by Julian May
"You had her stall!" I yipped joyously. "Did your team nab Lee?"
"The subject is resting in the port authority lockup, out colder than a frozen wonton. You owe me a big one."
"Superintendent, start making out your Christmas list."
"Hanukkah list," he corrected.
"Whatever. Listen—"
"No, you listen up, Hell-Butt! I want this schmuck and his ship off my world ASAP. As far as CHW is concerned, Lee was never here. We both know he's Concern-connected, and I don't need any fallout from high places. Get on Mimo's SS and tell Rampart Security to collect Lee without any fuss."
"Meet you at the port lockup in about ninety minutes. I'll take care of everything personally when I get there."
"I was afraid you'd say that." He punched out.
Leaning against the wall, I let loose with a jubilant "Yee-haw!"
Mimo popped out of the study, aghast. I lowered my voice. "More good news! I'll fill you in later. Can I prevail on you to give me a ride to the Big Beach?"
"Certainly. I was returning Ziggy to his ship there anyway."
The drug dealer, wreathed in smiles, was donning a rain poncho the si/e of a bedspread. I presumed he'd been paid off. "So very kind! Much as I would love to avail myself of your island hospitality, I have special needs that can best be served aboard my own vessel."
"I'll just bet," I said.
I had suddenly become ravenous, so Mimo nuked some tacos to take along, spreading them with the sweet pepper salsa he'd prepared for the postponed flapjaw feast. To wash them down, he brought up a pony keg of Yucateca Leon Negra from his cellar coldroom. Then all three of us piled into my friend's Range Rover and bumped and splashed along the half-flooded marl track to the primitive hopper pad a kilometer away. Mimo was the only island resident prosperous enough to own a private aircraft. The other two parked at the muddy field were beaters belonging to our local taxi outfit.
We whisked upstairs to the peaceful ionosphere, high above the raging storm, where a voluptuous Moon of Manukura was shining amidst a rabble of multihued comets. Cybulka, overflowing the four-seat passenger compartment, polished off the lion's share of the food and beer and then promptly went to sleep, snoring like a phlegmy oboe.
To ensure our privacy I asked Mimo to close the flight-deck door. Then I told him everything, beginning with Eve's call and ending with Jake Silver's timely pinch. The beer loosened my tongue and comforted my hurts. I also found it was cathartic as all git-out to recount the events of my devastating day to a sympathetic friend who would never in a million years consider judging or second-guessing me.
Mimo listened in silence, smoking one of his expensive contraband Cuban cigars and staring out the windshield of the aircraft. When I finally finished, he asked, "What do you intend to do now?"
"Take Jake's prisoner to Rampart Central on Seriphos. They've got psychoprobe machines there that'll make him sing like a Mormon choir. Even if this Lee is only a third-string operative, he's bound to be a direct link to Gala. Whether his evidence alone will be sufficient to prove Rampart's case against the Concern is a tougher call. Probably not. I was trained as a lawyer myself, you know, and it usually takes a truly hu-mongous pile of shit to bury an elephant. Especially when it's fighting for its life to crawl out from under."
"But if you had Oliver Schneider as well... ?"
"Bingo," I affirmed succinctly. "We prove the whole megillah, civil and criminal cases. The very fact of the conspiracy to devalue Rampart, and the tort—the civil wrong committed by Gala against the Starcorp, entitling Rampart to killer damages that would effectively dismember Gala-pharma AC. Aside from that little matter, Ollie had to be involved in the murder of Yaoshuang Qiu, Rampart's former Chief Tech Officer. He could connect Gala to that. Ollie and his apparatchiks might even provide a direct link to Elgar/ McGrath, who supervised Gala's entire covert operation in the Spur, including the Haluk lab on Cravat."
"Schneider and his men may all be dead. Silenced."
"That would have been the safest course for Gala. But Matt knew Ollie well, and she told me that he was slick as snot on a doorknob. I can't believe a man like that wouldn't write himself an insurance policy when he agreed to be Alis-tair Drummond's main mole."
"Schneider might certainly still be useful to Galapharma," Mimo conceded. "His intimate knowledge of Rampart security measures would be invaluable—up to a certain critical point in time."
