Fortunes of War (Stellar Main Book 1)

by Richard Tongue

  “What happened, girl?” she asked, ruffling Carter’s hair. “Where are the others? I know…”

  “They’re gone,” Carter replied. “They’re all gone.”

  “Gone?” Rogers asked, gesturing for Patel to set up a round of drinks. “What do you mean, gone?”

  Taking a deep breath, Carter replied, “We were attacked. Out at Mulligan’s Point. A pirate ship came out of the halo. We never stood a chance.” Looking down at the floor, she added, “Dad blew up the ship to give me a chance to get away. Most of the others were already dead. There were no other survivors. A Patrol ship picked me up, day before yesterday.”

  “And they just dropped you off here? No warning, no chance to call anyone?” Rogers replied, her face reddening. “I’m going to have words with those bastards the next time I go up to Gemini.”

  Tears flooded her eyes, and she replied, “It doesn’t matter. Not now. They’re all dead. Christ, they’re all dead!”

  Kharkova hugged her, tighter than before, and said, “Let it out, little one. Let it out.”

  “What am I going to do now?” she replied.

  “You’ll get paid out,” Scott said.

  “Not if Captain Petrov has his way,” Carter said, fighting through her tears. “The report makes it clear that Dad blew up the ship himself. No insurance.”

  “Then we’ll find a place for you on one of our ships,” Rogers replied, rubbing her on the shoulder. “I was looking for a Second Mate for Thor II. You’d fit right in, and she doesn’t ship out for two weeks, so you’ll have time to get yourself together. You aren’t alone.”

  “Thanks,” she replied, struggling to collect herself. “I told myself I wouldn’t do this, but…”

  “After what you’ve been through, nobody could blame you,” Kharkova replied. “Heck, we’d expected the worst. When you didn’t get back on schedule, I figured Jack had either found some hot tip somewhere, or something had happened. I lit a candle in Saint Jude’s every night. I guess one of them brought you home.”

  “I saw Sam die,” Carter said. “I tried to save her. Tried to get her to the escape pod. They gunned her down, right in the corridor. I couldn’t get to her.” Resting her head on Kharkova’s shoulder, she said, “I just couldn’t get to her. It’s my fault.”

  “Cut that out,” Rogers said, passing her a drink. “You take that down you, all the way. One gulp.”

  Disengaging from Kharkova, Carter took the proffered drink, a hefty double vodka, downing it in a single swig, the liquid burning its way down her throat. She placed the glass on the bar, wiping the tears from her face.

  “I must look one hell of a mess.”

  “Sure, but I wasn’t going to say so,” Rogers replied. “At least you got the proper welcome.” Turning to her husband, she asked, “You get any good pictures of them?”

  “Three good shots with my gun camera.” With a toothy grin, Scott said, “Best hundred credits I ever spent. Wouldn’t leave home without it. You want me to post the usual bounty?”

  “Make it five thousand for proof that they aren’t breathing our air any more. Scum like that shouldn’t walk free. Not when they try and kill one of our own.” Turning to Carter, she asked, “You got a problem with that?”

  “No, I guess not,” she replied. “They aren’t the problem. Those bastards at Mulligan’s Point. They’re the problem. The Patrol aren’t going after them. Hell, their commander was more interested in blaming the attack on us than hunting down the bastards that did it. One way or another, I’m going to get them. They’re going to pay for what they did. Somehow.”

  Scott looked at Rogers, who replied, “There will be time to worry about that later. Once you’ve had a chance to get over this a little. I know a good psychiatrist. We use him for interview testing, but he does one-on-one work as well. Maybe you should make an appointment. If you’re going to fly for us, you can charge it to the company.” Looking at Kharkova, she added, “Hell, it’s on us, anyway. Whether you take the job with us or not.”

  “Later,” Kharkova said. “Vicky, when was the last time you slept? Without drugs?”

  “Six weeks in…”

  “Vicky?” Kharkova pressed.

  “Since they revived me. Even the sedatives didn’t really work.”

