Pirates of the Outrigger Rift (14 page)

“Well, I …”

“Not that it matters. I just want us to be clear.” Brock
smiled. “For the moment, let me give you some sincere friendly advice. I would
suggest you eat. It will help you keep up your strength, and you’re going to
need to stay healthy during this ordeal. I understand that they’re going to
come interrogate you. I don’t know what information they’re trying to get, but
they will get it. They are primitive here. They don’t use mind probes. I know
for a fact that they’re capable of carving you up. There’s no way that you can
avoid telling them what they need to know, so just do it straight away and save
yourself from mutilation.”

Helen smirked. “You’re just telling me that to get into my
head. Manipulate me.”

Brock sighed. “I can see how you’d think that way, but you’re
a smart woman. If you sit and consider my words for a while, I think you’ll
come to the conclusion that I’m right. At least I hope so for your sake. Bon
appétit, milady.”

Stunned, Helen watched Brock walk away. Her feelings were
evenly divided between frustration at this new, incorruptible guard, and relief
that there might at least be one human being on this rock with whom she could
have an intelligent conversation.

Either way, it complicated any hope of an escape attempt.

“You can’t be serious,” Sai said, following Hank out of the
cockpit into the galley.

“Serious as a case of Vegan Clap,” Hank said. He opened
drawers and ransacked through his belongings. “Elsa, have you seen that outfit
I bought on Dar Es Salaam?”

Elsa didn’t bother answering.

“But why?” Sai said. “Wouldn’t it be smarter just to get out
of here?”

“Maybe, but the state he’s in right now, I guarantee he’d
report our location to Security and they’d get a good fix on us. I’ve gotta see
if I can head that off.” Hank turned away from her and tore into another pile
of clothing. “I could have already found it, but you went and cleaned up the
place. I had everything organized. This pile here was for … well, I don’t remember,
but I know these socks don’t belong.”

“How long will it take you? What do I do if you don’t come
back?”

“Aha! I knew it had to be around here somewhere.” Hank
grabbed an armful of white cloth and stepped into the airlock, changing. “It
should only take me about twenty minutes or so. Elsa, finish the refuel and get
us ready to get out of here.” He stopped and looked at Sai. “I don’t have time
to explain this right now, and I’m not sure you’d understand anyway. Tazi
Lippman, he’s not really a bad guy. He’s just in a tight spot right now. And
like most of us, he’s his own worst enemy. I think I can talk him out of
informing on us. If so, it will be that much less we have to worry about. If
not … well, we won’t be much worse off, will we?”

“What if you paid him the money? I have some. I’d hoped to
buy a new life, but I won’t
have
a life if Security finds me.”

Hank nodded. “Best case, Tazi would convert that money to
stims and kill himself. Problem is, I’m not convinced that he wouldn’t report
us anyway. I need to talk to him and get him to see reason.”

“But what if something happens before you get back? What if Security
shows up?”

Hank smiled. “Elsa knows what to do. Don’t you?”

“Sure,” Elsa said. “I know, but still, Hank, I think she’s
right. And, for your information, Tazi
used
to be a good man. Now he’s a
piece of filth.”

“See? You two are starting to see eye to eye after all.” He
grinned, but his smile soon faded when he realized that he had failed to
lighten the mood. He sighed and shook his head. “Sorry, this is just something
I have to do.”

“Fine. If you’re going, I’m going, too.”

Hank shook his head. “No, you have to stay here. There’s a
price on your head, remember?”

“There’s a price on your head, too.”

Hank shrugged and finished changing in his cabin. He came
back into the galley wearing a long white
thobe
and a
ghutra
to
cover his face.

“You look ridiculous,” Sai said.

“I look like a local. No sense making it easy to identify
me.” Hank opened the cargo ramp and waved as he walked outside. “Keep it locked
down until I get back. Be ready to dust off fast.” He stepped off the ramp and
keyed it closed.

The door shut in Sai’s face. She trudged back to the cockpit
and fell into the copilot’s chair. “Terrific. Here we sit while he runs off on
a fool’s errand.”

“Try not to be too hard on him, Sai. You have to understand;
Lippman used to be Hank’s partner. They had a falling out and went their
separate ways. Hank has kept his head above water, barely, and Tazi couldn’t. I
think he feels responsible.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“He knows that. That’s why he won’t admit it, even to
himself. But I know Hank.”

