13 Degrees of Separation (69 page)

These outworlders though, they could be trouble. He didn't
like the way they were doing things, didn't like the way they progressed so
fast and so smooth. He had been tempted to interfere, to throw a monkey wrench
in the works, but he'd talked himself out of it twice.

Lynn smiled enigmatically at him. He shook his head. The
bitch was beautiful but nutty as a fruit cake. She was also addicted to him and
to his drugs. He knew he could trust her, but only as long as he kept her
hungry. She'd turn on him if he ever gave him the chance.

She was a sadistic bitch, she loved toying with the slaves
they kept around. She had her uses though, and it was entertaining to see her
interrogate someone for information he wanted. It let him indulge in his ego,
playing the good cop to her bad cop. She could be a very bad cop indeed.

His little brother Fist Keldor was a pain in the ass.
Keeping him entertained was the only way to keep him in check. Half drunk or
stoned, fucked senseless by one of the slaves, Pope didn't know why he
bothered. Sure he was family, but Fist was a liability, plain and simple. He
went off half cocked, and always overboard. He'd caught Lynn egging him on a
few times. The bitch was evil, and his brother stupid for letting her get under
his skin.

He did things without thinking, which was a problem. The
two were a potent combination in a fight, but they went overboard on the
aftermath. He couldn't trust Fist out of his sight for long.

“Something bothering you Pope?” Fist demanded.

“Yeah, these outworlders. We need to know more,” he
growled.

“Outworlders?” Fist asked, clearly puzzled. “You mean us
or...” His brothers shut up look stopped him cold. After a moment he cleared
his throat. “Yeah um, sure.”

“Get with Beast-man, I want more information. What they are
planning, shipments, that sort of thing.”

“And security,” Lynn said lazily, smiling at Fist. Fist
nodded. He like his brother had long unkempt brown hair. Both men had a beard,
an easy disguise that could be shaved off when needed. He stroked his goatee.

“I'm getting curious now. I wonder what they've got.”

“Well, let's find out,” Lynn said.

<=={----------

“Randor honey,” Randor turned at a familiar voice. He
smiled, but put a hand up telling his lovely wife to wait a moment. His wife
was wearing a long gown since it was quite hot. The maroon gown was trimmed in
purple and had long sleeves to ward off the clouds of blood sucking insects
that rose in clouds near dark. She had a tiara hair band in her hair keeping
her short red hair out of her face. She was hot, but still a vision of
loveliness.

When he was finished with the pair of junior techs he
patted one on the arm. They bobbed a nod and took their plans with them as they
left. As they made their way past Mrs. Prince each nodded politely in passing.
She half turned, smiling and murmuring a good evening gentlemen as they left.

“Now what? Did you know we're missing a shipment?” Randor
asked. He wearily sat on the edge of the council table and crossed his arms.

“That's what I've come to talk to you about. They did it.”

“They did what?” Randor asked, eyebrows up. He reached up
and took his cap off to run a hand through his sweat soaked hair. He pulled a
red handkerchief out and mopped up his face and neck. Perhaps his wife was
right, this wasn't the climate to have a beard he thought.

“The Antiguan's. They ran the admiral out of the system.
He's boarded his courier ship and is on his way out of the system. Word is he's
headed south for the Beta 450 Alpha jump point.”

Randor closed his eyes and swore softly. The Antiguan's
hadn't known the gift of the admiral, hadn't understood how important, how
vital the man was. When Kiev 221 had first found Prime, they had celebrated.
When the admiral had orchestrated her renewal and even guided the planet in
setting up a long stalled constitution and Governor election, they had still
been happy. But then the attacks had come, some quite vicious as the various
men running for the Governorship had targeted the admiral as a hindrance to
Antiguan independence and wealth.

Some of the attacks had been amusing, a few had gotten
ugly. The admiral's insistence on setting up a Navy, in defending the system
had labeled him as a warmonger, someone who wanted to live in the past, to
relive the past as it were. Apparently the station was run by pacifists, they
didn't like working with the admiral and that caused problems. Word had spread
about the arguments. Some so called experts had come forward, tearing apart the
admiral's plan as a serious waste of resources, resources that could go to
making Antigua a golden world once more. The admiral had gone from a celebrated
hero to a vilified outsider after a barrage of media attacks.

Randor had tried to clue them in. He at first had despaired
at the sea of voices against him, but apparently some other voices, both on the
station and on the ground had joined him. He of all people had understood the
man, Irons was a keymaster, the last in the sector, perhaps the last in the
galaxy. More importantly, The admiral was also a man of honor, and the pirate
threat was very real. He had thought they had started to understand when word
had gotten around that the admiral had salvaged a courier vessel and was in the
process of restoring it in order to leave. Within a week the tone of the
attacks had changed, but apparently the admiral had made up his mind. That was
a pity. A damn pity. In a way he couldn't blame the man, he just wished he had
held out. Irons was right, without a Navy they were just a fat target for the
pirates to pick clean. When Randor opened his eyes he pinched the bridge of his
nose. “Is that why we're being shorted?” he asked.

She spread her hands. “It looks that way.”

“And we paid for them but...”

“But we're being shorted them anyway. Some bureaucrat
somewhere is cutting back on logistics now that the admiral's leaving has hit
the industrial concerns like a hammer. I think they didn't realize until he
stopped making things how important he was.”

Randor nodded, looking away to the setting sun outside the
window. The colored glass in the window made it quite beautiful. Right now he
had no thoughts for such beauty. “So.”

“So,” she said softly, echoing him.

“We're on our own?” he asked.

“It looks that way. Fortunately, we've got something to
fall back on,” she said, smiling.

He turned to her with a slight frown. “Oh?”

