Pirates of the Outrigger Rift (9 page)

“It’s complicated.”

“It always is,” Chandler said.

Randol nodded. “Five years ago I sponsored Frederick Casey
to the position of director of security. I thought he had great potential—all-the-way-up-the-ladder
kind of potential. When the pirate Thorne started the attacks against Nebulaco,
Casey recognized early on that there must have been a leak high up in the
corporation. I was the only lord he trusted to keep in the loop as his
investigation progressed. Neither Oke nor Hemming inspire confidence.”

Chandler nodded. “From all I’ve heard about them they’re
idiots.”

“Please, Mr. Chandler. They are lords and deserving of a
modicum of respect for that fact alone.”

Chandler shrugged and Randol continued.

“Casey was sure that the only hope of success lay in an
internal investigation. The Confed patrols were ineffective. Thorne doesn’t
just wander around looking for targets. For the last three years, every raid
has been a directed strike. A quick surgical action in and out, almost no
chance of being caught. All of our Trojan horse missions—heavily armed ships
disguised as merchants—have failed. In any event, we also realized that there
was great potential for personal danger. Therefore, we established a protocol
for any and all evidence that he had obtained to be delivered to me upon his
death.”

“And I take it that Casey is dead and the courier woman has
this evidence?”

Randol’s hologram nodded. “An allegation was brought forward
that Casey was the one leaking information to Thorne. Before any hearing or
review of the evidence Casey was found dead. Reportedly a suicide.”

“I take it that you aren’t buying it.”

“It’s ridiculous. He must have gotten too close and the
traitor killed him,” Randol said. “I need someone I can trust to help me, Mr.
Chandler. There isn’t a soul working for the corporation that I rely on
completely. I’ve been betrayed too many times.”

“I can see that. Your courier was ambushed at a secret
meeting. The route of your yacht was compromised. Yeah, you’re in trouble. But
we do have a few things to look for. Typically, pirates aren’t wasteful. The
ship would be too precious to destroy, and since they obviously know who your
daughter is, she is likely safe enough for now. They’ll hold out for a ransom. The
question is, how much would you pay to get your daughter back?”

“Mr. Chandler, I may be ruthless in aspects of business, but
I would give up everything for my daughter.”

Chandler bowed his head for a moment, then met Randol’s eyes
and held them. “You realize that no matter how much you give up, they’re
unlikely to release her alive.”

Randol shifted uncomfortably as if the thought had been
pounding in his brain, but he refused to acknowledge it. He looked away and
closed his eyes. Finally, he turned back to Chandler. He nodded. “That’s where
you come in.”

Chandler’s comlink vibrated. He looked at the source
information. “I don’t know this ID, but it’s coded urgent.” He hit the button
to take the call. The viewscreen displayed the image of the girl from the bar.

“Chandler?” the girl said. “We were supposed to meet earlier
at Tyree’s.”

Chandler looked up at Randol and smiled.

“The mysterious courier. I’m glad to know you’re still
alive.”

“I’d like to finish my run and make the drop. Can you meet
me somewhere?”

“I’m on my way to the dock. You can try to meet me at my
ship, the
Marlowe.
It’s berth twenty-seven on dock D. I can be there
in about an hour.”

“Got it.”

“Someone sold us out, so there may be people watching. If
for some reason you can’t make the drop … hold on.” Chandler muted the
circuit and looked up at Randol. “What’s your secondary location?”

“At this point, all attempts at stealth are pointless. Just
have her bring it to me directly.”

Chandler nodded and unmuted the com. “If you can’t deliver
it to me here, take the data directly to Lord Randol of Nebulaco. Book passage
to Trent. Lord Randol is on the third moon, Mordi. Ask for his security head,
Jorgeson. Randol will be expecting you.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Be careful. You’re a lucky one, but sooner or later luck
runs out.”

Chandler ended the call. “Well, that simplifies things. If I
get the package, I’ll hand deliver it to you on Trent, then while your people go
over it, I can start working on finding Helen.”

“The floater can take you back to your ship, but feel
free to utilize it as you will while on Raken. In addition, I’m setting up a
meeting for you with Vincent Maxwell, the head of Nebulaco Security. While I
don’t fully trust him, he’ll have more information for you about the
Aurelius
.”
A credit stick slid out of a slot on the console. “If you need to purchase
equipment or supplies, simply use this. I will be available if you need to
contact me.”

