Star Risk - 01 Star Risk, Ltd (14 page)

"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."

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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 resume 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. "Now, 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 Raft'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?"

"When you're in a hide, waiting for somebody to show up, you have a lot of time to talk," Goodnight said. "I can fake it.

"But what have I been doing in the� uh, five years since I went MIA?"

"I think," Riss said, "we want an involvement in weaponry. Gunrunning. That's a fairly open trade, and something someone with your talents could drift into."

"All right," Goodnight said. "Why are we running this operation, which is a long ways from Seth, which is where I'm going, right?"

"Because we're not going to dump you straight into the crapper without a bit of a verifiable background," Riss said. "Baldur, Jasmine, and I discussed it. If you start with an operation, then move on to Seth, you'll be a lot more credible.

"Now, why a gunrunner? You were along when we bought the artillery for this operation, and I don't recall you introducing yourself to the salesman."

Goodnight thought. "No. No, I didn't."

"So you're going to do that now, as Atherton." Riss said. .

"And for whom am I gonna ply my semi-nefarious trade?"

"It seems," King said, "there's this charming little world named Mitidja. On it there's the Old Guard, trying to hold on to the government, which is dictatorial. Rebelling against them was one faction. They recently broke in half, so there's now two forces trying to take over the government.

"All three factions have death squads, guerrillas in the hills, plus there's the police force and army, which also want a slice of the action.

"The Alliance has declined to get involved, since all this is internal."

"Wonderful," Goodnight muttered. "You're gonna throw me in the middle of that?"

"Worse, actually," King said cheerfully. "The Alliance may not be getting involved, but it's put an interdiction on any of the three sides buying guns on the open market.

"Which means they're even hotter about anything that puts a hole in people or real estate showing up on the black market.

"The nearest world where the Mitidja folks can buy bangsticks is called Puchert.

"The government of Puchert isn't happy about being Arms Dealer to the Multitudes, but their government, while sort of democratic, is corrupt to the eyebrows.

"So on Puchert, you've got all three Mitidja factions, both official and underground killers, shooting at each other, plus terminating any arms dealer who's selling things to the oppos. Not to mention the Alliance, whose operations are also a bit on the scoundrelly side."

"Double wonderful."

"Better," King went on. "Not only do you have these homicidal folks, but there's some very large arms dealers who aren't fond of any competition, and don't mind putting a bomb in the shorts of said competitors.

"Plus my source says that our friends, Cerberus Systems, are building a presence on Puchert. Nobody seems to know who they're working for, nor what their ends are yet."

"Maybe you can find out some data on Cerberus's plans while you're there, Chas," Baldur said. "And we can sell it to the highest bidder. We can always use a few extra credits, you know."

Chas moaned, leaned back in his chair, ran both hands through his bristling crewcut.

"Why me, God?" he said. "Why me all the time?"

He frowned.

"What are we going to do about paying for these guns I'm to peddle?"

"Don't worry about it," Riss said. "The deal won't get that far. You'll never make pickup, let alone delivery."

"That's not very honorable to our salesman friend," Goodnight said.

"I looked at what he charged us for the first lot," Baldur said. "He will get over his chagrin."

"That's what I like about us," Riss said. "Our clear-cut morality."

"But how am I gonna keep the deal from going that far?" Goodnight asked.

"You're not," Riss said with a sweet smile. "We are. When things get interesting, we'll just nark you out to some shooters and let you get out of town fast for Seth V."

Goodnight stared in disbelief, then shook his head.

"All right," he said. "Nobody said ferrets didn't have to chance getting their paws bloody." He turned to King.

"You figured out this scheme, these worlds?"

"With the help of some of my sources," King said. "Yes."

"Tell me, Jasmine," Goodnight said. "Is there anything you don't know� or can't find out?"

"Certainly," King said. "For instance, when� or if� you're ever going to get laid again."

Goodnight moaned again.

***

King smiled at the blank com.

"Still cautious?"

"Of course," a voice clearly fed through a dehumanizing filter said. "Why do you think I'm still in business?"

"Because you have the best ID around," Jasmine said. "Great craftsmen are always desirable."

"True," the voice said. "Two ID's, then. One in the name of this Raff Atherton?"

Goodnight, at the next com, dickering with the arms salesman, told him to hold on, blanked sound and vid, and leaned over to King's terminal. "Three. Just in case there's a screwup."

"You're the subject?" the voice asked.

"I am."

"How bulletproof do you want things to be?"

"Solid," Goodnight said. "Complete to library cards and some unpaid com bills."

"That can be arranged," the voice said. "Of course, it'll cost."

"Since it's my ass that'll be on the line," Goodnight said, "the cost be damned."

"I like working for a man with your attitude," the voice said.

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TWENTY-TWO � ^ � Chas Goodnight came off the liner's ramp into the main terminal on Puchert, just as the bomb went off.

Fortunately, it was a building away, and only rocked the world around him.

Goodnight picked himself up from where he'd gone flat, brushed dust from his immaculately expensive casual jacket, and looked about at his fellow passengers.

Several of them had reflexes as fast as his, and were back on their feet, grinning sheepishly, cleaning themselves off, and avoiding others' eyes. Sure, he thought. We're all just a fine lot of businessmen.

He picked up his costly bag, and, whistling cheerfully, went on into the terminal, as sirens screamed toward the roiling smoke and screams.

Goodnight started toward a ground transport booth, stopped himself.

A bomb on arrival, he thought. A nice omen. Perhaps you should listen, Chas old boy, and reconsider your plans?

He went back out of the terminal, walked past a couple of buildings, to another liner company's ticketing offices, went in.

He smiled brightly at the rather attractive woman behind the counter.