Mona snuggled toward him. “Hey, big boy, wanna go again?” She pushed her hand between them, but the detanine had him in its grip now and he didn’t rise to the occasion. “I guess not. Shit, Garrick, when are you going to get help? That stuff will kill you.”
“I can handle it.”
“No, you can’t. You might have been able to if you’d quit sooner, but you didn’t.”
“Don’t say I told you so.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
But she didn’t need to.
Braced by detanine, Garrick paced into Roxburgh’s casino, currently closed to the public, and addressed the staff. They’d had time to think and wonder where their next paycheck was coming from. He had his own security team around him, so anyone with a grudge would think twice before doing anything stupid.
“It’s like this,” Garrick told the assembled workers. “If you’re not in jail yet, you’re not likely to be, but I’m watching you all. Whatever you did in this establishment for Roxburgh—bar staff, croupiers, cashiers, cooks, waiters, cleaners, escorts—you can continue to do, but from now on you’ll be working for Crossways.”
“Does that mean we’ll be working for you?” someone yelled.
“In effect, yes, but not me personally. Crossways gets the profits, but in return we’ll service the building and equipment. We’ll even fix your power supply . . .”
A few people sniggered, having figured out the joke, but the vast majority simply stared, some shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably.
“And we’ll put in new management. Whatever you did previously, you’ll be running clean games in the future. If you don’t like the idea, you can get out now. Anyone caught cheating customers or lining their own pockets will be off Crossways immediately, and you’ll be very lucky if there’s a ship waiting for you on the other side of the airlock. Do I make myself clear? I said: do I make myself clear?”
There was a small chorus of yesses.
“And in case you think you can buck the system, I will warn you that there will be Empaths on staff.”
He stared down their low rumblings of discontent. “Not on the tables, of course, but on staff and among the patrons. Consider this a warning. You’re all on probation. One last thing—does anyone know the location of Ilsa Marquat?”
He hadn’t expected anyone to come forward, and no one did. Miss Marquat’s absence was a puzzle, as was Ully’s. It was entirely likely that Marquat, seeing which way the wind was blowing, had gone to ground, or even left the station before the brown stuff hit the whirly. But it was also possible that Roxburgh saw her as a liability who knew too much.
Ully’s continued absence was worrying. Mona adored the little old lady, even though she rarely said as much. Ully had been with her for close to twenty years. Neither the Free Company Telepaths nor their best Finders had been able to come up with anything. They were still trying, but Garrick’s unvoiced fear was that she was floating out in the black somewhere, frozen and alone.
He took a cab to Blue Seven from the casino, still surrounded by his guards, all anonymous in their buddysuits and wearing helmets so he didn’t have to. He’d hate to have to go everywhere fully armored. In fact, how nice would it be to stretch out, semi-naked, on a sun-drenched beach with Mona by his side and simply shrug off the cares of management? One day, when he’d purged Crossways of its undesirables and set it on the road to legitimacy, he might announce an election, leave it up to someone else, and retire. Thanks to the platinum, his own personal fortune was sufficient for ten lifetimes, and, presuming enemies didn’t catch up with him, even with rejuv treatments he wasn’t going to make it much beyond another hundred years. Of course, since he was never going to venture into the Folds again, his paradise beach had better be available somewhere on Olyanda.
Blue Seven was bustling as usual. He left his guards at the entrance and passed through the barbican alone. The receptionist had already called ahead, so Ben met him on the other side.
“Have you eaten?” Ben asked.
Garrick’s belly growled at the thought. “Not since breakfast.”
They walked down to the dining area. It was set where the roadway opened out, making it feel light and airy, a neat trick on a space station. The kitchen itself was covered, but the tables were all sociably in a plaza. It was all very egalitarian. Ben mucked in with everyone else. There was no priority seating or special table for the boss.
“What’ll you have?” Ben passed Garrick a tray. “I can recommend the beef.”