Chandler snagged the chip and grunted a reply.

“Good luck, Mr. Chandler,” Randol said as his holo image
faded, leaving Chandler alone in the limo.

Lords and security, couriers and betrayals. Confed patrols
and pirates. This whole thing was spiraling out of control. But, other than a
bump on the head, he couldn’t complain about much. The pay was good. He cocked
open an eye and looked around him. The fringe benefits were excellent so far. Chandler
reached for a miniature bottle of Blackjack, cracked the tiny seal, and took a
drink.

Still, it made him uncomfortable to be running with the big
dogs. He was more the cheating-husband locator, the insurance-scam
investigator. All this was over his head. But, in spite of the fancy trappings,
there was a rat somewhere. He was a good rat catcher no matter how far uptown
the rodents lived.

He reached forward to the override control panel. He had
some stops to make for supplies. He intended to see how good Randol’s credit
was. If he was taking this on, he wanted to make sure he had what he needed to
survive.

Maxwell stormed through the hallways of the security
building toward his office. People carefully avoided him, rushing to move out
of his way, fearful of his infamous temper and barbed tongue. It would be unhealthy
for one’s career to attract his notice at such a time.

Maxwell burst into his office and slammed his fist into the
control that sealed his doors. “Son of a bitch!” he screamed. “Pompous ass! How
dare he treat me like a lackey!”

Maxwell grabbed a delicate crystal sculpture from his desk. It
had been created by a blind artist from Rigel, a member of a species whose
artisans devoted a lifetime to construct a single, perfect masterpiece. It took
him a fraction of a second to shatter the object against the nearest wall.

But even as he watched the shards of razor-sharp crystal
explode and dance, glittering to the floor like tiny fireflies, he knew that it
was true. He was only a lackey. He was the hired help. No matter how he
struggled, no matter how high he climbed in the corporation, he would always be
expendable. He would always be employed at the whim of the Council of Lords.

What made them any better than him? They held their position
through an accident of fate. A genetic lottery. They were the pampered and
worthless descendants of those who had founded the megacorporations. They had,
for the most part, never worked a day in their lives, and if they had, it could
hardly be called work. More like play-acting, as if it mattered whether they
succeeded or failed. They had never missed a meal, never had to worry about the
sound of booted feet passing by their door.

His intercom buzzed. “Confed representative wants to talk to
you, sir. Line three.”

“Tell them I’m busy,” Maxwell said.

“But they’ve been calling every fifteen minutes. It must be
impor—”

Maxwell cut the connection and stood there fuming. As if
dealing with the lords wasn’t enough, he had the Confed breathing down his
neck, too. Unlike the lords, they could be pushed aside for a while.

Maxwell had fought for everything he had ever obtained. But
no matter how talented, no matter how intelligent or ruthless, he could never
escape the lords and their mocking condescension. No one could rise to their
level. It wasn’t an even playing field.

No new megacorporation had been created in almost two
hundred years. Smaller corporations existed in remote parts of Manspace, but
only because they were too insignificant to be any threat. Once they grew large
enough to attract the attention of one of the megacorporations it meant that
there was significant money to be made, and they were invariably devoured as
the megacorporations collected the profit.

In order to survive, a corporation would have to be created
quickly, suddenly, with massive growth and momentum. It could catch the lords
by surprise, perhaps tearing out a place for itself before their ancient and
bureaucratic system could react to the threat.

Yes, the man who could achieve such a coup would have the
potential for even more. He would have to beat the megacorporations at their
own game, break them down, conquer them one by one like Alexander the Great or
Napoleon, and give the lords something to fear for the first time in their
lives.

He sat at his desk and called his operations command. It was
time to check on the progress of the apprehension of the courier. They had
followed up on the information from Kendrick, and he hoped that this would tie
up loose ends related to Casey, perhaps even give him what he needed to shut up
that fool Randol.

When Maxwell saw the pale frightened face of his Raken security
commander, Gerard, he knew it was bad news. “Tell me what happened. I want
details.”

The man stuttered through the story.

