“Let me at him. I’ll make sure he doesn’t walk anywhere for a week,” she joked, but only partly.
“I say we let him be for now. As long as he stays out of our way, I’d rather have him following us than blundering around on his own.”
The Happenstance Room was a more upscale restaurant than the neighborhood it resided in. Upon their arrival, a hostess ushered them through an attractive public seating area and into a private dining room. Waiting for them was Yunru Lin—and Beetle Dash.
Beetle was probably in his early thirties. He was short but muscular and like Carr he sported a clean-shaven head. He also had the demeanor of a sixteen-year-old. Loud and gregarious in a stupid way, from the moment they were introduced, Dash was desperate to impress. He and Lin sat at a large table with Carr and Sanchez while two of Beetle’s goons dined in a corner booth.
“And what brings you to my humble city?” Beetle asked as he poured everyone a glass of wine. It was from a bottle that should have been enjoyed with a fine dinner, not lunch. The guy was trying way too hard to play the grand host. Lin, on the other hand, was fidgeting. All the confidence she had displayed several days ago had vanished, replaced by apprehension—or was it just embarrassment?
“I want to know why you two are here,” repeated Beetle, whose eyes kept crawling over Sanchez. “Not that I mind a beautiful woman showing up at my doorstep.”
Carr cleared his throat loudly, trying to turn Dash’s attention back to him. “We know there are a great many Gerrhan expats on Pontus. As they say, the enemy of my enemy…”
Beetle turned to Carr and the leering smile he favored Sanchez with vanished. “Don’t expect to find friends here, Frank. It’s OK if I call you Frank, right? Besides, that story about you two being on the run from Sarissan authorities is such total bullshit. Nobody on Pontus is buying it, least of all me.”
“If you could both lay your cards on the table,” suggested Lin, “Beetle can help, as long as you make it worth his while. He’s very well connected here in Prosperity City, especially in the Gerrhan community.”
Beetle thrust a hand holding a glass of wine in her direction, spilling some of it onto the tabletop. “Shut up, baby, the adults are talking.”
“Sweetheart, I was thinking about the Admiral—”
“Nobody!” Beetle started to say in a near scream before he stopped to compose himself. “Nobody… at this table wants to hear about that sick old has-been. Get it, baby?”
“I might want to hear. Who is the Admiral?” Carr asked at the risk of further upsetting his agitated host.
“He’s a nobody—forget it,” said Beetle with a dismissive wave of the hand. “But dearest Lin is right about one thing: I am a businessman and I gotta make a living. Gotta feed the boys, right boys?” Beetle hooted loudly at his own quip, a high-pitched cackle of a laugh that sounded like a Tezrinan dingo. His two associates in the corner chuckled mildly in agreement. It was also a good reminder to Beetle’s visitors that his brutes were close at hand. “Let’s get down to business. Tell me what you two want and how much are you willing to pay?”
Carr and Sanchez swapped glances. Maybe this was the way to play it—let some local guy do the heavy lifting for them. Carr decided to show a few of their cards after all.
“All right. Someone—some humans—are helping the Massang. We came here to shut them down.”
Carr watched Beetle’s expression carefully, as well as looking beyond Dash to his boys. He got the impression this wasn’t news to any of them, no matter how much Beetle pretended otherwise.
“Damn,” said Beetle feebly. “Why the hell would anyone help the Pumpkinheads?”
“Whatever their reasons, they’ve got to be stopped,” said Sanchez.
Beetle slurped at his wine. “Pontus under new management, and in the hands of the Massang to boot. I have a feeling that would be very bad for my business. You know, there have always been rumors.”
Carr rose to the bait. “Rumors?”
“Yeah, about the attack on Kolo Khiva… About the Gates.”
This little son of a bitch knows exactly what we’re talking about, AND he wants us to know he knows.
Beetle poured himself another glass of wine. “I have some contacts inside the Capitol. Let me ask around. Personally, my money is on those Gerrhan whack-jobs over at Wright. They have some sort of bullshit dream, the Second Commonwealth they call it. You get the picture: Gerrha rising from the ashes, freeing themselves from Sarissan control, blah, blah, blah. Bunch of dumbasses if you ask me.”
