by Chris Bunch
“What the frigging hells we need ‘em for?” the man snarled. “We got the bastards, and we’re gonna give ‘em a nice, fair trial, then hang ‘em. Slow.”
“This is Riss,” M’chel said. “Star Risk. What the blazes is going on?”
“A couple ships fulla high-graders tried to hit us,” the miner said. “They didn’t know we’d went an’ bought one a yer missile kits. Killed one ship dead, got three survivors from the other. We’re gonna nuremburg t’eir asses in a few minutes.”
“Listen, Hank,” M’chel said urgently. “We need those survivors. We need the information we can get from them, to get the rest of the raiders.”
Hank stared into his pickup, then said, very deliberately,
“My best frien’ was one of those got theyselves killed by these bassids.”
He turned his head, spat, and the pickup cleared.
“Elsie,” M’chel said. “Can you get Hank back, and convince him to keep those raiders alive until we get there? And I’ll need coordinates.”
“I’ll try,” L.C. said. “But good luck on t’is one, lassie.”
• • •
M’chel Riss had seen a good number of bodies, men, women, and children. But she’d never seen three bodies like this before, unsuited, lying outside one of the domes, sprawled, their necks strangely elongated.
“You … hanged them?”
“Cert’ny did,” the stock miner named Hank said, not without pride. “Like I promised.”
“Might I ask how, given the low gravity of this asteroid?” Grok rumbled. He and M’chel had scrambled in one of Spada’s patrol ships, Riss feeling she would certainly be too late.
They were.
“Mel’s ship’s got a big cargo hold,” Hank explained. “Enough for a good drop, like I saw on a vid somewheres. An’ antigravity. An’ there was a big beam near the top t’ tie off the cable we used.”
Grok unslung the bag over his shoulder.
“Clearly, we shall not be needing this.”
In the kit were several varieties of “yodeling juice.” If there’s never been anything such as truth serum, there are many chemicals that will make someone babble uncontrollably, and a trained and skilled interrogator, which Riss was, can steer the flow into desired directions.
“No,” Riss said. “Now, let’s shake the bodies, and what’s left of that ship.
“With our fingers crossed.”
• • •
“Pretty damned pawky,” Riss said, surveying the shipsuits, small amount of money, a Saint Michael’s medal, and a few other effects. “Can you make anything out of this?”
“No,” Grok said. “However, Jasmine is a veritable fount of information. Shall we return with our trophies?”
• • •
“Very close to nothing,” King agreed. “However, there’s one thing that’s interesting. Two of the bills, and three coins … held by two of the raiders, I see … come from Seth V.”
“Which is?”
“A bit of a jaunt from here,” King said. “It … or rather its capital of Trygve … is known as a hiring hall, so to speak, for those interested in hiring free-lances.
“Cerberus used to recruit there frequently.”
“How interesting,” Baldur said. “I am starting to think we might have a rat hole to send our ferret down.”
“Don’t be so complimentary,” Chas Goodnight said. But a slight, wolfish smile touched his lips.
Riss was staring down at the effects.
“No damned ID,” she said quietly. “No letters, no cards, nothing. I can’t believe Murgatroyd could do that job of making sure his troops go out sterile.”
“Did you ever consider,” King said gently, “that most people who are willing to go mercenary don’t have any ties? That maybe that’s the reason they’re in the trade they chose in the first place?”
M’chel smiled wryly, but a bit of a chill came to her.
TWENTY
The only warning was a bleat from a patrol ship:
“Star Risk Control, this is Patrol Seven … the bastards got a frigging cruiser … onscreen, bouncing it to you … they got Eleven, one blast, goddammit, I’m at full power getting the hell out of — ”
The com went dead, and no attempts to reestablish contact with either Patrol Seven or Eleven were successful.
But that first transmission had come through quite clearly.
“Son of a bitch,” Goodnight said softly. “Murgatroyd does have a cruiser.”
Onscreen was a long, deadly ship. A scale said it was a thousand meters long. No turrets were protruded, but two open missile tubes told what had killed two of Spada’s ships.
“This is not possible,” Spada said softly. “I don’t know how any non-government operation can find the bodies to crew a warship that big.”
“Don’t be so sure about that,” Baldur said. “I can think of examples where you’re wrong.”
“Here could be the answer,” King said, reading from the Jane’s fiche onscreen.
“The ship’s ID’ed positively as a former Alliance Sensei class. About a hundred years old, so Murgatroyd must’ve picked it up cheap. But here’s the key. ‘Ship was intended to be crewed by less than 100 hands, and is extensively automated.’ So he wouldn’t need to have as big a crew as the cruiser’s looks would suggest.”
Spada was reading over her shoulder: “Chain guns, five four-tube long range missile batteries, three close-range batteries, six tubes, planetary bombardment capabilities …”
He turned to Baldur.
“Boss, I didn’t contract to go against something like this.”
Baldur stared at the screen.
“None of us did,” he said. “I think it is time to have a chat with Transkootenay.”
• • •
“This is bad,” Reg Goodnight said. “Not ten minutes ago, I had a com from one of the outstations. A ship … a very damned big ship, they said, blasted hell out of the station.
