“I don’t know,” said Taren. “Your waitresses’ uniforms seem a touch on the skimpy side.”
“Yes, but think of the tips you’d make,” said Bishop.
“Though given the people who are after me,” said Taren in a dry voice, “I don’t think parading around in a short skirt, heels, and a tight vest would be the best way to avoid attention. No matter how good the tips.” She grinned. “Though it might be worth it, just to hear Orson complain about the scandal to the University’s image.”
“Yes, Dr. Orson,” said Bishop with a sigh.
“He’s tiresome?” said March.
“Let’s just say that if he worked on a freighter, he would accidentally stumble out of an airlock,” said Bishop, “and no one would remember seeing anything. But, we’ve work to do. Let’s go to my office and think of a way out of this mess.”
“I take it things have gotten interesting while I’ve been asleep,” said March.
“And crowded,” said Bishop. He led the way behind the bar and to the storeroom. There weren’t nearly as many cases and kegs in the storeroom as there had been during March’s last visit, and a waitress emerged from the freezer with an armful of food as she headed for the kitchen. “I’m turning a tidy profit on all of this, but if that toad Veldt doesn’t lift the embargo soon, I’m going to run out of stock.”
They went into the office, and Bishop closed and locked the door behind them. On impulse, March drew out a chair for Taren, and she smiled at him and sat down. Bishop blinked at them, shrugged, and sat behind his desk. March sat next to Taren, the cheap plastic chair creaking a little.
He was more relieved than he would have liked to get off his feet.
“So,” said March. “What did I miss?”
“Trouble,” said Bishop. “I suspect Dr. Taren already told you some of it. Between the firefight outside the station and the Iron Hands, I think you wiped out most of Lorre’s assets.” He snorted. “I don’t think Lorre saw that coming. Five Iron Hands ought to have been enough to clean your clock. To clean anyone’s clock, hell. Lorre’s first plan was probably to seize the Shovel and take the relics and shoot Dr. Taren out of spite on the way out. His backup plan was to use the Iron Hands to board the Shovel when it docked and take the relics. Now I think he’s improvising.”
“Veldt and the embargo,” said March.
“Yeah,” said Bishop. “Lorre has to be paying him a fortune. Veldt’s way over the line. He doesn’t have the authority to order an embargo like this, but he did it anyway. Heitz is furious with him, and half the senior Ronstadt employees are ready to revolt.”
Taren frowned. “Won’t there be consequences for Veldt? Declaring an embargo on ship traffic isn’t our usual cloak-and-dagger stuff.”
“There will be huge consequences for Veldt,” said Bishop. “Declaring an embargo without the approval of the station administrator or a flag officer of the Royal Calaskaran Navy is illegal. He’ll get hauled back to Calaskar on charges. For that matter, it’s likely that Ronstadt Corporation will lose the contract to provide security for Rustbelt Station. It’s a lucrative contract that doesn’t take a lot of work, and if the Ministry of Justice doesn’t get Veldt’s hide, Ronstadt Corporation will.”
“I can’t imagine a mercenary company will look kindly on the loss of a lucrative contract,” said Taren.
“No, they will not,” said Bishop.
“Lorre must be bribing Veldt,” said March, “and giving him promises of safety once this is over.”
“Which gives us an opportunity, I think,” said Bishop. “Veldt has pushed too hard and too far, and his own officers are turning against him. With sufficient motivation, I think we can convince his officers to arrest him and hold him for trial. They don’t want to lose their jobs any more than the Corporation wants to lose this contract. If they say Veldt went rogue and they dealt with him internally, they can just apologize to Heitz, Heitz can apologize up the chain of command, and that will be that.”
“And the embargo will end,” said Taren, “and we can get those damned relics to safety.”
Bishop inclined his head. “You’re good at this, Dr. Taren.”
“I didn’t want to play this game,” said Taren, “but the Machinists forced me to play it when I was younger, and I’m damned if I’m going to let Laredo win.”
