Star Risk - 01 Star Risk, Ltd (18 page)

Goodnight spun-kicked her feet our from under her, let her thud to the deck. When she tried to push herself up, he kicked her arms out from under her, and dropped, knees first, onto her back.

Air whuffed out, and she threw up.

"Disgusting," Goodnight said. "Now, I'm going to get up, and leave you in your own puke. When you feel better, I want you to clean up your mess.

"After that, you can leave me the hell alone. Pick on somebody your own size."

The woman managed a nod.

Chas Goodnight clambered back into his bunk, and decided he would think about Jasmine King. In his dream, she'd be admiring and most cooperative.

Then a better thought came. Murgatroyd could be a woman, couldn't she?

If so, she didn't have to be some middle-aged skank with frizzed hair, did she? She could be young, rich, and somewhat oversexed, couldn't she?

Chas Goodnight wouldn't mind doing his snooping about in a harem, he thought. He'd never been in one, wondered what it would be like.

Especially if said harem featured female attendants. No, not attendants. Samplers, to report to Murgatroyd the quality of a man's wares.

Goodnight smiled, closed his eyes.

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TWENTY-NINE � ^ � What I've got," Jasmine King said, "is something. Unless it's nothing."

"How informative," Riss said. "Let's hope it's something, so I can get my heinie off this damned Boop-Boop-A-Doop and get in some folk's faces. Waiting for Goodnight to end up somewhere� and Grok tell us where� is getting elderly."

"Calm yourself," Baldur said. "No one wants to go riding off wildly in all directions."

Riss sighed. "Go ahead, Jasmine."

"I've got some interesting theories on where Murgatroyd might be based," King said. "That cruiser made me start thinking, as I said.

"Warships�big warships�need bases, maintenance yards, machine shops and all that. It's almost impossible to keep one functioning without some serious backup.

"Which means I don't see how Murgatroyd can have his base in the asteroid belt. Some nosy miner or one of our patrol ships would've spotted it.

"So we're left with out-system, or within the Foley worlds. Out-system would be the simplest for Murgatroyd to maintain, but there aren't any systems particularly close to us. Still, that's a maybe. I hope Grok and Chas clarify that problem.

"I took a look at the possibilities in-system. I came up with, I hope, an approach that would keep me from years of looking at satellite photos.

"I also put a limit on my search, not considering either Welf, since it's almost uninhabitable, or the three outer worlds.

"It seems that, about thirty years ago, Glace was in some disagreement with another system. Fearing war, they built quite a few bases. The diplomats made a settlement, so the guns never came out, and the bases were abandoned."

"Ah," Riss said, getting it.

"Exactly," Jasmine said. "What would be simpler than taking over an abandoned base somewhere? Especially if the base happened to not have any neighbors.

"There are� were� three or four bases, mostly intended for Early Warning, on satellites of the outer worlds. I haven't been able to find a location on them yet, but I'm still looking.

"Which is very interesting, in itself, almost like there's somebody shortstopping all data connected with those bases." Jasmine slumped. "And here I used to pride myself that I could find anything.

"The best I was able to find was that there were some four bases on Glace itself. Two of them are close to population centers, the others were deliberately sited next to nowhere, so if Glace was attacked, the attackers wouldn't have an exact location for all of Foley's spacefleet.

"Again, I lack locations so far.

"The more I think about it, this whole damned mess� or, rather, the complete absence of information� suggests there's something rotten about those bases. For all I know, they never were built, but were just a way for some politicos to skim off graft.

"The whole thing reeks, but I guess we'd better do some kind of follow-up.

"I suggest that we put out patrol ships off Glace, and stud a few at the system's edge, in case Murgatroyd has taken up light housekeeping on one of the ice giants' moons.

"An interesting bit of trivia, by the way. One of the bases on Glace was abandoned before the threat of war was ended.

"I've got scattered data that suggests Glace was inhabited before human colonists by primitives, no details yet. Supposedly these aliens were relentlessly hostile, either on first contact or after they watched man make his usual mess out of things, and retreated into hidden places where they sulked and ambushed the stray outdoorsman.