I smiled wolfishly. "Exactamente. And it would be the job of whoever nabbed him to explain that the critical point was rapidly approaching. And turn him! Even using the machines, you get superior poop from a cooperating witness."
"That 'someone' capturing Schneider. . . will it be you?"
"I'll have to disappear," I said, not acknowledging the question, to which I did not have an answer. "Maintain the fiction of my death. Leave K-L and do a damned good job of covering my tracks, or Gala will just send a better class of assassin."
"There is that." He blew a smoke ring.
I reclined the copilot seat, leaned back and closed my good eye to match the puffed-up one hiding under the coldpack and bandanna. Hurting, used up, and bummed out didn't begin to describe the shape I was in. Down in Arizona, folks would describe me as feeling lower than a roadkill horntoad.
"Christ, Mimo, I thought I was back on K-L to stay. I was out of Rampart! Resigned to letting it be gobbled by the monster. Now I'm right back in the middle of the corporate shit-storm. It's Eve's fault that Gala came after me again. It's your fault that I'll probably have to scope out Dagasatt."
Mimo said nothing. He would never call me a cowardly coyote, God bless him. On the other hand...
"You knew I'd kissed off Rampart," I grumbled, "but you still had to dangle that damned Ziggy in front of my nose rather than telling Matt or Karl Nazarian about him. A mean-spirited Anglo might suspect you of deliberately trying to reinvolve me in the Starcorp. You Mexicans have convoluted notions of family obligation and honor."
"We do," he agreed. "Of friendship also."
"Hah! Saving me from myself—is that it?"
"Who could do a Dagasatt penetration better than you?" he asked gently, returning to dangerous ground.
For a few minutes I sulked behind my shut eyelids. Then: "Nobody, probably. Certainly not a Rampart Security force."
"Would you care to explain?"
"An operation like that is against Commonwealth law, unless Rampart's Legal Department can furnish solid proof— not hokum and hearsay from a crook like Ziggy—that the aliens are harboring a corporate criminal fugitive and refuse to surrender him. Of course, if such proof did exist, and if Rampart were simpleminded enough to make an official request through CHW channels to mount a Dagasatt search, Ollie'd be out of there faster than chain lightning with a link snapped. A deniable penetration is the only option. Bounty hunter stuff."
"This would be legal?"
"The statutes are vague enough to make such an operation feasible. If a Throwaway like me dragged Ollie in and sold his ass to Rampart, there'd be no danger at all of his deposition being thrown out on grounds of illegal apprehension."
Mimo said, "So you do intend to lead a raid."
"Everything depends on what we wring out of Citizen Lee. Maybe his evidence will be so sensational that we won't even need Schneider."
"Then you'd be off the hook." Mimo's voice held the faintest tinge of reproach.
"Except for having to go underground to prevent another attempt on my fast-withering life."
"Concerning that, there are matters that will have to be taken care of. The disposal of Kofi's body, and so on. How shall I proceed?"
"Let me think." I hauled myself back upright and ruminated for a while. "You're going to need help. I think we can trust Sal Faustino, don't you? If any Gala covert op came sniffing around later and tried to put the squeeze on her, she'd turn him into sushi."
"I agree that Sal is the perfect choice for an accomplice. And Oren Vinyard, if another person is needed."
>
"How about this, then. You guys put the body into Black Coffee tonight. Sal uses her tugboat to tow Kofi's sub to the Blue Gut and scuttles it deep. Then she tows Pernio out and does the same thing. I hate like hell to lose the boat, but it's full of blood and other suspicious shit. You'll have to clean up inside my house and take care of the mess at Kofi's place."
"The rain will help with that," he said.
"Right. Tomorrow, when Kofi and I turn up missing, you inform the Eyebrow gang that Kofi told you he was going out in the storm last night to look for me. You argued with him but he insisted. Now we're both presumed lost. The grief-stricken gang has a nice wake for the pair of us. Jake Silver reports the double tragedy to the local media because I'm a VIP, albeit a tarnished one. A Manukura webstringer snatches up the story and passes it along to the cosmos at large. That'll cool Gala's jets and give me room to maneuver—whatever I decide to do."
"Mmm. It could work." More smoke rings, concentric this time.
