Starship's Mage: Omnibus: (Starship's Mage Book 1)

by Glynn Stewart

  “Yes ma’am,” Lieutenant Harmon replied. “Computer gives me an ETA of five days with the Crew Mages working standard shifts,” he advised her after a moment’s pause.

  “Include me in the jump rotation,” Stealey ordered. “This may be important.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Stealey cut the intercom and turned back to the console to see what she could pull up about Damien Montgomery.

  There was a way that what he’d done could be possible. The young Mage could be the find of the century.

  And the Corinthians wanted her to take his magic away.

  #

  Carmichael met David at his office. Late in the evening by Spindle’s time, the immense tube of light down the center of the station dimming towards its programmed night, the discreet three story building tucked on the edge of one Spindle’s many small towns was empty.

  The information broker let David into the building himself, leading the Captain silently through an office of brick and carpet that looked like it belonged in the twentieth century instead of the twenty-sixth. Finally, they reached an office on the top floor with windows looking out over the artificial world of the Spindle.

  “Close the door behind you,” Carmichael instructed. As David obeyed, he lowered old fashioned blinds across the windows, blocking out the fading light outside.

  Hidden panels on the room automatically began to glow to counteract the reduced light, keeping the office at a comfortable level of light as David looked around the room. Everything in the room had been done in Sherwood Oak – the expensive hardwood that he’d just delivered a cargo of himself. The walls were paneled in the smooth wood, likely concealing filing cabinets and bookshelves, as there was no furniture in the room other than chairs and a large desk – also Sherwood Oak.

  “This entire building is swept for bugs daily,” Carmichael said calmly. “This room, once the door and blinds are closed, functions as a Faraday Cage. If someone can get past that, there are white noise generators mounted in each corner to prevent anyone outside listening. I stole the idea for the setup from the Navy,” he explained when David looked at him questioningly. “A contact of mine was the electrician they hired when they were expanding the base at Tau Ceti. This is as secure a place to have a conversation as you’ll find in this system.

  “Now, what did you want from me?”

  “You told me you deal in information,” David began. “I tend to presume that dealing tends to drag you into the grayer areas of the world. I need… criminal contacts. Preferably organized - with resources. I’m going to need certain materials and equipment that isn’t legally available, and I’m hoping to be able to acquire additional manpower.”

  “I see,” Carmichael said aloud, resting his hands on his desk. “You are a ship’s captain; you have some idea of the price of what you are asking for. I’d guess that you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think you could afford it.

  “Your plan, I assume, is to breakout your young Mage and flee the system?”

  “Yes,” David answered flatly. He wasn’t going to give this man everything, but he had to trust him that much if he was going to get anywhere.

  The broker sighed, looking down at his hands for a long moment in silence.

  “If you were anyone else, Captain, I think I could help you,” he said finally. “But the criminals of this station won’t deal with you, unless it’s to collect the bounty on your head.”

  “The Blue Star Syndicate isn’t even here,” David argued. Widespread as the Syndicate was, he’d quietly checked to see if they had any presence in Corinthian before he’d taken the contract.

  “But they have a long arm,” Carmichael said softly. “And even if they didn’t, men such as you want to deal with are unenthused with those who turn their kind in to the law!”

  David shivered slightly at the words, remembering just how he’d acquired the bounty the Blue Star Syndicate had put on his head. Desperate to make a note payment on the Blue Jay, he’d taken a cargo contract without asking questions. Unusual power readings had led them to investigate the containers, which had turned out to contain hundreds of kidnapped teenagers in cryo-stasis, destined to be forced into various forms of slavery.

  He’d delivered the containers and collected his payment. He’d also told the Mage-King’s Navy what he’d delivered. The ensuing raid had seen eight hundred and fourteen kidnapped children rescued – and the son of the leader of the Blue Star Syndicate killed in the firefight.

  David couldn’t bring himself to regret that decision.

  “So money won’t be enough,” he said aloud, meeting Carmichael’s eyes. “But Damien is being held in the zero-grav high security cells up there,” he pointed up at where the central core ran through the station. “Their people and resources can’t break anyone out – they’re all known to System Security. I might be able to. Surely at least one of the bosses has to have someone locked in there?”

  “You’re offering to breakout the kind of man who gets locked in zero-grav confinement?” Carmichael asked dryly.

  “I’m already planning to break one man out,” David replied. “If that’s the price I have to pay, that’s the price I have to pay.”

  The information broker held his gaze for a long moment, and then nodded.

  “I think I can get someone to make a deal,” he said quietly. “I’ll set up a meeting. How much time do you have?”

  “They’ll scrap my ship after the trial,” David told him. “So before then – I’m told it will be in four days.”

  “I’ll contact you once I have a meet,” Carmichael instructed.

  David left the broker’s office with a sense of hope for the first time in days. He didn’t want to know what kind of man he’d have to breakout of Corinthian Prime’s highest security prison – almost certainly the kind who belonged in there – but he knew something he hadn’t told Carmichael and wouldn’t tell the crime boss.

  Somehow, he didn’t think that any escaped criminal still on the station would remain at large once the Hand arrived.