Maxwell groaned.

“Our patrols are searching for her, sir. I’m certain we’ll
get her back.”

“Listen here, Gerard, I want that courier caught, but more
than that, I want that datastore back intact.”

“We’re working on it, sir.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want you to do a full deconstructive mind probe on Chandler.
He has to have valuable information.”

“Sir, I regret to tell you that we no longer have Mr. Chandler
in custody. His release was ordered by Lord Randol. We had no choice.”

Maxwell smiled. “Really? Well then, of course I understand,
Gerard. We serve at the pleasure of the lords. I’m sure there was a very good
reason.”

This was wonderful. Better than Maxwell could have hoped for.
His nemesis on the council was falling into his hands.

“Gerard, I want you and the rest of Green and Blue Teams out
looking for the girl. I don’t care how long it takes. Call in all the
assistance you need. Use all measures necessary. And that imbecile, what was
his name? The sole survivor of Red Team?”

“Uh, that would be Larson, sir. Ray Larson.”

“He’s fired. Tell him to be on the first shuttle offplanet
or we’ll arrest him for trespassing on corporate property.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who is the lead interrogator on Raken?”

“Sergeant Cox,” Gerald said.

“Have him contact me immediately. I have a job for him.” Maxwell
cut the connection.

He walked across his office and poured himself a cup of
coffee from the refreshment station. He returned to his desk, sat down, and
took a sip of the strong, hot brew as he sorted his thoughts.

Randol’s undying devotion to Casey was sickening. He’d added
an outside element to the equation, a private security agent who provided
enough interference for the courier to escape. A foolish mistake traceable to
him. Just the sort of thing that Maxwell had hoped for.

Maxwell keyed a request for Mike Chandler’s dossier into the
computer. A moment later, a holo materialized over his desktop. Words hung in
the air beside the image of Chandler’s license.

Michael Chandler: Parents were industrial workers.
Chandler ran away from home to join the Confed and served ten years in
Marine Special Forces. Twice decorated. Promoted and demoted
numerous times, usually due to insubordination. One incident with a
colonel’s wife. Entered civilian life as a personal security expert.

Maxwell then pulled up Chandler’s financial records.

“Here we go,” he said.

The only asset Chandler possessed was equity in an aging Scout-class
ship. Habitually behind on payments. Yes, there were possibilities here.

Perhaps this Chandler would listen to reason. The old man
obviously wouldn’t. Perhaps an unpleasant experience with Nebulaco Security
coupled with enough financial incentive could turn Chandler into a true asset.

CHAPTER EIGHT

S
ai followed the signs toward dock D, berth twenty-seven,
where Chandler’s ship was waiting.

As she approached the last turn, she stopped and took a
right into an alleyway. She moved behind a building that housed a closed gift
shop. She didn’t want to walk into a potential trap.

The alleyway was dark, and the rain had caused puddles of
collected filth to pool in the chuckholes. She quietly moved around the back of
the building to the next alleyway, which opened onto the entrance of berth twenty-seven.

Hiding behind a large crate, she withdrew her whisperblade
and activated the remote. She threw the blade high, up and out of the alleyway,
guiding it into a graceful curve into the street and past the gateway to berth twenty-seven.
She watched the display on the com unit on her wrist, which transmitted video from
the camera on the whisperblade. She guided the unit forward, keeping it high
enough to avoid easy detection.

Corporate Security had arrived before her. She saw six men
hiding behind the entrance. Three on either side. Three were armed with
blasters but didn’t seem particularly alert. One stood smoking a stimstick,
and another was taking a leak against the wall.

Still, she didn’t want to fight six armed men. She would
have to abandon the idea of making the drop. Even if she could navigate past
the security goons, she didn’t know whose side this Chandler guy was on. He sounded
genuine, but he might have sold out to Nebulaco. He might be working with them
to create these traps and maybe that so-called arrest was completely bogus. It
didn’t matter; she needed to get out. It was time to go to the Silver Dollar
Saloon and hire Hank Jensen to take her offworld.

She commanded the whisperblade to return.

“Don’t move,” a voice said quietly behind her.

She froze. In the corner of her eye she could see movement
as a dark figure circled around her.

“So you thought you could get away from me?”

