by Jake Elwood
The paralysis of terror left him at the last possible instant and he jerked his body sideways, tumbling to the carpet as a fat white spark sizzled through the air above him. He landed hard on one shoulder, then flung himself at a low black sofa against the back wall. He scrambled over the arm of the sofa, curling himself into a ball, using the end of the sofa for meager cover.
Terror filled his mind, and he saw the room in staccato flashes, like a video feed that hadn't reassembled properly. He saw a woman in a long red gown screaming while her husband tried to pull her away from the attackers. He saw John Riverson backing away from the nearest attacker, his eyes wide. He saw Gustav Riverson throw a futile punch against the hard plastic of a helmet as the tallest attacker grabbed him by the lapels of his coat.
The medium-sized attacker had a pistol in each hand, and he covered the crowd as the tall one dragged the old man toward the exit. For a moment the three attackers and their victim were together in the center of the room. The shortest man took a step to his left. From that angle the sofa was no cover at all, and he lined up his pistol on Chan.
Time congealed like honey. Chan thought of the pistol in his waistband. There wasn’t time to draw and fire, and he was no marksman. The room was full of innocent people, and so were the rooms and corridors beyond. The domes of Crius were crowded. A lead slug might kill two or three people in two or three different rooms before it came to a stop. It could puncture the dome itself, too.
He put a hand on the sofa instead, his other hand on the floor, and gathered himself for a lunge to the side. He was much too late, of course. He could see with a terrible clarity that the gloved finger was already moving on the trigger.
Gustav Riverson reached out with a frail, stick-like arm and knocked the man's wrist up. The gun fired, the spark seared the air and scorched the wall above Chan, and Chan hurled himself across the carpet and scrambled under the table that held the food. In the corner of his eye he saw Riverson take an elbow to the stomach from the angry gunman.
From under the table Chan could see three sturdy pairs of legs in vacuum suits and the spindly pinstriped legs of the man Chan was supposed to be protecting, being dragged backward by the others. In a moment all eight legs were through the doorway and gone.
The room erupted in a babble of loud talk, voices rising to be heard over the woman who was still screaming. Chan huddled under the table, frozen, telling himself to get up, to move. He had a gun, and he had a responsibility. But it was ten long seconds before he could make himself crawl out from under the table and rise to his feet.
He scanned the room. No one seemed to be hurt except the doorman, slowly sitting up, the side of his face bloody. Everyone was wide-eyed and pale. He looked for Liz, wondering if she had been targeted as well. Then he looked again, craning his neck, striding through the room to look behind people. And he swore.
Liz was gone.
A bacon-wrapped scallop dropped from Liz's fingers as she stared down the barrel of a capacitor pistol. Neither bacon nor scallop was real, but they were very good imitations, and she felt a flash of irritation through her shock. Who were these three yahoos to barge in here and interrupt her snack?
Partygoers pressed against her on every side. She thought of the pistol strapped to her leg and wondered how many innocent people would die if she brought the gun out and started shooting. She was almost angry enough to try it.
Her anger deepened to a familiar rage they grabbed Riverson, and a red haze settled over her vision when Riverson saved Chan, then took an elbow to the stomach for his trouble. The three invaders backed toward the door, and Liz shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, ready to move. Tactics and strategies flashed through her mind.
They hadn't shot her. They didn't see her as a threat. That was insulting. They were going to pay for that insult, and pay dearly.
The last gunman vanished from the doorway and she surged forward, elbowing other guests out of her way. A quick glance through the doorway showed her an empty corridor. She could hear footsteps to the right, so she went left, trying to remember the layout of the dome. There should be a staircase on either side, leading to the same corridor one level down. They would be expecting pursuit. They wouldn't expect an ambush.
She flung herself down the stairs, moving faster than people in vac suits could move, especially dragging a hostage. She flew through the doorway one floor down, running hard, and heard the thump of footsteps from the other stairwell.
