The Ramal Extraction (38 page)

Not on what would have been his son’s nineteenth birthday, though. The taste was great, but the experience was tinged with too much regret.

Can’t fix something? Let it go.

He told himself that every year, but it didn’t really help.

He lifted the glass in salute: “Here’s to you, son. Wherever you might be.”

The team was on Saturn Main, and gearing up to do another TotalMart run. This one would be dealing with dirty-tricks-harriers working for one of TM’s biggest competitors, Masbülc. It was way the hell and gone away, on Far Bundaloh.

It was a long-standing and ongoing problem, no emergency, so there was no hurry to burn aether and get there. It had become enough of an irritant that TM wanted it dealt with, but a few weeks more or less? Not that big a deal. And another easy caper, in theory.

Gramps read the news dataflik, idly skimming the galactic feed.

It was a long trip to the Veldt System, even in n-space. Maybe he could catch up on his Chapman Stick, he hadn’t practiced nearly as much as he should have recently. There was that Bach concerto he never seemed to get quite right.

Gunny was working to improve her fast draw. She said she was still a hair slow, though he couldn’t tell. She was diligent. The arm and shoulder were almost completely well, Wink had told her. Once the biology was right, Formentara
would tweak the augs. Be as good as it was, which in Gramps’s estimation was as good as anybody he’d ever seen. Looked like a magic trick: Pistol in holster.
Blur.
Pistol on target. Woman was a walking death-machine with anything that went bang or twang.

She said, “Any word from Kay and Wink?”

Gramps said, “Nope. On their way to Vast, they’ll call when they get there.”

“Sounds like a bad situation, her people dyin’ like that.”

He shrugged. “Between the two of them, I wouldn’t be surprised if they figure out a cure.”

Maybe Wink and Kay would make it back before they had to leave.

There was a pause. He blinked.
Ho!
“Well, well, would you looky here,” he said.

Gunny glanced over at the projection floating above his computer. “What?”

“News of the galaxy. You remember our recent visit to Ananda?”

“Ah haven’t gone completely senile like you. Ah remember it every time Ah move my fucking arm.”

“You’ll like this: It seems that our recent employer, the Rajah? He died suddenly.”

“No shit?”

“Yesterday. Reviewing a parade, fell over, dead as a stone statue. Heart failure, it says.”

“Huh. Couldn’t happen to a more devious asshole.”

“Says too that his daughter, Indira, has become the Rani—that’s apparently the female version of ‘Rajah,’ and is now running the place.”

“Good for her.”
Blur.
Reholster.
Blur.
Reholster. She chuckled.

“Something funny, Chocolatte?”

“Just before we left, after Rags went to see the Rajah? He had a little talk with Indira.”

Gramps grinned. “Really? You don’t think he let on that
her father was behind her kidnapping and the death of her fiancé?”

“Well, you know, they could have been talking about the weather. But Ah saw her after they chatted, and the woman had steam coming out her ears, she was madder than a kicked spitcat.”

“Oh, my.” Irony practically dripped from those two words.

“Remember what Rags said, about how the Rajah told him all was well that ended well?”

Gramps nodded. “And about not letting them give you to the women.”

“Looks like he was right.”

Blur.
Her pistol appeared in her hand, pointed at an invisible enemy.

Gramps nodded.

Sometimes it did end well.

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