First Casualty (27 page)

A few hundred stealthy mines, crammed with passive scanners and the necessary computing power to recognize friend from foe, would change everything, but none were assigned to this sector. Ships that took years to build were under construction in every dock available, but only one plant made the relatively cheap mines. And neither Mattim nor anyone else on this rock could think of a good stand-in for them.

He took a long pull on his drink, then flipped through Miller's analysis once more on his reader. Damn good workup. Damned if he could spot anything she'd missed.

He glanced around the room. It was getting crowded. Friends were holding private conversations at the top of their lungs. Lots of four-chair tables had eight people gathered around them, and not a few gals were holding guys on their laps.

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was relaxing watching people just be people. For once, he had no responsibilities. A man approached the lone woman at the table across the room. A quick shake of her head sent him on his way. Another woman noticed him and sauntered his way, hips swaying. “Want anything, sailor?”

Now it was his turn to shake his head; it had been a long time, but a quick, mindless tumble was hardly worth the effort. She shrugged and moved off. A waitress made a quick walk by. “Never seen a beer last so long,” she muttered.

Mattim spent another half hour people-watching, letting his brain idle, waiting for something to jump out and yell

“Surprise!” Nothing did. Then the bartender popped his own surprise. “Youse leaving anytime soon, like right now?”

“No,” Mattim shook his head.

“Well, I think youse should. Sees, it's Friday night, and the boss don't like for any empty seats. Youse got an empty seat.” He pointed at the other chair at Mattim's table.

“She's got an empty chair.” Mattim nodded toward the woman in the black dress across the room from him.

“Well, likes I talks to hers as soon as youse leaves.”

“Or I sit in her other chair.”

“Suits yourselves.”

Mattim watched the woman fend off another approach. Maybe he ought to just cut his losses and run. But staring at the ceiling in his BOQ room was not where his mind cared to wander. Picking up his drink and his reader, he headed across the room. Four people immediately filled his vacant table.

She spotted his approach and pointedly looked away. He stopped in front of her anyway.

“I ain't buying whatever you're selling, sailor,” she said in a voice that meant business.

Mattim heard a bit of shop foreman or sergeant in there. Maybe some officer too. Hard to tell. “I'm not selling, but I would appreciate renting your spare chair. It may be to our mutual benefit.”

“That's a line I've never heard. You got a lease on that chair for just long enough to show me your follow-through. Like five seconds.”

Mattim slipped into the chair. “Miss .. . Ma'am . .. ?” Neither one of them drew a reaction, nor did she offer another handle. He charged on. “The management here likes to fill all its chairs, preferably with two. You now have the only table with an empty chair. Since we both seem to enjoy quiet people-watching, I thought we might ignore each other together and watch the rest. If we don't, I'm afraid that you are next in line to be invited to share your table or leave.”

“By who and what army?” she growled.

Black dress or no, Mattim quickly revised his assessment of the woman, adding sergeant stripes to her bare shoulders. She was too old to be a junior officer, and there was no doubt that she was comfortable in the company of troopers—make that killers of the line variety. If this woman got into a brawl tonight, he would be wise to distance himself very rapidly. Now might be a good time to start. Instead, he found, in his best negotiator's voice, he was still trying to maintain his claim to the chair. “No army'll be needed if we simply twist their rules to our benefit. We both want a quiet corner to watch the human theater. And,” he said with a grin, “by us occupying this table, we keep them from loading it with four drink-swilling sponges.”

“You a merchant trader?”

“In a previous incarnation I might have tried my hand at it.”

“'Cause you could sell refrigeration plants on an ice planet. Prewar, of course.”

“Ancient history,” Mattim agreed.

“And getting more ancient with every endless second.”

Mattim nodded slowly. No question, this one was a fighter like the ones who'd rescued him. He'd met a lot of dangerous people in his life, but never the cold-blooded killer this one looked to be. Once again, the exit sign looked attractive.

“Tell you what I'll do,” the woman said, arm sprawled across the table. “You buy the next round, and you've got a lease on that chair until at least midnight. About that time, I’m crawling into a bed with nice clean sheets.”

The “clean sheets” clinched it. The Navy took their bunks with them. The combat Joes slept where they could. Her drink looked to be as full as his. “You've got a deal.”

A silent half hour later, about the time he ordered the promised round of drinks, she leaned forward. “What's it !like, merchant trading, free to go where you please, do what you want?”

Mattim laughed. “For about six minutes if you don't show a twenty percent profit. No excuses accepted.”

“Bet you've seen some beautiful sights.”

Mattim thought of the four stars he'd recently seen, and how beautiful this wretched system looked when they finally jumped back. “Sister, you don't know the half of it.”

“Call me Mary.”

“Mary, I'm Mattim,” he said, offering his hand.

“Mattim the trader, I'm Mary the miner,” she said, giving his hand a quick shake.

They sipped their beers in silence for several minutes. Then Mattim pointed his glass at two tables where a strange swapping of women and men was underway. “I don't know what's going on there, but I'll bet you the next round of beers that there's going to be a fight.”

Mary grinned. “I have it on good report that there's rarely more than one fight a night here. That doesn't look hot enough for me, trader.”

Mattim raised a shoulder in a shrug. “One fight is one fight. I'm betting on that one.”

Mary looked at them for a long minute. “One table's full of line animals, fresh in. The other one is headquarter weenies.” She shook her head. “Maybe there'll be a punch or three thrown, but a fight? Naw. It'll be over too fast.”

One of the women at the animal table was approached by a man from the other. Mouths moved. He put his hand on her shoulder. She coldcocked him so fast he never saw the punch coming. He fell into the waiting arms of his friends while she turned back to hers, gave someone a quick kiss, and hefted a beer high.

