Pirates of the Outrigger Rift (3 page)

Chandler placed his empty glass on the desk. “Where am I supposed to meet this courier?”

“On Raken, Hemdale City. It’s a corporate town. There’s a tavern popular for clandestine encounters of this sort. Jorgeson will brief you on the details.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small transponder key. “You’ll need this. The courier was given a unit in her package that’s coded to this key. I don’t know anything about the courier except that she is female. She knows nothing about you. This will help you identify each other safely.” He handed it to Chandler.

Chandler pocketed the small black device. “I don’t like walking into a situation where I don’t know all the angles, and I may regret this. But you have a deal.”

They shook hands, sealing the bargain.

Randol smiled. “Excellent. Aland will have your retainer for you when he shows you the way out.”

Chandler felt he’d just sold a bit of his soul, but at least the lien on his ship would get paid on time. This month.

Nathan Kendrick returned to work as if nothing had ever happened. He went through the motions of normalcy, and when it was time for him to leave, he sighed with relief. He had pulled it off. It was going to go away and he didn’t have to worry anymore.

Director Casey’s death and the immediate promotion of Vincent Maxwell as new security director were causing chaos in the corporation. The rumors were that Casey had been selling information about shipping schedules, cargos, armaments, and escorts to the underworld. Talk was that he’d been caught and he’d killed himself. Guilty or not, Casey was dead, and with his death, Kendrick’s orders had gone into effect.

He remembered when Casey first called him into his office. Kendrick was scared. He’d been skimming some money, just a little here and there to help out with the bills. Everyone in the corporation had some sort of secondary racket going. It wasn’t that big a deal. But he felt certain that Casey was going to either fire or imprison him when he discovered his secret. To his surprise, Casey gave him a set of odd instructions to perform in the event of his death. He was supposed to retrieve a package hidden in Casey’s office and follow the instructions included with it. He was even given the access codes so it would be easy. Casey warned him that if he didn’t do what he was told, other parties would expose him. But if he made good on Casey’s instructions, he would be paid a hefty fee.

Casey called it his insurance policy. Kendrick didn’t know the specifics, but based on Casey’s reputation, he was sure that the contents of that courier pouch were going to make someone pay dearly for Casey’s death.

He walked to the tramway station casting nervous glances over his shoulder. He eyed every stranger and tried to control his breathing. Foolishness, paranoia, but still he listened for footsteps following in the shadows.

The ride home was uneventful. He entered his apartment building, watching for anyone out of place. His heart still thundered in his chest. He was almost done. Just get to the apartment and get some sleep. Tomorrow he’d go back to work as if everything was fine, and perhaps it would be.

He took the elevator to his floor, but when he stepped off, he saw that his apartment door stood wide open. He could see furniture overturned and his possessions strewn about.

He backed away and tried to step back into the elevator, but the doors had closed and the car was gone. He turned toward the stairs. The doorway was already opening, and a man dressed in black walked slowly forward. Two others stepped out of his apartment and moved toward him. One man took a drag off a stimstick. His eyes were hard and gray.

“Hello, Mr. Kendrick,” the gray-eyed man said, allowing pale-blue smoke to escape from his lips.

“What do you want? I don’t—”

“Save your breath.” The man turned to his compatriots. “Search him.”

The men shoved Kendrick against the wall. One kicked his legs apart and patted him down. He shook his head.

“Nathan, we’re going to take a little trip. The new boss wants to meet you.”

CHAPTER TWO

J
acbar’s, a dark, hole-in-the-wall club, sat near the docks in Opportunity City on Nebula Prime. Spacers loved it because there were few dirtsiders and no tourists. Jacbar himself used to be a spacer. He’d made a living as a free-trader until pirates ambushed him just outside the Deneb System. He lost a hand, an eye, and his ship. The hand and eye didn’t matter much, but he loved that ship. Now he kept bar, a scarred, brooding man behind the counter who knew the ways of pilots and fate.

Sai entered the smoky place. Jacbar looked up, still polishing a glass. He smiled and eyed her figure, then placed the glass on the counter.

Sai walked to the bar and sat on a cushioned stool, ignoring the stares she attracted. Jacbar didn’t pay them any mind, either. He simply walked over and stood before her, hands splayed on the counter as he leaned toward her.

“And what can I do for a lovely lass like you?”

“I need a ship,” Sai said. “I need to book passage to Raken and I need to leave right away.”

“Good luck. Business is booming here. Most of these pilots have plenty of cargo and they don’t bother with passengers. That’s what the commercial liners are for.”

“There has to be someone,” Sai said. “There always is, but I need someone I can trust as well.”

Jacbar raised an eyebrow. “Well, there’s Keller, but he’s a mercenary bastard. You can trust him just as long as your money holds out, but he’d chuck you out an airlock if you owed him a credit. Let’s see, there’s Hank Jensen, his word is his bond, but you don’t want him.”