  #

  If David had had any doubts about the degree of connection that Carmichael had with the underworld on Corinthian Prime, the speed with which the broker organized the meeting would have laid them to rest. The next morning, station time, the broker sent him instructions to come to a specific bar in the zero-gravity docks district that evening – and to only bring one person with him.

  He brought Narveer – the pilot had learned to fly in the Martian Marine Corps, which insisted that all of its personnel be capable in hand to hand and rifle combat before they let them learn any other specialty.

  They arrived exactly on time, to find Carmichael waiting for them outside the bar with a pair of men David could only describe as ‘muscle.’ They were big men, dressed in matching cheap suits and wearing matching glowers.

  “You made it, good,” the broker greeted him. “Let’s go,” he gestured down the street.

  “We’re not going in the bar?” David asked. He’d been relying on a somewhat public location to keep the meeting civil.

  “Carney don’t like crowds,” one of the muscle rumbled. “You meet where he says.”

  “He’s promised safe conduct,” Carmichael told David. “Carney doesn’t give explicit promises very often – because he doesn’t break them when he does.”

  “All right,” David agreed uneasily, glancing at Narveer. The pilot’s face was blank, his eyes tracking the two thugs.

  Carmichael led the way and the two thugs followed up the rear as the five drifted their way through the zero-gravity part of the station. Eventually, they reached what looked like one of the dozens of storage warehouses scattered throughout the docks. Following the information broker into the warehouse, though, David felt himself yanked towards a specific ‘floor’ – the ‘warehouse’ had gravity runes.

  Inside the unassuming door, walls blocked off most of the space from an entrance that was utterly bland and empty. A metal detector covere
d the only way further into the warehouse, and a pair of guards, matching to the set following him in, flanked the door.

  “Leave any weapons with us,” the speaker of the muscle that had accompanied them to the warehouse rumbled.

  “I’m not carrying any,” David replied, glancing at Singh. “Narveer?”

  The pilot shrugged and pulled a rocket pistol, designed for minimum recoil in zero-gravity, from his jacket. As the guard took that with a satisfied grunt, Singh proceeded to produce two black-handled, back-curved knives from the small of his back.

  “Watch the edge,” he said sharply as the guard eyed them. “Honed to a few molecules thick.”

  The guard took the two kukris very respectfully, and then blinked as Singh reached up to his turban and produced a collapsible baton, a small yellow lightning bolt on the black case marked it as electrified.

  “That’s everything,” he announced as the guards piled the weapons by the scanner. “It better not leave without me,” he told them fiercely.

  “The boss promised,” the vocal guard told him. “He don’t make promises we can’t keep.”

  This, David considered, was as much a warning as a reassurance.

  The interior of the warehouse, once you got past the spartan security checkpoint, looked like any small office complex. There were even potted plants that they were led past until they finally reached a plain-looking door. There was nothing to distinguish this door from any other office door they’d seen coming through.

  “You’re expected,” the guard told them, and then opened the door.

  Carmichael led the way and David followed into a neat, perfectly organized, office that wouldn’t have looked out of place for any corporate CEO in the Protectorate.

  “Have a seat,” the man seated behind the heavy metal desk instructed, gesturing to the chairs. The mob boss Carney could almost be mistaken for the muscle outside, until you saw his eyes. For all his size and muscle, Carney’s eyes were ice blue, flat and cold.

  “Thank you for meeting with me,” David told him as he and his fellows took the two seats. Those flat eyes leveled on him.

  “I’ll confess,” the boss said, his voice slow and precise, “that Carmichael’s description of your offer intrigued me. I do wonder, though, why you think you can succeed in breaking my people out where I would fail?”

  “Unless System Security is more incompetent that any force I’ve ever met,” David replied, “anyone coming in to visit your people will be searched and watched like a hawk. They’ll assume anyone meeting convicted mob offenders may have been bought or compromised by their employers.

  “My man, on the other hand, has been a model prisoner and we have not caused any trouble on the station. They won’t suspect us, so we can get useful gear closer than any of your people,” the Captain explained.

  “Fair,” Carney grunted. “What’s your offer?”

  “We need a distraction and certain gear – flash-bangs, Nix-Six grenades and stunguns,” David told him. “I need security away from the connector between the jail and the dock – we’ll head straight for my ship and break it free as well once Damien is clear.

  “In exchange, we’ll free one of your people when we break Damien out, and pay you one million Martian dollars.”

  “Nix-Six is not an easy item to acquire,” Carney observed. Nix-Six was the common name for ‘Neutralization Solution Six,’ the current standard knockout gas issued to police riot suppression squads.

  “Corinthian System Security has it as standard issue,” David replied. “Do you expect me to believe that if the CSS has it, you don’t?”

  The mob boss chuckled, a smile momentarily even reaching his eyes.

  “True,” he conceded. “But a million dollars…” he shrugged. “A million makes almost no difference to the value of your offer, and one rescue is far too little. No deal.”

  David started to rise to leave in silence, but the mob boss waved him back to his seat.

  “No deal at that rate,” he clarified. “I don’t want your money Captain. But understand that System Security swept up a cell of my best operators six months ago.

