Calculated Risk

by K. S. Ferguson

  How had this conversation wandered so far off track? She ought to do something more to ensure McTavish's safety; she didn't trust Browning to take sufficient measures. And she desperately needed to get a message to Samir. She didn't have time to stand around chatting.

  But maybe she didn't need to go to Maltraw's.

  "My boss is going to think I dropped into an alternate dimension if he doesn't hear from me soon. I'd be happy to pay if you'd use your ship's equipment to send him my regards." Kama added a pleading smile.

  "Honey, you don't need me to send a message for you. Not that I don't want to take your money, mind." She tossed her long tresses with a provocative flip of her head. "Ed already brought back the part for the station's busted com. He's probably fixing it right now."

  "Let's hope he has better things to do," Kama muttered, thinking of the thug-like miners in the runabout bay.

  While Janice moved off to confer with the medic, she slung her bag on an empty counter beside McTavish's bed, unzipped it, and extracted one device after another. Time to plan for the welcoming party.

  Chapter 7

  Rafe opened his eyes and turned his head toward the voices. His sense of self seemed disembodied from any corporeal form, and he thought he'd either died, or he was dreaming. A vision of salaciousness dragged a large silver trunk out the door of the infirmary while waving goodbye. Had he seen her wink at the medic?

  Clicks and clatters came from the opposite side of the cot. He eased his head in that direction, not sure if he'd really moved or if only the focus of his dream had changed. The avenging angel from the com center disassembled a variety of small electronic equipment on a counter near the bed, then reassembled mixed bits and pieces from several disparate devices. Her long slim fingers moved with confidence and dexterity until she held a palm-sized stunner in her hand.

  Yes, it had to be one of those dreams dredged from the subconscious where one bizarre object morphs into another impossible object. The stunner disappeared into the pocket of her unattractive gray coveralls. She glanced his direction, and their eyes met.

  Apprehension flashed in those molten chocolate pools before a mask of resignation dropped over her face. Even white teeth chewed her bottom lip. Her gaze flicked to the medic on the other side of the room before returning to him. She drew in a preparatory breath like a kid at school about to admit she hadn't done her homework.

  "I'm sorry." Her low voice barely carried to his ears.

  "Hm," he replied, his eyes locked on hers. "I don't believe I'm wearing your boot prints, am I?"

  Resignation momentarily flashed to bewilderment before her back stiffened and she pressed on. "I'm sorry I called you a liar and told the miners who you are."

  He'd developed a body again, but it felt like he'd been buried alive in wet sand. His limbs lay heavy and immobile. He tried to put one foot after the other down the path of rational thought, but his mind had other ideas. The entire tableau seemed surreal. "I had long odds against on that ploy."

  "I didn't think about how the miners might react. Now that they know who you are, some of them want to hold you hostage."

  "Ah." He found her sincerity disconcerting. He also felt the first tickle of fear worm through his numbed brain, making him more alert. "And you feel responsible?"

  She nodded.

  "And you'd like to make it up to me if you could."

  She nodded again, more slowly, suspicion sliding onto her face.

  "We haven't been properly introduced. Rafe McTavish, Security Partners." He tried for a handshake, but the blanket weighed a hundred kilos and held his hand against the cot.

  "Kamala Bhatia, Oasis."

  He thought about the beating he'd received and the stunner in her pocket. He could use a friend and ally, especially an armed ally, if she was right about the hostage threat. He gave her his best boyish grin, always guaranteed to soften a woman's heart. "Perhaps you'd join me for dinner sometime, Ms. Bhatia?"

  Those gorgeous eyes narrowed, and she went very still. "You corporate types are all alike."

  His grin faltered. Then he remembered the venom in her voice when she'd busted him. She worked for Oasis, the aggressively socialistic non-profit corp and biggest name in the software industry. That explained her attitude and her obvious intelligence. They only employed the best and the brightest. You had to be a bloody genius to work for them. His hope of befriending her—and her stunner—sank into despair while his desperation amped up.