“Ending the embargo is only the first step,” said March. “Getting the relics off the station is the second. I might have destroyed the Graywolves’ ships, and Lorre might not have had time to call reinforcements. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he has another ship or two docked at the station, and given how he’s throwing money around, he might simply hire a privateer or two and pay them enough to do the dirty work.”
“That is a problem,” said Bishop. “So how are we going to get the relics to Calaskar?”
They sat in silence for a moment.
An idea came to March.
“Shell game,” he and Bishop said in unison.
Bishop groaned and leaned back in his chair, its wheels squeaking. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
Taren smiled. “Did I miss something?”
“One of the first ops that Bishop and I did together, years ago,” said March. “Before you ended up banished to Rustbelt Station.”
“Banished?” said Bishop. “I’ll have you know I make more money in a week than you do in a year. Plus, I’m not running around getting shot at all the time anymore. One of the many perks to being a branch chief.” He sighed. “But you’re right.”
“Just what is a shell game?” said Taren. “A computer interface shell?”
Bishop laughed. “No, not quite. Have you ever been to, say, a Calaskaran parish fair with game booths?” Taren nodded. “Did one of the booths have a smooth-tongued huckster who asked people to guess which shell concealed the red ball?”
“Ah,” said Taren. “I understand. Misdirection.”
“That’s probably the best plan,” said March. “Once we depose Veldt and have the embargo lifted, there will be a rush of ships leaving the station. We’ll file a flight plan stating that you and I are on the Tiger, and the Tiger will depart at once.”
“But you’ll be flying the Tiger, I assume,” said Taren to Bishop.
“That’s right,” said Bishop. “I think we should also state that the Shovel’s crew is leaving on the Tiger.”
March frowned. “How are the repairs going on the Shovel?” He hadn’t thought to ask Taren after he had woken up.
Taren sighed. “The techs have got the dark matter reactor and the hyperdrive going again, so she’ll fly. She just won’t fly well. The Shovel wasn’t very well-defended to begin with, and my poor ship will be an easy target for anyone with a gun bolted to their hull.”
March nodded. “What about the Shovel’s crew and Taren’s people?”
“They’re still at my hotel,” said Bishop. “Dr. Orson continues to complain about the accommodations, but the rest of them seem content enough. Bauer’s been making video montages. I think when you finally make this documentary, Bauer’s all set up to talk about the unfortunate pirate attack that stranded you on Rustbelt Station for a few days.”
“Bauer knows the game,” said Taren. “He’s not Silent Order, but he’s probably figured out by now that I am.”
“I think,” said Bishop, “the best plan for your crew is to get them berths on one of the passenger liners stranded here. They’re desperate for fares, and they should give you a reduced rate. They can get your people to Antioch Station, and they ought to be safe enough there.”
Taren frowned. “Laredo might decide to go after them anyway. Or he might have enough active assets left that he can cover both the Tiger and my crew and students.”
“He might,” said March, “but the relics would be safer on the Tiger. Lorre must know that. If we force him to divide his attention between the Shovel, the Tiger, and a passenger liner, he will almost certainly focus on the Tiger.”
“Agreed,” said
Bishop.
“You’ll fly out with the Tiger,” said Taren. “My crew will leave on a passenger liner. What will Captain March and I be doing?”
“Hiding,” said March. “Half of Rustbelt Station is deserted, and there are a thousand places to hide. We’ll find someplace and hole up with the relics while Lorre chases the Tiger.”
Bishop nodded again. “Then I’ll fly the Tiger back to Rustbelt Station and pick you up. Or you can pilot the Shovel to a rendezvous point, and we can meet up and fly both ships to Antioch Station.”
“I think this is our best chance,” said March. He looked at Taren. “But you’ll be risking your life as well. What do you think?”
Taren blinked a few times and took a deep breath. “No, you’re right. This is the best way.” She turned her attention to Bishop. “I should talk with my crew as soon as possible and tell them the plan. While I do that, you can call your friends and get Veldt arrested and the embargo lifted. Then we can get the hell off Rustbelt Station.”