“Why not?”

“He’s a good man,” Jacbar said. “But he’s on a bad luck streak. Call me superstitious, but it might be better to hire Keller.”

“Bad luck or not, I need someone I can trust, not someone I have to buy off. Is Jensen here?”

Jacbar sighed. “Yeah. See that gent nursing a beer in the corner booth?”

The man was in his midthirties, built like a middle-weight boxer—large chest, strong arms, and a slender waist. He sported a thin mustache and a shit-eating grin.

“That’s Jensen?”

“Yeah. He used to be a loud and cheerful son of a bitch, but the last few years have been hard on him. His last two runs were a bust. He’d take the devil to a prayer meeting if it paid well enough, but you might have trouble keeping him sober.” Jacbar took a frosted mug from the cooler beneath the counter and filled it with beer.

“Thanks for the tip.”

“No problem. Here,” he slid the beer across the counter to her. “On the house. It’s ladies night.”

“Thanks.”

Sai took the mug and walked over to Hank Jensen’s booth.

“Hey there,” she said, with a slight grin.

Hank looked up from his drink and smiled. “Ah, darlin’, you will excuse me if I decline your favors tonight,” he said, raising his hands.

“You don’t—”

“No, no,” Hank said. “It’s not that I don’t have the inclination. I just don’t have the finances.”

“I know about your money problem,” Sai began, sliding into the booth next to him.

“Saints be praised! A charitable woman!”

“No, you don’t understand. I want to hire you.”

“Darlin’, this gets better all the time,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Sai stiff-armed him away. “Mr. Jensen, let’s get a few things straight. I’m not some starport tart, and I’m only interested in your ship. Not you. I need passage to Raken.”

Hank sighed and cradled his beer in his hands, staring into the amber liquid. “Alas, another broken heart.” He took a drink, then turned back to her, all business. “Unfortunately, my ship lies in dock without a drop of fuel in her and no money to buy more. I spent half my assets on this brew before me and I’ll wake up tomorrow wishing I’d spent it on food.”

“I have money, Mr. Jensen.”

“I’m sure you do, love, but it would take five times the price of a commercial fare to fill her up.”

“I may be willing to pay you that much. If you can get me out tonight.”

Hank took another drink and nodded. “In a bit of a hurry, eh? And what sort of luggage will you bring along? Lots of funny little crates I can’t open?”

“No baggage. Only me.”

Hank stared at her.

“I’ll ask you one more time, Mr. Jensen. Then I’m going to offer the job to Keller. Have you received any better offers tonight?”

“All right, I’ll do it. Keller’s a bastard.” Hank smiled. “The price is a thousand credits. I’ll need the cash up front.”

“Half now, half once we’re on Raken.”

“But darlin’, I’ve got to fuel my bird before we can leave.”

“Half payment will get you enough to take us to Raken and back four times.”

Hank smiled at her and finished his beer. “You drive a hard bargain, my dear. What’s your name?”

“Sai,” she said, pulling out her credit stick.

Hank took a stick out of his pocket and let her transfer the payment to him.

“Where’s your ship?” she asked.

“Dock B, berth ten. Meet me there in an hour.”

Sai nodded, then stood up. “I’ll be there. You just make sure you spend that money on fuel for the ship and not on liquor or stims. If you aren’t at the dock, I’ll come looking for you.” She pulled a whisperblade from her waistband and flicked it on for effect. The blue fire of the plasma blade bathed her face in light. It was a wicked weapon in the right hands. Normally, the user had a control gauntlet to help guide the weapon in midflight, steering it to the target with tiny maneuvering repulsor beams. Sai didn’t need a gauntlet.

Hank pointed at her untouched beer, his eyes reflecting the blade’s glow. “You gonna drink that?”

Vincent Maxwell surrounded himself with beauty. His new office sat on the top floor of the highest building in Nebula Prime’s capital city, and an immense window offered a view of the evening skyline, decorated with lights and activity. He stood watching as, in the distance, a cargo ship blasted from the starport, streaked into the sky, and illuminated the heavens with fusion fire.

Casey, the previous tenant, was a hard, Spartan individual by Maxwell’s standards and had no sense of style, so Maxwell was having it redecorated. The formerly mundane room was going to be transformed. He had a vision of adorning it with rich wood tones, imported marble, and art of the highest caliber. He would have just enough lighting for efficient work. For now, the room would serve its purpose, but not with the level of style he wished for.

His massive desk, however, was already installed. It suggested strength. Its mirror-polished obsidian top sat on a dark granite base and was supported by four Ionic columns of white marble swirled with green mineral traces. A large black cat perched atop it.

The delicate, soft music of stringed instruments floated around him like smoke from a fine cigar. The faint lingering scent of jasmine hung in the air. It was a start.