Sai shook her head. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, Lippman
is a prick.”

“Damn straight.”

Sai laughed. “Sorry I was so rude before. I’ve been through
a lot in the last few days.”

“Don’t mention it,” Elsa said. “We girls have to stick
together.”

“I suppose we do.” Sai looked up at the viewscreen, which
displayed dockworkers loading a ship adjacent to theirs. “Elsa, you know what I
am.”

“Yes, how could I not know? You were wriggling your way into
my brain with your nosy cyber-psi skills when you first came on board.”

Sai shrugged. “Sorry, just habit. Most people look around
the room, look at the pictures on the wall. I also do a sweep to see what kind
of computer systems and hardware are working. It’s a survival skill. It’s saved
me before.”

“I forgive you, Sai. I know you didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You actually remind me a lot of Dirion. He was once a man
who became more. You were once a physical entity, a flesh-and-blood human as
well?”

“In some ways it’s a shame that your Dirion couldn’t have
made the transition. I was lucky. Hank saved me.”

“I am glad you feel that way. I’m not sure how I’d feel if I
lost my body but kept my mind.”

“Hank and I knew each other when I was flesh. We knew each
other well,” Elsa said.

“How well?”

“We were partners in the Scouts. A two-person ship. Mapping,
cataloging, first contact a couple of times with proto-intelligent creatures.
We didn’t find the mother lode of advanced societies that some teams have, but
we did all right. We made a lot of people rich and discovered a few new worlds
to farm. We worked together, lived together.

“What happened? How did you end up … as you are?”

“An accident. We were refueling on a fringe outpost and the
equipment was antiquated. There was a plasma explosion. I was severely injured.
Hank saved me … or what was left.

“Back at the nearest Confed base they patched up what pieces
they could save. My mind was intact, but my body … they replaced what they
could, and things worked okay for a while. But the pain never went away.
Sometimes I would just shut down and lose control and I would lie in my own
piss and filth. Hank would save me again. Clean me up and wait until it passed.
But eventually it was too much.”

“What happened?”

“Hank had done some checking, and some Confed researchers
were recovering technology from the old empire. There is so much that has been
forgotten. Some of it for good reason—it was diabolical. But some could be
beneficial to the Confed. He came to me with a suggestion. I had been at the
point of killing myself. To me, this is a good afterlife. I get to spend time
with Hank. For all his childishness he is a wonderful man, good and true. And I
get to fly free in space and keep traveling. The pain is gone, and I am by all
practical measurements happy.”

“Do you love Hank?”

Elsa laughed, and the sound of her voice bounced around the
cockpit. “Of course. The question is, my dear, do you?”

“Of course I don’t love him,” Sai said.

“No, not yet. But I think you could.”

Sai shook her head. “I’ve never really loved anyone. Well,
Dirion, but that was different. He was my father.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t love. It simply means you’re
probably more in need of love than most people.”

“But still, I hardly know him.”

“I understand. But I’m still a woman. I’ve already seen that
the more you come to realize the man he is, the more you trust him. For you,
trust is love. In fact, you may find love easier than trust.”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s all right, Sai. I won’t tell him. But if you want him
to know, you’re going to have to tell him. He’ll never figure it out himself.
He’s a man.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

H
ank arranged to meet Lippman in a public place, the small
park just outside the trading house. It was one of the few areas of greenery on
Jonesy. Delicate palm fronds shaded rows of verdant undergrowth. Narrow paths
crisscrossed the park, their twists and turns allowing park goers to lose
themselves in the cool shadows. The park was not well maintained and the
greenery had begun to take over everything.

Hank sat at the edge of the algae-choked central fountain
waiting impatiently. He wore a tiny earpiece, his link with Elsa, just in case
anything went wrong. He hoped it would stay quiet.

He checked the time. Lippman was already five minutes late. Of
course, Lippman had never been on time for anything in his life. That was
another reason why he had been a lousy free-trader.

Hank spotted him shortly thereafter, nervously making his
way through the crowd, looking behind him every few seconds. His eyes locked
with Hank’s and he approached the fountain.

