The 97th Step (13 page)

Not with that voice still echoing in his mind.
I'll find you. Ferret! You're dead
!

It was impossible, of course. There was no way. No way, but he didn't doubt it for a second. Retribution had found him, half a galaxy away and more than a decade later, and the fear he felt had nothing to do with being captured or even killed for this particular caper. It was his past that had caught up with Ferret, and a debt now called due for a crime much worse, committed in a moment of fear so long ago. On some deep level, he had always feared it would happen. And now, it finally had.

Bennet Gworn had come for him, at last.

He lay numb on the bunk in the escape ship, staring at the spring frame of the bed above his. They were in Bender space now, and Thompson's Gazelle was light-years behind. He was safe from immediate pursuit, but Ferret knew he couldn't outrun the fear.

Volny had thoughtfully provided a military diagnoster for the ship, and the broken rib had been orthobonded, the torn skin repaired. There was a dull ache in his side, but he didn't want painkillers to fuzz his thoughts. He wished none of it had happened, but there was no avoiding thinking of it. Shanti was dead, the caper was flayed, and Gworn would be coming for him. Somehow, he had found him, and Ferret didn't think that his old friend had stumbled on him accidentally. It had taken time and money to subvert the hall watchers and to set up the assassination. He must have known about the biz long in advance, and if he did, then that meant he probably knew where Ferret had been before.

And, maybe he knew about Shar.

That was the thought twisting his gut the most. Shanti was dead, and he deserved grief and maybe some kind of revenge. But Shar, Shar was alive and unsuspecting, and if Gworn knew about her…

Ferret had to get back to Vishnu. He would have made a straight run, but the ship had other business that could not be changed, and he didn't need the Confed on top of Gworn. So he lay on the bunk, riding the edge of panic, more afraid for Shar than for himself.

God, he thought, if you are out there somewhere and bothering to take an interest in any of this, hear me now. I haven't paid you much mind, and maybe I deserve some heat for that, but if you will keep an eye on Shar, keep her safe, I will give you any price you want. Just this once, I'm asking for something. I'll never ask again. Please.

God chose not to reply in any way Ferret could understand, and the inner pain he felt continued unabated.

Gworn. After all these years. Come to exact payment.

I've already paid, Bennet. A thousand nights I dreamed of it, a thousand times I wished I could go back and change it. It was a mistake, but I can't undo it, Gworn. I can't. I would give almost anything if I could. But not Shar.

God, don't let him get there before I do. Please.

Twelve

CARRYING A STOLEN and valuable antique gun from planet to planet was an interesting proposition.

On a couple of the desolate frontier worlds, Ferret could have walked the streets with it openly and nobody would have cared, because everybody was armed. If all the dirtbreakers and timberjacks killed each other off, well, to hell with them, as far as the Confed was concerned. They had plenty more where they came from—not all conscriptees had to be soldiers.

On a couple of worlds, many people would hardly have recognized what the revolver
was
, unless they were history buffs. But on most planets, while they might not know precisely what model Ferret's gun was, they knew enough to discern its function in a hurry. Where the Confed gave a damn, going armed-unlicensed was worth a few years locktime, and maybe a brain scramble, just for the hell of it.

Local regs could be added to that, for good measure.

After Gworn gave it to him, Ferret had found some old flat-style vids and watched them, stories of the frontier days on Earth. The men wore funny costumes and virtually all of them had carried weapons very similar to his revolver. They spent a lot of time shooting each other, too, but those were vids, and fiction.

Ferret hadn't been a laner for almost five years without learning a few tricks. There were smugglers who would take any thing anywhere, for the right price. Sometimes they owed him favors, sometimes he paid them to move his six-gun, as the vidmen called it. Once, he dressed as a junker, and had the disassembled handgun all over his costume: the frame and barrel formed a belt buckle; the cylinder was part of a bracelet; and he wore a necklace of a hundred bullets, each gas-plated in silver, so they looked fake. He had long since learned how to take the gun apart for cleaning. And every chance he got, on any planet with an Outhrush, he practiced with the weapon. Refill cartridges were relatively easy to come by.