“I’ve got twenty of my engineers and assayers dead, and the station’s a dead loss.
“I ordered them to get back to Sheol as fast as they could.
“Von Baldur, is there anything to stop that ship from savaging us, even here on Mfir?”
“I’ve got all of my ships either inbound, or in close orbit around Mfir,” Baldur said. “They should be able to stop it … if it attacks Mfir.”
“But there’s nobody at all protecting the miners,” Goodnight said.
“No,” Baldur said.
“What are we … you … going to do?”
“I want you to set a meeting up with that offworld development person, Tan Whitley,” Baldur said. “This is escalating, and I think it is time to ask for the Alliance to come back in.
“This is not banditry any more as open insurrection.”
Reg Goodnight worried his lower lip in his teeth, reluctantly nodded.
“I’ll set the meeting immediately.”
• • •
Glace was green, if not quite earth-green, and fair. But as usual, the first colonists had looked around, seen the beauty, and set out to ruin it as rapidly as possible. The planet, eager for settlers, had made sure there were no annoying statutes interfering with a corporation’s right to despoil in the name of profits.
“Why,” Riss said, looking at the brown haze onscreen, “doesn’t anybody ever hire people like us to go in and put a few bombs down a few smokestacks?”
As Baldur brought Boop-Boop-A-Doop down on the main field, Chas Goodnight had a request.
“Awright,” he said, voice slightly pleading. “I understand the reasoning for keeping me hidden back on Mfir, or in the belt.
“But there ain’t no py-rates on Glace. At least, not any that haven’t already settled in and gone legit.”
“Your point being?” Baldur asked, without taking his eyes off the control board.
“I, uh, would like to take advantage of the brief time we’ll be here to see some of the local sights.”
“He means, get laid,” Jasmine King said.
“I’m shocked,” Goodnight said. “Shocked, do you hear me, shocked. Such language. And I was gonna ask you to hit the highspots with me.”
“Why?” Jasmine asked. “The answer would still be no.”
“This woman has no, I say again my last, no, romance in her soul.”
“He’s evading the issue,” Riss said. “Maybe we should’ve left him minding the farm back on Mfir instead of Grok.”
“I thought you were on my side,” Goodnight said.
Riss didn’t bother answering.
“Actually,” she said to Baldur, “there really isn’t any reason we can’t let the poor lad out to kick up his heels. Assuming he’s got protection against the clap and his shot record card’s up to date.”
“Thanks a lot,” Goodnight said.
Baldur considered.
“All right,” he said. “But it shall be just like in the military with a first pass for a young recruit. You are cleared to spend time within 30 kilometers of the ship, and must check back in no later than 1900, Zulu time.”
“That’s not even dark!” Goodnight complained.
“Why do you need to be out after dark?” Jasmine said. “You told us you just wanted to see the sights, which unquestionably are best seen by daylight.
“And,” she added demurely, “women don’t mind being kissed in daylight. You may trust me on this.”
“You see, Chas,” Riss said. “We have your best interests at heart, and don’t want you getting in any trouble.”
“Aw farpadoodle!” Goodnight snarled, but hurried back to his compartment to dig out appropriate groundside clothes.
• • •
Tan Whitley reminded Riss of any one of several paymasters she’d had to confront about underpayment during her years as a Marine, never to get satisfaction.
She was calm, collected, had all of the data she would bother to consider at sensor’s reach, and, in the immortal military phrase, wouldn’t say shit if she had a mouthful.
“I shall be frank with you, Mister von Baldur,” she said, in a colorless voice. “The asteroid belt has been troublesome, most troublesome, to this government since Transkootenay Mining first approached us and secured a contract to exploit the region.”
“I do not understand,” Baldur said. “It is my understanding that Transkootenay has provided you with quite handsome royalty payments over the past few years.”
“Credits are not everything,” Whitley said.
Baldur gave her a look of utter disbelief, tried again.
“Might I ask in what way Transkootenay has transgressed?” he said, proud of his alliteration.
Whitley frowned, but didn’t comment.
“This entire lease has been quite embarrassing to the government,” she said. “First there is the problem with the bandits which, I confess, I believe are actually among the miners brought in by Transkootenay.”
“They aren’t,” Riss said. “But let that pass.”
“Be that as it may. Transkootenay was unable to deal with their security problem by themselves, so we were required to summon aid from the Alliance. They arrived, did nothing, but sent us a rather monstrous bill for their services.
“Not to mention the various tabloids having quite a field day with the government’s evident inability to keep the peace.
“Then Transkootenay hires you, which of course I suspect means we will end up sharing that bill. And you aren’t able to solve the problem.
“Instead, you want us to once again scream for help from the Alliance.
“I can give you an answer right now, without having to consult my superiors, for they’re aware, most aware, of the situation.
“The answer is no. We cannot afford to keep supporting Transkootenay and its out-system employees.”
“In other words,” Baldur said, “you do not mind a little piracy, as long as no one of the Foley System gets robbed or injured?”
