What Tomorrow May Bring

by Tony Bertauski

  Corbin Price retrieved one of the little glasses. “A little lubricant to smooth negotiations?”

  “Negotiations?” Sigrid blurted. “We have already agreed to your fees, Mr. Price. Do you wish to sell to us or not?”

  Corbin Price chuckled, raising his glass to her. “Of course. I did not mean to imply any retractions on my part. I simply thought I may have other things you might find of interest. We have both journeyed far to get here. Might as well make the most of our meeting.”

  Captain Trybuszkiewicz took one of the offered glasses from the tray, downing the amber liquid in one gulp. With all eyes on her, Sigrid realized she was to take one too, perhaps part of some social ritual. The contents registered as tequila; the black worm seemed an odd thing, but her database confirmed that this was done. After a cautious sniff, she downed the shot, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. Her eyes never wavered from the fat trader across the table.

  “You’ll have to forgive my grandniece, Mr. Price,” the captain said with a firm look to Sigrid. “She is new to the life of a tramp trader. This is her first journey with us. I thought this meeting might prove educational.”

  “Of course. Then, Ms….”

  “Peters,” Sigrid said.

  “Ah, Ms. Peters,” Corbin Price said graciously. “Your uncle must have informed you, trade is a fluid matter. Many new opportunities have arisen since our last communication. New items have come into my possession. One never knows what one might find unless one asks.”

  “I have been given certain leeway to negotiate any item of interest,” Captain Trybuszkiewicz said. “Perhaps if you show me…”

  Corbin Price reached down, retrieved a data-pad from the folds of his coat, and tossed it across the table. Sigrid saw the screen and nearly gasped. The manifest advertised two industrial manufacturing platforms. These absolutely massive orbital facilities were self-contained factories on a grand scale. Capable of processing raw ore and minerals, they could be programmed to manufacture any number of things: building materials, engine parts, even ship components—parts enough to build an entire fleet. One of the platforms alone was worth twelve times the price of all the goods they were scheduled to pick up. Two would be worth more than Sigrid’s life contract had been to Kimura Corp.

  Machines like this were the heart of any terraforming effort. Acquiring even one of the platforms could mean all the difference for their struggling colony. Yet the captain seemed unimpressed by the offering.

  Sigrid felt the elbow in her side and closed her mouth.

  “I’m not sure what you think we can do with these…”

  Corbin Price spread his fat hands wide. “Why, any number of things, I should imagine.”

  Any number of things, indeed, Sigrid thought.

  “Even if my client was interested,” the captain said. “I would have to contact them. This is well beyond my realm to negotiate.”

  Sigrid knew this was true. As vast as Lady Hitomi’s wealth had been, it had taken nearly all her holdings, all her favors and negotiating skills to get them this far. There was little left in her mistress’s accounts for such extravagances.

  Corbin Price bowed his head, conceding the expense. “Perhaps there are other things you can offer. We Merchantmen trade in all goods and services.”

  The captain helped himself to another of the offered tequilas. “Goods? Our holds are empty, Mr. Price, awaiting delivery from you. As for services, I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “There is no need to be coy, Captain. It serves neither of us. Not when I have something you so desperately need, and you have something that would be of tremendous value to me. I see no reason why we cannot come to an arrangement.”

  The trader’s demeanor changed in an instant. He sat up, the easy, jovial expression gone as his eyes fixed firmly on Sigrid.

  “I did not get to this position by being ignorant, Captain. And I wouldn’t be much of a trader if I did not anticipate my clients’ needs. You are not simple merchant sailors. You are Kimura. Now—don’t be alarmed—I am not here to make threats. I’m simply pointing out what needs to be said. You are Kimura—ex-Kimura. I know your client well, and I know your needs. And I know you could very much use these. Let’s not pretend otherwise. Instead, let us figure out how we both might prosper from this situation.”

  He was right, and Sigrid knew it. Their attempt at ruse had been foolish. The trader knew exactly who they were and what she was. Strangely, she felt relieved. And she desperately wanted those platforms.

