“Of course,” Jasmine said. She paused. “We will need an advance.”
She smiled, inwardly, at the greedy look on the man’s face. Of course they’d need a cash advance. They wouldn't be signing up with the Wolves if they weren't terminally short of cash. Being kicked off their ship, even through no fault of their own, meant they were obviously penniless. And being penniless on a world like Calomel meant certain death, unless they found jobs very quickly.
“I can offer you five hundred credits now,” the man said. He reached into his drawer and produced a handful of cash-chips. “Consider them a signing bonus.”
He collected their datachips, then smiled. “I’ll put your details on the datanet,” he said, dryly. “Report back here in two days for pickup.”
Jasmine nodded, curtly. The man wasn't really taking a risk. They’d agreed to go to Wolfbane. If they refused to go, or tried to sign up with someone else, they’d be blacklisted forever. The interstellar traders might dislike planetary governments, but they disliked cheats and claim-jumpers even more. Not, of course, that she had any intention of cheating the Wolves. She wanted to go to Wolfbane.
“We’ll see you in two days,” she said.
“Take rooms at the Ganymede,” the man advised. He picked up a piece of paper and sketched out a set of directions. “Tell the innkeeper I sent you. He won’t overcharge you.”
Much, Jasmine thought. There would be a kickback, of course. But at least he’ll know where to find us.
She nodded goodbye, then led the way back out of the building. The air was even hotter, somehow. She looked around, but the streets were largely deserted. The only people in sight were hidden under giant hats. Shaking her head, she took a look at the map and led the way down the street. The Ganymede was just on the next block. She wasn’t surprised, somehow, when she saw the prostitutes waiting just outside the inn.
“I hear music,” Stewart muttered. “Bad music.”
Jasmine shrugged as she opened the door. The music was louder now, blaring out a drumbeat that obscured most of the lyrics. She rolled her eyes - she’d never been a music fan - and looked around, her eyes instantly adapting to the gloom. A handful of men sat at tables or perched against the bar, drinking steadily; a couple of women moved from table to table, looking worn down by experience. A gust of cooler air washed across her face, making her look up. The ceiling was covered in fans. She could hear them rattling alarmingly as they tried to banish the heat.
A waitress looked up, saw them and hurried over. She would have been pretty, Jasmine thought, if she hadn't slathered so much makeup on her pale face. Her shirt was open, revealing a pair of breasts; her skirt was so short that she could barely move without revealing her buttocks. She was young, but looked and moved like an older woman.
“Welcome,” she said. “What can I get you?”
“Rooms for six,” Jasmine said. She held up the cash-chips. “And dinner, afterwards.”
The waitress nodded. “If you’ll follow me ...”
Jasmine glanced around as the waitress led them to a stairwell, half-hidden behind a giant statue of ... something. The stairs were wooden; they creaked alarmingly as the waitress walked upstairs, shivering under her tread. Jasmine told herself that it was perfectly safe, even though she knew it probably wasn't. The innkeeper had clearly skimped on safety when he’d built his inn.
“We only have two large rooms,” the waitress said. “Do you mind sharing?”
“We can go three to a room,” Jasmine said. “It will be sufficient.”
The waitress nodded and opened the first door. Jasmine peered inside, resisting the urge to make sarcastic remarks. Two beds, neither one particularly big; a bathroom smelling of something foul, a window frame that looked so weak that one good tug would pull it out ... she’d slept in worse places, but most of them had been in war zones. They’d need more blankets, she told herself. But the bedding didn't seem to be clean either.
“It will do,” she said, dropping her carryall on the bed. Beggars couldn't be choosers. “We’ll be down for dinner soon.”
“Just order at the bar,” the waitress said, after showing them the second room. She collected the tip Jasmine offered her with practiced ease. Hopefully, she’d make it vanish before her superior demanded a cut. “Good luck.”
Jasmine snorted as the waitress headed back down the stairs. “Thomas, you stay with Meade and I,” she said, crisply. “The rest of you can have the other room.”
“Understood,” Stewart said. He looked around. “Not the safest of places, is it?”
Jasmine was inclined to agree. There was a lock on the door, but she was fairly sure she could pick it with her eyes closed. Not that the door itself was much tougher. The designer had used balsa wood. One good kick would be more than enough to smash a hole in the wood. She rather suspected the innkeeper would probably try to search their possessions when they were out, no matter what he said. He would be paid double if he found something incriminating before they boarded the freighter and headed to Wolfbane.
“Looks that way,” she agreed, dryly.
She searched the room carefully, looking for bugs or other hidden surprises. There were no technological surveillance devices, as far as she could tell, but there was a knothole in the wooden wall that could be used to spy on them. If someone crawled along a hidden passageway and peered through the chink in the wall ...
“Make sure you don’t do anything you shouldn't,” she said, after blocking the knothole. She was damned if she was letting them spy on her. “We’ll have someone in here at all times.”
“Of course,” Stewart agreed. “Is there actually anything to do here?”