  Before he could bring his wandering brain to bear on a reply, Browning barreled in the door, huffing like a bull too long fighting in the ring. He conferred in low tones with the medic, watching Rafe while they spoke. When he'd finished, he came to stand on the opposite side of the bed. His posture wasn't friendly; neither was it murderous. Perhaps he wasn't party to the kidnapping idea.

  "Mr. Browning, Ms. Bhatia tells me that some of your crew still feel… hostile toward me and intend to take me captive. I believe I'd like to transfer to that commercial vessel now." He squirmed in a failed attempt to sit up and saw alarm on Browning's face.

  The medic dashed to the cot, placed a restraining hand on his chest, and studied the medical monitor with an intensity that gave Rafe the willies. "Got a death wish, eh? You're flat on your back for the next twelve hours."

  "Perhaps you could enlighten me about the extent of the damages?" he asked. The small movement he'd made left him exhausted, and a wave of nausea washed over him. Alarm bells ringing in the back of his head joined the ringing in his ears.

  The medic's jaw flexed. After a long minute watching the monitor, he replied, "In the next twelve hours, you'll either get better or you'll die."

  A chill settled over him.

  "I see," he said, although he didn't. "Could you be more explicit?"

  "No," the medic said. "I'll get you some chow." He spun on his heel and hustled out.

  Was he so near death they wouldn't tell him? He needed to get off the station, and if he was in critical condition and defenseless while surrounded by enemies, then he'd need help. The pinging of the heart monitor sped up. He fought to slow his breathing and pulse rate, employing all his biofeedback training without effect. Time to grovel.

  "Mr. Browning, please accept my apology for my earlier deception. As Ms. Bhatia so rightfully pointed out, I am related to the EcoMech McTavish family. However, it's also true that I left EcoMech many years ago and now manage my own company. Unlikely as it may seem, I'm simply fulfilling an inspection contract for the EcoMech board of directors. I'm not involved with EcoMech and the facility purchase, nor do I have a platoon of mercs standing ready on the EcoMech ship. EcoMech doesn't even employ my company for their security needs."

  "You have a lot of experience inspecting mining facilities, Mr. McTavish?" There was no mistaking the skepticism in Browning's voice.

  "Please call me Rafe. Evaluating the state of the equipment, no. But my company is experienced in forensic audits. We're quite good at rooting out fraud, embezzlement, and employee theft, as well as providing physical security."

  Anger lit Browning's eyes. "So which is it? You gonna supply the forces to throw us off, or do you intend to prove we're a bunch of crooks?"

  Everything Rafe said made matters worse; had to be the drugs, or maybe the bang on the head. This never happened with his clients—or women. He could talk them into anything, smooth any rough patches. It was his gift. How could it fail him now?

  The smelter supervisor glared at him, stance wide, hands on hips, and brow furrowed. "Why are you looking for Levine?"

  Surprise—or maybe panic—flashed in Ms. Bhatia's eyes. He sensed another minefield ahead, but saw no alternative to stumbling forward.

  "The paperwork from Galaxy says he's the station manager, and EcoMech told him to expect me." Not quite the truth; he worked directly for Aaron Goldman, not the company, but he wouldn't air the Goldman family feud here. Still, any lies he told would show up on the biomonitor readings if they knew what to look for, and he ne
eded them to trust him. He'd tread carefully.

  "So he's in on the scam, along with you guys and Galaxy." Browning slapped a hand on the bed frame. "Never should have trusted the little weasel—or Galaxy."

  "There is no scam, at least not on EcoMech's part," Rafe protested. "The lawyers wouldn't approve the purchase unless Galaxy provided a clean title. I'm sure the sale was an above-board transaction."

  Ms. Bhatia snorted. "The miners are supposed to trust corporate lawyers? Isn't that how they got into this mess, by trusting sales contracts vetted by corporate lawyers?"

  "But surely the miners had independent legal counsel working on their behalf through the incorporation and purchase. Have you contacted them?" he asked, hoping calm discussion would soothe the supervisor. "Or if you have concerns about their competency, hire a different firm to look over your contracts and tell you where you stand."

  "Lawyers! Vultures feasting on the remains of corporate kills," she said.