“If you ask me…” Lin started.
“Nobody did, baby,” Beetle cut her off. He cupped one hand under her chin and squeezed her mouth together with his fingers. “Nobody did.” Patting her cheek hard, his clean-shaven head bounced like a bobblehead doll as he cackled his crazy-sounding laugh. Carr was fighting back the impulse to slug him. He could only imagine the amount of self-control being summoned by Sanchez right now.
“I want two thousand Sarissan dennics—up front,” Beetle declared. “Call it a consultation fee, plus more if I uncover anything. I’ll probably have something for you in a few days.”
“You must really be well connected,” Sanchez commented in a sarcastic tone that Beetle didn’t pick up on.
“Baby, you wouldn’t believe how well connected I am,” he squawked. “On Pontus and Sarissa. Hell, I could tell you what color panties the Empress is wearing today. That’s no lie, is it boys? He-he-hehehe!”
Carr gave a nod to his seething wife and they both stood. “We’ll be off now. Let us know where to send the two-thousand and remember, there’s more if you give us anything worthwhile.”
“Hey, what about lunch?” lamented Beetle. “The grub here is pretty good.”
“Lost my appetite,” said Sanchez through clenched teeth.
Beetle spread his arms wide, trying to make amends. “Etta, baby, don’t go away mad. I was hoping the four of us could party together this evening,” he said with a lecherous smile. “Hey, Frank—we could go up to my place on One Forty-Four. My girls could put on a show for us…”
Yunru Lin stood quickly before Dash had a chance to complete his thought and also before anyone had a chance to throw a punch. “Beetle, I’ll see them out. I’ll make sure Carr gets your account number.” Dash didn’t look like he appreciated her interruption, but gave a reluctant nod when money was mentioned.
“Sorry about that,” said Lin when they arrived at the promenade outside the Happenstance Room. “He always tries to make an impression.”
“Oh, he made an impression alright,” said Sanchez under her breath.
“Unfortunately, he doesn’t know how to make a good one. Look, can we start over? I mean you two and me.” Lin glanced around nervously, something that seemed habitual for her. “Hey—I know a place that rents motorbikes. You don’t have to ride many kilometers to get out of the city and this planet really is quite beautiful.”
“Motorbikes? That’s still a thing?” asked Carr.
“Don’t let him fool you,” offered Sanchez. “We used to ride back on Sarissa before we became an old married couple.”
Lin laughed. “Would you two like to join me for ride in the country tomorrow morning?”
Sanchez touched the other woman lightly on the arm and smiled, trying to put her at ease. “That sounds like great fun,” she said, jerking her head toward Carr. “That is, if the old man here can keep up with us.”
“Anytime, anyplace woman,” he answered with a playful wink.
Lin looked at the two with envy. Carr guessed that she probably didn’t get too many gentle winks and smiles from Beetle.
* * * *
“Thanks,” said Carr.
Sanchez reached out to take his hand as they walked through the broad expanse of Level 52’s main concourse. “And just what are you thanking me for?”
“For not killing Beetle.”
“Oh, that,” she said, quickly dodging an oncoming motorized cart. “It would have bee
n too easy. Seriously, the guy is a total buffoon. He can’t possibly be working with the Massang, or sending messages on corporate satellites, or hacking into hypergates.”
“No, but he and his buddies could be the muscle for someone who is.”
Sanchez pushed him on the direction of a small café. He had forgotten that they hadn’t yet eaten lunch.
“Who do you think Beetle and Lin were talking about?” she asked after being seated and ordering iced tea and sandwiches. “Remember, they mentioned ‘the Admiral.’ What admiral?”
“The sick admiral,” Carr recalled Beetle’s precise words. “Dash called him a sick old has-been. I think I might have an idea about that, but I need to link up with the database on board Dagger to confirm it.” Carr hadn’t been on many missions where he had access to an orbiting Sarissan frigate. It was time to start using that asset.
“What do you think of Lin?” Carr asked sipping on his drink.
Sanchez scrunched up her face in consideration.
