by Gary Jonas
Chandler smiled. “I bet you do.”
Jorgeson shuffled him out the door where the same two guards awaited him. They left the security area and took Chandler outside, marching him along a stone pathway through a section of garden toward Randol’s mansion. Trees bearing unblemished fruit rose in perfect symmetrical patterns. The grass grew in a perfect blanket without a single bare spot or weed. The sky was the perfect shade of powder blue. It was perfectly sickening. It made Chandler long for a handful of crabgrass seed. He was definitely out of his element.
Randol’s mansion was a rambling structure, patterned after the Roman villas of Ancient Earth. It, too, reeked of perfection. Alabaster pillars held up the massive lintel. There were words carved across the front, written in a language Chandler couldn’t read, but he figured they said something like, We’ve got ours—screw you.
A balding man wearing a servant’s uniform waited for him at the entrance. He gestured for Chandler to enter. The guards took up positions at the door and allowed Chandler to continue alone.
Chandler stepped into the foyer and looked around. “La … dee … da.”
His entire ship could have fit into the front hall. The servant followed, closing the doors behind them. Chandler shook his head.
“I am Aland,” the servant said. “I will escort you to Lord Randol. I hope the trip was not too unpleasant.”
Chandler chuckled. “More unnecessary than unpleasant. We could have done this by holo.”
“That is not for me to say, sir. I am sure that Lord Randol has his reasons.”
Chandler stepped past Aland into the foyer and looked around. “So how many people live here?”
“Lord Randol and his daughter, Helen. However, she is leaving this morning to continue her education offworld.”
“Humph. Must be cramped.”
Aland either didn’t hear or pretended not to.
“Of course, the household staff has separate quarters.”
“Of course.”
A mural covered the ceiling, depicting a man tearing a fistful of stars from the heavens. No doubt it represented the first of the Randol clan, back when their blood was a bit thicker and they were more like the rest of humanity. Not the same, of course—they were never the same, always a touch better.
Suspended from the ceiling on a golden chain was a giant chandelier of dark, ruby-colored crystal. It looked like a frozen cascade of blood. Columns lined the circular room, corridors led off in three directions, and twin staircases spiraled upward to a second level.
“Wait here a moment, sir, and I shall announce you,” the servant said, and walked down the hall.
Just after Aland disappeared, a woman rushed forward from a side corridor and collided with Chandler. “Watch where you’re going,” she said.
Chandler stepped back. The woman looked about twenty, with soft, flowing blonde curls and the kind of creamy skin that only the rich can afford to keep. She wore a short, sheer peach-colored dress that draped off one shoulder and left the other bare. Her legs were finely sculpted from her calves to her exposed thighs. Her skin was as pale as the alabaster columns. She looked at Chandler with a slightly annoyed expression. Her eyes were deep blue.
“You must be Helen,” he said.
“Who are you?”
“I’m here to see your father.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” she said.
“You’re right. I didn’t.” Chandler grinned.
Helen opened her mouth as if to speak, then laughed. “Why are you seeing Father?”
“I don’t really know yet. Maybe you could tell me. Do you know what your father is up to?”
“I don’t involve myself in business matters. Besides, I’ve been too busy getting ready to go off to Driscoll University. I leave in a few hours.”
Driscoll University was reserved for the richest and the most connected, although it advertised itself as a school for the best and brightest. “Great school,” he said.
“It sounds like a bore to me. I don’t like to be bored.” She moved closer, into his personal space. “What about you?”
“Ahem.” Aland returned just in time to break things up. “This way, sir,” the servant said.
“Does he always move so quietly?” Chandler asked.
“He specializes in sneaking,” Helen said. “It was nice to meet you … whoever you are. Maybe we’ll meet again sometime.”
“You never know. I might show up at a frat party or something. I’m a champion beer chugger.”
She smiled, then walked past Chandler and Aland.
Chandler watched her walk away, enjoying the view.
“This way, sir,” Aland said.
Chandler didn’t move. “Wait for it.”
Just before taking a turn in the corridor, Helen glanced back to see Chandler still grinning at her. She quickly looked away and disappeared from view. But Chandler had seen her blush.
“Gotcha,” he said. “Quite a fiery young woman.”
“Yes, sir,” said Aland.
“Does she always welcome visitors like that?”
“Mistress Helen is a very good hostess, sir.”
“I’d say so. Strong and smart or just a rich harpy?”
“I am afraid I cannot comment, sir.”
“Of course you can’t.”
They arrived at a solid oak door, carved with grapevines and fat naked babies with wings. Aland opened it and gestured for Chandler to enter. “Lord Randol waits within, sir.”
Chandler stepped inside. Aland remained in the hallway and shut the door behind him. The room was a massive library. Rich wooden shelves filled with books covered three walls, floor to ceiling. A roaring fireplace stood in the center of the rear wall. The mantle sported a miniature sailing ship from another century. A ladder on wheels stood ready in one corner. An ancient rolltop desk and several wingback chairs sat upon a huge rug in the center of the room. In one chair sat an elderly man, deeply engrossed in a book—an antique studying an antique. He wore a conservative business suit. On his right hand he wore a ruby ring worked in the shape of the Randol family crest, a bloody fist.
