A look of defeat passed across the man’s sweaty, smoke-stained face. “We were the last line of defense. Bridge defenses are down. I think Captain has a pistol,” he added as an afterthought.
“There, that wasn’t so bad,” Jennings said. “You might just survive this yet.”
Lafayette was already at the door leading to the bridge. “Locked, mon capitaine,” he said.
Once again removing the small flash CPU, Jennings plugged it into a flashport next to the bridge hatch and said, “Minerva, if you would be so kind.”
“You know I am a highly sophisticated artificial intelligence system,” Minerva protested.
“Near-artificial intelligence,” Lafayette corrected.
“I’m just pointing out that breaking and entering could be done by a far less important system,” she said.
“But not as quickly or as well,” Jennings said.
“Flatterer,” Minerva said, her voice shining as with a smile, as the door slid open.
They were greeted by a salvo of plasma fire that caused Jennings and Lafayette to scramble out of the way. Very calmly, Fix stood still and fired his crossbow into the bridge. There was a yelp of surprise and pain, and the unmistakable sound of a plasma pistol clattering to the deck floor.
“Mon Dieux, do you sleep with that thing?” Lafayette demanded.
“Every night,” Fix replied as he stepped onto the bridge, the other two falling into step behind him.
The captain of the Brigandine was an older man named Javier Rodriguez, who looked like he handled more the money side of the smuggling business than the ruffian side. He was small, thin, with a well-manicured beard and a ring of silver hair running around his head. He sat on the deck next to the captain’s chair, an arrow sticking out of his leg just below the knee.
Rodriguez looked at the three men and managed to stutter out, “What the hell do you want?”
“We’re looking for a girl,” Jennings replied.
Chapter 13
1
“Has there been any movement on the other matter we spoke of?” General Ounimbongo asked vaguely.
“The line is perfectly scrambled,” Anastasia Petrova replied with a hint of disdain. “You can speak as you vill.”
Ounimbongo was sitting in his office on board the TGFS Intrepid en route from Mariador to Earth, and he did not like discussing his end-around on his Gael superiors on any channel, scrambled or otherwise. The Gael had shown an amazing ability to decipher and decrypt even the most advanced communication codes T-Fed had used during the war. His split of the two hundred and fifty thousand dollar bounty was enough to override his sense of caution, however. He wanted to know what the hell was going on.
“Fine,” he said at last, exhaling mightily as he did so. He stared at the small vid-screen and said, “What is the status of the Williams retrieval mission?”
“Proceeding much better,” Petrova replied. “Your intelligence reports on vhat Captain Jennings is up to have made it quite a bit easier, of course. At first, ve veren’t able to determine how Ms. Williams had made it off-planet, but the government’s investigation into the attack on the Brigandine reveals that it had to be Jennings behind it. Once I had that, I was able to backtrack his logic and determine that the Brigandine was the ship that took Ms. Williams away. Ve still don’t know vhere they took her, but I am now pursuing some… diplomatic options.”
“You’re sure Jennings is on the right track?” he demanded.
“Da,” said Petrova, her eyes narrowing at Ounimbango’s questioning of her.
He either ignored it or didn’t see it, and he pressed, “How do you know it wasn’t a simple act of piracy on Jennings’ part? Men like him…”
“Men like him are something you’ll never understand,” Petrova said. “Jennings considers himself above all else a man of honor. Men of honor don’t commit piracy. Not to mention that it vould be unbelievably stupid for a small Symphonic-class vessel to take on a fully armed DC-MAC 1400, or for a three man crew to attack an eighteen crew ship, pravda?”
“He could be working another job,” Ounimbongo protested vehemently.
“According to your report from the Gael, Jennings was broke and his ship was grounded before getting this job,” she countered. “Do you really think he vould be vorking on something else?”
Ounimbongo was forced to concede. “Very well,” he said. “What are these diplomatic angles that you intend to pursue?”
“That’s my business,” Petrova said darkly. “Your only concern need be your cut once the operation is complete.”
“But..." Ounimbongo tried to protest, but the vid-screen went blank.
He sat back in his leather chair and swiveled around to look through the portholes out into space. The stars were stretched out to star lines with the speed they were going, a beautiful sight. He let his eyes become unfocused as his thoughts became lost. Perhaps he should not have brought Petrova into the operation, he thought to himself. She was turning out to be a loose cannon, cutting him out of her strategy, refusing to update him. Impotent anger welled up inside of him and he slammed his meaty fist inside an open palm.
2
“Everything all right?” asked Vosler.
Petrova spat out a few curses in Russian as she locked eyes on her lieutenant. He was overly tall, but muscular so it did not appear disproportionate. His blond hair was growing gray, and the scar that ran down his face clipped through one of his blue eyes. She still remembered when he got that scar, back when their little operation was just the two of them.
“It’s fine,” she said at last in English. “That man is an idiot.”
“But he does feed us rather lucrative work,” Vosler pointed out.
“And takes a hefty fee for his lack of trouble,” she said bitterly.
“You could always not pay him,” he suggested. “It’s not like he can take you to court.”
