Suddenly, he was grabbed by both arms and pulled to his feet. Looking blearily left and right, he recognized the strangers who had provoked the brawl. The two dragged the befuddled Valt into the alley behind the bar, their companion using a table leg to clear a path to the back door.
"What's going on?" Valt demanded plaintively, "Who the hell're you guys?"
"Shaddup, Alley," came a growling reply. "We're gonna teach you a lesson!"
A fist came out of the darkness and slammed into his midriff. He folded, unable to fall because of the two men holding his arms. His anguished "But . . ." was interrupted by another fist hitting the side of his head, followed by a foot to his ribs. Then there was just a blur of pain as a flurry of fists and feet fell on his body. A crunch! and a flash of pain told him that his nose had been broken. A louder crack! and a flare of searing agony told him that his jaw had broken, as well. His captors released him, and he fell to the ground, moaning. Kicks rained upon his curled body as he moaned and made unintelligible pleading noises with his ruined mouth. Finally, mercifully, a seemingly huge foot swung out of the darkness onto his forehead, relieving him of both agony and consciousness.
***
Jirik sat silent in the hospital corridor, anxiously awaiting word of Valt's condition, and mentally berating himself. He should have known, he thought. He should have kept all hands on board until liftoff. Even Tomys had warned him that the Actionists might want to get someone onto the Lass, to keep an eye on the crew, and perhaps even to obtain military information to hide among the millions of legitimate bookchips. Jirik had dismissed it at the time, merely making a mental note to warn the crew to be careful.
And then things had really gotten weird. After Tomys had left, Jirik had returned to the Lass. Bran was alone aboard, the others having already gone into town for the evening. He passed Tomys' warning along to Bran, changed, and went into town for a beer. A stranger had offered to buy him a drink, sat down at Jirik's table, and begun talking with him. After some pleasantries and verbal fencing, the man had come to the point: a business proposition. Stripped of verbal gymnastics, the man "represented a group" who were interested in obtaining certain software from underground sources on Alpha, and having it snuggled back. The man was evidently well aware of the Lass' library mission, and wanted to take advantage of it to smuggle back prohibited military software, and perhaps weapon design specs.
Jirik wanted nothing more than to jump up and run, but he knew that Tomys would have a fit if Jirik didn't string him along. He'd told the man he'd think about it, and arranged for the man to call him at his office this morning for his decision.
Jirik had almost run back to the Lass, and frantically tried to contact Tomys. He mentally kicked himself again. He should have searched the town for Tor and Valt right then. He shouldn't have even bothered with Tomys until he had warned them. Instead, he'd wasted valuable time trying to track down that damned spook, He'd called the number he had several tines, indicating the urgency of the situation. He'd been just about to try again when the vidphone buzzed, indicating an incoming call. Jirik had jumped on it anxiously, expecting it to be Tomys. It was the hospital. His heart sank when they told him that Valt had been admitted in critical condition, nearly beaten to death. Completely forgetting about Tomys and his spy stuff, Jirik had hurriedly briefed Bran, called a taxi, and rushed to the hospital. That had been over two hours ago. Since his arrival, he had been questioned by the local police, but mostly he had just sat, suffering. Waiting for someone to tell him that Valt would survive. Valt was not the most likeable man Jirik had ever known, but, by deity, he was crew. He was also a damned good astrogator.
At 0300 local, the corridors of Boondock's small hospital were deserted, so when he heard footsteps approaching, he glanced up.
He straightened abruptly. Tomys! He felt anger stirring within him, and clamped down on it. It wouldn't do any good to raise hell with the little spy. It wouldn't help Valt, and it wouldn't help him.
Tomys glanced sharply around, then sat down next to Jirik. They simply sat silent for a few moments, Jirik glowering, Tomys actually looking concerned! Tomys finally broke the increasingly uncomfortable silence.
"How is he, Captain? Have you heard anything?" Tomys' tone was sincerely concerned, but to Jirik, he just sounded oily.
"No." Jirik replied shortly, "When I got here, they said that he was critical, and that he was in surgery. They wouldn't estimate his chances."
