Counterweight (8 page)

“Buy that kid a real education,” Belfric told them. “Go with
them to the nearest pod center and turn the little darlings into whatever they
want to be.”

One of them looked up from the chip in his hands. “What good
does that do?” he demanded. “If I pay to train some NRW brat as an engineer or
an advocate, do you really think the company will take him or her onto the
payroll?”

Cal shook his head, not the least put out by this apparent
flaw in his scheme. “Not a chance in seven hells. We’re not trying to take away
their problems. We’re trying to remind people what the real problem is.

“Say your daughter is now qualified in experimental
physics,” he shouted as they passed an ore crushing facility, “there’s no
monastery here, so she needs to be off world if she wants to pledge as an
acolyte. She’ll never become a full preistess as long as she’s stuck here.” He
jabbed a finger at the man. “How do you feel about that?”

A troubled expression, then the dawning of understanding
became apparent.

Cal nodded, his expression grim. “She has it in her now to
be something really important but not if she’s trapped here. She has to find a
monastery and serve her term as an acolyte before she’s ordained. She might
change how we see the Universe, but not if you can’t afford a ticket off this
planet.

“Sometimes, we get so deep into our day-to-day lives that we
don’t see how bad things are but, if you can step back for just a second, you
realize how many boot prints are on your back.”

“Then, when they come back to you to see if you can buy them
a ticket,” Bel added, “you tell them you hacked the funds from a company water
machine and you don’t have enough to cover a ride up to the counterweight.”

“That’s when they realize their hope came from the fruits of
disobedience
,” Cal jumped in. “And they already know obedience won’t get
their kid off world. They’ll probably be scared about receiving stolen funds at
first but then they’re going to realize how much they’re willing to risk for
their children.”

Other carriers drew near as they approached the suit
lockers. “Give ‘em hope,” Cal told the small group, “and give ‘em time to get
angry about it.”

“One day…” Bel intoned.

“One day soon…” the rest replied.

They bent their knees slightly just before the hinged floor
dropped open. It was the same method the vehicle employed to drop its cargoes
of metal.

The conspirators landed easily on the platform and walked
off to the lockers without another word.

Tsekoh, Capital of Chaco Benthic

G
raadt
was impressed with the young Tauhentan at the reception desk. He was clearly
afraid of the three approaching stoners, yet he still left his seat in an
attempt to impede their progress toward the spicewood doors.

Still, bravery was the bare minimum, as far as Graadt was
concerned, and it didn’t entitle the receptionist to any special treatment. The
big stoner reached up and closed his hand over the Tauhentan’s face, shoving
him back toward the doors. His second and third finger tips pressed into the
young man’s eyes, ensuring rapid progress.

He slammed his victim into the doors with enough force to
overcome their electromagnetic closers and sent him sprawling into the office.
A surprised hiss came from the right and he turned to see two young men and a
woman standing in the middle of a large holo display.

“I see G’Min has taken our little chat to heart,” the
better-dressed of the two men mused as he walked over to help the receptionist
up.

Graadt had always liked Tauhentans. They were generally a
straight-forward people and they could handle themselves in a fight. They were
good at assessing tactical situations and tended to favor courage in their
responses.

This one was obviously no stranger to stoners. He knew he’d
be given the opportunity to look after his people. “I’m G’Mal,” he said before
nodding at the others in the room, “and they aren’t G’Mal.” He raised his
eyebrows at Graadt.

Graadt nodded at Kaans and Nid by the door. The two stepped
apart, letting G’Mal’s employees leave. As the last of them left, they swung
the doors shut.

Graadt wanted to know if the Human had been here but he
didn’t want to lead off with that question. If he came back, he might learn
that the stoners were on his trail. Better to make it one small question in the
shadow of a much more alarming one. He grinned. For a Tauhentan smuggler who’d
hit the big time, there was one question that struck fear.

What was the source of his wealth?

“We know about the wood.” He made a show of sniffing the
air. “You don’t hide your secrets very well, do you? It smells like a
plantation timber mill in here.”