  Browning nodded his agreement. "Now we're supposed to hire a second batch to look over the shoulders of the first batch? How do we pay all these legions of lawyers? The operation's barely scraping by as it is. And what's to stop EcoMech or Galaxy from buying off our lawyers?"

  Ms. Bhatia lifted a brow, daring Rafe to reply.

  Was this a mining station or an insane asylum? Sure, some corporations didn't always play by the rules. He'd busted a few in his day. But to accuse Galaxy or EcoMech of bribing lawyers to win a favorable settlement? He'd landed amidst paranoid lunatics. All the more reason to get out of there if he could only figure out how. He cursed the drug haze and stress that clouded his thinking.

  "Someone needs to go through your incorporation and purchase paperwork to understand what's happening," he said. "And you need to find Levine if he was your company's primary representative. Since you're headed for court, whoever looks over your documents needs to be a disinterested third party."

  "I can do that," Ms. Bhatia volunteered before he could jump in with his own offer.

  Rafe lifted a hand from under the blanket, glad it responded to his will. "Hold on now. If the computer system contains evidence, you need an EA representative to oversee an investigation. If Ms. Bhatia here—"

  "Kama," she said.

  Excellent, they were on a first name basis. "If Kama does anything to the computer before it's been formally seized by EA, whatever's on it can't be used later in court."

  She blinked at him. "It'll take weeks to get an EA investigator out here. Do you really think everyone will happily wait that long?"

  "I have contacts at EA. They can deputize me, and then I can help you untangle what's happened." He had to convince them he was a friend; it might save his life.

  "You're in no condition to work," she said, waving a hand at his body. "You're doped to the gills, and you've had a blow to the head. Besides, you're not a disinterested third party. You already admitted working for EcoMech."

  Hung by his own words, he clenched his teeth, then went on the attack. He had to win this one, had to become part of the miners' team.

  "I'd be considered a third party if I'm deputized." Browning wasn't swayed, so he continued. "I'm sure you have excellent computer skills, Kama, but we're talking about business forensics, not writing a batch file to install an operating system upgrade."

  Her eyes narrowed and sharp color flamed up her cheeks. She ignored him and addressed the smelter supervisor.

  "How can you possibly trust someone who changes loyalties so easily?" she asked. "He's just another lying corporate drone."

  The infirmary door opened, and Roshal burst through waving his nanocom in the air.

  "You can call off the search for Levine, Ed. Lookit what I found on the airlock security recording."

  Roshal shoved the nanocom in front of Browning who watched it with a silent scowl. Then he passed it to Kama who twisted it so Rafe could share the view. In a video clip on the three inch by four inch screen, a mousy little man opened an airlock door and stepped through, dogging the hatch behind him. Rafe could just make out the day and time stamp: 2:23 a.m. Assuming he hadn't been unconscious longer than he thought, the video footage was recorded that morning, seven hours before the EcoMech corporate yacht arrived.

  "This is Mr. Levine leaving the station?" Kama said. "Where's he going?"

  "The cargo drone," Roshal said. "That's where it was docked last night. It left about 3 a.m."

  "God damn it," muttered Browning. "He must be guilty of something or he wouldn't be sneaking away on a cargo drone." He smacked a fist into his palm. "If I get my hands on his scrawny neck…"

  Kama seemed suddenly quiet, replaying the video over again while she twisted a strand of hair in her fingers. Rafe realized he'd give a lot to know what she was thinking.

  "Your com tech said the drone wasn't scheduled to leave until tonight."

  Roshal flung his arms around like a windmill in a storm. "You better get a call in to EA, Ed. Maybe they can stop the drone when it hits Earth orbit. Levine has a lot to explain."

  "Well, hell. By the time EA pulls their brown noses out of the big corps' asses and looks into this, we'll all be dead of old age." Browning broke into a round of hacking. "Sorry, it's my allergies."

  "Let me take a look at the computer system," Kama said. "You might at least be able to freeze assets before they all disappear."