“Repairs,” Meade said. She jabbed a finger at the rattling fan. “I’d bet good money there’s shit here that needs repaired.”
Jasmine was inclined to agree. “If you can find a few side jobs, do them,” she said. It would keep Meade occupied for a day or so. There was nothing else to do on Calomel. “Until then ... dinner time.”
“Good idea,” Stewart agreed. “I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry,” Parkinson teased. “I’ll stay here, with the luggage.”
Jasmine nodded. She didn't think the innkeeper would actually steal from them - on a rough world, it would be asking for rough justice - but it was well to be sure. Their toolkits alone would be worth their weight in gold to the right person. She took one final look around the room, then led the way downstairs. The bar seemed to have grown louder, somehow, even though the number of people hadn’t changed. She shook her head and sat down, beckoning the waitress.
“We only have reprocessed meat,” the waitress said, holding out a faded menu. It was covered in pictures of food, but Jasmine would have been astonished if any of them were actually available. They looked too good. “Our water is clean; our beer is homemade ...”
“Five beers, then,” Jasmine said. She wasn't sure she trusted the local water, no matter what the innkeeper and his staff claimed. Marines did have all kinds of enhancements to make it harder to poison them, but there was no point in taking chances. “And I’d like a burger, please.”
The waitress took their orders and scurried off. Jasmine sat back and waited, allowing her eyes to wander around the bar. There was a nasty vibe to the air, although not one suggesting the prospect of imminent violence. The patrons were too ground down to do more than drink and mutter ... she wondered, absently, what most of them did. They had to do something, didn't they? Calomel was hardly the kind of world to give charity.
“The fan keeps rattling,” Meade said, rising. “I’ll go fix it.”
She rose, striding over to the ancient device - it looked so old that Jasmine could readily believe it predated the Empire - and pulling a sonic manipulator from her belt. Jasmine watched, her eyes narrowing as she saw a man rising from his chair and heading over to Meade. His eyes were fixed on her rear as she bent over the fan, carefully dismantling the protective net. A moment later, he grabbed her
ass ...
... And she spun around, punching him in the face.
Jasmine tensed, half-expecting the rest of the bar to leap to the man’s defence. It wouldn't be the first time someone had done just that, either because they didn't understand what was actually going on or because they just wanted a fight. But ... instead ... the patrons didn't show any reaction at all. They weren't angry or gloating or ... they just didn’t care. Life had worn them down too badly to care.
The waitress reappeared, carrying a tray of food. Jasmine saw her smile, just for a second, as she saw the groaning man. Clearly, he’d been making a nuisance of himself for weeks, perhaps months. No one really gave a damn, not really. She wished she was surprised. The settlement was a black hole, sucking in anyone who dared to stay too long. She was silently relieved that she wouldn’t be staying.
“Here’s your food,” the waitress said. “Tuck in.”
Jasmine took a bite. Her burger tasted like cardboard. The catsup and mustard tasted worse.
“It could be worse,” Meade said. “We could be eating Civil Guard rations.”
“Probably,” Haverford said. “Or we could be eating prison food.”
Jasmine scowled and took another bite. It wouldn't kill her. That was all that mattered, she told herself firmly. And besides, she had eaten worse.
And we’ll be starting the most dangerous part of the mission in two days, she reminded herself. Food won’t be a concern then.
Chapter Sixteen
“Colonel Elbridge has definite ties to Mouganthu,” Lieutenant Jammu Foxglove reported, carefully. She was Emma Foxglove’s sister, the only reason Rani had seen fit to promote her into her personal counterintelligence unit. “He was followed to Mouganthu Tower, where he spent two hours doing ... doing something.”
Rani gritted her teeth. Colonel Elbridge wasn't important, not in and of himself, but his ties to Mouganthu made him dangerous. And she couldn't even remove him without risking a major confrontation. Mouganthu had every right to patronise officers, to assist them in developing their careers ... Governor Brown, damn him, had set precedents Rani had to follow.
“Keep an eye on him,” she growled. Perhaps they could arrange an accident. “Let me know if he does anything outside the scope of his duties.”
She glared down at the picture on the datapad. Colonel Elbridge was handsome enough, in a bland kind of way; his record was good, but not good enough to suggest an exceptional officer. Hell, he was the kind of person who’d sell his soul to a corporation in exchange for promotion. Normally, she wouldn't even have blamed him for trying ... although she wouldn't have felt inclined to tolerate it. But now, she had to tolerate it.
He was careless, she thought. And what does that mean?
Colonel Elbridge had been very careless. Going straight to Mouganthu Tower had been more than enough to draw her attention, which meant ... what? Colonel Elbridge wasn't stupid, was he? Mouganthu certainly wasn't stupid. They had to know that their meeting would alert her, which meant ... were they trying to decoy her? Colonel Elbridge might be intended to draw her attention away from more competent threats. She might waste time and energy obsessing over him while the real threat moved into position.