As Chandler stepped forward, Randol peered at him over the book, then smiled. “Ah, Mr. Chandler.”
“That’s me.” Chandler said, and took a seat without being asked. “This is quite a spread you have here, although I think you should have gone for the turquoise sky. It’s in fashion this season.”
“My, my.” Randol closed his book. “You’re every bit as insolent as I’d heard.”
“My reputation precedes me.”
“Yes, it seems that you were once contacted by Lord Oke, and he was not satisfied with your job performance.”
Chandler shrugged. “Okay, I’ll bite. So why did you call me after that kind of endorsement?”
“Let me ask you a question first. What exactly was the task Lord Oke wanted you to perform?”
Chandler stared coldly at the old man. “Sorry, that’s confidential. If that’s why you’ve asked me here, I’m afraid we’re wasting each other’s time. The last thing I need to do is get involved in a feud between lords.”
Randol gave a dry laugh. “Relax, young man. That’s not why I brought you here. I already know about Lord Oke’s issues and indiscretions. I know that your task would have involved the destruction of a few innocent people’s reputations. What I’m interested in is your response when he tried to hire you.”
Chandler leaned back in his seat. “To put it bluntly, I told him to shove it.”
“Precisely.”
“So what?”
“The point is that Lord Oke offered you a large sum of money and it wasn’t enough for you to violate your principles. The fact that you even possess principles sets you apart from many of your colleagues.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Chandler said, spying a decanter filled with amber liquid on the desk next to him. He nodded toward the bottle. “Is that for guests?”
“It’s thirty-year-ol
d brandy. Would you care for a taste?”
“All right, but no more than a liter or so. I’m trying to cut down.”
“Shall I summon Aland to pour?”
Chandler shook his head and grinned. “I think I can manage.” He rose, jerked the stopper out of the decanter, and poured himself two fingers. “Want some?”
“No, thank you.”
Chandler shrugged and returned to his chair, taking a gulp of the brandy and wincing.
“You were talking about principles,” Chandler said. “Mine, such as they are, aren’t for sale.”
“A rare quality of which I have need. I distrust any man who can be bought, even if I’m doing the buying.”
Chandler gulped down another swallow. “I don’t know. I’ve always thought that every man has his price. For some people it might be a chunk of money, for others it might be different, like getting to keep all their fingers and toes intact for another day, or getting to take a few more breaths of oxygen. Sooner or later everyone has a breaking point. Anyone will turn on you if the pressure is too high. I’ve always avoided trusting anyone with anything I couldn’t afford others to know.”
“I don’t need a superman, Mr. Chandler, just an honest man, and I think you’re the closest I’ve got.”
“Okay, we’ve established that I’m a saint among men. What’s the job?”
“I need you to meet a courier, retrieve a package, and pay for it.”
“A pickup? You have Jorgeson. Why do you need me?”
Randol sighed. “It’s a matter of utmost confidentiality. There are certain people, powerful people, who would like to obtain what I’m entrusting to you. I need it protected.”
“What about Nebulaco Security? Can’t the company handle this?”
“I can’t trust anyone within the corporation.”
“So these ‘powerful people’ are corporate? Are you feuding with another lord?”
Randol shook his head. “No, it’s nothing like that.”
“Okay, then what is it like?”
“To put it directly, Mr. Chandler, I’m willing to pay you ten thousand credits in advance. That’s what it’s like. I expect confidentiality. Due to your history I feel confident that you won’t betray me. But I am not prepared to divulge everything to you. It’s for your own safety as well as mine.”
Chandler finished his drink in one large gulp. “Well, the pay is good. I’m used to two hundred credits a day plus expenses. I’ll take the ten thousand as a retainer. We’ll call the difference a bonus since you seem inclined to pay it, but I’m a freelance professional, not an employee.” Chandler rose and poured himself another round. “Bonus money or no, I do things my way. You’re just another client to me.”
“Fair enough.” Randol rose and extended his hand.
Chandler looked at it like it was a dead fish. “Not yet. I need to ask a few questions.”
“Very well.” Randol clasped his hands behind him. “Ask away.”
Chandler swirled the brandy in his glass, watching the play of the amber liquid against the flame of the fireplace. “What’s the courier carrying?”
Randol squinted at him. “Nothing illegal or difficult to conceal. I will say this much: she’s carrying information on a datastore in a password-sealed courier pouch. Any attempt to open it without the proper password will result in its immediate destruction. It’s for my eyes only. I have my secrets, too, Mr. Chandler.”
Chandler nodded. “I’ll buy that. I suppose that goes for the identity of these ‘powerful people’ you’ve mentioned as well.”
Randol was silent.
Chandler walked over to examine the rolltop desk. He rolled the lid partially down, marveling at the craftsmanship. He turned back to Randol. “Why can’t this courier make the trip alone? She hops on a ship and makes the delivery. No delays, no complications.”
Randol nodded slowly. “Normally, I would agree. However, in this case I feel that I should take special precautions. You don’t know where the courier is coming from, and the courier doesn’t know where the package is going to. This offers certain protections to all parties.”