Her gaze flashed around the corridor. A stone bench stood by one wall, and she ran to it. Sure, there was a pistol on her leg, but a life spent tinkering with machinery had taught her that gadgets could fail. Simple physics, though, never failed. Momentum, mass, and velocity were utterly reliable.
Besides, where was the satisfaction in squeezing a little plastic trigger?
Her fingers closed on the bench and she heaved it upward, grunting. It was heavier than it looked, but she was committed now. The first gunman's legs were already visible in the doorway ahead of her. She straightened and spun, giving the bench every scrap of velocity she could. The bench left her fingertips as the one with two pistols stepped through the doorway. She heard a hoarse shout through his helmet, and the pistol in his left hand fired, a laser beam scoring the bench without slowing it down in the slightest.
An instant later the bench crashed into him. He tried to block it with his right hand, and he screamed as stone struck. A pistol went clattering across the floor and the man fell back into the stairwell.
Liz, completely committed to the throw, stumbled to one knee. A hand poked around the door frame, a capacitor pistol wobbling in its grip, and she scrambled sideways as someone fired blindly into the corridor. She crawled behind a potted tree, fumbling for her own gun.
A figure in a vacuum suit stepped into the corridor, gun waving, head turning as he scanned the area. Liz held herself still, wondering if the tinted faceplate would hamper his vision.
The next kidnapper crossed the hallway, moving rapidly, dragging Riverson with him. The old man looked haggard and frightened, stumbling along with the man's thick hands clamped to his shoulders. The last kidnapper hurried after them, one arm cradled against his chest. They vanished through a doorway on the far side of the corridor as Liz clawed her pistol out and leaned around the planter.
Too late.
She scrambled to her feet and hurried after them, pausing only to scoop up the fallen laser pistol. As she reached the doorway a spark flashed through the air, sizzling against the door frame beside her. She flinched back, then risked a quick peek.
The corridor beyond was empty, but she could hear a lock cycling. She hurried down the hall, panting more from reaction than exertion. She was at the skin of the dome, at an airlock. There was a little window set into the lock, and she pressed her face to the glass.
She was just in time to see the blocky shape of a ship separating from the side of the dome and dropping away into the orange fog of Titan's atmosphere.
There was barely enough time to holster her own pistol, jam the laser pistol into the top of her boot, and smooth her skirts before uniformed cops poured into the corridor, stun pistols in hand. She gestured toward the lock. "You're too late, boys. They got away."
Chapter 4
"You're not much of a bodyguard, are you?"
Chan stared at Eloise, too upset to speak. They stood in the shambles of the meeting room, watching as men in dark uniforms took pictures and peered intently at walls and sections of the carpet. The other partygoers had given statements and dispersed. John Riverson had hurried out first, looking stricken.
"I'm not paying you the balance of your fee," she added. "You were hired to provide protection, and you clearly didn't provide it."
There was simply nothing to say. He stared at her, mute, until she turned away in disgust and stalked out of the room. He watched the uniformed men work, feeling as if it was somehow his duty to linger, in case they found something useful. But his client was gone. Gu
stav Riverson, who had trusted Chan to protect him, who had instead risked his own safety to keep James Chan alive, was gone. He was in the clutches of ruthless kidnappers, and there was nothing, not one single thing, that Chan could do about it.
A cop glanced up at Chan, then returned to a study of the carpet. Chan imagined judgment in the cop's eyes, a withering scorn for the bodyguard who had to be defended by his client. There was nothing here for Chan, no way he could help, no way he could contribute. No, he'd had his chance, and he'd failed. Flushing, he shoved his hands into his pockets and slunk out of the room.
The gun in his waistband had gone undiscovered. Otherwise he'd be in a cell right now, even more of a laughingstock than he already was. He decided to return to the Raven and lock up the revolver. Maybe the ship would be ready to launch. He could fly away, leave Crius behind, and never return. It was a big solar system. He could spend the rest of his life out here and never encounter a single person who knew how utterly he'd failed.