“I like her. I feel for any woman that has to deal with an infantile man like Beetle. What do you think? I’m getting the vibe that you’re not a Yunru Lin fan.”
Carr rejected that suggestion. “I like her fine—I just don’t trust her.”
“She wants an excuse to talk with us alone, that’s what the invitation to ride bikes tomorrow is all about.” Sanchez paused before sugaring her tea. “Frank, that business about the Empress. Was that just another poor joke, or could a small-time lowlife like Beetle Dash really have a spy inside the Imperial Palace?”
Carr pondered the question. Beetle’s remark was most probably braggadocio, but in a way, it was the most troubling thing about the whole encounter.
“I doubt it, but we need to pass that tidbit back to Sarissa via Dagger, just in case. My guess is it was just Beetle being a dick.”
And I hope I’m right, because it’s real trouble if I’m not.
11: Knife’s Edge
Quinnesec star system
“If battles are won or lost on organization and preparation,” said Pettigrew as he poured over the status reports, “we’re going to get our asses kicked.” Tossing aside his datapad, he closed his eyes for a moment. From the second they entered the Quinnesec system, there had been a steady flow of discouraging news.
His fleet emerged from hyperspace on the outer edge of the star system. A security zone was in effect around the base on Quinnesec Prime, a barren world located just over one hundred million klicks from its binary star. Phase inhibitors had been deployed throughout the inner system to prevent a Massang force from suddenly jumping in for a quick strike against Coalition forces. The buoys emitted a field which disrupted the formation of hyperspace bubbles, thus spoiling any possibility of a surprise enemy attack. It also meant that even friendly ships who wanted to reach the base had to suffer an eight-hour slog through the Black.
Traveling in on a shuttlecraft ahead of Fifth Fleet, Pettigrew, Nyondo, and Aoki looked over the disheartening updates streaming to them from Quinnesec Base. Only half of the Lytori’s fuel consignment had arrived. Merchant ships seemed to be wandering the star system at will despite numerous security protocols. One of Ninth Fleet’s battleships had been delayed for emergency repairs at the nearest spacedock, which was twenty-three light-years away.
Soon, the mobile shipyard Lares would arrive to alleviate at least some of the maintenance issues. Unfortunately, Lares was also behind schedule, and even when she got here, she wouldn’t replace his missing battleship. And in the midst of it all, there were the antics of Admiral Winston. During his brief stay in Quinnesec, Winston had apparently managed to offend nearly every Coalition flag officer in residence, as complaints about him swamped Pettigrew’s correspondence. He could handle Gauss cannons, but Chaz Pettigrew despised dealing with the interpersonal drama of fragile egos.
He opened his eyes again and fixed them on his beleaguered Chief of Staff, who was sitting across from him as the shuttle made its descent to the surface of Quinnesec Prime. A permanent cloud of anxiety was settling over Nyondo, and Pettigrew felt responsible. It was disturbing to see the constant stress on her beautiful face. Just what had he dragged this woman into?
“Does it hurt?” he asked as she rubbed her healing right shoulder.
“It’s fine,” she said, quickly changing the subject. “From these reports, Admiral Winston has done nothing but cause mischief since he arrived here.”
Pettigrew rallied with a smile. “It won’t be pleasant, but I’ll handle Winston. Lieutenant Aoki, set up private meetings with admirals Winston, Leversee, and the Lytori base commander—what was his name?”
“Admiral Rossum,” said Aoki almost absent-mindedly as she entered notes on her datapad while simultaneously working on two other virtual screens. The young New Earther had been a tremendous find. She might speak out of turn on occasion, but Aoki was remarkably efficient and in sync with Pettigrew’s command style.
“Private meetings with each and then a full conference, sir?”
“Right on target, Lieutenant,” he replied in a firm voice. “Time to start putting things in order.”
The shuttlecraft gently touched down on a landing pad and everyone put on a lightweight breathing mask before they debarked. There was an atmosphere on Quinnesec Prime, but it was thin and laced with some elements that humans didn’t need to be breathing. As they walked from the shuttle to the ground vehicle which would take them to the command dome, Pettigrew returned the salutes of the honor guard and various officers who had been ordered to turn out for his arrival.
