Star Risk - 01 Star Risk, Ltd (25 page)

He considered the penthouse suite they'd booked, and the lights of Glace below it, then his dinner companion, who was wearing the sheerest of neglig�.

"In all respects," he said, "starting with the company."

"I thank you, sir," Jasmine said, sipping her wine. "Apropos of nothing, one thing I appreciate about older men is they take their time."

"We have to," Baldur said. "There are certain physiological limitations that come on us in our declining years."

"Still, it was nice that you didn't attempt to ravage me the minute the porter left us alone."

"Never be in a hurry unless you have to," Baldur said. "But that is a predilection of youth."

"Of course," Jasmine said. "It goes by so quickly. But you must tell me why you have bad memories about the meal� and why you ordered what you did."

He sighed. "I recollect when I was a young officer. Very young. And I had somehow cozened a woman out to dinner with me, and was prepared to spend my entire month's wages on a dinner with her, in the hopes that romance would follow.

"So I was being in my most debonair mode, holding forth skillfully, keeping silent at the right moments.

"And as I was making some particularly brilliant point, I attempted to crack one of those crustaceans we were dining on.

"Since they were in butter sauce, they were a bit greasy, and my finger slipped.

"The creature went spinning through the air, and landed in the middle of an admiral's dessert at a nearby table. It was a baked ice cream, and the langoustine did not improve its appearance any, nor did the streak of dessert across his impressive rows of medals help the admiral's demeanor.

"I was so chagrined that, when I took the lady home, I declined her invitation to come in, returned to the base and drank myself into insensibility."

Jasmine was giggling.

"Why I continue to order dishes like that is not so much their savor, but to attempt to banish the memory, so far without success."

Jasmine leaned across the table, patted his hand.

"Poor Friedrich."

"You may call me Freddie, if you choose, since everyone else does it behind my back," Baldur said.

"One might think," King said, "there might be more efficacious ways of destroying that memory."

"You have one in mind?"

"I just might," King murmured.

Friedrich von Baldur, immaculate in morning whites, with a very tiny but impressive medal rosette in his lapel, went whistling into Glace's most disreputable tabloid holo, asked for the political editor.

The receptionist blinked, then remembered one of the journalists who sometimes reported on a political scandal, sent Baldur to Ric Knie's office.

It was cluttered with printouts, terminals, reference screens, and rather lewd holographs.

"You wish?" Knie asked.

Baldur took out the picture of the raider leader who'd talked to Goodnight.

"I'd like to know if you know who this person is."

Knie flickered, covered.

"In exchange for a name, would you be willing to tell me why you want it? Someone doesn't usually come to our charming publication, known for its honesty and honorable ways, unless there's a scandal attached, which of course we would be very interested in."

"There could be," Baldur said. "In the fullness of time."

"You expect me to trust you?"

"Certainly," Baldur said. "Because if you do not tell me, I shall be forced to inquire elsewhere, guaranteeing that your publication, and you yourself, will be somewhat out of touch when the story breaks."

"When, not if," Knie mused. "You have a deal, Mr. Dapper but Nameless."

"I am sorry," Baldur said. "It is just that at present my name would be meaningless to you."

"The woman in this picture," Knie said, "which looks mightily like an IDkit construct, is named Mar Trac. She is nicknamed "The Terrible.' Currently she holds the portfolio of Minister of Development in the shadow cabinet of the party that's out of power, and clamoring to get back at the public trough."

"How very, very interesting," Baldur said. "I think I must seek her out for an interview."

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FORTY-FOUR � ^ � Chas Goodnight glowered at the stack of microfiches, stared around the Boop's conference room as if expecting a miracle.

"I hate paperwork," he sniveled.

"And who does not?" Grok asked. "Don't we all wish to be free spirits, moving as the wind takes us?"

"Have you been reading human poetry again?" Riss asked.

"As a matter of fact�" Grok said, a little sheepishly.

"If you're gonna be vapid," M'chel said, "come help me brood about where that goddamned cruiser is, which is the key to everything, as far as I'm concerned."