“I did not say that, sir. Assuming, which I don’t necessarily do, there is some sort of rogue warship …” Whitley looked as if she wanted to snort in total disbelief, “… running around the asteroid belt, I would suggest you recommend to your employer that Transkootenay should take the most logical route, and withdraw from mining until these unknown people, assuming they actually exist, and aren’t a figment of a creative graphics person’s doodling, get tired of their non-productive existence, and find a new system to plunder, or whatever it is they’re doing.”
• • •
Goodnight sat in the central lounge of the Boop-Boop-A-Doop, nursing half a bottle of brandy. He saw Riss, King, and Baldur’s expressions, grinned, and rubbed a hand across his sandy crewcut.
“You people look as if things went as bad for you as they did for me.”
“Worse,” Riss said. “We got told, somewhat politely, to pack our ass with salt and piss up a rope.”
“No help at all?” Goodnight asked, incredulous.
“None.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any way that any of us can holler for help directly to the Alliance,” Goodnight said. “I think I’m the only one who’s hot with the authorities.”
“Do you think they’ll respond to a request for assistance from a lot of damned mercenaries, do you?” Baldur asked.
“Since you put it like that,” Goodnight said. “But what about Transkootenay going to the Alliance themselves? I imagine they pay their taxes, and are good upstanding citizens wot don’t need no stinkin’ pirates.”
“I asked,” Baldur said. “Your brother said that the first thing Transkootenay would do is fire him. The second thing would be to replace us. And the third thing would be to bring in Cerberus.”
“Mmmh,” Goodnight said. “Which might or might not do anything for the miners, but it’d sure play hell with our bank account.
“So what do we do?”
“What we do is go looking for Murgatroyd’s base,” Baldur said. “Once we find the base, then we have the cruiser’s location, and can deal with it as we see fit.”
“That’s a start,” Goodnight said. “Now, where would, could, this base be?”
“I would suspect,” King said, “it’s probably not in the belt. I thought otherwise, until that cruiser materialized. A ship that size needs rather substantial logistical support. I’d suggest it’s either out-system, or in a hidden base on one of the three settled worlds.”
“If it’s not in the Foley System,” Riss said, “then we’re screwed. Our grandkids would go gray looking.”
“True,” King said. “But I have some possible thoughts on how to look.”
“Which are?”
King shook her head.
“Things need to be narrowed down somewhat. I think it’s time for Mister Goodnight’s undeniable talents.”
“Why not?” Chas said morosely. “I’m starting to think I don’t have any other ones.”
“Might I ask what happened to you?” King said.
“I met this lovely. Young, beautiful, friendly, almost smart enough to tell when it’s raining. Perfect for an afternoon’s quick dalliance,” Goodnight said. “She was most friendly, as I said.
“She invited me home with her.
“To meet her husbands.
“Husbands plural.
“Sheesh.
“Let’s get off this goddamned world and go back out where all you’ve got to worry about is getting robbed or killed.”
TWENTY-ONE
“Of course,” Riss said, “the first thing, before we send Chas out a-hunting our snark, is what his name should be.”
“I suppose one Goodnight per operation is all that should be allowed,” Grok said. “Not to mention our client would hardly make Mr. Goodnight’s resumé appear nice and innocent. Or, in his case, black and villainous.”
The Star Risk team were assembled, heavily in plotting mode, in the luxurious lounge of Boop-Boop-A-Doop.
“Exactly,” Riss said. “N
ow, let me ponder.”
She felt a strange kind of glee, realized it was because she was masterminding something, without having to take the slightest risk. Now she knew why her controllers had sometimes been strangely elated about things.
“I love the way you people are playing with my future,” Goodnight said sourly.
“We are not at all,” Baldur said. “We want to make sure you have a future, is all.”
“I mean,” Jasmine said, “we want you alive to get laid … that’s got to happen, sooner or later, doesn’t it?”
“It is to laugh,” Goodnight said. “Hah.”
“Now, should we just pick a name out of the air?” King said.
“No,” Riss said. “Murgatroyd appears a bit on the efficient side. So I’d like to give Chas as much of a solid cover as we can. Maybe … Chas, since you’ll be going in as what you are, a bester, what about a real name, who just happens to be dead?”
Goodnight’s expression turned somber.
“I’ve got one better. What about someone who went missing on an operation, and is still carried as an MIA by the Alliance?” he said.
M’chel was about to say something sarcastic, then noted Goodnight’s face.
“That’d do,” she said softly. “I assume you have a name?”
“I do,” Goodnight said. “Raff Atherton.”
“There could be no possibility this Atherton could show up suddenly and get a squelch on your plans?” Grok asked.
“Not a chance,” Goodnight said. “I was carrying him out after we got blown, and then his head came off.”
“Oh,” King said. “Might I inquire as to why he’s not listed as Killed in Action?”
“His home world was … is … touchy about doing anything with the Alliance, and Raff’s father was connected with the local politics. A bit of a shit, I’d guess, since he didn’t seem to mind his son being allowed to just vanish, no funeral, no Official Report from the Alliance, for fear it’d hurt his own career.
“Maybe,” Goodnight said musingly, “that was why Atherton blew out into the military in the first place.”
“All right,” Baldur said briskly, trying to change the mood. “You know his background well enough to play the part?”