Star Risk - 01 Star Risk, Ltd (13 page)

The man dove under his desk, as things around him tumbled, crashed. The walls moved, swayed, and he was sure he was about to be buried alive.

Then the tremors stopped, but things around him, and on floors above him, crashed and emergency lighting flickered on.

But he was alive, and he staggered to his feet, made his way to the door, touched the sensor to open it. It was blown, but he didn't care. He had his hand through a crack, pulled, almost yanking the door out of its slot as the first of the standby guards came down the stairs, oddly crooked, leaning, toward him.

"Somebody set off a bomb," he managed.

"No shit, Sherlock," the guard said. "Where's your magnifying glass?"

"I do not understand," von Baldur said. "Somehow those two got through the outer wire, I suspect with the help of others, who left them to their mission."

He looked at the other Star Risk members.

"They run toward the hotel, where they are going to plant their bomb. One fiddles with the other's pack, and both of them blow up.

"That makes no sense whatsoever."

"No," Chas said. "It makes a deal of sense. And it shows that our Murgatroyd's a ruthless bastard."

"Would you explain?" Baldur said. Riss was equally puzzled.

"You take two men, who you don't care if they come back, and you surely don't want to have interrogated. One you give a bomb in a pack to, and tell him that the button he's supposed to push, once he's got the bomb in place, has, say, thirty seconds before it goes off," Goodnight explained.

"You give another pack to the second man, and tell both it's their escape mechanism. When he hits his button, the diversion starts. Maybe it's supposed to be smoke, maybe a fireworks display to blow out any available light or IR screens, whatever. He's supposed to hit his button right after the first man starts the bomb going.

"These two clowns wanted to give themselves as big a head start on getting the hell out of town as they could, so they decided they'd start the diversion first, then start the bomb timer.

"Both packs, naturally, had bombs in them, set to detonate instantaneously."

"That is most nasty," Grok said, and there might have been a slight note of admiration in his voice.

"Oh," King said. "I should have thought of it myself. Centuries ago, back on Planet Earth, a certain security service set up assassination plots like that, always using people they thought were dispensable."

"Well, thank whatever anyone happens to believe in that the plot went awry," Baldur said piously. "Now all we have to do is find a new haven for our fliers, since that hotel is nothing but a scrap heap now, calm them down and put them back out in the skies, where they think they're safe.

"Wherever their new home is, I suppose we'd better offer improved security around, eh?"

"Our Murgatroyd," Grok said, "is proving himself a worthy opponent."

"That he is. I don't think," Riss said, "I'm going to mind it at all when we finally nail him.

"Not at all."

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NINETEEN � ^ � The two ships came out of star drive, and flashed in on the asteroid from "beneath," beyond visual range of the three mining ships and the two prefab domes.

Their radars had only a moment to alert the tight-faced men and women inside the raiders that somehow, beyond their plans, they were being tracked.

Then two missiles spat from one of the mining ships. The first tracked perfectly, and crashed into the nose of the trailing raider.

It blew up, colors flashing brilliantly, then spun into the crags beyond the miner's camp, and its drive exploded.

The second missile may have been jarred by the first explosion, and went off behind the lead raider.

The pilot fought for control, thought she had it, then the ship wabbled on her, and the best she could manage was flaring her braking tubes as her ship spun sideways, hit hard on the asteroid, and rolled, bouncing high above the surface.

Finally, it grounded. There were three survivors, bruised, battered.

As they picked themselves up, suited figures came out of the domes, bounding dark figures coming toward the wreckage.

***

"Hang on, M'chel," L.C. said on the com screen. "I'll patch you t'rough."

She touched sensors, and M'chel's screen in the Boop-Boop-A-Doop divided. L.C. filled half, behind her the Miner's Aid office. On the other was a grim-looking man in a spacesuit, without a helmet.

"Awright, Hank," she said. "You're t'rough to Star Risk."

"What the frigging hells we need 'em for?" the man snarled. "We got the bastards, and we're gonna give 'em a nice, fair trial, then hang 'em. Slow."

"This is Riss," M'chel said. "Star Risk. What the blazes is going on?"