  “And what do we have to trade?” Sigrid asked.

  “Your services, for one, Ms. Peters. Yes, I know what you are. It’s quite all right. I am very familiar with Lady Hitomi’s work in genetics. Although, I must admit I did assume you would be…well, taller.” The trader shifted his bulk, sitting forward. “Now, you must tell me. Is it true? Everything they say about you and your kind—the things you can do?”

  Sigrid crossed her arms over her chest. “I couldn’t possibly answer since I have no idea what they might have said.”

  “They say you destroyed the Lift Complex at Panama.”

  “Independents did that, Mr. Price. Not me.”

  “What about what occurred on Scorpii? I hear you took out an entire company of CTF Marines.”

  “It was a battalion. But no, they were too busy fighting the Independents to worry about me.”

  Corbin Price laughed heartily, giving his knee a good slap. “Well said, Ms. Peters. But you were there, all the same. And you did blow up the Relay. They say you can’t be killed.”

  “I’m afraid someone has been having fun at your expense, Mr. Price.”

  “Granted, these things are always exaggerated. But I’ve learned to trust in the kernels of truth buried inside. I suspect you are being modest, Ms. Peters. The truth probably lies somewhere in between.”

  Sigrid was eager to turn the conversation away from her, back to the industrial machines. “Exactly what services would you have me perform?”

  The captain raised a hand in objection. “Let us not get ahead of ourselves. Ms. Peters’ services are not negotiable.”

  “Wait,” Sigrid said. “I would still like to know, Captain. Those manufacturing platforms would be invaluable to us.”

  “Invaluable!” Corbin Price said, steepling his fingers with interest. “Well, then…”

  “Of value,” Sigrid corrected, cursing herself; she knew little of negotiation tactics. “If it is something within my power, then perhaps we might have a deal.”

  “Sigrid…” the captain cautioned. “I do not think it wise—” But Sigrid nodded; it was all right.

  Corbin Price bowed his head. “Very well. There is a man arriving at the station tomorrow. He has stolen from us. Services were rendered, but no payment received. His theft hurt our organization. We cannot allow his dishonesty to go unpunished—not good for business. I want to see that he is hurt in return.”

  Sigrid braced herself. All her life she had been trained as a mercenary, as a soldier, and yes, an assassin. Certainly, she had taken lives and done so without hesitation. But that had been her choice. Her duty. Until this moment she hadn’t truly appreciated how it would feel to have someone ask her to kill another. What was it the mercenaries said? For coin and contract?

  “He carries with him something we would find of value,” Corbin Price said. “I wish you to retrieve it and return it to me.”

  “Retrieve? Then…then you don’t want me to kill him?”

  “Kill him? Heavens, no! We are Merchantmen, Ms. Peters, not mercenaries—apologies to present company. No, I don’t require him harmed; although, should you leave him bruised, possibly maimed, no one will think worse of you. Retrieving the package will suffice.”

  Sigrid studied the fat merchant closely. The job was simple—too simple—but Corbin Price appeared quite earnest that she should perform this service for him. Her sensors revealed his heart rate was steady, his skin cool. If his blood pressure was elevated, it seemed more a result
of his diet, his immense bulk and the excitement he felt at the prospect of a deal. But she could sense no duplicity. Her scans registered no lies.

  “That’s all, then? Retrieve a package?” Sigrid asked.

  “That is all.”

  True.

  “And bring it to you?”

  “Yes. And bring it to me.”

  True.

  “And you’ll give us what we want?” Sigrid asked.

  “If you perform this task to my satisfaction, I will be happy to deliver all that you desire.”

  Something still didn’t fit. The man appeared sincere—sincere for a thief, a con artist. But there was more. Sigrid could sense it, but could not put her finger on it.

  “What does he carry? What is so important?”

  Corbin Price raised a finger. “That, my dear, is on a need-to-know basis. And there are some things you don’t need to know.”

