Night's Pawn (13 page)

"You, sir," he boomed, "owe me money."

Chase shook his head and leaped from the truck to the ground. "And you, sir, have a shit-poor memory."

The black man slid down the sloped, metal side of the T-bird and landed in front of Chase. "No I don't. I bought dinner last in Phoenix."

Chase smiled and walked straight up to him. "Yeah, and I bailed everybody out afterward." Their noses all but touched. The black man had eaten recently.

"That doesn't count," he said and grinned.

"Oh, right, I keep forgetting." Chase grabbed the other man by the shoulders and embraced him warmly, a bear hug his friend returned with several slaps on the back.

Cara walked up behind them. "Better watch it. People will talk, you know."

They both grinned. "Let them, chica," the black man said. "I've kicked a lot more ass than I've—"

Chase cut him off with a shove. "If I might handle the introductions," he said, "that sprawled gentleman is Ryan Blanchard, gunner and tactical ops for this hunk of metal."

Blanchard waved at Cara from the ground. Chase's shove had knocked him into the shadow of the T-bird and he'd decided to stay there.

"Hunk of metal, is it, then?" said one of the two still on the vehicle. A man in his mid-forties, he was just slightly younger than Chase, but thinner and looking more world-weary. "That's not how you should be talkin' about her, all things considered."

"And what might those things be?" Chase yelled up to him, before leaning closer to Cara. "Pete Gordani, pilot," he told her.

"Well, mainly that you're gonna be wanting to hire us."

"Oh?" said Chase.

Gordani grinned. "You sure as hell didn't come wandering down here just to say howdy."

"I might have."

"Yeah, right," said Blanchard, now reclining comfortably against one of the T-bird's wheel guards. It used three wheels, tricycle-style, for ground maneuvering.

Chase glanced down at the black man, then stepped forward, up and over him and onto the T-bird.

"Hey! Watch that!" yelled Blanchard after rolling clear to avoid being stepped on. "That's sensitive electronics you're using as a step ladder."

Chase gave him a look. "Don't give me that crap. It's where the tool box is stored."

"Hey," said Blanchard, "we might have changed something, you know."

"If you did, you should have painted a warning note on it." Chase had reached the top of the wedge-shaped vehicle and was clasping hands with Gordani, who gave him a big grin.

Just behind him, partially hidden the whole time by the weapon hardpoint, was the third member of the crew. Krista Freid gave Chase a nod and a smile as he stood with Gordani. "You'll excuse me if I don't shake your hand, Church, but I'm kinda using both of mine to hang on at the moment."

"Understandable, given the circumstances. How've you been?"

"Pretty wiz, considering that half the Aztlan army just tried to dust us."

Chase smiled and was about to reply, but Gordani spoke first. "Your social skills seem to have deteriorated since we last saw you."

Chase looked at him. "Oh?"

The pilot gestured down at the ground where Blanchard had begun talking quietly to Cara.

"Cara," Chase called. "I guess I never finished my introductions."

She looked up at him and folded her hands across her chest. "It's wiz. I'll just ignore you sometime in the future."

"I've already introduced Mister Ryan Blanchard, former conscript in the army of the California Free State and now gunner and tactician for this bird."

"I already told her that," yelled Blanchard.

"Well," said Chase, "now she's heard it from somebody she can trust."

Blanchard flipped Chase the finger.

"Thank you." Chase pointed at Gordani. "This is Peterson Gordani—"

"Pete is fine."

"Glad to hear it.
Pete
Gordani, as I've also already told you, is the pilot. He and I go a ways back."

Gordani nodded. "Yeah, I know at least three of the names he uses."

Cara seemed surprised to hear this and looked at up at Chase, who shrugged. "I get around," he said.

"Anyway," he continued, "there's one person you can't see from where you are, so you'll have to take my word that it's Krista Freid." Chase leaned over and pointed to the far side of the weapon mount. He started. Freid was gone.

When he looked back it was just in time to see Freid extending her hand to Cara. Though Freid was significantly taller than Cara, much of the intimidation factor was lost by the fact that she was rail-thin. Her long, sharp, face was topped by close-cropped black hair. Unlike the rest of the crew, she wore what most closely resembled a flight suit, though one made of black leather. An interesting choice for the desert, Chase thought.

"Freid is a mage," he said, as the two women shook hands.

Cara dropped Freid's hand and took an involuntary step backward, at which Freid grinned. "I know what you mean," she said to Cara. "Most mages scare me too."

Cara looked uncomfortable. "I didn't mean that…"

"Null perspiration," said Freid. "Like I said, I know how you feel." She turned toward Gordani. "I'll leave the bird to you guys and see if I can find the two Richs."

Gordani nodded. "Wiz. Blast their butts over here."

"Done," she said, and with a nod to Cara, walked off toward some of the buildings.

"So," Chase said, "sounded like you guys had quite a ride." He looked down at the
Rapier's Touch as
he spoke. It was covered in dust, with big chunks of dirt and scrub brush caked along its sides. There were clusters of bullet nicks in a few places, too, with at least one significant hit to the rear of the vehicle where a decent amount of armor had been peeled away. The plating had held, though; the armor damage seemed to be the extent of it. The weapon hardpoint they were standing near was another thing entirely.

Chase didn't know what had hit it, but whatever it was had been strong enough to tear through hardened armor and shred the weapon inside. It might once have been some sort of heavy rotary cannon, but now it looked like no more than randomly twisted metal.