Liz was sitting on the ramp that led into the ship, looking bleak and spent. He trudged past her, stowed the gun in his cabin, and came back to sit beside her. The airy interior of the dome echoed with the sounds of ships under repair, the clatter of tools and the low whine of robotic machines rolling back and forth.
"The ship's ready to fly," she told him. "They even fixed the dorsal docking ring. We're not allowed to leave yet, though." She made a face. "More cops want to talk to us."
He nodded. "Did you stash your gun yet?"
"Yes." She turned her head to look at him. "Do you think Joss sold us out?"
Chan scowled. "Of course not. Even if she would, which I don't believe, she didn't know we had the job. She couldn't have sold us out if she tried."
"Speak of the devil," Liz muttered. "Here she comes now. I was hoping we might manage to leave without her."
"Liz—"
"I know, I know," Liz muttered. "You're right. She didn't know. She probably still doesn't know about the kidnapping. So it wasn't her."
Joss strode across the open floor of the dome toward them, her baggy jumpsuit swishing as she circled wide around a six-wheeled robot. The pirates who'd owned the Raven before them had left behind a decent selection of clothing, but none of it quite fit. Well, they'd barely earned enough to cover their expenses. Clothing that fit properly would have to wait.
"She looks annoyed," Liz murmured. "Do you think she knows we've been talking about her?"
"She doesn't know anything," Chan murmured back. "But she deserves to."
Joss marched up to them, planted fists on her hips, and glowered down at Chan. "They hired you as a bodyguard for Riverson, didn't they?" She pointed an accusing finger at him. "And it blew up in your face, didn't it? That's what happens when you leave me out." She crossed her arms. "I could have helped you, you know."
Chan gaped at her. "How did you know?"
"More to the point," said Liz, leaning forward, "how long have you known?"
Joss glanced left and right, then lowered her voice. "Let's talk on the ship," she said. "There's more to this than meets the eye."
They sat on the bridge, looking out through the Raven's newly-repaired front windows. Joss checked that the rear hatch had closed behind them before she spoke. "You weren't supposed to protect Riverson," she said. "Not really. They hired you because you had no experience, and you're likely to fly away after, and never come back."
"That's… an interesting statement," Chan said at last. "Are you sure?"
"There's a private security firm here on Crius," Joss said. "They move cash, protect expensive cargoes, and they provide bodyguards. They're very good."
"They're also local," said Chan. "That means they could be bribed."
Joss waved a dismissive hand. "If you met some of these guys you wouldn't say that. They're totally professional. The company is licensed and bonded back on Earth, and they rotate their staff out every year to make sure they never get too cozy with the locals. They handle security contracts all over the system and there's never been a scandal."
Liz raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You seem awfully well-informed."
"I had lunch with one of the office staff," Joss said. "He was there when some woman from Amalgamated Orbital came in to discuss security for Gustav Riverson's visit."
Chan frowned, confused. Eloise had gone to see a security company?
"Jerry said she picked a fight," Joss continued. "He said it was weird, like she was looking for an excuse to take offense. The boss said he couldn't absolutely guarantee anyone's safety. I mean, nobody can, right? Not if the person is out going to meetings and attending a party. Anyway, she accused him of being unprofessional and trying to squeeze her for more money. Which he wasn't, according to Jerry. He says it was like she was putting on an act. She stomped out, pretending to be angry, and the next thing Jerry heard, the company had hired some freelancer." She gave Chan a pointed look. "You."
"Maybe she didn't trust him," Chan said weakly. "Or she wanted to save money?" But everything he'd seen in his day of escorting Riverson said that Amalgamated Orbital had more money than they knew how to spend.
"Something's going on," Joss insisted. "Riverson has visited before. He's never had a bodyguard. Someone wanted to make it look like they were trying. But they didn't actually want to succeed."
A low beep interrupted their conversation. Liz stared at the screen by her chair. "We've got visitors." She tapped the screen. "Yes?"
A man's tinny voice echoed through the bridge. "Police, Ma'am. We'd like to speak to you."