  “Any information you have on a job is information I need, Mr. Price. Let’s call it a deal breaker.”

  “A deal breaker? Ah. Well then, if I have no choice—”

  “No. You don’t,” Sigrid said. “Not if you want me to do this for you.”

  “All right. It is information he carries, nothing more. A client list, if you will. Information that could prove of great value. Losing it to me will not be looked on kindly by his superiors; something I imagine they will make him suffer greatly for—also of great value to me.”

  “Why me?” Sigrid asked. “Why not one of your own men?”

  Corbin Price looked to the beefy men to his sides and chuckled. “Them? They serve a purpose, but I’m afraid they lack the finesse required for a job like this. The man I seek works for powerful men, Ms. Peters. Dangerous men. The men they answer to more so.”

  “Incorporated?” Sigrid asked. “Federates?” She was well aware of the power and reach of the Federation of Corporate Enterprises, even in a place such as this.

  “Let’s just say, they will not part easily with this information. As for my men, we are simple merchants and not much good as spies. You, on the other hand…”

  “We will have to inspect the platforms,” the captain said. “Ensure they are in working order.”

  Corbin Price raised his shoulders. “That may prove problematic. The platforms are far too valuable to risk transporting to a place such as this. You understand.”

  The captain flashed a knowing smile. “Of course.”

  “They are safe, I assure you. And in good condition. Not new, but functional. Nothing your skilled technicians can’t take care of.”

  The captain chuckled, shaking his head. “They’re wrecks, aren’t they? Salvage.”

  “They are what they are. But if you are not interested…”

  Sigrid leaned forward. “If I do this for you, get you this information, you will give us the platforms? Both of them?”

  “Both?” Corbin Price’s smile broadened. “Why, Ms. Peters, complete this task for me and I will give you one of the machines. But…should this go well, I would be happy to discuss terms for the second.”

  * * *

  Work loading the first of the supplies began first thing in the morning. Sigrid stood with Captain Trybuszkiewicz and the chief engineer overseeing the loading, all done by hand since the station’s automated systems had long since failed. The supplies were trickling in, brought in in dribs and drabs by hired laborers; their slow shuffling serving to raise the captain’s ire. It would take days to complete loading at this rate.

  “I don’t like this,” the captain said. “I don’t trust these Merchantmen. The supplies should be here, waiting. And this business with this man—what he carries. This is all too convenient.”

  Sigrid set the ninety-kilo cargo container onto the floating handcart to her side. “He’s telling the truth, Captain. I know it. My scans—I can tell when a man is lying.”

  “But you can’t rule it out,” the captain said.

  “It is not a precise science—it’s not mind-reading, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I might not have your abilities, Ms. Novak,” the chief said. “But this business has a smell. It reeks. And we still haven’t seen these platforms. Do we know if they even exist?”

  That was something not even Sigrid could answer. She was certain Corbin Price was telling the truth. But truth about what? The existence of the industrial platforms, or the fact that they weren’t here. There were too many variables. But if there was a chance—having even one of the machines could mean the difference of life and death for her friends, the survival of their colony. Was it not her duty to take that risk?

  The captain dismissed the idea.

  “It’s too dangerous. I don’t like it. We will have the supplies we came for…” He looked at the few scant sundries they’d loaded so far. “Soon, I hope. When we are done here, we will return to New Alcyone.”

  Sigrid grabbed hold of the captain’s sleeve, tugging. “Captain, please…” The thought of losing the valuable machines was too much. “I know the risk.”

  “That is what I’m afraid of. The risk. This man—this merchantman—I don’t trust him.”

  “I don’t trust him either. But Captain, this is what I’ve been trained for. If there’s even a chance…”

  Captain Trybuszkiewicz looked into her wide eyes, sighed heavily, as one does when faced with an unwinnable battle. “Lady Hitomi warned me this might happen.”

  “Warned you!”

  “She tasked me with watching over you, Ms. Novak. I am to keep you out of trouble. Should something happen to you… Well, a court martial may be the least of my concerns.”

