Star Risk - 04 The Dog From Hell (13 page)

"Yes," King agreed.

"Perhaps we aren't," Grok said. "But given these two, maybe three, outstanding examples, who can take the chance of skulking around looking over your shoulder?

"Assuming you have that capability, which my race does not."

"Hold your vote," von Baldur requested. "I can cast a very certain ballot, so it is two yesses.

"Cerberus came after me quite directly."

"You're sure that team was from Cerberus?" King asked.

"I backtrailed them a little," Friedrich said. "And until I ran out of money, I found they'd been around the fringes of several Cerberus operations. Close enough for my decision, at any rate. So it remains, from my perspective, a definite yes."

"As for me," Goodnight said, "the best I can provide is a definite maybe. I can't tell if they tried to trap me just because they were providing general security for Zion's diamond merchants, or if I'd specifically set off some alarms."

"We have two definite yesses, one maybe," Grok said. "Jasmine?"

"I'll vote us for a probable yes, but I'm voting my emotions. I want those bastards on toast," she said fiercely.

"That kind of loads it on the probable side," Goodnight said. "So, I guess we should�"

"�I don't think we can make a decision yet," Riss said. "There's another question.

"None of us are rolling in green. We've got some capital, but not enough for a full-scale war.

"And bashing Cerberus won't be cheap.

"If we go against Cerberus, we'll have to figure a way to make a credit out of it. Or through it."

There was silence, then grunts and nods.

"Any ideas how?"

Again, silence.

"There's got to be money in Alsaoud," Goodnight said. "Cerberus wouldn't be there if there weren't. All we have to do is figure out what and where it is, and snatch it out of their greedy little fingers."

"And perhaps leave them with at least a few of said fingers badly bloodied, or, ideally, missing," von Baldur said.

"Well, this operation, if we mount it, is one we'll have to be pretty sneaky about," Riss said. "At least the moving-in part. So I don't think it'd be wise to put the word out that Star Risk is back in business and looking for trouble."

"No," Goodnight agreed. "That'd be sure to get a bomb in our shorts."

"But there is nothing that says four friends and one alien�who, perhaps, must remain out of sight�could not visit the Alsaoud System, is there?" Grok asked.

"The holos suggest it is very beautiful this time of year."

"When the credit trees are in blossom," King said. "Yes. Most romantic. Let us go a-touristing."

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TWENTY-ONE � ^ � They decided to visit the Alsaoud System in two groups. Friedrich, M'chel, and Goodnight went via one of the few scheduled liners into the system�and even then, it was a way-stop, even though Alsaoud was one of the standard nav posts for travel in that sector of the galaxy.

This they found interesting.

It looked as if not many wanted to go to Alsaoud, and even fewer wanted to take them.

The other contingent was Grok and Jasmine, who slipped into the system via a chartered "space yacht," acquired and piloted by Redon Spada. It was actually an armed fast scout that someone had done a fast shuffle on when registering.

This was done not only to keep all of Star Risk's hatchlings out of one basket, but to keep the somewhat noticeable Grok from being noticed. It also gave them a possible back door, if Bad Things started happening.

M'chel found it interesting that Jasmine insisted on traveling with Grok, even though the Alliance liner Normandie was far more luxurious. Interesting indeed, although she didn't make any comment.

The approach to Alsaoud was also interesting. The ship had only about half a full manifest of passengers, and so they were cosseted. Especially those in first class. Friedrich had insisted, even though they were supposedly conserving credits, that this remained the only way to travel.

M'chel tried chatting with crew members about fascinating topics such as why no one seemed to particularly want to go to Alsaoud, even though the guide fiches made it sound "fascinating."

No one talked, not even by indirection.

As the ship blinked out of hyperspace, the passengers were encouraged either to go to one of the lounges to use the huge screens or remain in their cabins and use those sets, so they could, to quote the intercom's commentary, "admire the spectacular Maron Region."