She shook her head slightly. “Ounimbango is a puppet, but he still has power, as much as any human. Crossing him could be dangerous,” she said.
“You’re the one bringing the Gael what they want,” Vosler said as he sat down in one of the chairs opposite her desk. “That should turn their favor toward you, I would think,” he said.
“Ve’ll see,” she said with a sly smile.
“There’s the other possibility,” he added.
She raised her eyebrows interrogatively.
“We kill him and then keep the money,” Vosler said.
“I do love your deviousness,” she said, her eyes flirting with him.
He did not respond, but he never did. That had never stopped her from having him before. Focusing herself to the business at hand though, she brought the communication system back up and punched in a communication code that only a few dozen people in the universe knew.
A well-tanned face displaying dark Mediterranean features under a full beard was on the screen in a moment. “Santelli,” he said shortly.
“Ah, Vesper, it has been too long,” Petrova said.
“Now’s not a good time,” Santelli said.
“Yes, I know,” Petrova said. “The Brigandine. I heard about it.”
“Then you know I’ve no time for pleasantries no matter how amenable are previous meetings have been,” Santelli said. “Farewell.”
“I also know who is responsible for it,” she interjected.
Santelli looked like he had been halfway out of his chair and about to turn off the comm system before stopping short. He sat back down. “An interesting claim to make,” he led. “Many have offered their theories as well. All wrong.”
“I offer no theory,” Petrova said.
“Of course not,” he replied sarcastically. “Very well, Petrova. We’ve had enough dealings in the past for me to know that this isn’t free. Nothing with you is.” A strange smile as of a pleasant memory passed his face and vanished just as quickly.
“I vant a favor in return,” she said.
“Of course, the gratitude
and generosity of Vesper Santelli is known throughout the nine systems,” he replied. “Did you already have a favor in mind or would you like it to be added to the books, redeemable upon request?”
“I know vhat I vant,” she replied. “The men who did this to your ship were looking for a girl. So am I. Your ship sold… I should say, dropped her off somewhere and the price of my knowledge is that location.”
“A fair price,” Santelli said without hesitation. “According to the captain of my ship, the men who boarded them were looking for a girl they sold to the Raw Mind on Strikeplain. It’s a club in Storm Haven.”
“I’m familiar vith it,” she replied.
“And the name of the ship and its captain?” Santelli asked.
“Captain Matthew Jennings of the Melody Tryst,” she replied. “If you hurry, you should be able to get to Strikeplain before he can leave.”
“Thank you, but several of my ships are on their way there now,” he replied. “It wouldn’t have been too difficult to track down which of the ships on the planet had mounted this attack against me and mine, but your little piece of information will save me a few minutes.”
“Of course, I’m glad ve vere able to help each other,” Petrova said. “I’ll try to stay clear of your men vhen ve pick up the girl.”
“Oh, I’ll be picking up the girl well before you can get there,” Santelli said.
Fury flashed in Petrova’s eyes. “Ve had a deal,” she protested.
“We had a deal for information,” Santelli said coldly. “I have provided that. Don’t dare accuse me of reneging. This girl must be truly valuable based on the lengths everyone is willing to go to for her. I would say that is a profit that should belong to me. Don’t take it personally, Anastasia, it’s just good business.”
He signed off and Petrova shrieked in frustration. Immediately, she stood, walked over to Vosler, and pulled him to his feet. She poured all her strength into her fist and belted him in the gut. Vosler doubled over and let out the barest hint of a grunt, before pulling himself back up to his feet and smiling at her.
“Feel better?” he asked.
“Yes, get everyone on board the Grey Vistula as fast as possible. I vant to be ready to leave in an hour,” she said.
“Of course,” he nodded and immediately left.
Petrova took a moment to look around her office on Firefall, lush and lavish, many old Earth antiques, some replicas, but all very expensive. The office was a tribute to her success, her indomitable nature, and now she felt it mocking her. She had given away a priceless piece of information to one of her biggest rivals. This was the first time she could ever remember being tricked in such a way, and it caused a burning sickening sensation in her stomach.
“Focus,” she said sternly as she slapped herself in the face.
There was still time. Santelli had a huge head start, but Firefall was closer to Strikeplain than Earth was and she was willing to bet she could get there in time or close enough to make it interesting. Plus, they still had to get back to Earth with the cargo in tact. There was plenty of time, she reiterated to herself, allowing a grim smile to cross her face as she set about to the work she needed to do.
Chapter 14
“Ugh, Strikeplain,” Lafayette commented as the Melody Tryst rocketed into the atmosphere, headed for the dark gray maw that was the near permanent cover of the planet.
“It’s going to be fun,” Jennings said as the ship immediately lurched wildly as they entered the cloud cover. “The shields are up, aren’t they?” he demanded of Squawk, who was staring through the viewscreen at the numerous flashes of purple energy. “Squawk!” Jennings shouted.
“Shiny! Pretty! Shields!” squeaked the engineer.
“How much further?” Jennings demanded as another lightning strike hit the ship so hard it managed to shake Fix awake for a moment.
“Thirty seconds,” Lafayette shouted over Fix telling them all to shut up.
