by Gary Jonas
“There has to be someone,” Sai said. “There always is, but I need someone I can trust as well.”
Jacbar raised an eyebrow. “Well, there’s Keller, but he’s a mercenary bastard. You can trust him just as long as your money holds out, but he’d chuck you out an airlock if you owed him a credit. Let’s see, there’s Hank Jensen, his word is his bond, but you don’t want him.”
“Why not?”
“He’s a good man,” Jacbar said. “But he’s on a bad luck streak. Call me superstitious, but it might be better to hire Keller.”
“Bad luck or not, I need someone I can trust, not someone I have to buy off. Is Jensen here?”
Jacbar sighed. “Yeah. See that gent nursing a beer in the corner booth?”
The man was in his midthirties, built like a middle-weight boxer—large chest, strong arms, and a slender waist. He sported a thin mustache and a shit-eating grin.
“That’s Jensen?”
“Yeah. He used to be a loud and cheerful son of a bitch, but the last few years have been hard on him. His last two runs were a bust. He’d take the devil to a prayer meeting if it paid well enough, but you might have trouble keeping him sober.” Jacbar took a frosted mug from the cooler beneath the counter and filled it with beer.
“Thanks for the tip.”
“No problem. Here,” he slid the beer across the counter to her. “On the house. It’s ladies night.”
“Thanks.”
Sai took the mug and walked over to Hank Jensen’s booth.
“Hey there,” she said, with a slight grin.
Hank looked up from his drink and smiled. “Ah, darlin’, you will excuse me if I decline your favors tonight,” he said, raising his hands.
“You don’t—”
“No, no,” Hank said. “It’s not that I don’t have the inclination. I just don’t have the finances.”
“I know about your money problem,” Sai began, sliding into the booth next to him.
“Saints be praised! A charitable woman!”
“No, you don’t understand. I want to hire you.”
“Darlin’, this gets better all the time,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
Sai stiff-armed him away. “Mr. Jensen, let’s get a few things straight. I’m not some starport tart, and I’m only interested in your ship. Not you. I need passage to Raken.”
Hank sighed and cradled his beer in his hands, staring into the amber liquid. “Alas, another broken heart.” He took a drink, then turned back to her, all business. “Unfortunately, my ship lies in dock without a drop of fuel in her and no money to buy more. I spent half my assets on this brew before me and I’ll wake up tomorrow wishing I’d spent it on food.”
“I have money, Mr. Jensen.”
“I’m sure you do, love, but it would take five times the price of a commercial fare to fill her up.”
“I may be willing to pay you that much. If you can get me out tonight.”
Hank took another drink and nodded. “In a bit of a hurry, eh? And what sort of luggage will you bring along? Lots of funny little crates I can’t open?”
“No baggage. Only me.”
Hank stared at her.
“I’ll ask you one more time, Mr. Jensen. Then I’m going to offer the job to Keller. Have you received any better offers tonight?”
“All right, I’ll do it. Keller’s a bastard.” Hank smiled. “The price is a thousand credits. I’ll need the cash up front.”
“Half now, half once we’re on Raken.”
“But darlin’, I’ve got to fuel my bird before we can leave.”
“Half payment will get you enough to take us to Raken and back four times.”
Hank smiled at her and finished his beer. “You drive a hard bargain, my dear. What’s your name?”
“Sai,” she said, pulling out her credit stick.
Hank took a stick out of his pocket and let her transfer the payment to him.
“Where’s your ship?” she asked.
“Dock B, berth ten. Meet me there in an hour.”
Sai nodded, then stood up. “I’ll be there. You just make sure you spend that money on fuel for the ship and not on liquor or stims. If you aren’t at the dock, I’ll come looking for you.” She pulled a whisperblade from her waistband and flicked it on for effect. The blue fire of the plasma blade bathed her face in light. It was a wicked weapon in the right hands. Normally, the user had a control gauntlet to help guide the weapon in midflight, steering it to the target with tiny maneuvering repulsor beams. Sai didn’t need a gauntlet.
Hank pointed at her untouched beer, his eyes reflecting the blade’s glow. “You gonna drink that?”
Vincent Maxwell surrounded himself with beauty. His new office sat on the top floor of the highest building in Nebula Prime’s capital city, and an immense window offered a view of the evening skyline, decorated with lights and activity. He stood watching as, in the distance, a cargo ship blasted from the starport, streaked into the sky, and illuminated the heavens with fusion fire.
Casey, the previous tenant, was a hard, Spartan individual by Maxwell’s standards and had no sense of style, so Maxwell was having it redecorated. The formerly mundane room was going to be transformed. He had a vision of adorning it with rich wood tones, imported marble, and art of the highest caliber. He would have just enough lighting for efficient work. For now, the room would serve its purpose, but not with the level of style he wished for.
His massive desk, however, was already installed. It suggested strength. Its mirror-polished obsidian top sat on a dark granite base and was supported by four Ionic columns of white marble swirled with green mineral traces. A large black cat perched atop it.
The delicate, soft music of stringed instruments floated around him like smoke from a fine cigar. The faint lingering scent of jasmine hung in the air. It was a start.