“Wait,” said March. “I don’t think we should tell your crew the truth.”
“Why not?” said Taren. “We can’t tell them the entire truth, obviously, but at least enough of it.”
“We’ll tell them that you’re leaving with Bishop and me on the Tiger and taking the relics with you,” said March. “Say that you’ve realized pirates are after the relics, and you’re taking them directly to Calaskar aboard the Tiger to keep your people safe.”
“That makes sense,” said Taren. “But why…ah. You think there’s an informant in my crew.”
“The Graywolves knew exactly where and when to attack,” said March.
“More to the point,” said Bishop, “someone told the Machinists that you found those relics on Xenostas.”
Taren sighed. “The only people who would know about that would have been on the Shovel.”
“Did you make any stopovers before coming to Rustbelt Station?” said Bishop.
“Just one,” said Taren. “A neutral station in an unclaimed system between here and Xenostas.”
“If there is a traitor on the crew,” said March, “he must have sent word via courier, and Lorre scrambled to put together a response. That’s why we’ve only dealt with a few mercenaries and some Iron Hands, not something more dangerous.”
“Don’t be so dismissive,” said Taren. “Those Iron Hands almost killed you.”
“That’s not the point,” said March. “The last time I got my hands on a quantum inducer, the Machinists sent an entire fleet to get it back. To get twenty of them, I would have expected a much stronger response.” He nodded to himself, coming to a decision. “Once we’ve gotten Veldt arrested, Bishop will take the Tiger to an uninhabited system somewhere, wait three days, and then come back to Rustbelt Station. We’ll come out hiding then, and take you, the relics, and the Tiger back to Calaskar. We’ll send out your crew on one of the passenger liners to Antioch Station once we’ve dealt with Veldt.”
“All right,” said Taren. She got to her feet. “I’ll talk to my people. Do you need March’s help to deal with Veldt?”
“All I’m going to do is to make some phone calls and pay some bribes,” said Bishop. “Jack, you’d better stay with Taren. She’s the one they want dead.”
Taren smiled. “They want the relics.”
“They also want you dead,” said Bishop.
“They’ll have to deal with me first,” said March, though he did not feel up to another physical fight. Hopefully, Lorre did not have any fighters as dangerous as the Iron Hands that March had killed.
Taren smiled at him. “Why, how gallant, Captain March.”
“That’s our Jack,” said Bishop. He reached for the phone on his desk. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make some phone calls.”
March nodded and led Taren into the storeroom. “Just a moment.” He drew out his phone. “I want to check in with Vigil, make sure that no one has tampered with the ship.”
“Good idea,” said Taren. She sighed and gazed at the ceiling for a moment. “The idea of a traitor on the Shovel is a distressing thought, isn’t it?”
“I’ve had nothing but distressing thoughts lately,” said March, scrolling through the information on his phone. Vigil reported no sign of any intrusions at the Tiger, which was a reassuring thought. And March supposed some of his thoughts about Taren had been pleasant…
Goddamn it. He was wounded and exhausted, and he was still thinking about her. He needed his mind on the task at hand.
“If there was a traitor on the Shovel,” said Taren, “and if he was willing to sell us all to the Machinists…he had to know he was sending us to our deaths. Half the men on my crew have wives and children back on Calaskar. If there is a traitor, he spent months with us on this trip, perfectly willing to kill us all.”
“Does that surprise you?” said March. “Lorre was the same way. You saw him every day, and he still tried to kill you and dozens of other people he saw every day.”
“I know,” said Taren, her voice soft. “I know. It is…still shocking, though. It still horrifies the conscience.” She tried to smile. “After fifteen years in the Silent Order, it still shocks me. I wish I could be more like you and take this in stride.”
“No.” March put his phone away. “You really don’t.”
“Well.” Taren did smile this time. “I’m glad I met you nonetheless.”