There were a few more held breaths and then a collective sigh as the Melody Tryst blasted through the cloud base and headed toward the surface of the desolate looking planet. Strikeplain was in the outer reaches of what used to be Terran controlled space and the terraforming was not exactly completed. That of course had not stopped the mining companies from moving in, so there were a dozen or so cities dotted around the mostly rock planet. All were settlements for miners, their families, and the assorted other necessaries that went with a town. There was no water on the planet, save for the sooty water vapor that was blasted out of the long line of volcanoes running along the planet’s equator. Rather than spewing magma, the volcanoes erupted with superheated water, which went into the atmosphere and became the super storms that were forever incasing Strikeplain.
Temperature and oxygen levels were all Earth standard, however. So, when Jennings set them down in the sparsely populated docks, and they stepped outside, it felt rather pleasant despite the ominous roiling of the skies above. Squawk as usual was staying with the ship, supposedly keeping it on stand-by in case they needed to make a sudden exit, but he was probably staring up at the skies from a porthole. The Pasquatil were fascinated by those powers of nature that were the most destructive. Supposedly, an entire Pasquatil settlement once had been destroyed by a tornado, and they all died standing there, watching it come closer.
Jennings, Fix and Lafayette made their way toward the exit of the fenced off space dock. Inside a glass dome, a dowdy security guard who looked two shades of ennui from being bored to death processed their disembarkation.
“Any thing to declare?” he grumbled.
“No.”
“Any weapons?”
“No,” Jennings replied, resting his hands on one of the holsters on his belt.
“Purpose of your visit to the wonderful world of Strikeplain?” he continued.
“Just looking to shoot in and out,” Jennings said. “The crew needed some shore leave, and I being a benevolent captain allowed it.”
“Yeah, right,” the guard snorted. “You guys should seek new employment,” he advised Fix and Lafayette, who returned slight grins.
“Actually, we were hoping to check out the Raw Mind,” Jennings said.
“Ah,” the guard started to say something, thought better of it, and seemed to come to attention a little bit more. “Yes, sir,” he said at last. “You’ll be wanting to head straight to town center, take a right down the alley next to the inn. You can’t miss the sign.”
“Thanks for your help,” Jennings said, hiding the sense of puzzlement he felt as the guard stamped their falsified paperwork. Why had the guard’s demeanor changed when they said they were heading to the Raw Mind?
They left the docks and made their way down the main avenue of Storm Haven. There was very little foot traffic as it was after eleven planet time, but the streets were lined with ground speeders and a few shuttles. Three story buildings lined the street, most of them shops or cafes of the more eccentric kind with apartments over top. The main grocers, restaurants and clothiers were going to be found in the city center.
The center of Storm Haven was where two perpendicular thoroughfares met, and the city was still awake. Late night revelers spilled out of the middle-class taverns and pubs, while a few outdoor restaurants still had clientele sipping cups of ridiculously expensive imported coffee. The city center was better lit and the dreariness of the Storm Haven seemed to wash away in the glow of the light.
“Dis is more like it,” Lafayette said as a group of drunken revelers ambled past singing something unintelligible.
“We’re not here to party,” Jennings said, trying to get his bearings.
There was a large statue in the center of a plaza with a roundabout encircling it. “Wonder who dat is,” Lafayette pondered.
“Some asshole or another,” Fix replied.
To their left and straight ahead, the neighborhoods got dimmer and the housing became more matchbox tenement high-rises- housing for the low income miners almost certainly.
The affluence of the town seemed to be to the right, which was where they had been directed, but Jennings didn’t see anything called the Raw Mind amid the many lighted signs in that direction.
“There,” Fix said, pointing.
He led them across the plaza past the statue of the asshole and a large building on the right that said Strikeplain’s Finest Inn. Based on its shabby appearance, Jennings hoped that wasn’t the case. Fix led them past the hotel entrance and halfway down the block until they came to a small alley between the inn and the first tenement high-rise. None of the street light was reaching into the narrow maw, and the three men stopped for a moment.
“We’re not really going in there, mon capitaine, are we?” Lafayette asked.
“It’s what the man said,” Fix stated.
“I don’t see anything down there,” Jennings observed.
“It’s what the man said,” Fix reiterated slowly.
Slowly, Jennings led them into the alley, his eyes gradually adjusting to the near dark, until he saw a small neon purple glow on the left. It was above a small non-descript door and read RAW MIND. Two men in expensive looking suits stood on opposite sides of the door. The place appeared to be for a reserved clientele, Jennings noted as he picked up on the trademark jacket bulge of concealed plasma pistols.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Jennings said as he walked to the door.
In perfect tandem, both men stepped in front of him.
“Members only,” one of them said sternly.
“Excellent, where do I sign up?” Jennings asked.
“It’s forty thousand,” the other said. “I can summon the manager if you like.”
“That seems rather extravagant for what is surely going to be a one-time visit to this charming little world,” Jennings protested. “Don’t you have an option for well-to-do spacefarers who want to take in the best of Strikeplain for the short time they’re planetside?”
“Well-to-do?” one of them echoed, eyeing Jennings’ denim and leather clothing with clear disdain.
111 Souls (Infinite Universe) Page 12