To Do or Die (A Jump Universe Novel)

by Mike Shepherd

Mary looked at her Marines. “Okay, troopers, it’s time to make this happen. Gunny, keep the troops moving around in groups of two, four if it looks bad. Lek, Cyn, and I will beard the lion in its den. Good luck to us all.”

  With a hearty if low “Ooo-Rah,” the troops moved out to see what the night might bring.

  THIRTY

  COLONEL RAY LONGKNIFE and Trouble looked over the intel feed Ruth had brought back. It was good, one might even say informative. Still, it burned Ray that Mary had gone bloody rogue.

  “Where did that woman come up with this idea that she could charge into a whorehouse and start interrogating any scientist she ran into, flat of her back or otherwise?”

  “We did say time was something we didn’t have enough of,” Trouble pointed out.

  “That woman,” was all Ray said. Which left him wondering if some wild stunt like this was why he still walked with a bit of a limp. Exactly how had she held that damn rock against him and Wardhaven’s best?

  “Can we do anything to help her?” Ruth asked, forever the practical one.

  “Are any of these wayward scholars in our databases?” Ray asked Becky.

  “We’re checking on them as you speak,” was rewarded moments later by first one then another then all fifteen of their pictures popping up on the large screen in the room. Listed were their degrees, dates of graduation, and alma maters. Some of the best universities in the old fifty planets that humans first colonized were there.

  “Ten pharmacological botanists, a chemical engineer, and four gene engineers,” Becky summed them up. “One of the botanists and one of the gene engineers wants to stay.”

  “That or they aren’t complaining overmuch,” Ray corrected. “Don’t assume silence is support for the boss. It may just mean they don’t trust the walls not to have ears.”

  “Yes,” Ruth agreed.

  “About the source of their manure,” Trouble said. “Do we know where that is and if there are any games we can play with the supply?”

  Becky was already nodding before Trouble finished. “Captain Umboto hates drug lords more than the average cruiser skipper. She spotted the trucks hauling manure into the Farm and has already backtracked them to here.”

  Another window opened up on the screen, showing a cattle ranch and feed yard. “There’s a nice road into town from there. Plenty of places for some Marines to pass a load of bullshit and add some interesting stuff to the load, don’t you think?” the FSO said.

  “With pleasure, ma’am,” Trouble said, grinning.

  “They bring in a load about every other day,” the FSO added.

  “Then I need to start talking with some of my men about going for a nice drive in the country, sir,” Captain Trouble said, turning to Colonel Longknife.

  “One word, Captain.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Marine officer said, coming to full attention.

  “You have a reputation with drug lords. I doubt that Milassi and his head henchman don’t have a file on you. You are grounded, Captain.”

  “Sir!” was only one word, but it carried a load of disagreement.

  “Grounded,” the colonel repeated. “You stay in the embassy. I’ve already got one of my Marine officers prancing around, freelancing her ass into trouble. I won’t have both of you hanging out there for Milassi to collect. Besides, I fully expect a move on this embassy sometime soon. I will have you manning the walls when that happens. Am I perfectly clear?”

  The Marine deflated. But only a bit. “Yes, sir. I hear you, and I will comply with your order, sir. Though if I may point out, Colonel, you are not in my chain of command, sir.”

  “Captain Trouble, do I have to have Captain Umboto put her chop on my orders?”

  “No, sir, because they are smart orders, and I know it. I just don’t like that my wife is sticking her neck out a mile, and I’m stuck here, keeping the home fires burning.”

  “Or not burning,” the colonel said. “I’m glad we understand each other. Captain, have your fun setting up an intercept for the next load of bullshit from the ranch, but you will delegate the interception.”

  “Yes, Colonel. Ma’am,” he said, turning to the FSO, “how soon until your types have the chemical agents we need to deliver?”

  “Later tonight, Captain. Why don’t you check our perimeter and establish an assault team for that truck of manure? I can’t believe I’m saying that. Things here turn on us doctoring a load of cow manure!”