  “Then you’re going up to your room, and you’re staying there until you’ve had a good sleep. It’s just as you left it. I’ll bring you up some chicken soup in a flask. It’ll still be nice and hot when you wake up.” Looking her in the eyes, she added, “I know everything seems desperate right now. That’s only to be expected given the circumstances. You’ve gone through hell. You’re hurting. And you’re going to go on hurting for a long time. Just remember that you will get through this. You’re a strong person.” With a smile, she added, “And a strong person knows when to ask for help.”

  “Thanks,” Carter said, rubbing at her eyes. “I don’t know what…” She paused, shook her head, turned to Rogers, and asked, “Could you do something for me?”

  “Anything,” she replied. “Want me to arrange for someone to keep an eye on the bar?”

  “No, not that. I know it’s well protected.” She paused, patted the data rod in her pocket, and said, “I got the impression that there have been other attacks.”

  “It happens, sometimes,” Scott said. “Maybe a little more often than usual, lately.”

  “Could you go through the recent insurance claims? They might not be making a fuss about it, but they can’t bury the records completely. Especially…”

  “Especially if I ask a few questions to the right people at the local brokerages,” Rogers replied, a frown spreading across her face. “I’ll get our accountant onto the job right away. It’ll be a question of a lot of data analysis, crunching raw figures, though they shouldn’t be too hard to find.” Glancing at Scott, she said, “I might have something for you tomorrow. Though you know the Patrol will have the same data, and even they couldn’t pass up a sure thing, if they’ve got one.”

  “If we can get you the information,” Scott asked, “what will you do with it?”

  “I told you,” she replied. “If the Patrol won’t stop them, I will. Don’t ask me how, not yet, but I’ll find a way. For the sake of eight dead friends, for my family, I’ve got to.”

  Chapter 4

  There was a knock on the door, then another, louder and more urgent, and as Carter struggled to wake up, it opened to reveal the unusually sober face of Patel, coffee in hand, walking inside and placing it carefully by her bed.

  “Morning,” he said. “Well, just about, anyway. If you hurry.”

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Half-eleven. You’ve slept around the clock and then some. Bella thought you should have some lunch. She’s gone to get something from Luigi’s.” Glancing at the door, he asked, “You need anything else? I need to get back to the bar.”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” she replied, reaching for the tepid coffee. “Thanks for this, as well.”

  “My pleasure,” he said, turning and walking back down the stairs. Carter struggled to her feet, draining the rest of the coffee with a single gulp, wiping the residue from her lips with the back of her hand. She looked around the room, shaking her head. Her diploma still hung on the wall, forgotten when she’d packed to go back to her ship, and her course textbooks neatly lined a shelf on the far corner. A pair of garish outfits hung on a ceiling rail.

  It hit her, once again. She’d left some of her possessions in storage here, months ago. And now, they were all that was left. All her childhood items, all her treasures, lost and destroyed. Few spacers made their way through life without having to run for their lives at some point, but somehow, she’d never expected it to happen to her.

  She reached for her jacket, pulling it over her shoulders, then made her way downstairs, walking into the bar. It was quiet, only a couple of people eating a late breakfast, fishing into bowls of broth. Patel reached under the counter as she approached, pu
lling out an envelope and sliding it across to her.

  “I almost forgot. Little Joe came in this morning, said you might find this interesting.”

  “Thanks,” she replied. “Any chance of another cup of coffee?”

  “Sure,” he said, as she reached for her datapad, clipping the data rod in place behind it, nodding in satisfaction as information flooded onto the screen. A cursory examination revealed that her guess had been right. If anything, she’d underestimated the frequency of the attacks. Ten ships lost in that area the last four months, with notations indicating that five of them had been confirmed destroyed by hostile action. Ten ships in seven stars. One of them had even been destroyed at Mulligan’s Point, two months before they’d transited the system.

  “Credit for your thoughts?” Garcia said, walking into the bar, looking strange in civilian clothes.

  “Lieutenant?” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “It isn’t Lieutenant. Not anymore. I was hoping for a cup of coffee and a chance to talk.”

  “Set him up, will you?” Carter asked Patel. “What do you mean, not anymore?”