A shrug. “There’s a lot of cheap wood in the city lately.”
G’Mal waved at the door. “The old man thought it would convince folks that
we’re the source.”

A lie. Graadt was certain of that but it was a pretty good
one, as lies went. What kind of fool would have such doors if he really was the
source? They were trying to hide in plain sight. He decided to give the
smuggler one more thing to distract him from the true object of this visit.

“The place we just came from is bringing in a lot of wood,”
he allowed, “but we saw nothing large enough to make these doors.” There was no
such place – Graadt had invented it on the spot – but sometimes you needed to
throw another carnivore in the ring to get things moving.

He fought to keep his amusement from showing at the surprise
on the Tauhentan’s face. Hearing they may not be the only source of cheap
spicewood was obviously a shock but he recovered quickly.

“They do special orders,” G’Mal offered, “for people who
don’t mind paying in advance.”

Graadt nodded, smiling. He was certain, now, that they had
the right place. He liked this smuggler well enough but he didn’t want to spend
all day fencing with words.

He took a quick step forward rotating his torso to add force
to the punch as he drove his fist into the smuggler’s belly. The scent of tea
and liquor reaqched his nostrils as the man doubled over.

Kaans and Nid grabbed G’Mal by the arms and pulled him
upright.

Graadt turned toward the only other door in the room. “Let’s
take a tour.” He moved to the left side of the door and gestured politely to
the hand scanner in the middle.

G’Mal was shoved over and his hand placed on the pad. A
light chime sounded as the door slid open.

The space beyond was more than just a warehouse. It was a
honeycomb of glazed enclosures, each containing a craftsman. Above the
enclosures, huge slabs of wood were fed into molecular cutters, producing
custom-shaped blanks with a minimum of waste. The blanks were conveyed to each
cubicle where the Tauhentan workers incised bracelets with custom scrollwork,
installed hinges on boxes and rubbed a false patina of age onto most of the
pieces.

The enclosures contained the smell of the work and the
workers all wore masks with hoses that provided fresh, breathable air. It saved
them the trouble of figuring out what to do about a constant flow of scented
air. Simply exchanging the air of the work spaces would have filled the city
with the heady scent within days.

Graadt was stunned. He had expected to see a fortune in
wood, but this was staggering. This facility was processing more than the
output of every plantation in the Republic. “What’s your source?”

“Secret,” G’Mal wheezed, still holding his midriff.

“So you want us to beat it out of you?” Kaans offered in a
helpful tone.

“Did the Empire get the secret out of Qel’Kun?” The
Tauhentan glared back at them.

Graadt nodded at Nid, who moved to grab the smuggler’s arms,
but stopped as a door, just ten feet away, slid open and a youngster – perhaps
five years old – trotted out.

Nid automatically halted and looked to his leader.

Graadt gave him a barely perceptible wave off before turning
a pleasant smile on G’Mal. “Your boy?”

A nervous nod. The Tauhentan put a protective hand on the youngster’s
head, drawing him in close.

“Well, I’m sure you’re busy,” Graadt went on, “and we need
to be going.” He saw the mingled surprise and relief and decided that the time
was right to beat the bushes.

He swept a gaze around the facility. “I bet few people have
ever seen this place…”

G’Mal’s eyes darted to the side, telling Graadt he’d struck
a nerve. He stepped toward the two, smiling down at the Tauhentan child.

“Someone was here yesterday,” G’Mal blurted. “Said his name
was Yoyeco and he acted as though he’d been in here with the old man.”

“Another Tauhentan?” Graadt raised an amused eyebrow. “And a
stranger, from the way you talk about him. How do you know he isn’t a
competitor?”

A guarded nod. “Didn’t even think we had one till you showed
up.” He scratched idly at the back of his head. “Gonna need to do some sniffing
around.”

“Maybe we can help you run him down,” Nid suggested.

Graadt nodded non-commitally. “We can keep our eyes open for
you, in return for a little support to our local operations…”

G’Mal looked relieved to hear the request for money. Bribes
were a standard part of life in the Republic but the preliminaries were often
extremely unpleasant. “Thirty thousand?”