"You know," Goodnight said, having ignored the interchange, "there's no reason we have to be sitting here on Mfir, is there? I can analyze all these goddamned contact reports my goddamned brother finally sent over anywhere in the galaxy to see if there's any commonality that'll give us a target, right?"

"You have a scheme?" Riss asked hopefully. "I could do with some action, too. Spada and his fly-boys are the only ones out there tootling around looking for trouble.

"I could even use some playtime," she went on. "Freddie and Jasmine are off being rich bitches on Glace, and we're stuck here.

"And that stinking cruiser is still nowhere to be found.

"I don't even have anybody to drink with after L.C. went and got herself murdered."

"Howzabout we go mining?" Goodnight said.

"And what will that get us?" Grok said. "I assume that you are thinking about going out there and playing Q-ship, with Spada's ships lurking in the wings. But the chance on us being the poor sods the raiders choose to hit is statistically nonexistent. Not to mention what troubles we'd be in if they did hit us if our ships happened to arrive a little late."

" 'We' is not an operative word," Goodnight said. "I was thinking more along the lines of M'chel and I."

"Leaving me to sit here opening the mail," Grok said.

"I hope, Chas," Riss said, "you aren't having any impure thoughts about you and me out there all alone back of beyond."

"No, no, no," Goodnight said hastily. "You've slapped my paws enough. At least for the moment."

"Do you have any specific idea on what we'd accomplish?" Riss asked.

"No less than what we'd get done around here," Goodnight said. "And we'd sure as hell get a better idea for the field, wouldn't we?"

"True," Riss said.

"And I've always been lucky at finding trouble when I go looking for it," Goodnight said.

"Both of you are intellectually stunted," Grok said.

"You, Chas, are just looking for an excuse to go out and get your adrenaline going. As are you, M'chel. From him, I'd expect such gloriosities. I thought better of you."

Before Riss could come back, the com buzzed.

Riss went to the console. "Star Risk."

Baldur's face was onscreen.

"Scrambling 413," he said. His image blurred.

Riss touched sensors.

"Scrambling 413," she echoed, and Baldur's face reappeared.

"I have an ID on Goodnight's Murgatroyd," he said, without preamble.

Goodnight came out of his chair, and was hanging over Riss's shoulder.

"Good day, Chas," Baldur said. He held up a picture.

"That's her," Goodnight said. "Ninety-five percent positive."

"I did not think you made those sort of mistakes," Baldur said, and told the three on Mfir about Mar Trac.

"I have a meeting set with her tomorrow," he went on. "I am pretending to be a possible contributor to her party's campaign, which my sources say will be most expensive if they hope to take the current administration out in the next election."

"If she� and her compatriots� are the brains behind the raiders," Grok asked, "first, do you have any theories on what their plans are? And second, what are you planning to accomplish by this interview?"

"I am not sure if Trac's party is involved, or if she is just developing a scheme of her own. I shall know more tomorrow. As to your second question, I think my plan is quite simple, having nothing more elaborate. I plan to tell her the truth about what I know, and see what happens after that.

"It might be compared to a child stirring an ants nest vigorously."

"Ant?" Grok asked.

"An earth insect. Lives in colonies. Bites anyone who troubles it, en masse," Baldur explained.

"Don't forget your analogy tomorrow," Riss warned.

"I am not," Baldur said.

"Something I don't understand," M'chel asked. "Why did you go to a sensationalist holo? Or doesn't Glace have anything better?"

"I picked the Scandal quite deliberately," Baldur said. "First, politics is not their area of expertise. I do not want anyone digging about, trying to run ahead of me in this matter until I am ready. Second, they assume I am as venal as they are, so there should not be any of these worms inquiring about our activities on Mfir until matters grow a great deal hotter."

"If you say so," Riss said skeptically. "By the way, Goodnight has an idea."

"Speak away, young Chas," Baldur said.

"I want to buy a ship," Goodnight said, "and go mining. Which means looking for trouble and contacts. I'll take Riss with me."

"Which accomplishes what?"