A chime sounded. “Enter,” Maxwell said, turning to face the doorway.
Nathan Kendrick entered Maxwell’s office, his eyes darting back and forth at the luxurious surroundings. He wore a navy blue suit with the Nebulaco insignia embroidered on the right breast pocket, the uniform of a junior-level exec. Kendrick patted his disheveled hair and took several deep breaths.
“Mr. Kendrick, I trust the trip across town was comfortable.” Maxwell walked behind his desk and took off his jacket, hanging it on the back of his chair. He sat, steepled his fingers before him, and studied the man. The cat moved from the desk to Maxwell’s lap.
Kendrick stood sweating before the broad desk. There were no other chairs in the room.
“Fine. Very comfortable, thank you for asking, Mr. Maxwell—sir.”
Maxwell smiled. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, giving him a distinguished air. “Good, good. But please, call me Vincent. You see, Nebulaco takes great pains to ensure the comfort of its employees. We love them, and all we ask in return is loyalty.”
Maxwell paused, allowing an awkward, silent moment to pass for Kendrick. He sat behind his ominous desk, calmly stroking the fur of the sleek cat. The cat purred loudly. “Can you define ‘loyalty’ for me, Mr. Kendrick?”
“Uh, certainly. It’s the quality of faithfulness, the steadfast allegiance to … well, whatever you’re loyal to … sir … I mean Vincent.”
“Very good. Yes, I’d say that’s an adequate definition.” Maxwell leaned back in his chair. He stroked his chin with his index finger and appeared to study something off in space just above and behind Kendrick’s head. “I have a problem—one dealing with loyalty. I’d appreciate your assistance.”
“Yes, sir,” Kendrick said. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
“Splendid. I’m afraid that we have a traitor in our midst, Mr. Kendrick.” Maxwell scratched the cat’s chin and allowed his words to sink in for a moment. “Would you happen to know anything about that?”
“No,” Kendrick answered quickly. “Of course not, sir.”
“Vincent,” Maxwell corrected.
&n
bsp; “Sorry.”
Maxwell waved his hand. “Really now, Mr. Kendrick, I was told that you were quite the amateur sleuth, and that you make a hobby of accessing certain secure areas. There is no need for humility.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Kendrick said. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“Oh? I hope you understand that we all have a responsibility to be on guard. I’m sure you’re aware of our recent difficulties with piracy. The reports all suggest the pirates are controlled by one man: Thorne. Obviously he couldn’t be raiding our shipments so successfully without inside help.”
“Sir, I don’t know anything about security. I’m in accounts receivable.”
“Interesting. An important item is missing, an archival datastore with classified information that could lead us to the mole. You do have access to the storage area, do you not?”
“Well, yes, but I—”
“Tell me this, Mr. Kendrick. Why does a junior exec need access to a high-level security area? Why would Casey have assigned that clearance to you?”
“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
“Really? Then it seems we have a mystery.”
Kendrick swallowed, then cleared his throat. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I did have an arrangement with former Security Director Casey.”
“Do you mean the man charged with espionage? The one who took his own life before he was arrested? If so, then let me remind you that I’m the new director.”
“That’s not what I mean, sir. I mean I’ve never done anything on my own. I’ve always been loyal to the corporation …”
“You worked for Casey? How is it I’ve never even heard of you until today?” Maxwell dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. “You must be aware of the nature of the charges against Casey. Perhaps you were actually working for Thorne all along.”
Kendrick jerked back as if he’d been slapped. “I can’t believe that.”
Maxwell shook his head. “Isn’t it obvious? You’ve been duped. The missing archive is the only evidence against Casey that couldn’t have been tampered with. Whoever possesses it holds the key to this whole damned mess. It was our chance to prove him innocent, or guilty.”
Kendrick’s face was ashen. “But …”
“Listen, son. I understand. You were doing what you thought was right. I liked Casey, too. He seemed like a good man. I don’t want to believe that he was a traitor, but without the data we can’t prove anything. I need that archive. Now, you have to do the right thing and tell me everything you know. It’s the only way we can start clearing all this up.”
Kendrick nodded.
“Okay then. We’re on the same side here. Did you take the archive?”
“Yes. I received orders from—”
“Do you still have it?”
“No.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“I gave it to an employee.”
“Named?”
Kendrick swallowed hard. “Sai Collins.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“No, I mean, I know she left for Raken, but I don’t know where she is now. Honest. I was only following orders, sir. I—”
“Guards!” Maxwell yelled, sending the cat scrambling off his lap.
Six men burst into the room dressed in black combat exo-armor and bearing holstered pulse pistols. They surrounded Kendrick.
“He’s our man. I want this little worm grilled until he bleeds out every shred of what he knows. Do a full deconstructive brain-scan and download the results to my classified file. No one else has access until I examine the data.”
The men took hold of Kendrick, who tried in vain to fight them off. They restrained him in seconds.
“Please, no! Listen to me! I told you everything I know! I—”
The doors closed behind the men as they dragged Kendrick off.
Silence.
Maxwell called the cat back to him. It gave him an annoyed look and walked off. Maxwell smiled; he had something to report to the council.