“Better make it fifty,” Graadt stated his counter-proposal
as a decision, rather than a suggestion. These people could afford a half
million without breaking a sweat. “What does this Yoyeco character look like?”

G’Mal’s eyes darted to the floor and a grimace formed.
“Dammit,” he muttered. “I try to picture his face and all I can see is that
damned hat.”

“And you have no cameras in your office, do you?” Kaans
rolled his eyes.

“Not a healthy idea in our line of work,” the smuggler
replied. “If clients or partners find out you have them, you’re finished.”

“We’ll see what we can turn up,” Graadt said in a tone that
indicated his low opinion of their chances. “We’ll stop by your front desk for
the funds.”

They collected their ‘retainer fee’ and left the building.
Graadt stopped them by the railing and turned to Nid. “Their ship gets back any
day now. Get over to the tether station and let us know the instant word comes
down about them. Yoyeco’s our target and he’ll want to talk to the ‘old man’
when he comes back down here.”

As Nid moved off, he turned to Kaans, handing him the chip
with the fifty thousand credits. “Get us a midsize vehicle, fully enclosed but
with good tactical specs. Meet me up on seventy-three near the entertainment
zone and we’ll go get our weapons.” He grinned.

They were about to flush the prey.

The
Foxlight II,
En
route to Chaco Benthic

R
ick
woke with a start. A young man, half naked, was backing away from him; edging
back into the cargo space of the small shuttle. Movement in the cargo bay
caught Rick’s eye and he realized there was a woman, trying to cover her nude
body with a tattered old sweater. He jumped a second time as his helmet,
reading his elevated vital signs, snapped shut. He sub-vocalized a command in
Dheema and it retracted.

He suddenly understood the cause of the torrid dream he’d
just been jarred out of. The young couple had obviously been using the shuttle
for a romantic encounter. Either Rick had made a noise in his sleep or they had
decided to move the festivities into the cockpit of the small vessel. Either
way, he’d been discovered.

Ordinarily, he would be awakened by the risk of discovery,
but the dream had distracted him. He remembered a mild feeling of alarm, but he
was
dreaming of Nell and she had almost always managed to scramble his
abilities.

Now, however, he was back to full awareness and he gazed at
the young man, probing him with unasked questions. The result was almost as
ridiculous as the conditions of his discovery.

Their situation was almost as perilous as Rick’s. That their
tryst was forbidden fruit was obvious, even without pre-cog ability. Otherwise,
they would be in their quarters right now, not scrambling to find their
clothing in the back of a darkened shuttle.

But Rick also knew that their parents would be enraged by
their lack of self-control. The Tauhentan criminal class, it seemed, was
jealously protective of family honor and both of these young lovers were
terrified of their secret getting out. He probed again and discovered they
risked being demoted in their family precessions.

Not only would they inherit less, they would have to wait
for their younger siblings to wed before them.

They clearly didn’t want to bring him before the captain for
fear of what he might say and he didn’t want to let this drag out long enough
for them to think of just killing him. He looked at the young man, the first to
finish dressing. “Let’s go see the captain.”

Without waiting for an answer, he strolled past the young
woman and out the side hatch. He knew where he was going, having left the shuttle
on occasion to forage for food and water. With his fourteen second advantage,
it was child’s play to wander the ship during the dog watches. The hangar bay
was partially filled with spicewood trunks and it gave him a measure of
comfort, a scent of home. The vast majority of the cargo was in the hold, but
they had filled every available space with the wood and the shuttle bay had a
prince’s ransom sitting between the two shuttles used to bring the wood up to
the ship.

“Ummm, listen,” the young man called, racing to catch up
with Rick “about…” He stopped talking as Rick turned to face him.

“You’d like me to forget what I saw,” Rick suggested. “Is
that it?”

An eager nod.

“Well, I’d like a little support when we talk to your
captain.” Rick shrugged carelessly. “A voice of reason, an offer to keep an eye
on the stowaway, that kind of thing.” He took a step forward and put a calming
hand on the young man’s shoulder, already knowing what his next words were but
trying to reinforce their interdependence before dealing with the new tangent.
“Let’s try to help each other out.”