"I find that most interesting."

Riss hadn't been listening to the last, but was considering options.

"I'd think the outer worlds are the most likely." she said.

"And I disagree," Baldur said.

"I'll stay here and man the fort," King said. She reached in a pocket of her shipsuit, took out a coin.

"You two might well head up the patrol ships waiting for Grok to arrive. Heads take Glace, tails the iceworlds.

"M'chel, you're first," and the coin spun through the air.

King caught the coin, clapped one hand over it, then lifted her hand.

"Freddie," King said, "pack your woolies."

"Just my luck," Baldur said. "So much for lurking over the fleshpots."

"Jasmine," M'chel asked. "How do you find these things out?"

King smiled, and her smile was distinctly beatific.

"You have but to look, my little sister, and all things shall be revealed."

"Oh, horseshit," Riss said, and started for her cabin to start packing.

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THIRTY � ^ � The starship drifted down, toward a jungled cliff face, as if out of control and doomed.

Concrete grated, and two huge clamshell doors slid open, exposing an enormous hanger. The transport floated in on its antigravity, extruded skids, and landed, dwarfed by the huge Sensei-class cruiser nearby.

The great bay still held room for half a dozen more warships.

The transport's ramp slid out, and its outer lock door opened.

After a few minutes, Goodnight and the other seven recruits came out, stood, blinking in the dimness, broken by glaring work lights.

Air-conditioning machinery hummed and, on the nearby bruiser, maintenance men and machines crawled over the ship's skin.

Goodnight sniffed the air. It smelt of mold and disuse. He'd expected to land on some dead moonlet somewhere, not here, wherever here was.

A voice boomed, and a cargo lifter shot out of a port toward them. It grounded, and its driver got out.

He was small, slender, dark complected, and had a small, carefully maintained moustache, and a very big voice.

"All right, you people," he said. "My name is Navarro. That's all you need to know. I'm your boss."

"What's your rank?" one of the bewildered freshies said.

"No rank," Navarro said. "This is a job, not the army." He touched a stripe on the right sleeve of his shipsuit.

"This means I'm a boss. Anybody with one of these who tells you what to do� you do it.

"Actually, I'm not a real boss. There's five or six of those. Believe me, you'll know them when you see them.

"When they say jump, you jump, and they'll tell you when you're high enough.

"Pile in this lifter, and I'll take you to the barracks."

"A question, Navarro," Goodnight asked. "What are we going to be doing? The man who hired me was pretty vague about what our assignments will be, although he said you can get very rich."

"I'll give you a briefing when you're in quarters. But I'll tell you that first, we'll sort you out as to what you can do. One of you's a bester, right?"

"I am," Goodnight said.

"The others of you are what you are, which won't take long to find out. Initially, we'll use you for perimeter security around this base."

"Who're we securing against?" one of the experienced soldiers asked.

"Against being found out by any of the oppos� but mostly against the Grays."

"Which are?"

"Nasty, short, little frigging aliens that think everything out there is their turf, and just love nailing anybody who disagrees. SOP is kill 'em when you see them� which won't be often, since they come from the jungle, and we don't."

"That's all?" the bully asked, her face pouty.

" 'Till we get you tried and true, that's all," Navarro said. "After that� there's always places for somebody offworld, when somebody zigs when they shoulda oughta zagged and gets her body bag issued. We always need troops for the raiding teams, anyone with experience in space, and like that.

"That's where you can get rich like� Atherton, right? Like Atherton said. Assuming you don't get independent and greedy, and start pocketing some goodies here and there, which can lead to a real short future.

"But first you got to prove to us you're good� and lucky� enough to make it against the Grays."

The woman looked dissatisfied, about to ask something else, and then alarms screamed.

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THIRTY-ONE � ^ � Risk control," Riss said into her throat mike, "this is Patrol Three."

The small Pyrrhus-class patrol ship was making high orbits over Glace's thick, unpopulated jungle.

"This is Control," Baldur's voice came through the ship speaker. "Go."

"This is Three. We had Goodnight's beeper solid when the ship came in-atmosphere, tracked it, keeping just below the horizon, and the ship vanished."