I tipped a nod toward the closed passenger compartment door. "We'll have to make sure that Captain Cybulka doesn't blow my cover. Are you absolutely certain he'll keep his trap shut?"
Mimo looked hurt.
"Lo siento, don Guillermo," I apologized, "but if he blabs, I'm gutted."
"He won't."
My friend finished his cigar. I had a large cup of coffee to counteract the beer, visited the ship's bathroom, and considered the matter of Lee's interrogation on Seriphos. I'd have to supervise that myself, preferably with Karl Nazarian's assistance. If Lee's evidence proved to be as crucial as I hoped, we'd have to ship him off to Toronto by the speediest and most secure means possible.
We were almost to the starport when Mimo broke into my thoughts. "Perhaps it's not my business to ask, Helly, and if I'm out of line I want you to tell me so. But if you did decide to penetrate Dagasatt, how might you go about it?"
I told him and he burst out laughing. "I was about to suggest that very thing."
"Wiseass beaner."
"Have you had field experience in high-tech Insap penetrations?"
"I led a few," I said cautiously.
But that was a long time ago, and in the Orion Arm of the galaxy, far away. With my expensive legal education—and my goddamn famous name—I'd been a natural for ICS's career fast track. I made Divisional Chief Inspector by the time I turned twenty-eight, and had more important things to do besides chasing Y'tata gunrunners or busting cyberflea-markets on Kallenyi worlds. There were even those in the Commerce Secretariat who had called me brilliant.
They'd changed their tune fast enough when I was framed for malfeasance...
"Who would accompany you to Dagasatt—assuming you went?"
"Well, I really don't know jackshit about the Qastt," I admitted. "But Matt will probably be able to put me in touch with some experienced people who might like to earn a few mil pulling hazardous private duty."
Mimo's dark eyes were glittering. I'd seen that glitter before. "Why don't you take a human contraband trader along with you—one who knows the Qastt customs and can provide a useful cover story for the operation? No, not Ziggy! I know another crook who has been to Dagasatt more than once, even though it was many years ago. One who is eminently trustworthy."
I glared at the old man in horror. "No! Abso-fucking-lutely not!"
"Nonsense," laughed the semiretired Smuggler King of the Perseus Spur. "I'd enjoy it. Things have been very dull since Cravat. Sal and Oren can take care of Kofi's body and all the rest of it. We can call them right now, on a contingency basis. Your options will remain open."
"Got an answer for everything, haven't you, compadre!"
"Not always. But often enough." He lit another cigar.
We reached Manukura Starport a little after 0100 hours, and Mimo guided the hopper down through the heavy tropical rain. Our console ground display showed only a small number of starships docked at the tiny port. Most of them were cargo vessels. A single commercial carrier was parked at the passenger terminal, together with three private cruisers. One was Mimo's pride and joy, El Plomazo—"the bullet"—a nifty Y660 cutter. The second was an aging Iridion-16 that I presumed belonged to Ziggy. The radical conformation of the third was evident even on the small screen. Its transponder ID was BXX-0021, an experimental Bodascon designation.
"Cielos!" murmured my friend. His eyes were sparkling again. "What a lovely ride our villain came in on! How I'd like to check her out."
"Well, you could. That's aY700 prototype. I promised Jake I'd get Lee's ship off K-L, so how about swiping her for me? You shouldn't have any problem figuring out her goodies. Fly her to Seriphos and put down in the restricted area of Rampart Starbase."
"I may not want to give her up!"
"Actually, you may not have to ... if you're serious about wanting to go along on the Dagasatt raid."
He hoisted one shaggy gray eyebrow. "You know I am."
"Fly the Y700 to Seriphos by yourself while I schlep Lee there in your Plomazo. Assuming that I do decide to lead Operation Q, we'll use the Gala ship and you can pilot her. We'll need a blitz buggy in a job like that, especially for the getaway."
If we got away.
Mimo said, "Plomazo might also come in handy for your operation."
"If you don't mind, I'd rather use her to carry Garth Wing Lee off to Toronto as fast as possible after we finish tossing his brain. Rampart hasn't got anything in the barn to touch Plomazo. She can get to Earth in ten days, and she's also more heavily armed than any of ExSec's cutters."