They stared at each other. March was struck by how beautiful she looked in the dim lighting of the storeroom, how her gray eyes seemed to gleam, how the shadows played upon the planes of her face. He had the sudden overwhelming desire to feel that face beneath his fingers of flesh, to draw her close, to…
Goddamn it! What was wrong with him? His exhausted mind was transforming the grimy storeroom of the Emperor’s Rest into a place of romance.
No, it wasn’t the room. It was Taren’s presence within it.
“You should call Bauer,” said March. “Get your people together in one of the hotel’s conference rooms. The sooner we talk to them, the sooner we can move.”
“Yes, of course,” said Taren. She drew out her own phone. “I’ll call him on the way.”
“It’s a short walk,” said March, and he led the way through the restaurant’s dining room and back into the crowds of the commercial concourse. The air had taken a distinctly musty odor. March wondered how much more strain the station’s life support systems could take. The last time he had been here, Heitz had not been confident about the state of the dilapidated environmental systems. If the systems overloaded and every living thing on the station asphyxiated, March supposed the Machinists could simply dock and claim the relics without resistance.
It was about a half-kilometer down the concourse to Bishop’s hotel. The hotel itself looked unimpressive but otherwise clean, its entrance hewed out of the rock of the asteroid. March stepped into the lobby and looked around. Rings of chairs stood here and there, holographic advertisements hovering over them. Two of Bishop’s employees stood smiling behind the counter, dressed in outfits identical to the ones Bishop had his waitresses wear. March had been in enough spaceport hotels to know that the first few levels would be tiny, cramped single-bed rooms, designed for freighter crewers to spend the night or to hire a prostitute in relative privacy. The larger, more comfortable rooms would be on the higher floors.
“The conference room, please,” said Taren to the woman behind the counter.
“Right this way, ma’am,” said the woman with a bright smile.
Taren nodded and went around the corner, March following her and keeping a close eye out for threats. A door hissed open at her approach, and they stepped into a room carved from the rock of the asteroid, though metal paneling had been added to the walls and painted a cheerful blue in an attempt to make the room look less grim. A long conference table filled most of the room, and no doubt Bishop rented it to various organizations that needed an off-site location for meetings. Bauer, Orson, and the others from Taren’s
crew sat around the table. Most of them smiled as she approached, but Orson got to his feet and pointed at her.
“It’s about time you showed up,” said Orson. “What the hell is going on?”
“It’s time to explain,” said Taren. “I…”
“It is damned time you explained!” said Orson. “You disappear for days and leave us stranded in this wretched hotel.”
“The hotel is fine,” said Bauer with a roll of his eyes. Likely he had heard the same complaints many times over the last few days.
“And you run off with this scoundrel of a privateer,” snapped Orson. His pointing finger jabbed at March and then rotated back to face Taren. “This is the final straw, Taren. When we get back to the University, I am going to make sure that your career is ruined and that you are…”
March was tired, and everything hurt, and the urgency of his task was a drumbeat inside his head. Normally, listening to this soft little man’s whining would only have been an annoyance. But the sight of him attacking Taren pushed March’s temper to its limits, and he had a brief vision of caving in Orson’s skull.
Instead, March stepped forward and hammered his metal fist down on the plastic table. His cybernetic strength drove his hand through the plastic without much resistance. It also made a loud snapping noise, and Orson yelped and stepped back, eyes going wide.
March supposed he would have to reimburse Bishop for the table.
“Thank you, Professor Orson,” said March, straightening up. His shoulder hurt. “Dr. Taren?”
“Thank you, Captain,” said Taren with smooth aplomb. “Now, here’s the situation.”
She sketched out the situation with efficiency. In her version of the story, a renegade mercenary group had realized the value of the relics they had taken from Xenostas and tried to destroy the Shovel. When Taren had shown the relics to March, the mercenaries had attacked again, and March had fought them off, though he had been badly wounded. March supposed his pallor and obvious discomfort added weight to the story. After that, Taren had taken March to his ship to recover and secure the artifacts, since the Ministry of Security had hired him to escort the Shovel back to Calaskaran space. Unfortunately, station security had declared an embargo in response to the attack, and they had been stuck here ever since.
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