  "I strongly advise against that," Rafe warned. "I don't doubt your technical abilities, but if you mess with the evidence chain, you may prevent the investors from recovering anything. Do this the right way; let me help."

  "You? We should leave well enough alone until an EA investigator from Earth gets here," Roshal said.

  "Well, Mr. McTavish, excuse me for saying this, but why should I take the advice of someone who lies to save his own butt?" Browning asked.

  Rafe's face flushed. Yes, he'd pretended to be a lowly inspector hired by Leon, but that was only a small stretch of the truth, not an outright lie. He wasn't part of EcoMech or the mine purchase, and he had nothing to do with the rest of his family. Why wouldn't they listen?

  Roshal said, "You know, Ed, if you'd taken the beating he had, you mighta lied, too."

  The smelter supervisor ran a hand over his face and gave a congested cough, but then he nodded to Kama. "If you're willing to have a go with our records, I'd appreciate it."

  Disappointment and frustration swept over him. Browning still considered him the enemy. He felt like he'd swallowed a brick, throat raw and stomach turned to cement.

  "What about the men planning to kidnap me?" Rafe asked.

  "You're safe enough here," Browning said. "I'll have a talk with the men, and they'll leave you alone."

  Kama cleared her throat.

  "And I'm posting a couple of guards," he added. "You're not in any danger."

  Browning's pronouncement did nothing to vanquish Rafe's worries. The lump in his stomach grew heavier. "Do either of you have any information about my condition?"

  "No," Browning and Kama chimed in unison.

  "We're doing the best we can, but the facilities are limited. You just need to rest," Browning continued.

  "I'll get on the records search." Kama scooped a beat-up duffel bag off the counter. One soft hand reached down to touch him. Serious brown eyes looked into his. "Take care of yourself, Mr. McTavish."

  The stunner slid unseen beneath his palm. "Rafe," he said, surprised and heartened by her gift. "Call me Rafe."

  Kama and Browning left together. The stunner, cool under his hand, provided a tiny measure of comfort. When he'd served with EA security forces, he'd always had a squad—or at least a buddy—watching his back. He'd had body armor, the latest weapons, and an overall strategy for victory. Now he had a single beautiful but distant ally, no physical mobility, and the tiny stunner as his only defense. Even his powers of persuasion failed him. He needed to retreat and regroup, come up with a plan, but how?

  Roshal defended him against Browning's insinuation of cowardice.
Maybe Rafe could petition him for help. Roshal drifted to the door and stopped, where he stood scratching stubble on his chin.

  "Perhaps if you have time, you could stay until the medic gets back?" Rafe suggested.

  The shipping manager turned to face him. "If you're bleeding out, there isn't much I can do."

  Rafe glanced up at the IV pole. So, internal hemorrhage, more than a bit of speed heal could fix. That explained the movement restriction. He loosened his death grip on the stunner and focused on slowing and deepening his breathing.

  "Pull up a chair. Tell me about the station. I haven't had a chance to see much of it yet. Mostly just the deck."

  Roshal frowned and looked around for a chair, but there weren't any. He sauntered across to one of the empty cots and perched on the edge, making it impossible for Rafe to see him without craning his neck, which required more strength than he had. He waited for the man to speak, but all he did was squirm.

  "What is it you do here, Mr. Roshal?"

  "Shipping manager, second in command to Levine."

  Second in command? He'd thought Browning was running things in Levine's absence. Maybe he could leverage that information, especially since Browning and Roshal seemed to disagree on what ought to be done.

  "Sounds like an important position, one that keeps you busy. Have you been out here long?"

  Rustling came from the cot, and Roshal reappeared in his field of vision. "Bout three years."

  "Must be tough stuck so far away from civilization. You get off the station much?"

  Roshal wandered out of sight again. "I make the jump gate run once or twice a week with the ore shipments."

  "That's a lot of travel. Do you get frequent flyer miles?"

  He popped up at the side of Rafe's cot, puzzlement on his face. "Frequent flyer miles? I operate the station tug."

  "Ah," Rafe stammered. The man seemed incapable of appreciating humor. "I thought as a manager, you had a desk job. You command the tug crew then?"