“You think you have a security leak that would expose your sources.”
Randol shifted his weight and looked away from Chandler. “There is that possibility.”
“I see. Does anyone know about me? Other than the household.”
Randol shook his head. “No.”
Chandler took a sip of brandy. “As to them, what about Aland and Jorgeson?”
“All Aland knows is that you visited me. He has no idea why. Jorgeson organized everything, so he is fully informed. He was going to perform the job himself, but I felt that I needed someone from the outside. He’s too well known and too close to me. He seldom leaves the Trent System. His movements would have been watched.”
Chandler placed his empty glass on the desk. “Where am I supposed to meet this courier?”
“On Raken, Hemdale City. It’s a corporate town. There’s a tavern popular for clandestine encounters of this sort. Jorgeson will brief you on the details.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small transponder key. “You’ll need this. The courier was given a unit in her package that’s coded to this key. I don’t know anything about the courier except that she is female. She knows nothing about you. This will help you identify each other safely.” He handed it to Chandler.
Chandler pocketed the small black device. “I don’t like walking into a situation where I don’t know all the angles, and I may regret this. But you have a deal.”
They shook hands, sealing the bargain.
Randol smiled. “Excellent. Aland will have your retainer for you when he shows you the way out.”
Chandler felt he’d just sold a bit of his soul, but at least the lien on his ship would get paid on time. This month.
Nathan Kendrick returned to work as if nothing had ever happened. He went through the motions of normalcy, and when it was time for him to leave, he sighed with relief. He had pulled it off. It was going to go away and he didn’t have to worry anymore.
Director Casey’s death and the immediate promotion of Vincent Maxwell as new security director were causing chaos in the corporation. The rumors were that Casey had been selling information about shipping schedules, cargos, armaments, and escorts to the underworld. Talk was that he’d been caught and he’d killed himself. Guilty or not, Casey was dead, and with his death, Kendrick’s orders had gone into effect.
He remembered when Casey first called him into his office. Kendrick was scared. He’d been skimming some money, just a little here and there to help out with the bills. Everyone in the corporation had some sort of secondary racket going. It wasn’t that big a deal. But he felt certain that Casey was going to either fire or imprison him when he discovered his secret. To his surprise, Casey gave him a set of odd instructions to perform in the event of his death. He was supposed to retrieve a package hidden in Casey’s office and follow the instructions included with it. He was even given the access codes so it would be easy. Casey warned him that if he didn’t do what he was told, other parties would expose him. But if he made good on Casey’s instructions, he would be paid a hefty fee.
Casey called it his insurance policy. Kendrick didn’t know the specifics, but based on Casey’s reputation, he was sure that the contents of that courier pouch were going to make someone pay dearly for Casey’s death.
He walked to the tramway station casting nervous glances over his shoulder. He eyed every stranger and tried to control his breathing. Foolishness, paranoia, but still he listened for footsteps following in the shadows.
The ride home was uneventful. He entered his apartment building, watching for anyone out of place. His heart still thundered in his chest. He was almost done. Just get to the apartment and get some sleep. Tomorrow he’d go back to work as if everything was fine, and perhaps it would be.
He took the elevator to his floor, but when he stepped off, he saw that his apartment door stood wide
open. He could see furniture overturned and his possessions strewn about.
He backed away and tried to step back into the elevator, but the doors had closed and the car was gone. He turned toward the stairs. The doorway was already opening, and a man dressed in black walked slowly forward. Two others stepped out of his apartment and moved toward him. One man took a drag off a stimstick. His eyes were hard and gray.
“Hello, Mr. Kendrick,” the gray-eyed man said, allowing pale-blue smoke to escape from his lips.
“What do you want? I don’t—”
“Save your breath.” The man turned to his compatriots. “Search him.”
The men shoved Kendrick against the wall. One kicked his legs apart and patted him down. He shook his head.
“Nathan, we’re going to take a little trip. The new boss wants to meet you.”
CHAPTER TWO
Jacbar’s, a dark, hole-in-the-wall club, sat near the docks in Opportunity City on Nebula Prime. Spacers loved it because there were few dirtsiders and no tourists. Jacbar himself used to be a spacer. He’d made a living as a free-trader until pirates ambushed him just outside the Deneb System. He lost a hand, an eye, and his ship. The hand and eye didn’t matter much, but he loved that ship. Now he kept bar, a scarred, brooding man behind the counter who knew the ways of pilots and fate.
Sai entered the smoky place. Jacbar looked up, still polishing a glass. He smiled and eyed her figure, then placed the glass on the counter.
Sai walked to the bar and sat on a cushioned stool, ignoring the stares she attracted. Jacbar didn’t pay them any mind, either. He simply walked over and stood before her, hands splayed on the counter as he leaned toward her.
“And what can I do for a lovely lass like you?”
“I need a ship,” Sai said. “I need to book passage to Raken and I need to leave right away.”
“Good luck. Business is booming here. Most of these pilots have plenty of cargo and they don’t bother with passengers. That’s what the commercial liners are for.”