“Well...” she teased, coming closer to wrap her arms around
him. He looked into her lively eyes. Both were troubled by the admiral's
departure, but they both knew there was nothing they could do about it now. “It
seems our scouts have hit an industrial sector this morning. They wanted to
tell you that they found a mini El Dorado there.”

“Really?” he asked, voicing rising in suppressed
excitement. “You don't say,” he said.

The corners of her mouth turned upward like he loved. “I do
say,” she said.

“Do tell,” he said.

“Um...” She smiled coyly, hesitant. She loved teasing and
drawing things out for him. It both exasperated and amused him.

“I could tickle it out of you,” he growled, eyes dancing.
His hands drifted to her vulnerable sides.

“Don't you dare!” she growled, eyes flaring. He grinned. He
felt her tighten her arms to her sides. “Besides, two can play that game,” she
said, hands turning to claws.

“Yes, but I'm bigger,” he teased.

“The bigger they are bub,” she growled.

“True... So want a war?” he asked, now smiling a challenge
at her. She studied him for a long moment then shook her head, chuckling.

“Maybe when it's cooler. Right now the humidity is beastly.
I can't wait until we get the central air system restored,” she replied.

“Chicken,” he teased, kissing her hair. She chuckled.

“No, just aware of when I should pick and choose my battles
husband. As you should,” she teased. He chuckled. “But, as I was saying, they
found an industrial complex. You should do the math.”

“An industrial... a replicator?”

“Try three replicators. Industrial replicators, all
apparently fully functional. There is even a small molecular furnace to go with
it. Though that may need some repairs.”

“Oh...” he murmured, now smiling.

She nodded. “We can't make anything on the proscribed list,
and they're small, class two I think, but we can do a lot. And we can use the
ruined buildings and jungle growth as feedstock,” she said.

“Hmmm...” he said thoughtfully, still holding her. That was
true, and that solved another growing problem. Buildings and materials that had
been compromised by the jungle and time too much had been surveyed and then
certified condemned. What to do with the buildings, how to take them down
safely had been a concern. Duncan had assured them with the right explosives he
could drop a building, but still, what would they do with the rubble? Now they
may have an answer to that question. She felt him kiss her neck. She laughed
softly, slapping his flank. “Down boy, pay attention,” she gurgled.

He chuckled again as she turned in his arms and then
wrapped his arms around her. He nuzzled her red hair. “So we're okay?” he asked
softly after a long moment.

“I think so. It won't be easy. Easy is leaving the system.
We're going to have to work harder, but I think... I think yes, we can do it.
In time.”

“Good.”

<=={----------

Word of Yard Dogs inc plan hit the media. Randor overhead
some people discussing it at dinner. The natives had a various range of
reactions from scoffing and how stupid the spacers were, to interest. Morale
had been hammered when the population had realized what the admiral's departure
had meant to their dream of a new golden age. There was a lot of resentment
towards the admiral, but also a lot of it was directed at the people who had
hounded him out of the system. Several politicians had been vilified with their
effigies hung outside their windows or burned in public displays of ire.

Randor looked into the project and then called Ralph and
Alice when he found them on the list of founding members. They talked and he
offered to buy shares in the company. They were amused by it. “Hey, we're all
old shipmates you know, we need to keep an eye out on each other,” Randor said
gruffly.

“Damn skippy,” Ralph replied. “How many shares do you
want?”

“Well, I'm not sure. I'll invest some credits, I've got a
couple hundred saved up. I'm not sure about Adam or Duncan or any of the
others, I'll ask around.”

“Sure sure, let us know. We'll send you the prospect and a
care gift. How are you doing down there? Tired of being in a gravity well?”
Alice asked, interjecting. He could hear Ralph grunt in irritation as his wife
no doubt elbowed him aside.

Randor chuckled. “Alice, I'll put Marlena on the line and
you two can talk shop. Okay?”

“Definitely. You men can't gossip worth a damn,” Alice
grumbled.

“Alice! We've got tables!” Ralph growled in the background.

“So go do them!” she said. “I'm
busy
!” she said in a
leave me alone tone.

Randor laughed, shaking his head. His wife elbowed him and
he oofed dutifully. She was dimpling. “You are so going to get it.”

“Not now.”

“No, but later,” he said, handing her the receiver as he
got up. He kissed her on the head then youched as she pinched him to get him
moving faster out of her way.

“Okay Alice, now that the Neanderthal's are out of the way,
let's catch up,” Marlena said, smirking at her husband's back. He laughed,
shaking his head as he exited.

“You should come up here! Shopping is soo great!” Alice
said. “I've taken a new kid under my wing. She's a little thing but oh so
sweet! We can double team her!” she said enthusiastically.

“A new protégée?”

“She's a tug pilot...”

<=={----------

Randor was surprised when a shipment came in. The harried
pilot wheeled a stack of boxes off his aircraft. There were three loads of
them. “What's this?” he asked.

“No idea,” the man said. He held up a clipboard. “Just sign
here,” he said.

“I'd like to know what I'm signing for. Can you at least
tell me who sent it?”

“Um,” the guy turned the clipboard and then frowned. He
flipped through the papers. “Says here, Yard Dog inc.”

“Oh,” Randor said, taking the clipboard back. He scribbled
his name and then handed the pen and paper back. The man tore off a copy of the
receipt, handed it to Randor, then turned and climbed back onto his plane.
Randor hastily stepped back as the plane's engines roared back to life.

“What's going on?” Duncan asked, coming over. He eyed the
packages. “He couldn't of at least left the dollie?” he asked.

“We'll get one,” Randor replied, looking at the boxes. They
were plastic totes, each about a meter long and 50 centimeters tall and wide. A
tablet was taped to the top one. Papers were taped to each labeling them. He
frowned, looking at the tablet. There was a yellow sticky note stuck to it.