  “I’ll get you your gear – hell, I’ll throw in body armor and I think I can get you the codes to unlock the cells in the Core – but we’ll do this on my terms. I have six guys in the cells in the Core. You’ll free them all.”

  David winced. It was a better deal than he’d hoped for, but he knew what kind of ‘operators’ ended up in the Core – hit men and the most violent of pimps and extortionists. He needed the gear and the backup though.

  “We’ll do it,” he said simply.

  “All right then Captain,” Carney replied, leaning forward across his desk. “What’s your plan?”

  #

  Jenna and Kellers were waiting in David’s room when he and Narveer returned to the hotel. Walking into the room, David dropped the case he’d received from Carney – the first part of the requested gear, mostly the flash-bangs and Nix-Six canisters – next to the door.

  “Well?” Jenna asked.

  “Is it safe to talk?” David asked, glancing at Kellers.

  The engineer nodded, pointing at a small black box sitting on the table by David’s bed. “There’s only a standard, accessible-by-court-order-only, recording box,” the engineer told him. “That’s showing an empty room right now. It looks like we haven’t attracted enough suspicion to rate special attention.”

  “Good,” the Captain answered, looking around his officers. It would take a warrant for System Security to bug his hotel room, but given that one of his people was in a high security cell, he would have given the warrant if he was the judge.

  “Carney’s in,” he continued. “Basic gear is in that case,” he gestured, “and we have a drop-off location for a crate of stunguns and SmartDart ammo.”

  “A crate is a few more stunguns than the four of us can use,” Kellers observed, glancing around the room.

  “We need manpower,” David admitted. “Carney’s people have promised to draw the guards away from the Blue Jay, but we’ll need to get ourselves and Damien from the security cells to the dock – and believe me, CSS is going to know what we’re doing. Much as I wanted to avoid it, we’re going to have to involve the crew.”

  “Unless you were planning on flying the ship with half a dozen people, we needed to anyway,” Jenna reminded him. “We need at least twenty of the spacers aboard if we want to be able to get anywhere without the ship coming apart around us.”

  “Conveniently, we’re getting a crate of twenty stunguns,” David said dryly. “I want each of you to approach the people you trust most in your departments and feel them out. Make sure they all know that anyone who stays is being released with two months’ pay – it’s the least I can do for our crew, this wasn’t their fault.”

  “You might want to try bribing them to be involved, not to leave,” Narveer boomed with a laugh. “I don’t think we’ll have an issue,” he continued. “The pilots will be in.”

  “Don’t commit anyone to this until you’ve talked to them,” David warned. “Kellers – I want you to pick up the stunners and ammo. Let’s try not to draw attention to ourselves.

  “I have a scheduled meeting with Damien tomorrow evening,” he continued. “That gives us at least twenty-four hours before the Hand should arrive, based on what the Guildmaster said.

  “We only get one shot at this,” David reminded his people, glancing around the hotel room, his gaze finally settling on the case of grenades by the door.

  “If we mess this up, we join Damien in the High Security cells,” he finished quietly.

  “Or we can watch the boy who saved our lives swing, and lose our ship,” Singh summarized bluntly. “Is anyone here not in?” the Blue Jay’s First Pilot demanded.

  Silence answered him.

  #

  After the one visit from his lawyer, Damien had seen no one except the pair of Enforcers who came to escort him to the gym to exercise and eat. Time didn’t qu
ite blur together, as the day after the lawyer visit they at least gave him a tablet with access to a basic entertainment and education library.

  While the library wasn’t exactly up to the minute on current news – at a guess, someone had to manually review what articles and events could be included – it did allow him to research the previous cases of Mages attempting to modify their rune matrices.

  There weren’t that many cases anyone was certain of. There were a dozen or so where observers, with hindsight in place, had managed to reasonably prove that the Mage aboard the ship which had come apart into pieces when jumping had been experimenting.

  The only two cases where a Mage had actually been brought to trial, it sounded like they’d got it half right – some of the ship had survived the jump, enough that the Mage had been alive to arrest. One had committed suicide before his trial, and the legal case study Damien found on the other ended with the ominous note of ‘Turned over to the Hand of the Mage-King for justice.’

  There was very little sanctioned experimentation with jump matrices. The rune matrix hadn’t been noticeably changed in the two hundred years since the first Mage-King and his people had built the very first jump ships.

  The only person who had ever done anything with the standard jump matrix, in fact, was the first Mage-King himself. No improvements since. Almost no research since. The few experiments that had occurred had uniformly ended in death and tragedy.

  Damien was starting to suspect that he really was crazy when his door slid open, revealing one of his Enforcers, a pair of rune encrusted manacles in his hands.

  “You have a visitor Montgomery,” the Enforcer told him. “We both know you’re not gonna cause trouble, but I’ve got to put these on you anyway. Gonna make an issue of it?”

  Damien shook his head, resignedly holding his wrists out as the mag-booted Enforcer manacled him and gently pulled him out of the cell. There was only one Enforcer today, though Damien saw a few of the uniformed Corinthian System Security officers guarding the cells as well.