  He shrugged, and replied, “I get to enjoy the infinite excitement that is civilian life.” As Patel put a cup of steaming coffee in front of him, he added, “I was scheduled to re-enlist next month. Captain Petrov showed me a fitness report and evaluation that would have made it difficult to get an assignment to a one-shuttle outpost, then suggested that he’d be willing to give me a better report if it was understanding that I and the Patrol would be parting ways.” Shaking his head, he added, “I managed to convince him to let me quit early. I had almost enough leave time saved up anyway.”

  “Lieu…”

  “Rusty. Stick to that.”

  She smiled, then said, “Rusty, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not. I wasn’t doing any good up there anyway. Maybe I’m a little old-fashioned, but I thought the idea was to hunt down the bad guys, protect the good guys. We seemed to spend more and more time doing paperwork, less and less time out on watch.” Looking up at her, he said, “Doc Schmitt seemed to think that you had some sort of a plan to go after the bastards. I want in.”

  “Why?” she asked. “This isn’t your fight.” She paused, and said, “I’ve got a couple of friends with a little pull. They might be able to convince…”

  “You’re wrong about that,” he said. “I’ve got a sister, about your age. Second Mate on Persephone’s Luck, out in the Eridanus Cluster. I’d like to think that someone out there would do for me what I’m doing for you, and besides, if the pirates aren’t stopped here, other people will get the idea. All of this can fall apart damned quick. Like it did during the Seven Stars War.”

  “Did your parents fight in that one as well?” she asked.

  “Yeah. On the wrong side.” He took a drink of his coffee, and added, “That didn’t exactly endear me to Captain Petrov either. The guy can only see one point of view. His own. That’s a lousy way to run a ship. It’s a lousy way to run anything.” The door swung open, and three figures stepped inside, Kharkova and the father-daughter team that ran the gunsmith, all laden with spicy-smelling bags of food.

  Frowning, Kharkova looked at Garcia, and asked, “Who…”

  “This is Lieutenant, I should say ex-Lieutenant Cyrus Garcia, tossed out of the Patrol for the crime of trying to back me up against his Captain’s wishes.” With a beaming smile, she added, “Rusty, this is Aunt Bella, the owner of this bar, and Walter and Cassandra Wu, the finest laser gunsmiths in the galaxy.”

  “I’m glad you admit it for once,” the portly man replied, holding out a meaty hand. “A pleasure, sir. I thank you for your service, and I’m sorry for the way it ended.”

  “I’m not,” Garcia replied. “Sometimes you’ve got to do the right thing, whatever it costs you.”

  “If you’re looking for work,” the daughter said, “our bodyguard left last week.”

  “That’s an interesting way of putting it,” Kharkova replied. “He left in a box. About six by four feet.” Turning to the shocked Garcia, she added, “He decided that he’d make more money trying to rob the store than working for it.”

  Shaking his head, Patel said, “What sort of idiot tries to hold up a gunsmith?”

  “Think of it as evolution in action,” the elder Wu replied. “How do you feel, Vicky? Any brighter this morning?”

  “A little,” she replied, as Kharkova unloaded the food onto the table. “You really went to town.”

  “Nothing but the best for my favorite near-niece,” she said, sliding a plastic container in front of her. “Garlic chicken, bed of pasta, tomato sauce. Sofia made it just for you.” Pushing another to Garcia, she added, “I hope you like carbonara.”

  “Love it,” Garcia said, snatching a fork from the table. “I didn’t know…”

  “I’ve known Vicky since before she was born,” Kharkova replied. “Hell, I helped deliver her, out at New Titan. I shipped out on O’Dell until, oh, three, four years back.” She smiled, and added, “Let’s just say that the previous owner of this place had one of the worst poker tells I’ve ever seen and leave it at that. Though he left a hell of a mess for me to clean up first.” Patting the table, she said, “Best disreputable dive in town.”

  “This is good,” Garcia said, shoveling in the food as though it was his last meal. “After three months of service rations, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  “I’ll pass that along,” Kharkova replied with a smile. “Did you get the package Little Joe left for you, Vicky?”

