Star Risk - 02 Scoundrel Worlds (4 page)

"I have a prospective client out here," Riss's voice came. "Can I bring him in?"

"Bring him in," Jasmine said. "And buzz Grok, if you would?"

"He's already on his way," M'chel said.

Riss and Grok bowed in a slender, intense, balding man who appeared to be in his forties.

"This," Grok said, "is Mr. Jen Reynard."

Jasmine, knowing a few archaic languages, thought he was well named as the man came forward, eyes flicking left, right, evaluating everyone and everything in the room.

"Welcome to Star Risk," von Baldur said, introducing the others and indicating a seat.

"I mean no offense," Reynard said, "but your reputation far exceeds your size. Unless," he added with a bit of hope, "you have vast resources elsewhere."

"We have access," King said, "to anything a client might need, from a lockpick to a naval fleet."

"Ah?" Reynard said, a bit skeptically. "I suppose that's financially sound, not having a lot of thugs lying about on the payroll."

Von Baldur inclined his head in agreement. "And how might we be of service?" he asked.

"I am the former premier of Dampier," Reynard said, then went on, dramatically, "I need you to free a man from where he rots in a death cell, prove his innocence, and find the guilty party."

"Good," Grok rumbled. "I am getting tired of these tasks that require nothing but headbanging."

"There may well be some of that required," Reynard said. "Eventually."

"Thank heavens," Riss said sotto voce. "We wouldn't know how to handle a nice, quiet, predictable job."

"Who is this innocent?" King asked.

"A former officer in Dampier's army, falsely accused of selling state secrets to our archenemy, Torguth."

"What sort of secrets?" von Baldur asked. "Some secrets, such as how many publicity men are on the government's payroll, carry less of a penalty than others."

"The crime for which the man was tried and convicted of is high treason," Reynard said, "which carries an automatic death penalty."

"That seems serious enough," M'chel said.

"I'll explain," Reynard said. "The system of Dampier is close to Torguth. From the first colonization on, we have been traditional enemies. Between us are the Belfort Worlds, three eminently colonizable planets near Earth normal. By moral and first-landing rights, these worlds belong to Dampier. Torguth, being the morally corrupt, dishonest system it is, also claims Belfort.

"We have fought three wars with Torguth, basically over Belfort, although other issues were brought into play. They won the first war, we won the other two. Not content with defeat, Torguth is staging up for yet another war, or so my intelligence reported when I still held office and had access to these matters.

"Even though the present government of Dampier is putrescent with dishonesty, they recognized this threat, although they do not admit its immediacy. They proposed a new defense system for the Belfort Worlds. Somehow Torguth obtained full details on this system.

"Legate Maen Sufyerd, who has an absolutely unblemished record�first in the field, now in the Supreme Command's Strategic Intelligence Division on our capital world of Montrois�has been accused of stealing these secrets and selling them to Torguth."

"You said he's in a death cell?" Goodnight asked. "That means there's been a trial?"

"A kangaroo court," Reynard said, voice rising. "A japery of justice. Planted evidence, inept counsel, prejudiced officers on the board."

"Why prejudiced?" Riss asked.

"Sufyerd, though he doesn't appear wild-eyed or a fanatic, belongs to an ancient cult that is despised by the hierarchy of Dampier, and has struggled against this prejudice his entire career."

"Mmmh," Goodnight said.

"It is not merely injustice that I strive against," Reynard said. "But the real culprit in Strategic Intelligence must be winkled out. We do not need to have a traitor in high places in this increasingly parlous time!"

Riss thought of telling Reynard he wasn't making a speech to his constituents, but held her tongue.

"Why have you come to us?" Grok said. "Do you not have investigative agencies on your own world?"

"We do," Reynard admitted. "But I trust them not, especially since the opposition party has retained a very large, very efficient agency to make sure Sufyerd meets his date with the lethal chamber. Perhaps you've heard of them, since they're interplanetary. They're an organization called Cerberus Systems."