"A couple ships fulla high-graders tried to hit us," the miner said. "They didn't know we'd went an' bought one a yer missile kits. Killed one ship dead, got three survivors from the other. We're gonna nur-emburg t'eir asses in a few minutes."

"Listen, Hank," M'chel said urgently. "We need those survivors. We need the information we can get from them, to get the rest of the raiders."

Hank stared into his pickup, then said, very deliberately,

"My best frien' was one of those got theyselves killed by these bassids."

He turned his head, spat, and the pickup cleared.

"Elsie," M'chel said. "Can you get Hank back, and convince him to keep those raiders alive until we get there? And I'll need coordinates."

"I'll try," L.C. said. "But good luck on t'is one, lassie."

M'chel Riss had seen a good number of bodies, men, women, and children. But she'd never seen three bodies like this before, unsuited, lying outside one of the domes, sprawled, their necks strangely elongated.

"You� hanged them?"

"Cert'ny did," the stock miner named Hank said, not without pride. "Like I promised."

"Might I ask how, given the low gravity of this asteroid?" Grok rumbled. He and M'chel had scrambled in one of Spada's patrol ships, Riss feeling she would certainly be too late.

They were.

"Mel's ship's got a big cargo hold," Hank explained. "Enough for a good drop, like I saw on a vid somewheres. An' antigravity. An' there was a big beam near the top t' tie off the cable we used."

Grok unslung the bag over his shoulder.

"Clearly, we shall not be needing this."

In the kit were several varieties of "yodeling juice." If there's never been anything such as truth serum, there are many chemicals that will make someone babble uncontrollably, and a trained and skilled interrogator, which Riss was, can steer the flow into desired directions.

"No," Riss said. "Now, let's shake the bodies, and what's left of that ship.

"With our fingers crossed."

"Pretty damned pawky," Riss said, surveying the shipsuits, small amount of money, a Saint Michael's medal, and a few other effects. "Can you make anything out of this?"

"No," Grok said. "However, Jasmine is a veritable fount of information. Shall we return with our trophies?"

"Very close to nothing," King agreed. "However, there's one thing that's interesting. Two of the bills, and three coins� held by two of the raiders, I see� come from Seth V."

"Which is?"

"A bit of a jaunt from here," King said. "It� or rather its capital of Trygve� is known as a hiring hall, so to speak, for those interested in hiring freelances.

"Cerberus used to recruit there frequently."

"How interesting," Baldur said. "I am starting to think we might have a rat hole to send our ferret down."

"Don't be so complimentary," Chas Goodnight said. But a slight, wolfish smile touched his lips.

Riss was staring down at the effects.

"No damned ID," she said quietly. "No letters, no cards, nothing. I can't believe Murgatroyd could do that job of making sure his troops go out sterile."

"Did you ever consider," King said gently, "that most people who are willing to go mercenary don't have any ties? That maybe that's the reason they're in the trade they chose in the first place?"

M'chel smiled wryly, but a bit of a chill came to her.

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TWENTY � ^ � The only warning was a bleat from a patrol ship:

"Star Risk Control, this is Patrol Seven� the bastards got a frigging cruiser� onscreen, bouncing it to you� they got Eleven, one blast, goddammit, I'm at full power getting the hell out of�"

The com went dead, and no attempts to reestablish contact with either Patrol Seven or Eleven were successful.

But that first transmission had come through quite clearly.

"Son of a bitch," Goodnight said softly. "Murgatroyd does have a cruiser."

Onscreen was a long, deadly ship. A scale said it was a thousand meters long. No turrets were protruded, but two open missile tubes told what had killed two of Spada's ships.

"This is not possible," Spada said softly. "I don't know how any non-government operation can find the bodies to crew a warship that big."

"Don't be so sure about that," Baldur said. "I can think of examples where you're wrong."

"Here could be the answer," King said, reading from the Jane's fiche onscreen.

"The ship's ID'ed positively as a former Alliance Sensei class. About a hundred years old, so Murgatroyd must've picked it up cheap. But here's the key. 'Ship was intended to be crewed by less than 100 hands, and is extensively automated.' So he wouldn't need to have as big a crew as the cruiser's looks would suggest."