“You owe me a round.” Mary laughed.

“Night's young. I think your animals are spoiling for a fight. Your glass is half full. Let's see how things are when it's empty. Time will tell.”

Mary said something that was lost in the background roar as she leaned back in her chair.

“What'd you say?” Mattim asked, moving his chair a foot closer around the table.

She leaned forward; the neckline of the dress wasn't so high that he didn't get a pleasant view of well-defined breasts. “Time always tells. Well, trader, what'11 you do after the war?”

So, the woman was defining the rules. Before the war and after the war were okay topics. Now was taboo. Without thinking, Mattim nodded agreement and really looked at the woman across from him. The lines of her face and neck were drawn hard. But the hint of a smile and the gleam in the eyes behind the hard lines ... something was different there. He wouldn't call it soft. “Same thing I did before the war, push freight between the stars.” That might not be true, not with what he now knew about jump points. But surveying new jump points was hardly a topic to excite a deadly line beast. “What about you?”

She leaned back in her chair, eyes lost in the dark. “Me and some friends plan to start our own mine.” She shifted in her chair. Suddenly she was facing him, aggressive as an army in full advance. “Like you, starman, we just want to go back to where we were. Safe and grateful to be alive.”

She paused, looked away. “Stupid, aren't we?”

That was a question Mattim wasn't willing to tackle. He drained his beer. She followed suit. Since no fight had broken out, Mattim ordered the next round, and upped the order to the best Irish cream they had. Mary raised the question with an exquisite eyebrow ... and let him take the first sip.

Her first taste was more tentative than he'd yet seen Mary. Eyes wide, she smacked her lips. “Good stuff.” Two sips later, she was back in form. “Now tell me, starman, after what we've seen, what we've done, do you really think we ought to go quietly back to our corner and keep doing just what the boss man wants?”

Mattim moved his chair closer. If they were going to be philosophers tonight, he did not do philosophy at the top of his lungs. She measured him for a moment. He got ready for a punch that would put him out for the night. Then she relaxed.

“And if you love doing what the boss says?” Mattim said.

“Yes, starman, but what if you don't?”

“Then why do it?”

“How long can you breathe space or eat vacuum?”

“Man does not live by bread alone.”

“Speak for yourself. This woman doesn't live without it.”

Their shared laughter broke the ice. She moved her chair closer to him the next time he spoke. His arm brushed hers, and she did not draw back. The woman's thoughts were deep, as were her scars. He doubted her education had gone past the basics before she had been channeled into a technical specialty. But her mind had never been turned off. She studied people the way Sandy studied sensors and Ivan studied engines.

Now, sitting close, Mattim also caught the scent of her: lilac and woman. His nose didn't agree with what he saw. But what he saw was changing; her eyes deepened. Limpid, they drew him in past the locked and cocked guns that stood guard. It had been a long time since Mattim wondered what was real behind the face a woman presented to the world. The conflict and complexities that were Mary drew him in.

* * * *

Mary let her fingers rove the man's arm. The massage had started her mind wondering. What would it be like to have soft, pliant flesh under her own fingers? It felt good just now.

Mattim clearly was a Navy type and an officer to boot, just like the puke she'd risked her neck to rescue. She might like Captain Anderson and Commander Umboto, but she had little use for the rest of them, supply officers who couldn't supply shit, ships captains who couldn't keep the damn colonials off her back.

She'd damn near KO'd the guy first time he moved in on her. She laughed at the memory. It would have felt good, but she'd have missed this conversation. She was talking, just talking to a guy. And he was listening. The CO's of B and C companies had listened to her, but their lives depended on what she said. This fellow was enjoying her just for what she had to say. It felt good in a way she hardly remembered.

When a fight finally broke out between her beasts and the weenies, it wasn't over nearly as quickly as she'd expected.

Of course, three other tables piled in to help. The bartender let them get their exercise, then brought out a stun rod and threatened to sticky-net the whole of them. The lights went up enough to show they were directly under said net. Even animals know when the fun's over. Mary offered to buy the next round. ,

Mattim said it was more like a tie; they both ordered a round. Mary had vented enough of her anger at the powers that be. As their drinks disappeared, she asked him to tell her about the places he'd been, the beauty he'd seen. Being stuck in the mines didn't mean she hadn't looked up, dreamed of what was out there.

The guy was quite a storyteller. He didn't just paint her a picture of this or that, but peopled the places. She found herself laughing at his misadventures among the locals as well as some of the strange things they did. When they left at midnight, she had an arm around him, and she actually enjoyed the feel of his arm around her. Rather than head anyplace, they just walked.

Wherever they walked was just a shabby base, hastily dug out of rock, but that was not what Mary saw. Mattim painted her pictures. She stood with him at the flowing lava falls of Kinsinka and glided through the perpetual clouds of Tristram. It was when he told her of the four dancing suns that she pulled away and almost slugged him.

“I may be a dumb miner, but I've heard of them. Nobody's been there. They're halfway across space. You liar. You've been shoving me a line. You probably haven't been anywhere you've said. What are you, some shit supply clerk?”

The man didn't back away from her, nor did he have the good sense to get ready to defend himself. He just stood there. “I guess I shouldn't have mentioned them.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Mary's arms twitched; fists clenched without thought. All the anger, hate, and fear the last weeks had force-fed her wanted out. She wanted to reduce this liar to a bloody pulp the docs would have to sponge up.

He eyed her, defenseless as a newborn in a crèche. Mad as she was, it was still hard to smash someone so helpless. If only he'd run or fight, she could pound him. He took a quick breath. “Two weeks ago, my ship was lost and orbiting those stars.” He spoke so softly, so matter-of-factly, she was slow to react. His words were like a rocket coming in low, under her sensors.