“I thought I was doing a pretty good job.”

The man laughed. “Stand up and put your hands on your head, and
don’t move one little muscle because I would hate to have to kill a fine young
thing like you.”

She did as she was told.

“I’m Sergeant Cox. Security Director Maxwell sent me here
personally to find you. I’m not like those idiots who work for me. I left them
over there exposed, but I decided to keep at the edge of the perimeter. I
figured you were too smart to barge in on our trap, but just stupid enough to
at least try to contact Chandler once he was released.”

“What do you want?”

“No games. I want the package you were supposed to deliver
to Chandler.”

“Who’s Chandler?”

“Don’t insult me! I’m not a moron. Chandler can get away
with it because he’s the favorite of a lord, but you are nothing but dirt! I
want that package!”

“What if I don’t have it?”

“In that case, you and I are going to have a lot of fun. I
am very, very good at interrogation. Luckily, we have a lot of leeway at
Nebulaco. Since what’s good for the company is good for everyone, we can do
what we want to people who try to hurt the company. I like interrogation. Who knows?
Maybe you’ll like it, too.”

Sai saw the whisperblade behind Cox. She guided the
whisperblade toward him.

“Maybe I will,” she said in a husky whisper. “Are you going
to spank me if I’m bad?”

Cox grinned. “You’re very naughty, aren’t you?”

At that moment the whisperblade came flashing down. He
dodged to the right and the blade missed him, but it slashed through his
blaster.

Sai rushed forward and kicked Cox in the crotch. Then she
followed up with a combination to the gut and nose. Cox’s head snapped back
with the power of the blow and he fell back, unconscious.

Sai spat on his fallen form and gave him a gratuitous kick
in the ribs.

She went through his pockets, took what few credits he had,
and checked his ID. It matched his story. He was Sergeant Luther Cox, Nebulaco
Security.

She activated the whisperblade again and used it to cut his
pants off. Not that she was vicious. After all, she didn’t cut off his dick. She’d
just taken enough shit for one night and it was nice to give some back.

Retreating down the alleyway, Sai headed toward the Silver
Dollar Saloon. It was back to plan B.

Helen heard a voice in the darkness. “You’re lucky you were
recognized.”

She opened her eyes and saw the speaker. He sat on a stool
just outside the bars of the brig with his feet up on a table. He wore dirty
clothes and scuffed combat armor. “The pulse rifle was on stun.”

Helen’s head hurt like hell. She lay on a bare metal bunk in
a small cell. She still barely had control of her extremities from the aftereffects
of the blast. Her nerve endings burned and tingled. It was as if she were being
slowly electrocuted.

“You’re going to be a bit twitchy for a while, but no
permanent damage. We want you nice and healthy for Daddy.”

“Where are we?” Helen asked.

“Not on your pretty little ship, for sure. We’re on Thorne’s
ship, the
Naglfar
. We’re headed to the base, where you’re going to have
a nice little cell there of your very own. I’m sure that Daddy wants you back
pretty badly, so we figure on getting some good coin for that perky little ass
of yours.”

“My father isn’t as weak as you might think. He’s not one of
those delicate cowards on the council. He’s going to take this out in blood.”

The pirate laughed. “Well, you’d better hope he plays nice. He
can get you in one piece, or one piece at a time. We know how to do this, sweet
thing. The price keeps going up, not down. He’s a businessman. I’m sure he’ll
make the wise choice.”

When Sai walked into the Silver Dollar, Hank was standing in
the middle of a group of six men. He had a tankard full of dark beer that he
was waving wildly as he spoke. “—and then we were struck from behind by a
torpedo.”

“Hank!” Sai called.

He stopped his story and turned his head in her direction,
squinting. “Sai? Issat you?”

“Yes, Hank. I need to speak to you.”

Hank turned to his fellows. “Pardon me, boys, but the lady
needs me.” He winked, then turned and staggered toward her.

“Oh shit, you’re drunk!”

“You have a knack for stating the obvious, my lovely little
blade-wielding wench,” Hank said. “Heh, I guess I ain’t that drunk after all. I
just said a mouthful there, didn’t I?”

“Hank. I really need to get offplanet quickly. Come on. There
were some problems.”