  “That, ma’am, and the weather staying the same,” Ruth said. “It’s been two weeks since it rained. I know the Farm has irrigation gear, but it’s still got to be getting hot and dry.”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” the Marine officer said to his wife.

  She grinned. “There’s nothing like the smell of burning drugs in the morning.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  THE GILDED CAGE proclaimed itself to the world with a neon sign and a well-lit golden birdcage with a stuffed or fake yellow bird inside.

  Mary suspected the cage’s being there said something about the quality of the education system on this planet.

  Lek took his small harem up to the door.

  “We don’t allow no women of the street in here,” a well-muscled bouncer growled.

  Lek made money appear in his hand. It disappeared, and they were in.

  The place inside was quite an eyeful.

  This wasn’t the first brothel Mary had seen the inside of. Back on the rock during the war, she’d drawn a liberty, but the Bachelor Officers Quarters at headquarters were full. It had been suggested that she, being a woman, might find the brothel more appealing.

  “I mean, they know how to treat a woman right,” the civilian at the front desk of the “Q” had stammered.

  Mary had, indeed, found that the madam at the brothel, some enterprising type who had landed right behind the lines, knew how to treat a woman willing to pay for a room, a bath, and a pleasant massage.

  That evening, she’d discovered what a fine conversationalist Captain Mattim Abeeb could be, and one thing had led to another. Only later had Mary found herself under the man’s command. They both did their best not to mention that they knew what the other looked like with their clothes off and had maintained professional boundaries ever since.

  Still, Mary had to admit that this whorehouse was much more splendid than the one for the grimy line beasts in the war.

  The wallpaper was a lush crimson and cream. Thick red drapes were held open by golden tassels to reveal screens showing things best left behind closed doors. On the floor was a thick red carpet.

  No simple red light to advertise what this place was about.

  Lek maneuvered his pair of honeys to a rich mahogany table with only four chairs. The middle-aged madam quickly slipped into the empty one.

  “We do not allow street girls in our fine establishment,” she said, but it was through a smile that was all money.

  Again, Lek made money appear. Again, it disappeared.

  “So long as we understand ourselves. You can use room ten. Don’t mess it up,” the still-smiling woman said as she stood. “And don’t expect any free drinks.”

  “I never drink what I haven’t paid for,” Lek answered the already retreating bare back. His carefully measured diction came as a surprise to Mary.

  “Friendly types,” Cyn said.

  “Friendly don’t pay no bills,” Lek said, his language slipping back to the familiar patter of a miner.

  “You have surprising skills,” Mary said.

  “Surprise is my stock-in-trade,” he answered.

  Since the place had yet to fill up, a bar girl wearing hardly anything quickly appeared at their table for their order. She looked little older than Alice. Lek ordered a scotch for himself, “On very few rocks, if you take my meaning, my dear, and some of the usual for my girls.”

  Mary found herself drinking a weak fruit punch.

  Cyn made a face at it, then sighed. “Right. I’m not here to enjoy myself.”


  “And we need to keep our wits about us,” Mary added softly, one eye on Lek.

  “Any day I can’t hold a few glasses of good single-malt whiskey as tiny as these, you can toss me out the door.”

  Speaking of the door, it opened. So far, the place had been rather thinly occupied. Now eight toughs in black uniforms swaggered in. The bar girl quickly took their orders and got her bottom pinched . . . twice.

  Their drinks arrived quickly, and not in the tiny glasses Lek was drinking from. Mary didn’t notice any money changing hands.

  The bar girl didn’t hang around for a tip but got pinched twice more.

  When the cops are your worst customers, who polices up the others? The question hung there with no answer.

  A girl began singing on a small stage. She had a fairly decent voice. She also could dance. Most of her clothes ended up tossed to the customers. Money flew back in kind. The less she wore, the more money landed on stage.

  When she was down to next to nothing, she bounced off the stage and circulated among the crowd. More money came her way, though Mary had no idea where it went.