"It gets me� us� out in the field," Goodnight said. "Second, there's something niggling at me in these contact reports, and I can't figure out what it is."

"That is a most thin pair of ideas," Baldur said.

"Maybe," Goodnight said. "But it'll make my brother think we're out there kickin' ass, or at least looking for ass to kick, and get him off my back."

"There is that," Baldur said. "I've reported my progress to him just now, without, of course, naming names."

He considered.

"Why not," he decided. "Also, we could use an additional ship that isn't obviously a combat one.

"Go outsystem to the same people we got Spada's ships from for your craft, so you two can come in clean. As I recall, our salesperson� her name was Winlund, by the way, said Transkootenay's credit is good."

"Thanks," Goodnight said, then frowned. "Uh, I don't want to get you involved in nit-peddling. But Reg told me he was a little pissed we used that company. Said Transkootenay hadn't used them for a long, long time, and he didn't want the paperwork to get his ass in a sling back at the home office."

"You are not causing troubles by your caution," Baldur said. "Right now, we want to make as few waves as we can. Again, go offworld, but pay for it out of one of Star Risk's accounts. Our accounts are fat enough so we can pick up the tab, then bill Transkootenay directly." He suddenly frowned.

"What's the matter?" Goodnight asked.

"Nothing," Baldur said. "Something flickered at me, but it is gone now. If it is important, no doubt it shall come back.

"Have fun mining, children," he said. "Oh yes. If there's any conflict, Riss is in charge. She is far less flighty than you, Mr. Goodnight.

"Strike it rich. And try to get in trouble. Clear."

The screen blanked.

"So that's the way it shall be," Grok said. "I have to sit here, twiddling all four sets of thumbs, and you go out for adventure.

"As for your analyzing those contact reports with the raiders, why don't you leave them here, with me? I have a far more analytical mind than you, meaning no offense, Chas. Plus it'll give me something to do, besides puzzling over some other matters."

"Nope," Goodnight said. "You may have a nice, analytical brain, but I've got something better."

"Which is?"

"A criminal mind."

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FORTY-FIVE � ^ � The lim overflew carefully irrigated orchards of fruit trees, what appeared to be corn, vast fields of not-quite-Earth green grass, and grazing beef animals, taller than cows, with heavier legs, forward-pointing tipped horns, and shaggy coats.

"Virtue is, of course, its own reward," Jasmine King said, admiring the land below.

The privacy screen between them and the driver was closed, although both she and Baldur were far too sophisticated to believe they weren't being listened to.

"Obviously you and I chose the wrong profession," Baldur said. "Perhaps, one day, it might be appealing to have such a� spread, I think is the word, I suppose because it appears to spread forever.

"Ah. I suspect I see our destination."

The lim dropped down toward a compound with tall wooden fences in irregular lines. Baldur pointed to the automated guard towers here and there, and didn't need to say anything.

The central buildings were also unusual, dug in so their roofs were no more than two or three meters above the ground.

"Nice, entrenched development, good protection against an air strike. A true sign of a clear conscience," King said, and the lim landed.

Four men came out to meet them.

Baldur got out, favoring one leg, and using a thin cane for a support.

Baldur evaluated them. Fairly professional, he decided. Especially since there wasn't the hint of a gun showing.

He saw movement from a cupola, guessed these four probably weren't even carrying weaponry. An autocannon in that cupola would provide more than enough security, even if it might be hard on the greeters. But that was what they were paid for.

"Mr. Klinger, welcome to Mar Trac's home," one man said. He'd eyed King, figured her for nothing more than a rented bimbo, ignored her.

"Yes," Baldur said. "This is my companion and advisor, Choly Wells." He put emphasis on the word "advisor," and suddenly the man became vastly more friendly to King.

"Please come inside," the man said. "It's hot, and I'm sure you could use a cold drink."

"Indeed," Baldur said, and followed the four. Two went first, the others behind Baldur and King.

They went through a large, hand-carved door, stopped by a metal arch.

The first man bowed Baldur through the arch, an obvious detector.

Baldur casually leaned his cane against one side of the arch, went through, holding his arms out. There was a click.