Riss was more interested to note that the Normandie's two missile stations were manned as the ship hung beyond the Maron Region as the crew set up for the jump deeper into the Alsaoud system. There was also an escort ship that waited on them.

M'chel remembered what Grok had told her about piracy in the system.

But then she concentrated on spectating.

The Maron Region, consisting of the asteroids outside the system and possibly formed by a planetary collision eons earlier, was spectacular. The tumbling rocks, anywhere from decent planetoids to fist-sized boulders, looked�especially from a distance�like rows of loose planetary rings, minus a planet, held in their loose orbits by the system's own light gravity.

Riss guessed if the rings came from a collision, there must have been seriously huge planets involved.

The intercom guidebook-type chatter told her that the interesting thing about the Marons was they were inhabited, by a hardy race that called themselves the People. "Hardy race" sounded like it'd been read in quotes.

Again, there was no mention of piracy or anything else that might upset the eager traveler.

The second world was Khazia, close to E-standard, the capital of the system. Its capital city was Helleu.

Its medium-sized continents were primarily in the temperate zones, studded with small lakes and seas.

Riss had read that it was primarily agricultural, with some light manufacturing.

It was interesting that the Normandie didn't port in Helleu, but sent the handful of passengers down via lighter.

The port appeared easily approachable.

Riss also wondered why the crew of the lighter was not only armed with Alliance heavy blasters, but kept giving their passengers odd looks, as if they thought them demented for wanting to go near Alsaoud.

Riss admitted to herself that most of them didn't appear to be just gawkers, but the sort of people who get very interested in other people's problems and in finding a way to exploit them.

On the approach, Helleu appeared a most welcoming city. It nestled in the crook of a large bay, against a range of spectacular mountains. The respectable-sized city, if not a metropolis, looked well laid out, and included several of the offshore islands.

The buildings gleamed white and lovely under the sun.

But the closer the former Star Risk team came to the landing field, the more they saw things that were missing.

Such as the upper half of a skyscraper, jaggedly smashed off by a heavy missile impact;

Such as unscarred lifters�most of the ones they saw darting above roads were heavily armed and armored;

Such as any sign of traffic direction;

Such as shopping districts that didn't have sandbagged bunkers, here and there, and whose shop fronts weren't heavily reinforced;

Such as strolling pedestrians�those they saw scurried about quickly, and M'chel thought most of them were armed;

Such as a normal-looking landing field. Half of the ships had been badly shot up, and others were warships, either by design or modification.

"Wonderful," Riss said.

"Be it ever so humble," Goodnight added, "there's no place like this."

They landed, and were hurried with their baggage into a customs shed. The lighter didn't wait for more than a few moments before taking off again.

The customs shed was sandbagged, with the sandbags holed by small arms fire, and the customs officers all wore body armor.

"It would appear," Friedrich murmured, "as if the political situation might have worsened since anyone last surveyed the situation."

The customs official didn't give their passports more than a perfunctory check, and ignored their baggage.

Riss thought she could have had a small howitzer in her suitcase for all the officials cared.

Looking at the holed buildings beyond the terminal, she thought more than a few passengers might've had just that sort of weapon stashed away�or higher calibers.

"I can barely wait to see what our hotel looks like," Goodnight said.

Their cab had steel plates welded around the passenger compartment, and the driver's cockpit was also armored.

The cabby, a slender, wiry-haired man, was quite friendly, and helped them load their gear.

The last bag was in the trunk when an unholy screeching tore the air.

Riss involuntarily shouted "incoming," and the three Star Risk operatives flattened, beaten to the ground by the cabby.

A few hundred meters away, a small building lifted off the ground and disassembled itself into dust as the rocket barrage exploded.

The cabby picked himself up, checked a watch finger.

"A little early today," was his comment.

"Does this go on all the time?" was Goodnight's rather incredulous question.

"Oh, no," the cabby said. "It's a good deal more exciting these days. Elections were two weeks ago, and they're still deciding who really won."

"Interesting." von Baldur said. "The Excelsior Hotel, please."

