Mainline (23 page)

Devin considered. "We'll need an outside crew to repair the hull damage. Otherwise we can do most of this ourselves. Pull and plug parts, calibrate shield generator, new guns.. . two or three weeks."

"Skip the guns. How long would that be?"

"Two weeks."

She gave her clanmate a tight smile. "Order the hull team today, and the replacement units you need. You have a week."

His protest was immediate. "Ten days isn't enough time to do this right. You have to consider—"

"I have to consider that we may not
have
any more time than that, Devin." Her voice was firm. "You read me?"

Lish hadn't discussed the possible need to flee Selmun III in so many words, but he took her point. "I need some 'Jammers, then, to speed up the work. A lot of them were Imperial Navy."

She agreed to that. "And you can captain this ship after she's back together," she continued.

"With contract and ownership," the spacer replied automatically.

"Contract," she said. "We'll talk about ownership."

"Ownership, Lish." His voice took on a harder edge. "You know why I'm here."

The remembrance of what had brought Devin to Selmun III hung between them. Lish gave in. "Owner shares. We'll talk details later."

"Done."

Kastlin stood and Lish slipped around the galley table, ready to leave. Devin held her by the arm for a moment. "Thanks," he said.

She met his earnest gaze, eyes dark blue under the glowstrips. "You're welcome," she replied, suddenly awkward, and hurried to leave the
Kestren.

A blue bulldog snuffled around virtual corridors, and finally caught what registered as a familiar scent. The scent turned to a yellow shimmering ribbon on the floor, a data-trace crafted by Zippo's deck inside the Selmun Net.

Captain Brace paced behind the hunting dog. There was nothing in the yellow ribbon to suggest the object of their quest. But soon, he knew, they would find doors and branching passages, ways that led into the part of the matrix used by Edron Behr, Governor-General of Selmun III.

It was not common to investigate a person so highly placed, but neither was it unheard of. The Governor-General had demanded that Internal Security help deal with the borgbeasts and bring the Gambru League to heel; he'd threatened Obray, unwisely invoking hostile political connections to force the Commander's compliance. That was more than enough to earn the wrath of a career-minded Sa'adani officer. Captain Brace could guess how the logic went: Behr had leverage to use against Obray; now Obray wanted leverage to use against Behr.

Up ahead, the dog-shaped decker gave a bound and closed on a red door with coded access panel in it. Here was the first hurdle, and a suspicious one it was: long before any ordinary person would institute system lockouts, Behr had something to hide.

As usual, Obray's instincts were good. The Governor-General seemed to think he had something worth concealing. Captain Brace and Zippo exchanged looks; this minor obstacle would delay them, but was not a serious hindrance. Given enough time, they could lay bare all the secrets of the Selmun ruler that had root or trace in the planet's cybernet.

Brace started to work on the door.

Karuu coughed nervously.
"Don't forget you have to check in with Traffic Control," he volunteered.

Yavobo shot the walrus-faced Dorleoni a withering look, and the Holdout shrank back into the navigator's chair. He fidgeted with chair settings while his bounty hunter companion returned to the task of piloting the
Deathclaw.

Karuu studied the pilot as he aligned the armed scout's flight path with the orbital insert pattern on the instruments. Days in the shipboard autodoc had restored Yavobo's condition admirably, though that time spent locked in his cabin had been wearing on Karuu. And the bounty hunter's mood remained indecipherable: the red- and black-skinned alien had an angular visage difficult for the smuggler to read. Karuu was used to human faces, furless and mobile, easily betraying emotions and intent. Yavobo, with leathery skin and the merciless eyes of a predator, was unreadable, and resolute in what he was about to do.

The Dorleoni heaved a sigh, and resigned himself to fate. He was well and truly dragooned into the bounty hunter's strategy, and fully believed Yavobo's threat to drug him unconscious if he continued to protest.

If worse comes to worst, he reassured himself, I can always get a message to Adahn. I'm sure of it.

That thought made him fidget, too. The crime boss would not be happy that Karuu knew where to find him. His address was not something he gave out to business associates, and it had been only the smuggler's insatiable curiosity—and urge to have something on everyone—that had prompted him to research Adahn's number. Netrunners had made several tries before they pinned down the destination of that call code, and one had died in the effort.

Yet surely his arrival would not be unwelcome, the Dorleoni comforted himself. By now Adahn must have heard of the fiasco on Selmun III, and would be wondering where his most profitable Holdout had gotten to. He could not be too angry, when he found out Karuu was alive and his secrets were safe.

The smuggler kept that reassurance in the forefront of his mind as Yavobo docked at the Bekavra orbital station. By the time inspectors boarded the scout, Karuu was secured in the galley/ lounge area, wearing his static bonds with an expression of dread j that was not feigned.

"So you're a bounty hunter?" the port inspector asked Yavobo, reviewing his datapad.

The alien grunted, and waited for the inspection to proceed.

"What'd he do?" The Customs man made a cursory check of storage lockers, glancing at Karuu as if the Dorleoni were cargo.'

"Wanted for smuggling." Yavobo measured his words, yielding the minimum possible.

The official reassessed harmless-looking Karuu, continued into the small, empty cargo bay, and out again as rapidly. A bounty hunter who arrested smugglers was not likely to be smuggling himself; the inspector dismissed the
Deathclaw
as a vessel warranting serious inspection.

The Port Authority officer thumb-printed the datapad and associated landing permits. "Do you need arrangements for an escort, or a holding cell?" The man glanced back at Karuu.

"No."

"Here you are, then." The inspector handed back the datapad. "If you change your mind, the Ministry of Justice in Peshtano issues any licenses you'll need. With your record, you shouldn't have a problem getting one."