“Beef? Real beef?”
“Jake Lowenbrun’s been making the most of that little freighter, and Ada Levenson’s been giving him a shopping list every time he goes somewhere.”
“Speaking of the freighter . . .” Garrick said as he piled beef and potatoes on his plate and followed Benjamin to a table, “our diplomatic mission returns soon, I believe.”
Garrick had been happy to lend his yacht, the Glory Road, to Ben’s grandmother for her mission to recruit independent colonies to the Crossways Protectorate, but it would need its regular berth in Port 22 when it returned.
“I’ve been thinking, Benjamin, since Roxburgh no longer needs it, how about the Free Company takes over Port 46 and gets the hell out of Port 22? Forty-six is more convenient for Blue Seven anyway.”
Ben’s face lit up. “Are you kidding? That would be excellent. We’ll pay the going rate for it, of course.”
“I don’t see why you should. Roxburgh never did.”
“I’m not Roxburgh.”
Garrick smiled. “Okay, I take your point. Rent to Crossways gratefully accepted. There are a few ships in it, and a few more out on runs, probably due back with illegal cargoes. You’ll need to deal with those potentially hostile arrivals. Take over the ships for your trouble. Keep the crews out of my hair, and we’ll call it straight for services rendered. Unless you were planning to give me a bill for the Roxburgh takedown.”
“You know I wasn’t. This station’s better off without the likes of him.”
“Indeed it is, and it acts as a warning to the other crimelords. Clean up your act or leave.” Garrick speared a cube of potato, cooked to perfection, almost more of a luxury than the beef on a station where many foods arrived dehydrated. “Mmm, I should make a point of calling at lunchtime more often.”
“It’s always lunchtime here, Garrick, and you’re always welcome.” Ben waved his hand at the openness of the warehouse above their head. “It’s the best kitchen in town.”
“I’ve had an inquiry.” Garrick changed the subject abruptly. “Miss Yamada of Alphacorp wants to let bygones be bygones. She wants to buy retrofit jump drives, and as part of the deal she wants her fleet retrieved from Amarelo space.”
“Do you believe she’s on the level?”
“I believe she wants jump drives. Though when she can commission new jumpships from scratch, I wonder why she wants retrofit ones. Of course, once she gets her hands on one drive, she can have her research and development labs reverse engineer it pretty quickly.”
“Well, there’s never been a huge market for jumpships. New ones are, on average, fifty percent more expensive to build, and the capacity to build them is limited. There are only a couple of shipyards that specialize, and they’re usually working two to four years behind their order books. Retrofitting existing ships is going to be faster and cheaper—depending on how much she’s willing to pay for either the drives or the plans to build them. Have you given her an answer?”
“Not yet.” Garrick’s plate was now empty and his stomach pleasantly full. “There’s a lot to consider, including, of course, that someone may come up with a retrofit solution of their own.”
“It’s only a matter of time, I guess. Have you discussed it with Dido Kennedy?”
He shook his head. “Crossways paid her for the invention, but since most of that went to the citizens of Red
One, she should make something else out of it if we sell it. I want to bring together an advisory body—a council, if you like. Crossways shouldn’t depend on one person.”
“Even if that person is you?”
Garrick laughed. “Not even then. Crossways isn’t a monarchy. Crowns are heavy and I have no children to inherit. Will you join me? Cara, too, of course.”
“I can’t speak for her, though I see no reason why she wouldn’t.”
“And yourself?”
“Yes, count me in.” Ben offered his hand and Garrick took it. “So, speaking as a member of your council, what are you going to do about Roxburgh’s captains? You said they’d have a hearing. Are you going to make a show trial of it?”