"Ah," the cabby said. "You are going to be some of our movers and shakers."

"What makes you say that?" Friedrich said. "We picked the Excelsior from a guide fiche."

"Of course, of course," the cabby said, clearly not believing a word. "For your information, sir, the Excelsior is where those who, shall we say, wish to have a voice in the future of our system stay."

Riss made a face, leaned over to Goodnight.

"Maybe it's not a good idea to hang our hats there."

"Or maybe it is," Chas said. "We can't expect to do business without meeting businessmen."

Riss grinned.

They reached a checkpoint, set up in the middle of an otherwise ordinary street. It was a sandbagged position in the center of the street, with a crew-served autocannon, an alert gunner, and two sentries outside. M'chel also saw a recoilless rifle hidden in a storefront. Half were men, half women. All were in clean, tailored, dark green uniforms, without rank or unit badges.

One sentry checked a metal plate the cabby held out with a small bill wrapped around it. The other squinted at the passengers suspiciously, a blaster in his hand, then waved them on.

"Our new president's men," the cabby said. "Sharp-looking, aren't they?"

Friedrich grunted noncommittally.

There was another checkpoint a few blocks on. These guards weren't as flashily dressed, their uniform was a little shabbier, and their weaponry wasn't as new.

But they were just as alert.

"And who do they belong to?" M'chel asked.

"Our prime minister," the cabby said carelessly. "He's on the outs. This week."

He pointed down a road. "Now, there's an avenue you want to stay off of. There's a new post about half a klick down there, set up by the People, and they don't like anybody.

"Bastards. Not only are they swarming the Marons, but they breed like rats, and are gonna crowd us off our own worlds if we�or somebody�doesn't stop them."

He turned into a lane that led to a high-rise just off the beach.

Another set of security guards checked the cab, waved to the door.

Obsequious men wearing the same uniform as the security team unloaded them, and took their baggage inside.

Friedrich took out a decent-sized bill, rolled it, and handed it to the cabby.

"Oh, thank you, sir! Will there be anything else? I hope."

"We might need a driver on an irregular basis," Friedrich said.

"Always available, sir. Safest, fastest transport in Helleu. I know everybody, everybody knows me, and I know who not to know. My name's Jorkens, sir. Tell the concierge to call Breakside 438 for me. Anytime, anywhere."

They checked in to the hotel.

"You'll be on the tenth floor," the congenial clerk said. "High enough so any, umm, loud noises, explosions, like that, will be softened, but not high enough to be a target for the crazies to aim at."

They were escorted to their, as always, suite, then standard procedure cut in:

Goodnight used a couple of innocuous-looking devices in their luggage to check for bugs, found three. Two were audio, one was visual. He carefully starred the lens of the visual pickup as if something accidental had happened to crack it, so it would show nothing important.

Of the two bugs, one he judged ancient, and not worth worrying about. On the other he put a small distorter that would mar whatever was transmitted enough to be indecipherable, but still kept 'casting.

Friedrich checked the suite's alternate exits, where they would lead, and the location of fire exits and other emergency back doors.

Riss, with a collection of smallish bills, hunted down the floor's maids, and made very good friends with them, with the promise of more, larger payments if they told her anything interesting or if anyone became curious about them.

It wasn't that they were expecting any trouble.

But it wasn't that they weren't expecting any trouble, either.

There'd been no message from Spada, so he evidently hadn't arrived yet.

Riss dug another innocent-looking little box out that supposedly played background music, keyed a code message into it on the frequency Spada's ship would be monitoring when it arrived.

There being nothing else to do before dinner, M'chel went wandering along a nearby arcade.

Being near the Excelsior, it was, naturally, a collection of expensive shops, with everything up to and including Earth imports.

Life, Riss decided, went on. Even in a war zone, rich bitches and bastards still had to flaunt it.

After a fashion.

A couple of the shops had been rocketed out of business, and were boarded up. But the others kept on with business as usual.