of course.” He hadn’t the first idea of what he might be able to bring back. He might have to get clever.

  She sighed. “Fine. Go. Look after Ditnya.”

  “I don’t think she needs anyone looking after her.”

  Pigie’s mouth twisted into a snarl. “She’s an old lady. All old ladies need looking after, even if they scare the shit out of you. You just have to be quiet about it, so she doesn’t know you’re doing it.”

  “Is that how you do it?”

  “Of course.” Pigie fluffed her dark hair. “I’m indispensable.”

  “I guess I won’t bother trying to take your place.” Cabot wasn’t one to tease, but there was something about Pigie that begged for it.

  “It would be fun to watch, but you’d be better off focusing your efforts on something you might actually succeed at.”

  So much for her flirtatious attitude the first time he’d met her. Maybe that had been part of her cover identity.

  Then she brightened and gave him a huge smile. She looked at him through her eyelashes.

  It was a good time for him to get out of there. “I’m afraid I have to get going. I need to get the ship restocked and have maintenance done. Plus, I want to be sure Ditnya’s quarters are ready for her arrival.”

  “So much to do, so little time,” Pigie translated. “Got it. See ya.”

  She waved, and he lost no time in getting out of her quarters.

  GETTING out to the commerce area of Dauntless was a breath of fresh air for Cabot. Literally and figuratively. He breathed in the scents from the food court and lingered on the fringes, enjoying the lively scene before him.

  He’d always been an on-the-fringes kind of guy. He enjoyed observing commerce going on about him, amidst the realities of people going about their lives.

  Granted, it wasn’t the same as being on Dragonfire Station’s boardwalk. Standing in the doorway of his shop watching visitors and station residents alike do their shopping, eating, arriving and departing—and living—always felt like a balm on his soul.

  A balm he’d been missing for too long now. He was ready to go home.

  For now, he had to satisfy himself with observing life on Dauntless. It was a lovely thing to see, too. Life on a mercenary station had a finer, sharper edge. There was always the possibility of slipping off that edge and getting cut.

  He appreciated that, too. Truth be told, it fired up his trader blood.

  He had time to kill while the Outlaw received maintenance and refueling. Ordering food and other stock to replenish the ship’s supplies wouldn’t take long. Technically, he could handle that by voicecom, but he preferred to do business in person whenever possible. Sharing the same breathing air as another person had a way of reinforcing a relationship. He’d have the supplies delivered to the airlock, then Omar could see to getting them aboard the ship.

  In the meantime, he perused the bazaar. Of all the commerce venues on Dauntless, he liked it best. There was the feeling of a treasure hunt. He’d probably go away empty-handed, but there was always that chance he’d find some hidden gem no one else had recognized.

  He ran his hand over smooth, patterned fabric, rifled through a couple of bins, and contemplated the current market value on secondhand survival supplies. None of those items convinced him to make a purchase.

  A small bowl the size of his fist made him pause. He picked it up and turned it over, as if trying to figure out what it was. The stoneware had no chips or cracks, and he could barely make out Atalan symbols on it, but only because he knew what he was looking for.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “Kanaran sugar bowl, for tea. A shame it’s not with the rest of the set. But it’s a
nice piece, and I’ll make you a good deal on it.”

  Cabot tried to decide whether the guy really thought the bowl was Kanaran, or was just making up a story he thought he could sell. He couldn’t decide which was more likely.

  “Don’t think I need a sugar bowl.” Cabot put it down and sidled down the row, perusing the rest of the wares. At the end, he shrugged, and said, “Good day.”

  “Hang on.” The man grabbed the bowl and brought it over. “It caught your eye, didn’t it? Something about it appealed to you. You can use it for anything you like. It could be decorative, or you could store small things inside.”

  Cabot frowned, but let his eyes go to the bowl.

  “Ten cubics,” the man offered.

  “Wouldn’t pay more than five.”

  “Five, then.” He held the bowl out to Cabot.

  Sighing, Cabot accepted it. “I don’t need a sugar bowl,” he muttered. But he transferred the money via the hastily presented infoboard.

  “Enjoy it in good health!” the man said.

  “Thanks,” Cabot said in a cranky tone, like someone who suspected he’d gotten the bad end of a deal.

  He carefully set the bowl in the bag on his shoulder.

  He found nothing else of interest at the bazaar, so he went to the area of the station that housed the permanent shops. Rather than wander through all of them, he went to one specific business.

  “Hello.” Rinna smiled when he entered. “Didn’t know you were here.”

  “I make a habit of not making my whereabouts known far and wide.”

  “Never a good thing to do,” she agreed. “What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing, really. I just thought I’d see if you’d come up with any leads on that music box.”

  His young colleague Arlen had mentioned a music box she’d once lost and hoped to replace. In the hope of helping her find it, Cabot had asked Rinna to keep an eye out for it.

  “I’m afraid not. The market isn’t bringing in a lot of the regular kitsch. I’ve put out the word with some people I know who sometimes come across that kind of thing, though. It’ll turn up sooner or later.”