The Star Risk operators showed various reactions at the name of their nemesis: Goodnight glowered, von Baldur looked carefully bland, Jasmine's lips tightened, Riss tried to keep a poker face and failed, and Grok's expression, as always, was unreadable.

"Ah," Reynard said. "You know�and from your faces, do not like�this Cerberus. They've also impressed me as being less than ethical, since they're willing to do business with those damned Universalists, the party in power.

"So all the cards are stacked against me and my fellow Independents, although there are turncoats even within that party against poor Sufyerd. Our judicial system has reached its decision as to his guilt, the military he loves has abandoned him, our media constantly bays about his guilt, and now even an outside agency moves against him.

"He has no hope at all. And I feel, to the depths of my soul, that the opposition will stop at nothing�not forgery, slander, perjury, conspiracy, not even murder�to make sure the Sufyerd case stays �solved.'

"No hope at all," Reynard said again. "Except," he added cunningly, "if Star Risk, an outside company without any axes to grind, agrees to help him."

"Mmmh," von Baldur said. "Well, we do like to be of service�"

"A question," Riss said. "How did you hear about us?"

"I consulted certain experts I've had occasion to use during my political career," Reynard said. "And they all attested to your honesty in fulfilling your contracts. They also said that you have a most colorful way of doing business," he added after a pause.

"Thanks," Goodnight said. "I think."

"Very interesting," von Baldur said. "If you'll give us the com of where you're staying, we'll have an answer for you within a day or two. We may well need to ask you further questions."

"Well?" von Baldur said, a few minutes after having escorted Reynard out.

"You know my prejudice about people who're about to get fried," Goodnight said. "Justly or not," he added a bit sheepishly.

"Why not?" Riss said. "It is, as Grok said, something different than bashing skulls."

"My vote is obvious," Grok said.

"We could use a good cushion with Alliance Credit," King said.

"I was looking forward to my vacation," von Baldur said. "But then, all things are better after a degree of anticipation. So it's unanimous. Usual rates?"

"Yes� no," Riss said. "Reynard said he talked to some people. Which means our names are known around Dampier. Which increases our risk."

"Which also means," King said grimly, "our prospective presence will also be known to Cerberus, since I assume any politician talks about anything and everything to everyone."

"Strong point," von Baldur said.

"Not to mention we're going to be dealing with politicians," Goodnight added. "Double down, double down."

"You shall be pleased to hear," von Baldur said into the com, "that we are as upset about this blatant injustice as you are, and have unanimously agreed to accept your commission. Our rate shall be twenty thousand credits per day, plus full expenses."

Von Baldur listened to the sputtering from the other end for a moment.

"I am sorry, Mr. Reynard, if your cause cannot afford proper representation in this matter, and that you were evidently misinformed about our fees. But our price is our price, and it is a pity that you feel it exorbitant. I might add that we never haggle.

"I shall wish you luck in your search for justice for the unfortunate Legate Sufyerd."

He listened again, and a smile came and went.

"Very good, Mr. Reynard. Very good indeed. I'm delighted you decided to change your mind. We're looking forward to ending this gross miscarriage as much as you are, and will devote the firm's entire executive talents to it. We shall arrive on Montrois within the week."

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SEVEN � ^ � The liner was luxurious, with everything from gaming to gymnasiums to around-the-clock gourmet meals.

Star Risk didn't take much advantage of them, other than Grok's watching with great amusement the workout facilities for the humans, and von Baldur's dropping a thousand credits the first night out on the gambling tables.

"Which," Jasmine, their bookkeeper, announced briskly, "shall not be allowed on your expenses."

"When will I be able to convince you, m'dear, that honesty should extend only so far?" von Baldur whined.

Jasmine didn't bother answering.

The team was quite busy swotting everything the ship's library or its computer links could dig up on Dampier and Torguth.

"Listen to this," Riss said to King. "From one of their local rags: �While I do not mean to imply in this mild critical essay that the good representative is a lily-livered scoundrel whose parents were never formally introduced, and who seems to have trouble with the simplest tasks, as witnessed by the constant urine stains on his trousers, I do think his qualifications for public office might be exceeded by the average ant-bear.' Whoo. And this writer was talking about a fellow Independent."