  Meanwhile, back onstage, a couple of girls . . . real girls . . . Alice’s age at best and in costumes that revealed for all their lack of curves, collected the money on the stage floor and handed it off to the bartender. He folded it into a set of pigeonholes behind the bar. No doubt, the madam and the singer would split it later.

  Meanwhile, the singer had attracted the attention of one of the uniformed thugs. He pushed her ahead of him as he headed for the back. Mary spotted the scowl that flitted across her face, but for only a second. A painted-on smile was there in a blink, and the girl went where she was pushed.

  Mary was really taking a dislike to this place: the Gilded Cage in particular, Savannah in general.

  But she had an advantage over all the other girls in this place tonight. I can knock heads, kick butt, and change things, Mary thought and liked the taste of the smile that came to her lips.

  Beside her, Lek’s face was taking on a decidedly stormy look, with his lips going thin and his eyes getting hard.

  “Smile, my friend. You’re enjoying yourself with a girl on each arm.”

  Lek smiled, but it didn’t stay.

  Cyn leaned over and whispered something in his ear. He laughed at whatever joke she shared.

  Unfortunately, his laugh drew attention. One of the thugs glanced their way. He turned back to his friends, but more and more often, his eyes were wandering to their table.

  Mary wondered just how high a price she’d have to pay for her seat in this hellhole.

  But it wasn’t her the thug in uniform was eyeing.

  After his friend got back from his time with the singer, they ordered a second round. The next singer managed to hook up with a richly dressed man before she got to their table. The cops were none too happy to be dodged by the lovely redhead whose “carpet” matched the “drapes.”

  The thugs’ grumbling didn’t last long as the one who’d been eyeing their table got up and stomped over to them.

  In front of them, he hitched up his gun belt. “Old man, you got two, and I got none. You want to share with the friendly arms of the law, don’t you?”

  “But you wouldn’t want to take a man’s wife, would you?” Lek said, turning a loving eye on Mary. “Or his mistress,” he added, turning a lustful eye on Cyn.

  “I’ll leave you your wife,” the arm of the law growled, “but I do like blondes. And if she’s only your mistress, you shouldn’t mind sharing.”

  He put a rough hand on the Marine’s arm.

  Mary half expected Cyn to rip the guy’s arm off. No doubt she could.

  Instead, Cyn smiled at Lek and Mary. “I can handle this fine.”

  She gave Lek a peck on the cheek, which really pissed the guy off, and led him to the rear. “Room ten, right,” she called behind her.

  “Ten,” Mary repeated, her stomach going into free fall. She’d known there was risk to her plan. She just hadn’t expected someone else to pay the price.

  “Damn,” Lek said, taking a long sip from his scotch. “It worked so well in a movie I once saw.”

  Mary ignored his penitence and took the scotch from Lek’s hand and downed what was left in one gulp.

  “Down, my girl,” Lek said. “She knew the risk when she came with us. She’s a big girl. She can handle this.”

  “But she shouldn’t have to,” Mary growled.

  Their waitress was at Lek’s elbow putting down three decent-sized scotches. “He’s a bad one. None of the working girls like him,” she whispered.

  All Mary could do was smile a thank-you for the bad news.

  Lek paid the bar girl well and was rewarded with a shy smile. The two Marines waited out the time, both sipping their drinks as lightly as they could.

  THIRTY-TWO

  IT SEEMED FOREVER, but it was less than ten minutes before Cyn slipped into her chair and downed half of the scotch in front of her.

  “Thanks for some medicine,” was all she said.

  “There’s a bruise on your cheek,” Mary said.

  The girl produced a compact from her purse and began dabbing gently at the dark spot. “A real bastard, that one.”

  That one strutted back into the parlor, making a show of still hitching up his belt and grinning at Cyn.

  She studiously avoided him.

  He settled down at his old table, loudly ordered another drink, then ostentatiously fondled the breast of the bar girl when she delivered. Before she could get away, he’d pinched her nipple.