Hank Jensen grinned as the small woman exited the bar. She was a tough one. He couldn’t help liking her. Maybe she was his salvation, but more likely, like most women in his life, she would turn out to be the devil incarnate. Either way, he couldn’t turn down money right now.
He went over his options. Nearest he could figure, he didn’t have any. A free-trader’s life was always a gamble. How could he have known that the market for Polytungstan would collapse almost overnight? How could he have planned around that rebellion on Carthas? It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t fair, but fair or not, those two financial disasters had broken his back.
Still, he had to admit he’d reaped the benefits of chance and fate often enough in the past. You had to take the bad with the good. That was the price of freedom.
Jacbar, the bar owner, was one of the lucky ones. He got out with enough in savings to start a business. Most free-traders ended their lives in starport gutters. The odds were always with the house.
But there were the exceptions, those trader lords who struck it rich. They were fabulously wealthy, living in pleasure palaces on the rim of Manspace, free from corporate interference. The call of El Dorado still lured men to their deaths.
Hank wished, maybe even daydreamed, but didn’t believe that load of shit for a heartbeat. He was content that for at least a while longer he would be free to roam the spaceways, master of his own destiny. The ride was what interested him, not the destination.
He checked the time on the comlink at his wrist. It was late. There was a lot of work to do before he spaced out. He activated the unit to call the one woman he loved. “Elsa, it’s Hank.”
A voice answered from the wristband. “Who else would it be? What’s up?”
“We have ourselves a gig, honey. A passenger. I’m fixing to make a deposit right now. We blast out of here in an hour.”
“What’s the destination?”
Hank hesitated. “She says we’re going to Raken.”
“Oh no. Tell me you didn’t,” Elsa said.
“What?”
“You know what I mean. You said ‘she.’ This is another one of those hard-luck cases, isn’t it? A damsel in distress?”
“Honey, I am the original hard-luck case. We can’t afford to be too choosy. I haven’t eaten in so long my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut. I’m so poor that—”
“Enough! Just make the deposit and I’ll handle the details. It’s just that I have a bad feeling about this.”
Hank grinned. “Are you sure it isn’t jealousy?”
“I should say not! You’re the most egotistical man I have ever known. You, my friend, are not the great prize you think yourself to be.”
“Ah yes, but you love me anyway, don’t you?” Hank switched off the com. Things were finally looking up.
He ordered another drink and started contacting the dockmaster to deposit funds to pay for his berth fee and fuel. After that he’d call his creditors. He was sure they’d be surprised that he was actually making a payment instead of an excuse.
CHAPTER THREE
The docks stretched for several kilometers. They were arranged like spokes shooting out from a central hub. Spaced evenly down the spokes were the individual berths, flat concrete segments crisscrossed by conduits and cables, highlighted here and there by spaceships rising majestically to the sky.
Protected walkways ran underground with blast doors leading to the outside at every berth, open until the time of launch.
Sai stood for a time, then began pacing back and forth at the blast doors to dock B, berth ten. She’d been waiting an hour and a half.
“Shit!” she said for the hundredth time.
She heard someone whistling down the walkway. Sai ducked in the threshold and readied her blade. The echoing tunnel prevented her from locating where the sound was coming from.
Then she heard singing.
“… The next thing I heard was t
hat lonesome sound, the drive kicking in, as they left the ground. And that’s how my baby spaced out …” It was Hank’s voice.
Sai put away her whisperblade and stepped out of the doorway, hands resting on her hips.
Hank saw her and waved. “Hi, honey. Sorry I’m late.”
“Where were you? I’ve been waiting for over an hour!”
“I had to take care of some business that got a little more complicated than I thought. We can leave in a few minutes.”
“What about the fuel?”
“Already loaded. I paid the dockmaster to send one of his guys over and do it earlier,” Hank said, walking to the ship and keying the door mechanism. “Any more questions?”
“No, let’s just get off this damn planet.”
The door opened. “After you, darlin’,” Hank said, motioning for her to enter.
Sai gave the exterior of the ship a once-over before going inside. It was a squat, well-worn Pioneer-class scout ship, renovated for use as a trading vessel. “Can you even get this shit bucket off the ground?”
“What? My Elsa? Why she’s as fine a ship as I’ve ever flown. Sturdy as a rock.”
“Rocks don’t fly.”
“Look, if you’d rather wait for a commercial liner, that’s fine with me, but the deposit is non-refundable.”
Sai grumbled, but she followed as Hank led her up the ramp to the inner airlock. They cycled through and stepped into the cramped living quarters, which consisted of two sleeping bunks, a nutrition station, and a small workspace. Mostly it was cramped because of the trash that littered the floor and the piles of dirty laundry.
“Oh my,” Sai said. “When’s the last time you cleaned this place?”
“Clean?” Hank said, as if he’d never heard the word.
Sai fanned a hand before her face and wrinkled her nose. “It smells like something died in here.”
Hank shrugged and walked forward to the cockpit.
“We need to get going. You can sit up here with me if you promise not to touch anything.”
Sai followed him.
“Take a seat.” Hank punched a few buttons and the engines thrummed to life.