He nodded. "I'm agreeable. You know, Helly, it would be a good idea to examine the contents of the Y700's computer before putting her in harm's way. It might hold interesting data about Lee's work in the Spur."
"Good thinking. Contact Karl Nazarian when you arrive on Seriphos. He'll get someone to do a data dump and get started on the analysis. I'll tell him that you're coming."
"Perhaps I should also have the prototype's identification modified. Just in case."
"Yeah. Right." Why did I have the feeling that I stood on the rim of a slippery slope and any second I'd go over— taking my friend with me? "Assuming we do go to Dagasatt, and assuming we survive, the Y700 will be yours to keep—to make up for my losing Chispa at Helly's Comet. I'll fiddle the registration transfer somehow through Rampart, and Gala won't be in any position to squawk. Maybe you can call the new starship Chispa Dos."
"Helly, Helly. I think you've lived with Throwaways and rascals too long."
I laughed. "Found my natural moral milieu, that's all. We'll talk about this later, on Seriphos."
The hopper touched down and I went into the passenger compartment to wake the Sleeping Beauty.
"Rise and shine, Zig. We've arrived."
"I had the most amazing dream," the fat man burbled as he pulled himself together. A robolimo was waiting to take us to the terminal. "I dreamt that Rampart Starcorp hired me as a marketing consultant to the Qastt. I went before their Great Congress and gave a magnificent presentation, with the result that a stupendous new era of trade opened between humanity and the nasty little Squeakers!" He simpered. "My stipend from Rampart was princely."
"Dream on, sweet prince," I growled. We exited the star-ship and crossed the rain-lashed apron, after which Ziggy departed rather sniffily to his own vessel and Mimo and I went into the terminal.
A smartly uniformed young Public Safety officer approached and inquired, "Is one of you Chief Inspector Helmut Icicle, Rampart ExSec?"
Mimo smothered what might have been a cough. Damn Jake and his sense of humor.
"That's me." The hood of my old yellow slicker was up to obfuscate my identity and hide the wraparound bandanna. I was still wearing the sweatsuit and the sneakers without laces.
The cop gave me a dubious look. If he was expecting credentials and a snappy salute, he was doomed to disappointment. After a beat he said, "Superintendent Silver is waiting. Follow me." He spun on the heel of his boot and marched off with us trailing behind.
> At this hour, the terminal was tenanted only by service personnel and sparse numbers of travelers. We took an elevator into the bowels of the building and eventually arrived at the security offices. Jake, dressed in rumpled civvies, was asleep in a chair in the anteroom. He awoke the instant we walked in.
"It's about time you got here," he snarled. Climbing to his feet, he yawned prodigiously and rubbed goop from his pouchy eyes. "What happened to you, Helly? You look like a fugitive from a back-alley production of Pirates ofPenzance"
I pushed back my slicker's hood and removed the kerchief and the coldpacks. The eye was feeling much better. I could even see out of it again, a little. The back of my head still hurt. "Might have known you'd make fun of a man's disabilities. Actually, I ran into several doors."
Jake gave a disbelieving grunt and turned to Mimo. "And how are you, Captain Bermudez? Giving the Chief Inspector a little assistance tonight?"
"I'm always willing to help a friend, Superintendent."
"And you've got some beauts. Is that freakazoid pusher pal of yours out of here?"
Mimo nodded. "Ziggy indicated that he would be leaving immediately."
"He better be. Even on a world like K-L we have minimal standards."
Jake reminds me of an English mastiff, a breed favored by my former wife, Joanna. Not in appearance, because mastiffs are trim-looking dogs and Jake is slightly potbellied and sartorially challenged, but in his watchful, melancholy air of having seen it all—and God help you if you try to perpetrate any of it again in his territory.
I told him, "Thanks for the bust. I'll take the subject in charge and Mimo will remove his vessel."
Silver said to the waiting officer, "Nikitenko, please escort Captain Bermudez, here, to starship BXX-0021 at the general astro gate. Expedite his departure."
"Sir, under the circumstances, that will require authorization—"
"Get it," Jake said. He turned to me. "This way."
We tramped hither and yon through deserted corridors until we came to a door with a simple sign: detention. Outside of it was a rider-type antigrav baggage transport holding a coffin-sized container.