  “There’s something going on, but until I have a good look at the data, I won’t know what.” Looking at Garcia, she added, “Though aside from confirmation that the pirates are getting bolder, I doubt I’ll be able to get anything from the intelligence that Patrol haven’t already looked at.”

  “You got hold of the insurance reports?” Garcia asked, an eyebrow raised.

  “High friends in low places,” Kharkova said. “If you thought that…”

  “I wanted proof that O’Dell wasn’t first ship shot down at Mulligan’s Point. I got it.”

  Garcia’s eyes widened, and he said, “I didn’t know about that.”

  “Buried in the small print. Technically, listed as missing in space. It was the Honest Harris, and…”

  “Sam Harris?” the elder Wu said. “Sam Harris is dead?”

  “Almost certainly,” Carter replied, placing her hand on the old man’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

  “If there is anything I can do, I mean anything, then consider it done,” the gunsmith replied. “Drop by my shop, and I’ll see about getting you a few custom sidearms.” He glanced at Garcia, and said, “As long as you don’t mind them being a little over the line.”

  “None of my business anymore,” Garcia said. “I might drop around myself.”

  “We’ll set you up,” the daughter replied. There was a tentative knock at the door, and a tall, burly man wearing an impeccable business suit walked inside, a slim bulge on his chest where a hidden holster was displayed. Displayed prominently enough that it was almost certainly a decoy, the real concealed weapon somewhere else on his body. A professional.

  “I’m looking for Victoria Carter,” he said, walking over to the table. He pulled out a datapad, nodded, and said, “My name is Felix Houston. Kimberly Larson’s PA.”

  “Who?” Patel asked.

  “Chief Operations Officer of Olympus Development,” Carter replied. “And incidentally, the woman who hired us for our last job. If this is about some sort of legal action, you can tell your boss that my possessions amount to a few battered textbooks and a couple of credits. You’re welcome to them. I’ll even help you carry them back to the spaceport.”

  Cracking a thin smile, he shook his head, and said, “I don’t think that will be necessary. The boss wants to see you, face-to-face, up on Gemini Station. Where you can have a quiet, and more importantly private conversation.” Look
ing at the others, he added, “No offense.”

  “None taken. I’d rather not have a conversation with you around, either,” Kharkova replied.

  “What is all of this about?” Carter asked.

  “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you. As it happens, I don’t. I have transportation waiting outside, and there is a shuttle waiting to take you to the station.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “It was stressed that this was urgent. I believe there is some sort of deadline, but I was not informed of any more details than that. Only that I was to get you up to the station as rapidly as possible.”

  “Whether or not she approves,” the younger Wu replied. “Dummy pistol in the top pocket. Real one is hidden up your sleeve, a Finnegan’s Switch. You’d get three, four shots at most with the battery in that thing. Unless you had a chance to clip onto the power pack hidden in your back pocket. You wouldn’t get that chance.” With a menacing grin, she replied, “You wouldn’t even get a chance to fire once.”

  “I assure you,” Houston said, “that you will be quite safe with me. I will guarantee your safety to and from the station. As a guest of the Company, nobody will hinder you. Depend on that.”

  “Trust is a damned expensive commodity, these days,” Kharkova replied.

  “I’m not going alone,” Carter said, bluntly. “Not a chance.”

  “The meeting is meant to be one-on-one…,”

  “And the transit?” she asked.

  Houston frowned, glanced at his watch, and said, “Very well. One person, no more. There’s only one spare seat on the shuttle. Perhaps Lieutenant…”

  “Mr. Just Mr.” Garcia frowned, and said, “And no.” Turning to Carter, he replied, “I’d be willing, but I’ve only known Miss Houston for a matter of days, and I suspect she’d be more comfortable with a different bodyguard.”

  “I’ll go,” the younger Wu said, a smile on her face. “It’d be interesting to see how much of my equipment will get through your security scanners, anyway.”

  “I hate to disappoint you, but you’ll be bypassing customs today. It’s our station anyway. We decide who comes on board, and under what terms.” Turning to Carter, he said, “I’ve got a lot of leeway to get you onto the station, ma’am, but we are operating under a time constraint. It took longer for me to get here than I had hoped, and we’re running behind…”