In his peripheral vision, he noticed Commander Mullenhoff break away from the group and walk briskly over to Commander Ajax Baker, the man who may or may not still be her boyfriend. From Baker’s body language, Pettigrew was guessing the later. They didn’t kiss because of the masks and protocol, but gave each other’s arm an affectionate squeeze. Ajax looked supremely uncomfortable, however, like a man walking around with a tarantula crawling on the back of his neck. Pettigrew watched as the couple moved off from the others and into one of the nearby hangers.
Two oversized ground vehicles transported the admiral and his personal staff of ten on the short ride to base headquarters. As they passed through the airlock and removed their breathers, a Lytori officer approached the group.
“Admiral, I am Captain Daemon—First Lytori Extraorbital Corps. I will be your liaison officer here at Quinnesec Base,” said the untypically lanky alien. Standing upright on his back two legs, he was almost as tall as Pettigrew. “In the Spirit of our Creators, I welcome all of you to Knife’s Edge.”
“Knife’s Edge?” asked Nyondo.
“A nickname for the instillation which has evolved among those serving here,” clarified Daemon. “Is it inappropriate, sir?”
“No, it’s very fitting, Captain Daemon,” Pettigrew answered. “Very fitting, indeed.”
He had never met Daemon, but Marius and Sulla had given him a heads up on the android officer. Daemon was known as a good officer among his fellow Lytori, and a bit of an eccentric.
“This facility is very impressive considering it was built in less than six standard months,” Pettigrew commented as they passed under a huge banner of the Sarissan Sun roundel hanging in one of the open botanical areas. The base was vast and humming with activity as the contingent walked toward the residential dome.
“It was built by our Coalition partners, the Dachshee,” said Daemon, who continued to keep pace walking upright on his hindmost legs. “The Dachshee have a knack for construction. This way, if you please,” he pointed with one arm. “This is the way to the human compound. Over there are the Hixaran quarters. Your people might find them a bit… damp.” Hixarans were marine mollusks and most comfortable when surrounded by water. Word was that Hixaran ships carried as much water as breathable atmosphere.
“Where do the Lytori live?” asked Aoki.
“My people are scattered about,” answered Daemon. “Because of our synthetic nature
, we are comfortable almost anywhere.”
“No doubt,” said Nyondo as she looked out a large window at three Lytori who were walking around on the outside of the dome. None of them was wearing a breathing mask.
Daemon could barely contain his excitement as they continued on. “Admiral, I was most pleased to receive the appointment to your staff. I must confess to being a bit of a Humaniphile.”
“Oh, really?” Pettigrew responded wryly, having already been warned by Marius. “I hope we don’t disappoint.”
Daemon twittered in the manner of Lytori laughter. “If you have any free time over the next few days, perhaps we could discuss human culture. I am most interested in the area of recreation and entertainment, particularly in the history of human musical composition.”
Pettigrew stopped walking, as did his entire contingent. It was like a parade suddenly halting as he turned to Daemon.
“You mean you like old songs,” Pettigrew rephrased. Seems as though Daemon had done a little homework as well. The barely suppressed smirks on the faces of Nyondo and Aoki only confirmed the admiral’s suspicions.
“I would enjoy such a discussion, Captain Daemon, provided we have the time,” he said, the pleasant expression on his face fading. Raising a concerned voice, Pettigrew turned to the rest of his staff standing in the corridor.
“Time, folks, is unfortunately a luxury we don’t have. Whatever the Massang are up to in Cor Caroli, it’s going to happen soon. Everyone—settle into your quarters, grab some chow, then meet Captain Nyondo, Captain Daemon, and myself in the command center at nineteen hundred hours. We need to kick this fighting force into shape and we need to do it fast.”
* * * *
“The Massang are here at Cor Caroli.” Captain Daemon pointed with one forearm at the holomap in the center of the conference room. “And we are here in Quinnesec, three-point-two light-years away.” Over twenty-nine trillion kilometers separated the two gathering armadas, but in galactic terms, they were practically on top of each other. If this were a ground war, it would be like two armies encamped just a few miles apart.
Starhold's Fate (Starhold Series Book 4) Page 10