“It’s a good thing you decided to show,” Lippman said,
sitting next to Hank, “otherwise I would have gotten pissed off. You wouldn’t
want—”

“Kiss my ass,” Hank said. He moved aside the
ghutra
covering his face and stood. “If you think for one solid minute that I’m afraid
of you, you’re deluding yourself. I’m here for two reasons. Number one is to
save myself the hassle of having to dodge another goon squad when it can be
avoided, and the second reason is to save your ass.”

“Hold on, don’t you mess with me. All I have to do is make
one call.”

“And what? You make the call, I space out. They can’t stop
me in time. They don’t know where I’m going. Do you think they’ll pay you a
single credit for helping them if the girl gets away? They’d be more likely to
break your knees for not notifying them when I first landed. And if they find
out that you’ve talked to me before calling them, you’re a dead man. Either
way, you lose.”

Lippman shook his head. Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran
down his cheeks. “No, you’ve got things turned around. I hold all the cards. I
want that reward. You owe me.”

Hank sighed. “How’s that? Just because you’ve bottomed out
and I haven’t yet? Because life isn’t fair? Hell, Tazi, I’ve probably helped
you more than any spacer alive. How many times have I bought you a meal or
given you clothes off my back?”

“Yeah, but you never coughed up a credit. You have that
condescending attitude as if I can’t be trusted with money.”

“Well, can you? Have you ever gotten a handout that you didn’t
cash in at the nearest bar for stims or liquor?”

Lippman sputtered. “But … but that’s not the point. I
can hurt you. You have to pay! You’re lying about all of this!”

Hank stood and dug out a credit stick. “Here, Tazi. Here’s a
hundred credits. Prove me wrong. I suggest you get a good dinner, get yourself
cleaned up, and try to find a job. You’re a lot smarter than you’ve been acting
lately. Here’s another chance for life—don’t piss it away.”

Lippman grabbed the stick out of his hand, but he wasn’t
happy with it. “I want more. I want a thousand! You may talk big, but you’re
full of shit. You’re bluffing, and I’m not stupid enough to go for it.”

Hank nodded. “All right. You have two more options. You can
contact Security and die quick. Or you can use that hundred up on more poison
and die slow.”

Lippman exploded in anger. He rushed forward, his hands
grabbing for Hank’s throat. With a sudden sidestep and a half turn, Hank
deflected Lippman’s arms and pushed him in the direction of his momentum. Lippman
stumbled and fell to the street.

Onlookers gathered to watch the fight, muttering to one
another and pointing at Lippman, who stumbled to his feet.

“Damn you!” Lippman screamed and swung a fist at Hank.

Hank dodged the blow and sank a short, powerful punch
directly in the center of Lippman’s face.

Lippman froze and fell back on his rear end, dazed. Then he
bent forward and began to throw up.

Hank walked away. “Elsa, I’m headed back. Make sure we’re
ready to take off when I get there.”

“Is he going to turn us in?”

“I don’t know,” Hank said, hoping that Lippman might wise up
after he recovered from the punch. “But either way, I plan on us being offworld
before he gets a chance.”

Lippman still tasted blood. His nose throbbed and he probed
a loose tooth with his tongue. Hank Jensen, big man. Well, he was going to show
Hank just how small he really was.

He went to a public comlink and inserted the credit stick
Hank had just given him. The machine deducted its fee and he put the stick back
into his pocket. It was ironic that Jensen’s stinking charity was paying for
his downfall.

The call connected, but the visual was blacked out as a man’s
voice answered. “What do you have for me?”

“This is Tazi Lippman on Jonesy. Hank Jensen and Sai Collins
are here at the starport in Delta City. Come and get them.”

“You sure it’s them?”

“I know Jensen. I used to be friends with the bastard. It’s
him all right. I live at the Carlton on Epsilon Street. I’ll be home later this
afternoon waiting for my reward.”

“We’ll check it out. If you’re playing games with us, you’ll
regret it.”

“No games. Just be ready to pay up.”

He ended the call. “Screw you, Jensen.”

Four hours later they came to the Carlton. Hank Jensen and
the
Elsa
had already shipped out by that time, and they knew that
Lippman had met Hank in the park, tipping him off with his extortion attempt. They
were not in a forgiving mood. He got his reward in the form of a shot to the
forehead. Word was put out on the location of the
Elsa
and the noose
tightened a bit more.

Lippman had beaten the odds. He didn’t die broke. He still
had five credits left on the stick Hank had given him, and a half-empty bottle
of whiskey as his estate.