"You might say that," Gordani agreed. "Would have been clean and sweet except we ran right over a fraggin' Azzie Land Rover. Until then they knew we were out there, but couldn't pin us down."

"I pelted it as quick as I could, but the alarm'd already gone out," said Blanchard. He was sitting on the edge of the T-bird now, a few steps away from Cara.

"We took a missile in the butt a couple of seconds later," continued Gordani, "which should have hurt us nasty. Lucky for us I was in the middle of a hard turn, which made it hit us at a pretty bad angle."

"What happened to the turret?" asked Cara.

"We came up out of a depression at the wrong time," said Blanchard. "Chopper fired a rocket volley at us. Most missed, but one or two tagged the hardpoint. We were lucky again; I was in the middle of swapping ammo feeds when we got hit. If there'd been live ammo in the turret it could have been worse."

Chase grinned. "Sounds like you used up a lot of karma today."

"Sure did," Gordani agreed. "But we'll make up for it in cold, hard cash."

"What were you carrying?"

Gordani shrugged. "Couldn't really say."

"Got it," said Chase, knowing not to pry further. "How long do you expect to be down?"

"Oh, you're in a rush, I take it?"

"Kind of. Cara and I have to get to Denver."

Gordani's eyebrows went up. "Cara?" he asked, and turned to look at her standing next to T-bird. "The young lady you haven't introduced yet?"

Chase groaned. "Sorry. Gentlemen, this is Cara. I think we'll leave it as simply 'Cara' for now. She and I have to get to Denver."

Gordani looked at Cara a moment longer and she shifted uncomfortably. He turned back to Chase. "Looks like I won't be knowing what my cargo is again."

"Big shock, eh?" said Blanchard.

Gordani shrugged. "Most of the damage is easily repairable," he told Chase, picking up the thread of the discussion. "Say, twenty-four hours once the Richs get started."

"The problem is going to be that cannon," said Blanchard. "It may be tough to replace. How soon do you need to leave?"

"As soon as possible," said Chase.

"If anybody around here's got a spare one," Gordani said, "we can have it in about the same time the armor and hardpoint are fixed, assuming you've got the cash to up for it."

"I do."

The pilot nodded. "That'll help. If there isn't one around, it could be drek knows how many days before we can get one. I don't want to go back up against the Azzie with only a pair of medium machine guns and a spitting load of missiles."

"The Azzies?" asked Chase. "I figured we'd go direct across into Pueblo Council lands, through old New Mexico, then ride the Rockies up to Denver."

Blanchard shook his head. "You got the last part right, but there isn't any way we're going to use the UCAS-Pueblo border."

Chase looked from one to the other. "Why not?"

"Too tough these days. Pueblo's got one of the best security nets out here. Why chance it when we don't have to?"

Gordani nodded. "We've got much better intelligence about the Aztlan border—where the listening posts and sensors are, and such. Plus, the typical Aztlan soldier isn't as gung ho as those Pueblo border braves; they're not as willing to really trash it out."

"So what we do is run south into Aztlan," continued Blanchard. "Make it look like we're heading deep, but then swing west, very quietly, and then north again. We'll cross into Pueblo somewhere north of old Las Cruces."

"But I thought you didn't want to deal with the Pueblo border."

Gordani leaned closer to Chase and almost whispered. "Kinda hard to get anywhere west of here without going through Pueblo."

"I understand that; I've seen a map recently."

"See, it's this way," Blanchard said. "Pueblo and UCAS are friendly, but economics being what they are, Pueblo really frowns on any kind of illicit trading and so clamps down on the border pretty heavy. It's also to control illegal immigration. The western part of Texas is pretty depressed. Lots of people have been trying to sneak across and get work in Pueblo."

"I'm sure that thrills them."

Blanchard laughed. "Chip-truth. So, the Pueblo-UCAS border's pretty tough to punch through. The Pueblo-Aztlan border, on the other hand, is wide open—for us anyway."

"There're pretty heavy forces on both sides of the border, but mostly they're there just to stare each other down," said Gordani. "The Azzies have mostly heavy units, dug in, and fielded with old sensor gear. Stuff's good for noticing a division rolling a cross the border, but not much use for noticing a tiny T-bird running fast and quiet."

Chase nodded. "But what about the Pueblo side?"

"Well, they're not real friendly with the Azzies," Blanchard said, "which means they're more than willing to ignore anything being smuggled
into
Aztlan. The Azzies hate it every time another load of cheap Pueblo electronics hits the streets."

"So they just let you by?"

"More or less." Blanchard looked at his partner. "Unless they have some reason to be looking for a particular T-bird or cargo."

"Will that be a problem?" asked Gordani.

"I don't think so," said Chase. "The people I'm worried about don't have any real pull in Pueblo."

The other two men nodded. "Good," said Gordani, "then the only other thing we need to worry about is how much this is going to cost you."

Chase grinned. "And here I thought you'd do it for old times' sake."

"Uh-uh, chummer," said Blanchard, shaking his head. "Not as long as you still owe me money."

11

Chase had tried twice during dinner to bring up the subject of Cara's apparent BTL problems, but both times she'd belligerently put off his questions. He knew that the only way he was going to get any real answers would be to pressure her, but he hated to. If Cara's denial of the problem was as strong as it seemed, then pushing her too hard might make her panic and go back to trying to handle her father's problem alone. When they got to Seattle and talked to her mother, he'd try to pass on the word about Cara's problem and also recommend the name of a place where he knew she could get help. He suspected, though, that Samantha Villiers would have more than enough ideas of her own on that subject.