  Sigrid squeezed his arm, a very unmilitarylike gesture. “I’ll be careful, sir. I promise.”

  “We’ll monitor your progress from the bridge. If you sense trouble, anything, you are to abort, return here immediately. We will lend what aid we can.”

  Sigrid was already running for her quarters, already playing the mission over in her mind.

  “I’ll call. I promise.”

  The captain watched her scurry off.

  “She’s very skilled,” Chief Topa said. “She can take care of herself.”

  “But she’s young, Andrzej. She doesn’t yet know the lengths men will go to get what they want. This man, Corbin Price…” The captain’s voice trailed off. He reached for his weapons belt, strapped his sidearm back on, and walked quickly from the docking platform.

  “Keep watch of her progress from the bridge, my friend.”

  “Me? Where are you going?”

  The captain called back over his shoulder. “I’m going to pay a visit to Mr. Price. I have more questions for him. We will have…a conversation.”

  * * *

  The transport began offloading its passengers to the ventral docking platform a little after midday. Sigrid waited amongst the crowd of onlookers, mostly vendors and flesh traders who crowded forward, shouting offers to the passengers as they disembarked.

  Sigrid remained to the rear, watching. She had the identity of the man she sought uploaded to her PCM. His name was Bernat Wereme, a retired financier with a criminal record nearly as impressive as hers. Guilty of numerous accounts of fraud, he had been stripped of his licenses and banned from work within the Federation of Corporate Enterprises. It explained how he had ended up out here dealing with the likes of the Merchantmen.

  Sigrid spotted him in the crowd. He was tall and thin, an elderly gentleman well past his prime. A simple briefcase was the only luggage he carried tucked under a frail arm. And he was not alone. Sigrid spotted his escorts: three men, professionals by the looks of them. Mercenaries. They were armed, but that was to be expected. If her information was accurate, they would have to make their way across the station to the portside docking ring where the connecting transport to Vega IV awaited. Sigrid would need to relieve Mr. Wereme of the package he carried before that time.

  It was all too easy. And that bothered Sigrid.

  Keeping her distance, she followed the men
as they made their way through the maze of intermodal containers that littered the lower levels. Sigrid wasn’t the only one monitoring their progress. The armed gangs who roamed the station took note of all newcomers. They stopped many of the travelers, questioning, interrogating, but more often than not simply shaking them down for money.

  The gangs kept their distance from her target; Bernat Wereme’s mercenary escort made certain of that. There was easier prey to be had.

  The thugs proved more of an obstacle than Wereme’s armed guard, Sigrid realized. Tangling with one of the groups would surely bring others running. Whatever she did, it would have to be off the streets and out of sight.

  Not for the first time, she found herself wishing Suko was there. It would make things much easier—if not more pleasant. But of course, Suko wasn’t. She had remained on New Alcyone, her duties training the new girls of far more importance than a simple trade mission. Sigrid was on her own. She would have to make do.

  And time was running out. Konoe was not so large; it was only a short walk to the transfer point. Whatever she did, she would have to act soon. The opportunity presented itself when Wereme pointed to one of the eating establishments on the main concourse. There was some discussion, but his escort relented, and the men went inside. Sigrid waited what she thought an appropriate amount of time and entered behind them.

  Bernat Wereme sat at the counter, one of the cooks already doling out something that looked like soup and doing a fine job of spilling a generous amount onto the counter. The elderly financier seemed oblivious, digging greedily into the meal, lifting the spoon to his mouth in a trembling hand.

  One of the mercenaries had already noticed her. She saw his hand fingering the handle of his sidearm; she logged the threat, continued her scan. The eatery was quite spacious, but she counted only fourteen patrons, six staff in attendance, all well dispersed—minimal risk of collateral damage.

  Four shuriken dropped from her sleeve into the palms of her hands. She had already calculated the trajectory needed to take out each of the mercenaries quickly and silently when a completely different idea occurred to her. One that would solve two nagging problems.