They called
him Thorne. If he’d ever had a first name, no one knew it. Nor would they dare
utter it if they did know. He liked being called Thorne, and if you knew what
was healthy for you, you stayed on his good side. Some people insisted that
Thorne didn’t have a good side.

Thorne’s
passion was piracy. He loved the power. Loved the way it felt to blast someone’s
ship, then board it and take what he wanted. He loved the respect that fear
gave him.

Thorne
enjoyed attacking lone ships, but given the choice he’d opt for caravans. He
and his crew had once stumbled across a caravan, and they were so complete in
their theft and destruction that they attracted the attention of someone with
real power.

It was
common knowledge that Thorne respected power. He was a man who took whatever he
wanted wherever he wanted, and not only did he get away with it, but no one would
ever challenge him. While that felt great, Thorne knew he lacked the kind of
power his mystery friend at Nebulaco had.

When the
first message from the informant had been delivered to him, Thorne wasn’t sure
whether or not to believe it. It came from the lips of a small, unimposing man,
a common beggar. But the credits the messenger delivered, a token of the
informant’s esteem, gave credence to the story.

The informant
rarely communicated with Thorne’s forces directly. The informant had a
complicated network, each group using one or two contacts to pass information
up and down through the organization. No one knew who the informant really was,
and those who asked too many questions didn’t live long.

The first
time Thorne acted on information from this mysterious informant, his main
concern was that the raid he was planning was some sort of trap. The lightly
guarded caravan might be a Confed task force trying to clean up the sector.

But Thorne
couldn’t resist the opportunity. He and his crew flew over to the quadrant
where this caravan was supposed to be, and sure enough, the informant’s
information was dead-on. So Thorne attacked, and the payday was tremendous.

The
informant didn’t want any of the money, but Thorne knew he must have earned a
profit somehow.

Mostly,
Thorne loved the way the media reacted. They were fearful and awestruck. That
had not always been the case.

Years ago, a
reporter on the planet Sumter made the mistake of calling Thorne an
insignificant coward. He said Thorne attacked only ships with no real firepower
and that he would never be anything more than an irritant to the public. He
suggested that someone swat him down like the buzzing insect that he was.

The next
day, Thorne strode into the studio where this reporter was on the air
broadcasting his newscast to the civilized worlds. Security tried to stop him,
but Thorne simply shot them. He walked right up to the pest and smiled. “Those
things you said about me. Tell me to my face.”

The reporter
nearly had a heart attack, but Thorne wouldn’t let him off so easy. He hacked
the man to pieces with an antiquated sword, live on the air, then turned to the
camera. “Anyone else wants to call me a coward, go right ahead and you’ll get a
nice personal visit as well.”

Since then,
while the press didn’t sing his praises, they certainly spoke with respect. He
had all his men carry a sword as a symbol of what he would do to those who
crossed him. And now, thanks to the informant, he got more press than ever, and
more money than ever. So much so that he never even considered breaking away.

Now Thorne
sat at the head of the table enjoying a party thrown in his honor by his crew. He
had a woman on either side of him, a huge plate of food, and a giant flask of
Aldeberon whiskey. His bald head glistened in the light, and the girls took
turns plucking bits of food from his mustache.

A messenger
entered the room, squeezed past the revelers, and handed a note to Glenn Manter,
Thorne’s right-hand man. No messenger would dare interrupt Thorne.

Glenn
glanced at the note and nodded, then moved through the throng to the head of
the table. Glenn held up the sealed communiqué. “It’s from the informant.”

Thorne took
the communiqué and broke open the seal, reading it.

“Do we have
a new assignment, or is it about the Randol woman?” Glenn asked.

“Actually,
it asks a favor. The informant wants us to patrol for a ship heading from
Jonesy to Trent, the
Elsa
, piloted by Hank Jensen and carrying a woman
named Sai Collins. He doesn’t have the flight plan on this one, but the route
is common. He wants us to send out raiders to destroy the ship, chase down any
life pods, and make sure there are no survivors.”

Thorne
lowered the note. “Hank Jensen, that sounds familiar. Was that the son of a
bitch who took a shot at me in the starport bar on Calico?”

“One and the
same,” Glenn said.

“I thought
he was dead.”

“Apparently
not.”

“He will be
soon. I always hated that cocky bastard.”

“Does the
message say why the informant wants them dead?”