Or they might want me to judge him as worthless, she thought, sourly. Paranoia was a survival skill, but ... it was a pain, sometimes. Which way do they want me to look?
“Admiral, we could promote him up and send him to a worthless military base,” Jammu offered. “That would neutralise the threat.”
“Perhaps,” Rani said. She'd have to give it some thought. Colonel Elbridge might not realise that his promotion was no reward at all, but his backers would certainly smell a rat. “For the moment, keep an eye on him.”
She looked at Paula. “Do you have the latest set of reports from the security forces?”
“Four more cells of subversives, uncovered in the city,” Paula said. “They’ve all been cleaned out, as far as we can tell.”
“That's what they said last time,” Rani said. She’d lost track of the number of men and women she’d sent to the firing squad or exiled to stage-one colony worlds. “And yet new cells spring up everywhere.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Paula said. “But we are keeping them down.”
Her wristcom bleeped. “Admiral, Lieutenant Foxglove is requesting an immediate interview,” she said. “She says there’s been a major breakthrough.”
Rani looked up, hopefully. “Order her to come in,” she said, dismissing Jammu with a glance. “I’ll speak to her at once.”
Lieutenant Emma Foxglove looked tired, when she entered the office. But there was a faint smile on her face that, for the first time in far too long, made Rani feel a little better. The war wasn't lost, not yet - not at all. Losing at Corinthian had been embarrassing - and there was no easy way to shift the blame onto someone else - but Wolfbane was far from defeated. She was damned if she was just giving up.
“Admiral,” Emma said. She held out a datachip. “We just received the latest set of reports from our sources on Avalon. The enemy is attempting to launch an offensive of its own.”
Rani leaned forward. “The target?”
“Thule,” Emma said. “All our sources agree on it.”
“I see,” Rani said. She tapped her console, bringing up the starchart. Thousands of tactical icons were scattered around, each one representing a starship or a battle squadron. Wolfbane itself was surrounded by hundreds of icon, blurring together into a featureless mass. “And what do they say?”
“The enemy intends to recover Thule,” Emma said. “Their fleet may already be on their way.”
Rani stroked her chin. Thule ... it didn't seem likely, somehow. The Commonwealth had been beaten at Thule, true, but ... somehow, she doubted they were driven by a desire for bloody revenge. Thule was no longer particularly important, not after a full-scale war and the destruction of most of its infrastructure. She’d withdrawn half of the forces assigned to Thule for the ill-fated drive on Corinthian.
Losing Thule would be annoying, she thought. The enemy was practically guaranteed a victory, unless she acted quickly. Their propaganda would turn it into a major victory, given the chance. But it would hardly be decisive.
“We should react,” Paula said. “If we could get reinforcements there in time ...”
“It would be useless,” Rani said. Thule was worthless now. “There’s no point in throwing good money after bad.”
She leaned forward, thinking hard. The enemy had scored a major victory. There was no point in trying to hide from that. And they planned to capitalise on it by liberating a useless world? She didn't think so. Given time, she’d rebalance her forces and resume the offensive ... they knew it as well as she did. No, they’d need something a little more decisive if they hoped to win the war.
They’re not afraid to gamble, she thought. And Thule is a pretty safe bet.
“They’re not going to Thule,” she said, softly. “That’s a decoy.”
Emma frowned. “Admiral, our sources all agree ...”
“Our sources helped prime us to walk right into a trap,” Rani said. She hadn't forgotten just how badly she’d been misled over Corinthian. “Either they lied to us or they were lied to.”
She studied the display, shaking her head slowly. “They’re not going to Thule.”
“We know they were preparing an operation,” Emma said. “Admiral, where are they going?”
Rani said nothing. Where would she go, if she was in their shoes? A direct strike on Avalon - or Wolfbane - would be one hell of a gamble. It might shorten the war. But where else could they go?
“Titlark,” she said, finally.
Emma coughed. “Titlark?”
“Yes,” Rani said.
She pointed to the glowing star - and the blue shipping lines leading to it. “It’s our forward base,” she said. “We run convoys through the system all the time. We built up one hell of a stockpile of weapons and supplies there. Taking the base out - eith
er capturing or destroying it - would give us a bloody nose.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Emma agreed.
“We’d have to rebuild our stockpiles, if nothing else,” Paula said. “That would set the war back a few months ...”
“More like a few years,” Rani said. Titlark was the most logical target. There were other fleet bases, but none of them so crucial to the war. Even if she regained control of the system in a hurry, she’d still lose the supplies and any convoys unfortunate enough to pass through the region. “We need to reinforce the base ...”
She stopped, studying the display. The enemy would have the system under observation, of course. She’d done the same, back before the war had actually started. They’d see the reinforcements and either back off or come up with a better plan. But if they didn't know the system had been reinforced ... they’d come in, fat and happy. They wouldn't realise they’d been rumbled until it was too late.
Wolf's Bane (The Empire's Corps Book 14) Page 16