Tomys relaxed, settling back into his chair and crossing his thin legs. "Nothing to do but wait, then. Do you know what happened?"
Jirik's temper flared. "They almost beat him to death! That's what happened!" He took a deep breath. "Sorry. There was a bar brawl. When it was over, the blues found Valt near the back door, almost dead. They rushed him here. That was . . ." he looked at his ring watch, ". . . almost three local hours ago, now. He must be in bad shape if they still can't tell me anything."
Tomys looked thoughtful. "Does Willem do a lot of brawling?" At the shake of Jirik's head he continued, "Do you know which bar it was?"
"No." Jirik's tone was impatient. "It was one of those combination bars and whorehouses down near the port. Why?"
Tomys shrugged. "Excuse me," he said, "I'll be right back."
Jirik shrugged and returned to his mental masochism. He didn't bother to move or otherwise acknowledge Tomys' return A few moments of morose silence passed.
Finally, Tomys sighed. "All right, Captain. I understand that you were trying frantically to reach me. Why not tell me about it. Maybe it'll take your mind off it."
Jirik's anger flared to the surface. "Damn you! Valt might be dying in there! I don't give a ragged damn about your goddamned spook crap!"
Tomys was unruffled, his smile grim. "And you can help a hell of a lot by mentally beating yourself up, right?" He replied sarcastically.
Jirik straightened, his face reddening. "You sonofabitch!" he shouted, "It's your fault he's in there!" Jirik would have continued, but Tomys suddenly reached out and backhanded him across the face, hard.
"Shut up!" He snarled at the astounded Captain. Before Jirik could do more than curl his fists and begin to rise, Tomys continued in a venomous hiss, "You damned fool! Do you want all of you in there? or worse? Now, shut up and calm down. You're not doing your man any good, and you could do irreparable harm!"
Jirik sagged back down into his chair, wearily. "All right you revolving son of a bitch, what do you want to know?"
Tomys' smile reappeared, a genuine one this time. "First, what the hell is a 'revolving son of a bitch'? I've been called a lot of things, but never that!"
Jirik managed a small smile. "A 'revolving son of a bitch' is a son of a bitch any way you look at him." Tomys chuckled, and then began laughing out loud. Jirik's thin smile grew to a grin, then a chuckle, then, suddenly, they both dissolved into roaring laughter, and much of the tension dissipated. A nurse peered around a corner of the corridor. Jirik pointed at her, and they both dissolved into laughter again.
After a few moments, Jirik sobered again, but he had to admit he felt better.
"All right. I was trying to contact you because I was approached by a guy in a bar tonight. I think he's one of the terrorists. He offered me a deal."
"What kind of a deal?"
Jirik was looking worried. "He knew all about our trip to Alpha and back. He wanted me to buy some military software on the black market there, and smuggle it back. He didn't say, but I think he wants operations software for a battle computer. He wants design specs for up-to-date weaponry. How the hell did he find out so fast? And could it have had anything to do with what happened to Valt?"
Tomys opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by the nurse who had peered around the corner earlier calling him to the vidphone. Tomys excused himself and went to take the call. He was gone only a minute or so, then returned and resumed his chair.
"Well," he said briskly, "Now we know. That brawl was a setup. Three men pushed your man int
o a brawl, and as soon as it got well started, they dragged him into the alley, where they beat him. Then they threw him back inside, so that it would appear that he was hurt in the brawl. It was very professional," he added.
"Obviously, the terrorists knew about your trip, and that you would be asked to bring back contraband. They were arranging for you to need another crewman for the trip. I don't know that they wanted to kill him, but professional thugs like those are well aware that dead witnesses don't testify."
Jirik was fuming. "So, it was because of this damned deal! I wish I'd followed my first impulse and thrown you the hell out of my office that first day! I knew that getting involved in a damned spy caper was a mistake!"
"Stop it!" Tomys commanded coldly. "I don't give a damn about your sensitive feelings. I've got a threat to the entire Alliance to worry about!" Jirik opened his mouth to reply, but Tomys bulled on. "Now, stop feeling sorry for yourself, and let's get to work on where we go from here."