"I guess these Dampierians have trouble with frankness," King said. "Not to mention that their libel laws are a trifle loose."

"Interesting sort of army the Dampierians have," von Baldur told Goodnight, who was mooning at a young woman flipping through a fashion fiche in the library.

"Um," Chas said.

"They beat the Torguths badly the last time around, primarily through a system of constant attacks."

"Um."

"So now they have decided there is no value in defense, but attack, attack, always the attack, as one of their strategic writers wrote."

"Um."

"Which might be valid, but their defense spending is small, and being cut regularly."

"Um."

"You are not listening."

"Yes I am," Goodnight said. "It sounds like one good hit and they'll fold up like sheets, and their morale'll go straight into the shitter."

"Very good."

"Yes," Goodnight said. "Yes, she is. Now, if you'll excuse me�" And he got up and went across the library to the young woman, who turned to him, smiling.

"At least," Grok said, "we shall eat well. Very well. These Dampiers seem to export chefs to every expensive restaurant in the galaxy."

"I just hope," von Baldur said, "that some of the local talent remains."

"Our employer," King said, "is a very feisty man. He's fought half a dozen duels. One over his first wife, two over his second, three over his third."

"Which would suggest," von Baldur said, "that each wife has been prettier and younger than the last."

"Correct."

"What does the current one look like?"

"He's single once more," King said. "His third wife left him for his dueling opponent."

"Tsk," von Baldur said. "You should always finish off your enemies. Or, at any rate, shoot them in the groin."

"Or else," King suggested, "either keep your trousers buttoned or learn to pick less generous women."

"Men aren't that smart."

The liner lowered toward a huge dock, a U-shaped open-roofed hangar.

Goodnight, standing with the others in a long line near one of the passenger locks, looked out an uncovered port.

"Looks like it's raining out there," he said. "At least at the moment, Montrois is a gray, rather ornate-looking world, as far as I can see."

"I can use a little real weather," M'chel said. "Recycled air gets to me after a while."

The liner's antigravs whined up the scale, and the ship settled into its mooring slot. A roof slid across the hangar as the ship's locks opened, and a speaker bayed: "All passengers, have your customs declarations ready. All passengers, have your customs declarations ready. After collecting your luggage, move to any open booth. After collecting your luggage, move to any open booth."

There was supposed to be somebody waiting for them to spirit them through problems. But so far, no show. King started to worry about what would happen when any given case of their gear was opened.

But an officious man, who'd evidently been given a picture of the team, came bustling up just as they were getting in the customs line, as Reynard had promised.

"Mr. von Baldur and company?"

"We are."

"I'm Deacer, from the Department of Foreign Affairs. I'm also a member of ex-Premier Reynard's party. I'll help you clear customs without the necessity of dealing with any minor officials. I assume you're carrying nothing but personal possessions."

"Thank you, sir. We are."

Baggage lifters were found, and their gear, which was quite considerable, was piled on them. Pistols were concealable, but blast rifles, rocket launchers, crew-served weaponry, and mortars could get bulky.

Uniformed men bowed them through a gate, and they were out on the streets of Montrois's capital of Tuletia, sheltered from the rain by an overhang.

"Now for a lifter to your hotel," Deacer said, looking about. "Ah, there's�"

He broke off as three shots echoed off the stonework overhead. Deacer crouched, and four of the Star Risk operatives went flat, Jasmine going down just after them.

A man waving a gun ran out into the street, ducking past lifters. He jumped in one, and it took off, ignoring the outraged whistles from the cab rank officer and two belated shots from policemen.

"My god," Deacer said in horror. "Murder, in broad daylight! What are things coming to! My god!"

"Yeah," Goodnight said flatly. "A tragedy. You four hang tight right here."

He pushed through the gathering crowd, looked down at the corpse. A gray-haired man lay flat on his back, a look of complete surprise on what was left of his face.