Yavobo inclined his head, saw the inspectors silently to the airlock. When they had gone, he lost no time in gaining clearance and departing the orbital dock.

"Well?" asked Karuu. "Aren't you going to release me?"

His heart sank as Yavobo refused to look at him. "Stay there. We will soon be on the ground. You remain my prisoner until we are out of the port area and well into the city."

That's what Karuu was afraid of. He sat, slumped, and struggled to belt his webbing in place with bound wrists. The Aztra-khani offered no help.

Play it your way, my friend, Karuu thought. You won't be so in charge of things once Adahn gets his hooks in you.

His bristling mustache turned up at the ends.

We'll see how you like things then.

"Salutations, Mr. Harric. It is I, your long-lost associate." Friend? Servant? Karuu had agonized over the right choice of words, though it was too late to make a difference to the agitated stream that poured from his mouth. "I am in touch once more, as you see. I have much to tell, and am desirous to be telling. What should I be doing, as you wish?"

Karuu wrung his webbed fingers below the line of sight of the vid pickup. The viewscreen remained blank, as it always did during his calls to this number. After Adahn's initial greeting and the Dorleoni's burst of words, there was silence on the channel. The Holdout shifted weight from one flipper foot to the other, awaiting acknowledgment from his master.

"Where are you calling from?" Suspicion tinged Adahn's slow words.

"Um ..." The Holdout swallowed. "We're near Belitcia. In a park north of the river."

"We?"

Damn. How to explain the bounty hunter?

"The person who helped me get away is—"

"Save it until we see each other." Adahn's voice was cold, decisive. "You're in Vordenya Park, are you?"

"That may be the—" Karuu looked to Yavobo, outside the com booth, who nodded when he heard the name. "That is where we are, yes. By the waterfall pond."

"Stay there. I'll have someone pick you up. Look for a secure skimmer."

"Secure?" Karuu wasn't certain what he meant by that.

"Armored. Screen-shielded."

"Ah. Secure."

"Within the hour. Don't move."

"No, sir." The blank screen stayed blank, and Karuu could tell by the click of the resetting link that Adahn had disconnected. He leaned half out of the booth, looked up at the towering bounty hunter. "A ride is on the way."

Yavobo crossed his arms on his chest. "Good," he said. Blocking Karuu inside the com booth, he faced the road approaching the pond and settled down to wait.

The
bulldog queried
the Net, and the record of Behr's investments spread itself in the air before them. It was obvious that the Governor-General made hefty returns on his money.

Captain Brace looked more closely, ran a calculation in his cyberdeck. "Something's not right, Zip," the agent said.
"He
beats the market."

"Sure he does. Wish I could invest like that."

"No. I mean, he
beats
it. The chances of earning dividends like that in the last two months alone are 727,800 to 1. More or less."

The bulldog snuffled at the graphed payouts. "How?"

"Exactly. Let's look at the stock companies and megacorps involved, and their performance records."

That produced a revealing graph. The bulldog craned his neck upward to study it. "They don't match."

"Astute, my stubby friend," Brace agreed. "They don't. When Lovana Shipping loses money in a quarter, Behr gets a dividend check as if their stock had gone through the roof. The same with most of these other firms."

"And I can ... what?"

"This series of deposits." He refreshed the virtual display once more. "Do a pattern analysis on it. Obviously it's not tied to stock performance. Maybe it matches something else."

Zippo snuffled his agreement. The two parted ways, each armed with high-level security overrides, each taking a different path that led farther into the labyrinth of global finances.

A subsurface convoy
escorted freighters east through little-used Bennap Run. Scouts swept surrounding waters and sensor scans pulsed the ocean, checking for the approach of Gambru League marauders. It was not a question of when they would strike, just where.

The convoy came upon the "where" of it momentarily. Four large-profile leviathans were clearly outlined on sensor screens, surging upwards from the cold-water chasm at the edge of Bennap Shelf. The submarine security force hired by Lovana Shipping reported their readings. Surface freighters began evasive maneuvers, a broken, randomly zigzagging pattern, while submerged craft fanned out in the direction of the approaching attackers.

The borgbeasts were distracted by the hydroskiffs, and paused to plunge after their gadfly opponents in short, powerful underwater lunges. The skiffs evaded, firing explosive missile rounds at point-blank range.

The beasts, tipped off by sensor devices inside their AI-enhanced craniums, avoided the rounds. Jamming circuits radiated countermeasure distortions at high intensity in the nearby area. Missiles skewed off-course or exploded prematurely; skiff sensors picked up ghost images and spurious readings.

The borgbeasts retreated, drawing off some of the Lovana security vessels. Other skiffs remained with the convoy they guarded, confused by false sensor images, unable to halt the three other leviathans that emerged from warm-water thermals and sped toward the evading freighters. Two ships sank outright; one listed and went under by time the alien life-forms retreated. It was another victory for the Gambru League, another nose-thumbing at the would-be protectors of surface shipping.

Master Swimmer Sharptooth gathered with his podmates in the Bennap chasm. The seven who participated in the attack regrouped there, the joy of battle gleaming in the leviathans' small, intelligent eyes. The Vernoi swam away from their companion beasts, and gathered together for a mid-ocean conference.

"Where were you, Swimmer Brightfang?" Sharptooth addressed a laggard figure in the whistles and clicks of their water-borne language. "Four were to strike the airships. Two vessels escaped us, because of your delay."

Brightfang swam to the edges of the group, hung listlessly in cloudy green water. "I know not why we delayed, my life-friend and I," the Vernoi confessed. "I am tired, so tired ... I don't know why." The others sculled uneasily. They were all tired, more than they should be, but it was not their way to admit weakness, to be a burden on the pod. Brightfang spoke truth for all.