“Problems? Well, honey, we all got problems, but it gets
better. Take me for example. Yesterday I was flat broke, and today I got the
sweetest deal I ever saw on Denebian pantor melts—I mean mantor pelts. You know—furs.
I just gotta wait until tomorrow night to take possession and I can triple my
money anywhere in the Greensward. The guy was desperate for credits.”

“Hank. There are some people after me. I need to get away. I’ll
pay twice what I paid before.”

His smile faded when he focused on her face, seeing that she
had been injured. “What happened to you?”

“Long story,” she said.

“Sure, sure. I can help you out. We can blast out of here
tomorrow night.”

“We need to leave today. Now.”

“Sorry, no can do, honey. I finally made a decent score. I
have to see this deal through.”

Sai looked around the room. She wasn’t too impressed with
the options. “Do you have anyone you’d recommend?”

Hank closed one eye, squinted with the other, and staggered
in a circle to look around the room. “Nope, all worthless bums who’d rob you
the first chance they got.”

There were some laughs around the room.

“Come on, be serious.”

A man standing at the bar turned in her direction. “Ah,
lass, he is serious, ya see. We are pretty much that a-way when it comes down
to it. Just business, o’ course.”

Hank laughed, but he quieted when he caught the look in Sai’s
eyes. “Come here, let’s sit down a moment in a more private place. Maybe we can
figure something out.”

They moved to a quiet table in the back.

“What happened?” he asked.

“My delivery went bad. It happens sometimes.” She looked
over her shoulder, then leaned close. “I can pay you well, very well. Drunk as
you are, I would still rather not take a chance on someone else if at all
possible. Can you pilot like this?”

Hank stiffened. “Of course! I’m even better when I’ve got a
bit of lubrication. Besides, to tell you the truth, Elsa does most of the work
on the takeoffs and landings. But I can’t leave any earlier than tomorrow
night.”

“But I have to leave now.”

“Darlin’, can’t you just lay low for a bit? Maybe hide on
board? But do not, I repeat,
do not
clean up my stateroom again. I can’t
find anything now.”

“Things are too hot right now.”

“Corporate?” he asked.

“Yes. I think there’s a corporate hit team looking for me.”

Hank nodded, appearing to sober somewhat. “You’re in a fine
state, then. There’s many that would agree to take you just to turn you in. It
won’t take long for the company to send out a bounty notice to the docks.”

“Then you understand my problem.”

Hank grumbled. “Yes, I understand it. But damn it! I can’t
leave early. I just can’t. I appreciate you taking the chance on me darlin’, I
needed the break. But I’d be pissing it away if I let this deal fall through. This
shipment will put me in the black for a good, long time if I don’t do something
stupid. This is also a matter of survival. I don’t want to end up sleeping in
some starport gutter. Besides, we just got here. I have to refit the ship and
refuel. That takes time.”

Sai nodded. “I understand. I’ll find someone else.”

As she got up to leave, Hank stood. “Sai, I said you can
hide out on the
Elsa
. Even Nebulaco Corporate Security doesn’t have the
balls to order a ship-by-ship search of the entire port. The trading guilds
would have a conniption fit.”

Sai shook her head. “Don’t feel bad, Hank. I know what I
have to do. I appreciate the offer, but I have to go.”

“But, Sai …”

She knew he was right. He couldn’t risk his future just to
help out some damned fool girl. If nothing else, Elsa would never let him hear
the end of it.

Sai stood to leave, and as she turned, she saw three men
entering the bar armed with pulse pistols.

“Sai Collins, you’re under arrest!” the lead man shouted.

“Women,” Hank said. “Nothing but trouble.”

Sai made it to his side just as Hank drew his pistol from
his shoulder holster and took aim at the lead man. He fired and the man tumbled
to the floor in a heap. The other two tripped over him.

Hank grabbed Sai’s hand and together they fled toward the
back door. “You really pissed them off,” Hank said.

Sai burst through the door into the alley behind the bar as
a large, well-muscled man swooped down on a hovercycle. Hank pulled her out of
the way. The man stepped off the bike. He wore black leathers with the insignia
of some biker club emblazoned on his back. “Sorry about the close call,” he
said. “I didn’t see you.”