  Through it all, the bouncer looked elsewhere.

  “Can no one do anything?” Mary found she’d muttered out loud.

  “Wait for it,” Cyn said, darkly.

  The cop lifted his drink in a salute to no one or nothing. Then he chugged it in one quick motion. Done, he laughed derisively.

  Then, slowly, the thug’s head began to lean more and more to the right. Then his entire body was twisting in that direction. He fell out of his chair and hit the deck with a most satisfying thunk.

  He let out a groan, followed a moment later with a choked scream of pain.

  Now his friends were standing around him. The bouncer was there, helping him to his feet and aiming him for the door.

  “I’ve called an ambulance,” the madam said, all unction and concern.

  “If he’s been poisoned,” one of his buddies threatened.

  “Here,” the bouncer said, “take the glass with you.”

  “I assure you, good man,” the madam said, hovering, “our drinks are of the finest quality.”

  One of the cops took the glass and sniffed it. Then he pocketed it.

  “There’s no poison,” Cyn muttered softly.

  “No?” Mary said. “You know what ails him?”

  “Yep,” the scantily clad Marine said. “Something my granny learned from the bad old days, when armies full of rape and pillage still landed on planets.”

  That was the way it had been, before the Treaty of Hamilton. After that, if a planet lost control of the sky above, it had to surrender. That cut down on the raping and burning. It also left the planet in better shape to pay the huge indemnities that the winner always demanded.

  The bankers back on Earth liked it better that way.

  Mary eyed the Marine. “And your granny taught you . . . ?”

  “Ever heard of acupuncture?”

  Lek nodded. “It can be good for what ails you. It takes away the pain without drugs and stuff.”

  “Yeah, it can do that. But a wise old woman showed Granny how to use it for something else. Put the needles in just right, and, well, as you saw, it does hard things to the muscles of the back. And it hurts.”

  She took a long pull on her drink. “It hurts like hell.”

  “Needles, you say. Aren’t they usually long and easy to see?” Mary said.

  Cyn gave Mary a smile. Not a nice one. Not nice at all. “Or you can use small ones. They go in, a
nd there’s nothing to see.”

  “They’ll show up on X-ray,” the smart tech said.

  “Not if they’re plastic,” the woman Marine said with the most evil smile Mary had ever seen on a pretty face.

  “If they don’t lay him on his back, they might work out in a few months. But if he scratches or rolls about . . .” The smile just got more evil.

  “Remind me to stay on your good side,” Lek said.

  “Me too,” Mary added.

  “I’m a Marine, ma’am. I don’t have a good side.”

  The bouncer and madam were back and talking to the bar girl. She was reduced to tears, but she insisted on her innocence.

  “Lek, make sure she gets a very good tip next round of drinks,” Mary said.

  “I already intended to,” was his answer.

  “I think the ones we came for are here,” Cyn said, her eyes on the door.

  Yep, the contingent from the Farm was filing in and taking up tables near the stage. Mary suppressed a frown.

  This could make it hard to attract their attention.

  It got worse as a flock of girls swooped in to settle at their tables and ask for drinks.

  Mary solved her problem by sashaying off to the ladies’ room. She didn’t stay long, and found that several eyes from the Farm crowd were waiting when she did a rolling saunter back to the table.

  One guy couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off Mary. That was fine; he was one she wanted to talk to.

  She sipped her drink, and made eye contact with him. She even granted him a smile when he raised his glass to her.

  Flirting was not something Mary was all that experienced at. Still, she apparently did it right. Before long, the fellow strolled over to their table, sat down, and reached for Mary’s hand. She let him have it, and he made pleasant circles in her palm.

  Encouraged by the soft moan of pleasure she granted him, he produced a large roll of bills.

  “You mind, honey?” Mary asked Lek.

  He gave her a sad-eyed look.

  “Or do you want to come and watch?” she asked him as she put her hand on the offered roll of cash.