Spada was reading over her shoulder: "Chain guns, five four-tube long range missile batteries, three close-range batteries, six tubes, planetary bombardment capabilities�"

He turned to Baldur.

"Boss, I didn't contract to go against something like this."

Baldur stared at the screen.

"None of us did," he said. "I think it is time to have a chat with Transkootenay."

"This is bad," Reg Goodnight said. "Not ten minutes ago, I had a com from one of the outstations. A ship� a very damned big ship, they said, blasted hell out of the station.

"I've got twenty of my engineers and assayers dead, and the station's a dead loss.

"I ordered them to get back to Sheol as fast as they could.

"Von Baldur, is there anything to stop that ship from savaging us, even here on Mfir?"

"I've got all of my ships either inbound, or in close orbit around Mfir," Baldur said. "They should be able to stop it� if it attacks Mfir."

"But there's nobody at all protecting the miners," Goodnight said.

"No," Baldur said.

"What are we� you� going to do?"

"I want you to set a meeting up with that offworld development person, Tan Whitley," Baldur said. "This is escalating, and I think it is time to ask for the Alliance to come back in.

"This is not banditry any more as open insurrection." Reg Goodnight worried his lower lip in his teeth, reluctantly nodded. "I'll set the meeting immediately."

Glace was green, if not quite earth-green, and fair. But as usual, the first colonists had looked around, seen the beauty, and set out to ruin it as rapidly as possible. The planet, eager for settlers, had made sure there were no annoying statutes interfering with a corporation's right to despoil in the name of profits.

"Why," Riss said, looking at the brown haze onscreen, "doesn't anybody ever hire people like us to go in and put a few bombs down a few smokestacks?"

As Baldur brought Boop-Boop-A-Doop down on the main field, Chas Goodnight had a request.

"Awright," he said, voice slightly pleading. "I understand the reasoning for keeping me hidden back on Mfir, or in the belt.

"But there ain't no py-rates on Glace. At least, not any that haven't already settled in and gone legit."

"Your point being?" Baldur asked, without taking his eyes off the control board.

"I, uh, would like to take advantage of the brief time we'll be here to see some of the local sights."

"He means, get laid," Jasmine King said.

"I'm shocked," Goodnight said. "Shocked, do you hear me, shocked. Such language. And I was gonna ask you to hit the highspots with me."

"Why?" Jasmine asked. "The answer would still be no."

"This woman has no, I say again my last, no, romance in her soul."

"He's evading the issue," Riss said. "Maybe we should've left him minding the farm back on Mfir instead of Grok."

"I thought you were on my side," Goodnight said.

Riss didn't bother answering.

"Actually," she said to Baldur, "there really isn't any reason we can't let the poor lad out to kick up his heels. Assuming he's got protection against the clap and his shot record card's up to date."

"Thanks a lot," Goodnight said.

Baldur considered.

"All right," he said. "But it shall be just like in the military with a first pass for a young recruit. You are cleared to spend time within 30 kilometers of the ship, and must check back in no later than 1900, Zulu time."

"That's not even dark!" Goodnight complained.

"Why do you need to be out after dark?" Jasmine said. "You told us you just wanted to see the sights, which unquestionably are best seen by daylight.

"And," she added demurely, "women don't mind being kissed in daylight. You may trust me on this."

"You see, Chas," Riss said. "We have your best interests at heart, and don't want you getting in any trouble."

"Aw farpadoodle!" Goodnight snarled, but hurried back to his compartment to dig out appropriate groundside clothes.

Tan Whitley reminded Riss of any one of several paymasters she'd had to confront about underpayment during her years as a Marine, never to get satisfaction.

She was calm, collected, had all of the data she would bother to consider at sensor's reach, and, in the immortal military phrase, wouldn't say shit if she had a mouthful.

"I shall be frank with you, Mister von Baldur," she said, in a colorless voice. "The asteroid belt has been troublesome, most troublesome, to this government since Transkootenay Mining first approached us and secured a contract to exploit the region."