Apparently there were quite a number of antique weapons around chambered for that particular charge.

He wasn't as good as the best of the gunslingers in the old vids, but he could toss a plastic drink can into the air and hit it consistently. He learned to protect his ears with plugs, and he carried the assembled revolver with him on all the break-and-barrel capers he and Gworn did from then on. Not that he would ever really shoot anybody, but it gave him a sense of confidence.

On Mwanamamke, in the Bibi Arusi System, Gworn had bought a set-up caper, a sure thing. The pair arrived and took a room at a local inn.

It was spring in this hemisphere, and the town was called Dhoruba. It was a spread-out place, the buildings mostly single or double level, the kind of city frontier worlds with lots of space could afford, sprawling outward instead of upward.

The deal had been with Milk Face, an albino Exotic from Rim, fifth planet in the Beta System. Rim was also called the Darkworld, for the mostly prevailing night that was due to a combination of an unusual axial tilt and the single continental land mass where most people lived. Ordinarily, Albino Exotics were beautiful, and they exuded sexual allure that was almost irresistible to an ordinary human or mue. Milk Face, however, was ugly, deliberately made so by surgery, and he took special drugs to damp his pheromonic output. Nobody felt any particular pull to Milk Face. He made his living selling set-ups, background information on potential capers. He had a good reputation, Milk Face did, and he wasn't cheap. Then again, if you were willing to take the risks involved, you could still clear a nice profit after he was paid, and he only took a quarter down and the balance after the job was done.

Gworn explained the caper: "The guy's a coin collector. He's got a shitload of gold, silver, indium, platinum, you name it, some of the stuff more than five hundred years old. We could clip a couple of kilos, easy, and Mickey Metal will turn it into ingot for ten percent. We could clear eight or ten thousand stads, we're lucky, untraceable."

Ferret nodded. "What's the beegee?"

"Guy runs a Stacey-Hillerman house alarm, with the coin room hardwired into the system.

Microwave-connect to a private guard service, armed response in one minute, plus or minus fifteen seconds."

"Can we get in and out that fast?"

Gworn grinned. "Don't have to. Milk Face has the interrupt test code. We can pulse a false signal and clear the system for five minutes of testing. In five minutes, we can be halfway to the fucking Green Moon."

"What's the floor plan?"

Gworn produced a cheap reader and thumbed it into life. A small holoproj lit the air over the reader. The two young men leaned back on the bed as Gworn dialed the image up larger.

"All right, there's the main entry, over there, the secondary. Down this hall and to the left, there's the coin room. The guy lives alone, no watch animals. Here's his sleeping quarters…"

Ferret watched and listened, taking it all in. It seemed a simple enough caper. They'd stall the alarm system, pop a door or window, and hit the coin room, shattering the thincris cases and scooping up the most valuable coins. In and out in three minutes, longest. By the time the guards responded to the continued "test" of the alarm system, they'd be nearly back to the port. When things finally got sorted out, the mark figured out what was missing and the local cools got called in, Mickey would have the furnace fired up and the coins would likely be molten and bubbling, stopping any possible identification. Mickey was a pro, he had the formulae for half a dozen standard compositions of official Confed free trade nonferrous metals, and counterfeit molds for each one. In a few hours, there'd be a stack of gleaming hundred-gram rectangles clinking together in Gworn and Ferret's pockets. They'd pay Mickey, deposit the balance of the caper fee into Milk Face's account, and be on a first-class ticket to points elsewhere.

A good night's work, and maybe a week's holiday in some pleasure kiosk. Biz, O biz, we love it!

Ferret grinned. He could hardly remember the fear he'd often felt before he met Gworn. This was the way to live, fast, exciting, dangerous. He and Gworn were charmed, it would go on forever. They couldn't lose, he was certain of it. They had something. Maybe not as potent as God had been back on Cibule, but something.

"There it is," Gworn said.

They sat inside the stolen ground car, looking at the house. Ferret drove past slowly. Both the interior and exterior of the house was dark, except for the glow of street lights. As they cruised by in the quiet electric car, Gworn leaned out through his open window and aimed a surgetube slingshot at the pole light closest to the mark's house. Ferret heard the
thwack!
of the elastic tubes as they hit the metal frame of the slingshot.