“It’s tempting, but nothing so high profile. We’ll simply put them on trial for aiding and abetting Roxburgh in his illegal activities. We’ll have a panel of three judges, and two independent Empaths. I’m expecting all the accused to be as guilty as hell. Most of them have killed, or ordered someone killed, either on their own behalf or Roxburgh’s. I doubt any of Roxburgh’s former employees will come forward with specifics—they care too much for their own skin. As for the soon-to-be-found-guilty, since we don’t have any way of imprisoning them long-term, and since I’m reluctant to simply float them out of an airlock without specific murder charges, I’m proposing we dump them on one of the Monitor’s prison planets. I suppose it’s illegal, but once they’re dumped no one will be any the wiser.”
Ben nodded. “There are no guards on a prison planet, just a planetary net to stop unauthorized ships. The real punishment is trying to survive, and there’s always someone bigger and meaner.”
“Can you get through the planetary net? Surely it’s set up to stop prison breaks.”
“I have a contact in the Monitors. I may be able to work around the problem.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Garrick and Ben shook hands on it. It wasn’t until Garrick was on his way back to the Mansion House that he thought about detanine and began to sweat.
Ben wasted no time in taking over Port 46.
After more than a year of sharing Port 22 with Garrick and Mother Ramona, it was going to be strange for Tengue’s security team who would henceforth be working independently of Port 22’s militia.
“We can handle it, no problem,” Tengue said as they discussed the details of taking over the port. Roxburgh’s men were gone, of course, but there were three vessels currently mothballed in there, two of them runabouts and the other, the Gambit, a larger vessel which was furnished for any number of illegal activities. They were still discovering hidden compartments and compiling a list of her armaments. Ships like this didn’t come with a user manual. She’d originally been a small cargo vessel, but her modifications were extensive. Where Solar Wind was lean and mean, Gambit looked unassuming. On closer inspection, however, she had a wealth of modifications.
Yan Gwenn was all over her, delighted with what he found. Within half a day he’d called in Dido Kennedy and they were making arrangements to retrofit a jump drive. Ben tried not to smile as he watched them working together. Their relationship had deepened in the last year. Despite their difference in age—Kennedy was at least ten years older than Yan and twice his width—they were a comfortable couple. Kennedy no longer slept on the couch in her chaotic workshop and, except when he needed to be on hand for work, Yan was frequently absent from the single unit allocated to him in Blue Seven. Ben had enquired discreetly and discovered they had a small apartment in Red Two, directly above Kennedy’s workshop in Red One. Yan had no doubt installed an access tube between the two. The last time Ben had visited the workshop, Kennedy had allowed a pack of her semi-feral kids to move into her old sleeping space. They were better guards than a flock of geese.
Both Yan and Dido oohed and aahed over Gambit. No doubt Ben would get to check her out in time, but his immediate problem was the lack of information about Roxburgh’s missing ships. Would they return or not? It all depended on whether they’d heard the news that Roxburgh was dead and his operation shut down. There were no records. Maybe there had been, but in securing Port 46 during the smackdown, the crew who had been here—four guards, three maintenance workers, and a duty controller—had managed to erase the records. The duty controller was currently awaiting trial along with Roxburgh’s six heavies, though Garrick couldn’t find anything more than obstruction and destroying evidence to charge her with.
Franny Fowler had been first into the port office in the aftermath of the takeover, and she’d spent the last two days drilling down through what records remained.
“I’ve found something.” Her voice came over the speaker.
Ben climbed the stair to the port office. “Show me.”
“I cross-referenced the records from Crossways Control with what was left on the system here. There may be others, but I pinpointed these two. The Hastings, a medium-sized freighter, left port fifteen days ago. She filed a flight plan for the Dromgoole Hub, but wasn’t required to specify a final destination.”
Since the Dromgoole Hub was a twelve-gate nexus, Hastings could be anywhere by now. If the pilot had been warned, it was likely she wasn’t coming back.
The second ship, the Cotton, had departed barely an hour before the smackdown. Ully and Ilsa Marquat were still missing. Could Cotton hold the answer?