A chime sounded. “Enter,” Maxwell said, turning to face the doorway.

Nathan Kendrick entered Maxwell’s office, his eyes darting back and forth at the luxurious surroundings. He wore a navy blue suit with the Nebulaco insignia embroidered on the right breast pocket, the uniform of a junior-level exec. Kendrick patted his disheveled hair and took several deep breaths.

“Mr. Kendrick, I trust the trip across town was comfortable.” Maxwell walked behind his desk and took off his jacket, hanging it on the back of his chair. He sat, steepled his fingers before him, and studied the man. The cat moved from the desk to Maxwell’s lap.

Kendrick stood sweating before the broad desk. There were no other chairs in the room.

“Fine. Very comfortable, thank you for asking, Mr. Maxwell—sir.”

Maxwell smiled. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, giving him a distinguished air. “Good, good. But please, call me Vincent. You see, Nebulaco takes great pains to ensure the comfort of its employees. We love them, and all we ask in return is loyalty.”

Maxwell paused, allowing an awkward, silent moment to pass for Kendrick. He sat behind his ominous desk, calmly stroking the fur of the sleek cat. The cat purred loudly. “Can you define ‘loyalty’ for me, Mr. Kendrick?”

“Uh, certainly. It’s the quality of faithfulness, the steadfast allegiance to … well, whatever you’re loyal to … sir … I mean Vincent.”

“Very good. Yes, I’d say that’s an adequate definition.” Maxwell leaned back in his chair. He stroked his chin with his index finger and appeared to study something off in space just above and behind Kendrick’s head. “I have a problem—one dealing with loyalty. I’d appreciate your assistance.”

“Yes, sir,” Kendrick said. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

“Splendid. I’m afraid that we have a traitor in our midst, Mr. Kendrick.” Maxwell scratched the cat’s chin and allowed his words to sink in for a moment. “Would you happen to know anything about that?”

“No,” Kendrick answered quickly. “Of course not, sir.”

“Vincent,” Maxwell corrected.

“Sorry.”

Maxwell waved his hand. “Really now, Mr. Kendrick, I was told that you were quite the amateur sleuth, and that you make a hobby of accessing certain secure areas. There is no need for humility.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kendrick said. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Oh? I hope you understand that we all have a responsibility to be on guard. I’m sure you’re aware of our recent difficulties with piracy. The reports all suggest the pirates are controlled by one man: Thorne. Obviously he couldn’t be raiding our shipments so successfully without inside help.”

“Sir, I don’t know anything about security. I’m in accounts receivable.”

“Interesting. An important item is missing, an archival datastore with classified information that could lead us to the mole. You do have access to the storage area, do you not?”

“Well, yes, but I—”

“Tell me this, Mr. Kendrick. Why does a junior exec need access to a high-level security area? Why would Casey have assigned that clearance to you?”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

“Really? Then it seems we have a mystery.”

Kendrick swallowed, then cleared his throat. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I did have an arrangement with former Security Director Casey.”

“Do you mean the man charged with espionage? The one who took his own life before he was arrested? If so, then let me remind you that
I’m
the new director.”

“That’s not what I mean, sir. I mean I’ve never done anything on my own. I’ve always been loyal to the corporation …”

“You worked for Casey? How is it I’ve never even heard of you until today?” Maxwell dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. “You must be aware of the nature of the charges against Casey. Perhaps you were actually working for Thorne all along.”

Kendrick jerked back as if he’d been slapped. “I can’t believe that.”

Maxwell shook his head. “Isn’t it obvious? You’ve been duped. The missing archive is the only evidence against Casey that couldn’t have been tampered with. Whoever possesses it holds the key to this whole damned mess. It was our chance to prove him innocent, or guilty.”

Kendrick’s face was ashen. “But …”

“Listen, son. I understand. You were doing what you thought was right. I liked Casey, too. He seemed like a good man. I don’t want to believe that he was a traitor, but without the data we can’t prove anything. I need that archive. Now, you have to do the right thing and tell me everything you know. It’s the only way we can start clearing all this up.”

Kendrick nodded.

“Okay then. We’re on the same side here. Did you take the archive?”

“Yes. I received orders from—”

“Do you still have it?”

“No.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“I gave it to an employee.”

“Named?”

Kendrick swallowed hard. “Sai Collins.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“No, I mean, I know she left for Raken, but I don’t know where she is now. Honest. I was only following orders, sir. I—”

“Guards!” Maxwell yelled, sending the cat scrambling off his lap.

Six men burst into the room dressed in black combat exo-armor and bearing holstered pulse pistols. They surrounded Kendrick.

“He’s our man. I want this little worm grilled until he bleeds out every shred of what he knows. Do a full deconstructive brain-scan and download the results to my classified file. No one else has access until I examine the data.”