"Fuck!" Gworn said, as the lead ball he fired missed the light. He quickly reloaded the slingshot. "Slow down, fireball."

Ferret grinned tightly, feeling that crawly skin sensation he got on every caper. He was sharp, he felt light and itchy, he was pumping dangerblood.

Ferret slowed the car to a crawl.

Gworn fired another lead ball. There came a tinkle of glass and the light crackled and died, fading to a dull orange before winking out.

There was a house four down from the mark's, a place owned by a man who traveled a lot. He would be away tonight, according to Milk Face's information. They could park the car in front of that house. Not coincidentally, the model they had stolen matched that belonging to the traveling man. If anybody happened to notice the vehicle, they'd think it belonged there. Not that anybody was likely to notice: this was a quiet residential area, and it was nearly oh-two-double-oh in the morning. Decent folk were asleep, and shift-changers would have already come and gone. Still, Milk Face was nothing if not complete. DFY planning he called it: Don't Fuck Yourself. There were plenty of people out there who'd do it for you.

Ferret parked the car. His mouth was dry, but he smiled at Gworn. "You ready?"

Gworn nervously returned the smile. "Yeah."

"Let's dance, buddy."

They leaned toward each other and hugged. Ferret felt the wirelike tenseness in Gworn's back and shoulders under his hands, then they were out of the car and casually strolling along the street. This was the most dangerous time. Both wore dark coveralls and sprinting boots; Ferret felt comforted by the weight of the revolver in his pocket.

Insects flitted around the exterior lights of the house next to the mark's, casting giant but faint shadows on the lawn. The dark was thicker due to the broken light, and Ferret felt safer when they were standing in the bushes next to the house. They had decided to spring the window in the hallway that ran between the kitchen and the utility room. A flowering fruit tree mostly hid the window from the street, and with the light out, it was unlikely anybody would see them. Everything smelled plant-green to Ferret.

"Start the timer," Gworn said.

Ferret lifted his left arm and touched the timer button on his chronograph. The seconds started to flash off.

From his pocket, Gworn pulled the small transmitter that would send the test signal to the guard service.

He took a deep breath. "Here goes." He pushed the control stud; it clicked, loud in the quiet night.

Ferret counted aloud, his voice soft, "—seven, eight, nine and ten. Go!"

They ran to the window. It was just as Milk Face had said-wired, but with a single snap latch. Gworn jammed the shim under the plastic sealant on the separating ledges and triggered the vibrator. The snap latch jiggled in a half circle and opened, as easily as if someone had done it from inside. Ferret and Gworn grinned at each other.

Down the hall they went. Instrument lights from the kitchen machinery and utility room cast enough of a glow to show them the way. They moved quickly, careful of their steps, the soft cushions of their boot soles making almost no sound on the tile floor.

The door to the coin room was closed and locked, and a blinking red diode showed that the alarm was armed. Gworn produced a short pry bar and levered it into the jamb next to the bolt. The mark put his faith in the alarm and not the lock, which was more for show than effect. The bolt popped free of its track with a
grinch
and the door swung outward on plastic hinges.

Ferret pulled a battery-powered light and dialed the beam to flood. They were in.

Behind thin sheets of clear crystal, precious metal disks gleamed in the light. Gworn lifted the pry bar, to smash the closest case, but Ferret caught his arm. "Wait," he whispered. "Look." He lifted the edge of the thincris, and it opened. There were no locks on the covers.

Gworn laughed softly. "Nice of him to make it so easy!"

They started taking the coins, dropping the plastic-wrapped circles of bright metal into their pockets.

"Stay away from the aluminum and copper," Gworn said. "Gold and platinum are the best."

"Hey, eat shit, Bennet. You think I'm stupid?"

"I truly do. They could write tapes on how stupid you are, Ferret—"

"Who's there?" a deep voice said.

The lights went on.

Ferret spun, aware of Gworn diving for cover behind a display case as he turned. A big man stood there, naked, but holding a spring pistol in one hand and some kind of electronic control device in the other.