She tapped the screen again, and they heard a hiss as the aft hatch opened. Liz stood and headed aft, returning in a few moments with two men trailing behind her.
They were superficially similar, men in their thirties, clean-shaven with short, businesslike haircuts. The taller, darker-skinned man wore the dark-blue uniform of the Crius Police Service. The shorter man, olive-skinned with dark, intense eyes, was dressed in a black uniform with silver piping. Chan recognized the uniform instantly from a hundred vids. The man was from Solar Force, the Earth-based police force that claimed jurisdiction over everything orbiting the sun.
Law enforcement beyond the Earth-Mars sphere was ambiguous at best. Quite a few stations, ships, bases, and outposts refused to recognize the authority of Solar Force. The Crius Police Service in theory had jurisdiction here, but that jurisdiction ended once the Raven lifted off. Everyone agreed that some sort of broader police force was needed, a way to bring criminals to justice across jurisdictions. Solar Force, though, was tiny, understaffed, and far from being universally recognized.
"I'm Agent Hamid with Solar Force." Hamid gestured to his companion. "This is Detective Jirani. We're looking into the kidnapping of Gustav Riverson. I would—"
"You were hired as a bodyguard," Jirani interrupted, looking at Chan. Irritation flashed briefly across Hamid's face, then vanished. "How were you hired?"
Chan related the story of his meeting with Eloise.
Jirani folded his arms and gave Chan a suspicious glare. "And why would she hire you? There are experienced security professionals on the station."
Chan felt a familiar irritation settle onto him. He stared back at the detective and shrugged.
"We spoke to a shift supervisor who was overseeing the repairs to your ship." Jirani treated Chan to a cold stare. "He says you threatened him."
Chan stared back at the detective.
Jirani scowled. "Well?" he snapped. "Answer the question!"
"Those were statements," Chan said, speaking slowly as if to a child. "Not questions."
"Don't get smart with me. He said you threatened him." Jirani continued to glare, his eyebrows lifting into expectant arcs.
Chan stared at him.
"Well?" Jirani said at last. "Answer me!"
"You still haven't asked me a question."
A vein pulsed on the detective's temple. "Did you threaten the shift supervisor?"
"No."
Jirani
leaned forward. "I don't believe you."
Chan shrugged. "Is that a question too? Can you rephrase the question? I'm not quite sure how to answer."
Beside Jirani, Hamid was staring at a bulkhead, his face carefully expressionless. There was a hint of tension at the corners of his mouth, as if he might have been suppressing a smile.
Jirani's hands knotted into fists. "You know, I could drag you down to the office and chuck you into a cell until your attitude improves."
"Is that another question?" Chan smiled. "I think the answer is yes."
"Let's not get sidetracked," Hamid interrupted. Jirani shot him a black look, which he ignored. "Is this your first visit to Crius, Mr. Chan?"
Chan nodded. "Yes. My first time on Titan, as well."
"Have you had any dealings with Amalgamated Orbital before?"
"No."
"Do you know anything about the identity of Mr. Riverson's kidnappers?"
Chan shook his head. "Certainly not."
Hamid leaned back. "That's all my questions. Did you have any further questions for Mr. Chan, Detective?"
Jirani by this time had forced most of the anger from his features. He was tight-lipped, his hands rigid on his thighs as he shook his head.
"Terrific," said Hamid. "I think we're done here." He stood.
Jirani rose more slowly. He shook a meaty finger under Chan's nose. "You might want to move on, clever boy," he said. "You're not welcome on Crius any more. We're not going to impound your ship and lock you up." He straightened, tugging at his gun belt. "Not yet. But if I were you, I'd leave while I can."
"Lovely to chat with you," Chan said, swivelling his seat so his back was to the two policemen. "Drop by any time." When the hatch to the bridge closed behind them he tapped the console before him and brought up the view from the aft camera. He watched them leave through the aft hatch, and raised the ramp as soon as Jirani's heels were out of the way.