Jirik's fury showed in his red face as well as his tone. "You bastard. You think that you can use us up like power packs for a blaster, don't you? Well, I've got news for you. We're people, damn it! I ought to just go to the local Newsfax syndicate office, and tell them the whole damned story. The terrorists would back off, you'd have to leave us alone or blow your cover, and maybe even the bookchip deal would get canceled. We'd be out of it, and on our way back to our home sector!"
Tomys' face had hardened, and his tone was cold. "Really Captain? I think that you're forgetting a few details." He ticked them off on his fingers. "One, you're short a crewman. Boondock won't clear you for liftoff without an astrogator. Two, any astrogator you get may turn out to be a terrorist out for revenge for spoiling their plans. Three, Do you really think that Fanlin would cancel the bookchip deal? I don't. And Four," His tone suddenly turned vicious. "Four, if you mess up my mission, I'll see to it that you and your crew are charged with sedition, if not treason, and spend the rest of your lives on a prison planet! I suggest that you reconsider your position."
The bald threat in Tomys' quiet words was like a splash of cold water on Jirik's face. His fury evaporated instantly, to be replaced with cautious calm. He was becoming wary of Tomys' ability to move instantly from friendly cameraderie to cold threat. He realized that this ability was used to keep him off balance, and that it was working well. He was being manipulated by a master.
His only effective defense was going to be to keep a tight rein on his admittedly explosive temper. Jirik was unhappily aware that he had reached that conclusion before, and been unable to act on it. For the millionth time, he wished that he possessed Bran's unshakeable calm and coldly analytical abilities.
"All right," he conceded grudgingly, "What happens now?"
"For one thing," Tomys replied, "you can expect to be interviewing a terrorist applying for Willem's job. For appearance's sake, you should contact the Spaceer's Guild office for an astrogator. Since you're loaded and ready for lift off, you will, of course, emphasize the immediacy of your need. You can rest assured that the terrorists have someone standing by waiting for you to request a replacement. Depending upon how fully the terrorists have infiltrated the Guild office, you may have one or two legitimate applicants, as well."
Jirik's tone was worried. "But how will I recognize the terrorist? I sure as hell don't want a fanatic for an astrogator on a haul like this!"
Tomys shrugged. "You won't, of course. If he were an obvious spy, they wouldn't send him. No, whoever they send will be a skilled astrogator, with impressive credentials. He'll talk as though he wasn't interested in politics, and he'll probably have a damned good reason for wanting to get to the Empire."
Jirik was really concerned now. "So, what do I do?"
Tomys shrugged. "There's not much you can do. Just pick the best applicant, if you have a choice, and assume that he's a spy. That means that you'll have to watch what you say, even when you're alone with another crew member. He'll probably bug as much of the ship as he can. Be very careful to act normally throughout the trip. It's not going to be a comfortable trip, or an enjoyable one. You won't be able to relax until you get back here and get your man back, assuming that he's alive and recovered by then."
Jirik smiled sardonically. "You wouldn't believe how much I wish I'd never come to the rim, or met you! Okay, now what do I do about this smuggling business?"
"Yes, the software and design specs," Tomys said slowly, obviously thinking hard. "Well, we can't send a message, since the fastest means of communication is by ship." He straightened, obviously having reached a decision.
"All right, here's what we'll do. I've got a small courier ship standing by. I'll leave at once for Alpha. Since I can go direct, and you'll have to detour to avoid pirates and hijackers, I'll be there before you. I'll arrange for the battle comp software and weapon design specs, suitably modified, of course, on the assumption that the terrorists won't have a specific contact in Alpha's black market."
Jirik smiled sardonically. "Yeah? And what if they do have a specific contact on Alpha? If so, that spy will be following me around every step of the way."
Tomys looked smug. "I was just coming to that. Here." He gave Jirik a heavy gold ring with a deeply incised design. "This is a communicator, Intelligence issue. As soon as you've been contacted by the terrorists and made the arrangements, call me and brief me. I'll give you your instructions at that time. Right now, you're the best chance we've had of breaking up this terrorist plot, so you'll practically have my undivided attention."