"Say again your last," Baldur said from his ship.

"Vanished," Riss said. "Gone. Offscreen. Pfft."

Her pilot, Dinsmore, flicked a glance from his controls at her, shook his head. Still nothing onscreen.

"Suggestions?" Riss said.

"Try a high-speed pass over where it vanished," Baldur said. "Ten pick an arbitrary point near that, and start doing concentric circles."

"Sweeping the jungle," Riss said. "That's a big, dull Rog. Patrol Three, clear."

She looked at Dinsmore.

"You heard the man."

Dinsmore nodded, put the patrol craft to full drive.

Solid green jungle reeled past them.

"Here we go," he said. "Close to where it ghosted on us, anyway. On my count� four� two� here."

Riss scanned her screens, even looked through the port. She saw nothing but a jungled valley, with a small lake at its bottom, and a tall, brooding cliff.

"Nada from nada is nada," she said. "Hokay, Dins, put us in a nice orbit around your point."

"You realize we're making ourselves into a big, fat target," the flier said.

"I realize," M'chel said. "Which is why I'm depending on your steel-trap reflexes and mind to haul ass out of here if any of these little needles or scales even flicker."

"A definite affirm on that one," Dinsmore said, putting the patrol ship almost on its side, as he cut the drive down to a mild putter. "And here we go loop-de-loo."

"Nothing," Riss muttered as they finished the first circle. "Go a little wider on the next one. Which'll put us over, not into, that goddamned cliff. I hope."

Dinsmore nodded, fingers touching sensors.

Again they started around the search point.

"Hell, we ain't got� Shit fire!" Riss snapped. "Get us out of here! I got indicators going nuts!"

Dinsmore slammed full drive, went to the sky.

"I have an incoming," Riss said. "Hard on our tail� closing� try to turn away and topple it�"

Dinsmore banked hard, and M'chel saw a whitish flicker out of the port, then an explosion slammed, pitched the patrol ship sideways.

"We're hit," she said, caught herself on the obvious, and switched to uncoded transmission on the guard channel.

"Mayday, Mayday," she called, a bit proud that her voice didn't sound the slightest bit excited. "Holding the transmit button down. Mark this location� ship struck by missile�"

"We're losing power," Dinsmore said. "Passing through six thousand meters�"

The driver hiccupped and there was sudden silence.

"Time to go," Dinsmore said, unbuckling his safety harness. "Our antigravs'll never ease us in."

"Mayday, Mayday," Riss said again. "Going down. Mark this transmission."

The com hissed, and all its lights went out as the patrol ship rolled end over end.

Riss went flying, caught a stanchion, and felt her muscle pull.

Dinsmore shouted in pain as he hit a bulkhead with his side.

The ship antigrav went off for an instant, then back on, as the lights died, and emergency lighting went on.

"This one's doomed," Riss said, shrugging into her combat harness. She fought her way to the pilot, and pulled him to his feet.

He screamed, bit his lip to hold pain back, and Riss muscled him to the inner lock entrance.

"Here," she said. "Into this."

She forced him into a dropper as the ship pin-wheeled again.

"Jesus, that hurts."

Riss didn't answer, but slid into a dropper of her own, cursing herself for being careless and not adjusting the straps before they'd lifted.

She pushed Dinsmore into the lock, followed him, hit the cycle button as she saw smoke billow from a swinging compartment door. Air screamed around her.

Then she was hanging on to the outer lock door as, around her, green and blue alternated being ground and the sky.

She pushed Dinsmore, saw him tumble away from the patrol ship, waited until the lock was facing down, and kicked herself out.

Just like old times, she thought, except that in old times your jumpship wasn't going gaga on you.

Riss was spinning left, pushed her right leg and arm out, and the spin slowed. She put both arms, both legs out, was stable, falling toward the jungle below.

She looked down, guessed she was about two thousand meters from the trees, dropping at terminal velocity.

Riss found the on sensor on the antigrav harness, gave it a squirt, slowed, hit it again, and was falling at a reasonable rate.