Cara gazed around Port 46. If it hadn’t been for the internal decor missing the flashes of color provided by Garrick and Mother Ramona’s logos, it would have been easy to think she was standing in Port 22. There was Solar Wind, and the Dixie Flyer; both had been turned and were ready for immediate takeoff.
Her eyes strayed to the two smaller ships overshadowed by Gambit. They were typical runabouts, one slightly larger than the other. She checked them both. One was a six-seater with a small cargo area. The other would seat ten. It had a slightly larger cargo area and also had a couple of crew berths, a small galley, and an even smaller washroom. Perfect.
“So let me get this straight,” she confronted Ben. “We’re paying rent for the port, but whatever is in it is ours to keep.”
“That’s right.”
“And you’re fitting a jump drive into Gambit.”
“Dido and Yan are doing it right now.”
“What about the two little runabouts?”
“I haven’t thought that far yet. They’re not big enough for jump drives.”
“That one is.” Cara pointed to the ten-seater. “The Flint. She’s bigger than the Dixie and you managed to get a jump drive in that.”
“The Dixie was in better condition.”
“So you don’t want the Flint?”
“I didn’t say that. A ship’s a ship.” He grinned at her. “What are you hinting at?”
“Sanctuary could use a ship like that.”
“You know the Free Company will provide whatever transport you need.”
“I know, but if we’re resettling psi-techs where the megacorps can’t find them, it doesn’t make sense to have any number of pilots in on the secret. We need something more secure.”
“You’d need to find your own pilot.”
“We can do that.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
ULLY
BEN SOUGHT MAX OUT IN HIS OFFICE WHERE Billy Naseby, Max’s new assistant, had his own desk which he could adjust for either his float chair or his standing harness. He was working now, so absorbed in whatever he was looking at on screen that he never even noticed Ben in the doorway.
Ben jerked his head and Max followed him. “Do you fancy a little trip outside?”
“Why, Commander Benjamin—a date at last. I didn’t think you cared.”
“I meant outside. The real outside. I need a Finder who can track through foldspace if necessary.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Not what, who. Roxburgh sent
a little ship out shortly before we took him down, and Ully and Ilsa Marquat are still missing.”
“I’ve never met Marquat.”
“But you know Ully.”
“Not well, but yes, I know her. I’d probably need something that belongs to her—a valued personal possession, maybe.”
“Whatever you need.”
Max nodded. “Now?”
“Now. I can wait ten minutes while you tell Gen.”
“No, that’s okay.”
“You’ll need your buddysuit anyway.”
“Yes, of course.” Max looked down at his soft green tunic and black trousers and shrugged. “I guess I’m a bit underdressed.”
Was it Ben’s imagination that saw reluctance as he turned toward his apartment?
“I’ll meet you in Port 46.” Ben went to gather his crew.
Thirty minutes later they were all aboard Solar Wind. Their quarry, the Cotton, was small, but she belonged to Roxburgh, so she’d be armed. Ben was prepared. He had Dobson in engineering, Tengue and a contingent of his mercs strapped down in the cabins, with Ronan and two med-techs in sick bay. Every position on the flight deck was filled: Cara on comms; Yan Gwenn on systems; Gwala and Naomi Patel on tactical, and Max in one of the two bucket seats.
Just as they were clearing for departure, Crossways Control asked them to wait. Ten minutes later, Mother Ramona arrived on the dockside, dressed in a practical buddysuit and flanked by two of her security guards.
“I’m coming, too,” she said, taking the spare bucket seat. “If you find Ully, I want to be there.”
The Cotton wasn’t fitted with a jump drive, so she had to enter and exit the Folds via the jump gate system and there had to be records. Ben had Cara download the information.
“Found it,” Cara said. “The Cotton filed a flight plan to the Dromgoole Hub.”
“Damn!” Mother Ramona said. “Twelve potential gates out of there. Too many choices.”
“Max?” Ben said.
Max shook his head. “Not much. An echo around the jump gate.”
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