"Lucky me!" Jirik replied sarcastically, slipping the ring on his finger. "It looks like I'm going to be a busy boy tomorrow . . . er . . . this morning, I guess, now. I've got to call the Guild for an astrogator, talk to this terrorist about smuggling, then interview applicants, one of whom is certain to be terrorist spy. Then, I have to call you, brief you and get my instructions, and then schedule a new lift-off time for as soon as possible. At least I won't have to worry about getting bored!"
Tomys smiled. "I suspect that boredom will be the least of your problems until you get back."
"Right." Jirik replied. "How do you want me to handle this smuggling proposition? Should I try to look as if smuggling is routine for me? or should I admit that I haven't done any for a long, long time? And if I admit that, how reluctant should I be.? Should I be easy or hard to convince?"
"Why, Captain!" Tomys teased, "Surely an honest, hard-working spacer like yourself would have little or no experience with smuggling! Why, I'm sure that a sturdy independent trader like you would have such scruples as would take a large amount of credits to overcome!" His tone turned serious. "I'd say that that would be the way to handle it, Captain. But, you've already talked to this man about it. How did you handle it then?"
"Well," Jirik replied, "I was reluctant to consider it. I wasn't shocked, since any spacer captain with more than a few years' experience has been approached at least once to smuggle something. Basically, I said 'no', and then let him convince me to consider it. I finally told him I'd have to think about it, and discuss it with my crew. I didn't let him get too specific about the merchandise or talk credits, although I did leave him with the impression that it might be expensive."
"Good!" Tomys enthused. "See, Captain, you're better at this 'spook stuff' than you thought! I suggest that you continue on the same course; the reluctant smuggler. Make the price high. With the bookchip deal pending, you're not desperate for funds. You've already got a million-credit deal, and the terrorists know it. They won't expect you to go for it easily. They also know that they can't appeal to your politics, so they'll have to put up large numbers of credits. Drive the price high, then try for the money up front, and let them talk you down to half down, half on delivery. Be tough. They need something from you; You don't need anything from them!"
Jirik grinned. "But not high enough to make them back out, I suppose."
"No," Tomys grinned back, "Not that high. But you're an experienced trader. They'll expect
you to go for all the market will bear. If you cave in too easily or cheaply, they'll be suspicious. Especially if Cony is their boss, as I suspect. He's the Minister of Trade. I'd expect him to have contacts that would let him know if you were known to be a smuggler. He'll also know what you're risking if you go for the offer. He'll know that you won't want to jeopardize a million-credit deal for a few miserable credits.
"One thing, Captain. If your business requires you to see him again, be very careful. He's very intelligent, and more than a little ruthless. If he is the leader of the terrorists, then he's the one who had your man beaten."
Jirik started to reply, then looked up at the sound of clattering footsteps, and quickly waved Tomys away. Tomys glanced up as well, then smoothly rose and walked away without a word as Tor came clattering up the hallway, out of breath and puffing mightily.
"C-C-Captain!" Tor gasped between exhausted breaths, "H-How is he? Is he going to be all right? How bad is he hurt?"
Tor's arrival had plunged Jirik back into the somber mood from which his conversation with Tomys had briefly diverted him. "I dunno, kid. They haven't told me anything yet. They have him in emergency surgery now. They said they'd let me know as soon as possible. It's been almost three hours, now."
Tor sat down in the chair that Tomys had just vacated. "Three hours! When I got my leg crushed, I was only in surgery for less than an hour! With growth stimulators and tissue regenerators, it wouldn't take this long unless he was nearly dead! D-Do you know what happened, sir? Bran s-s-said that he'd been in a fight, and was hurt, b-b-but that's all he knew."
Jirik shrugged. "All know is that he was involved in a bar brawl, and was found afterward, badly hurt. Damn! I wish they'd tell us something!" He got to his feet and began pacing back and forth.
After a perfunctory "Me, too", Tor lapsed into a morose silence, which dragged on for long minutes. Jirik paced restlessly and Tor sat slumped, staring at his feet.
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