Star Risk - 03 The Doublecross Program (18 page)

The general quarters siren screeched through the ship, and women and men came awake and, rubbing the eyes and yawning, went to their alert positions.

"What do we have?" Grok asked.

The watch officer said, "Four, no, six ships lifting off� big, suggest they're transports� and half a dozen smaller ones�escorts I'd guess�jumping off in front of them."

The officer consulted a screen, touched sensors, frowned, tried again. He hit another sensor, and a third screen lit. "They should be assembling about� here." He touched the screen.

"They think," Inchcape said. "Put all TA systems on seek around that point. And hook me up to the others."

She issued similar orders to the other destroyers. "I don't see any reason," she said, "for us to fardiddle around waiting to maybe get shot at."

"Against my religion," Goodnight agreed.

"Weapons, put me out about, oh, ten shipkillers, drifting them toward the IP so they'll get there in about twenty minutes."

She touched her throat mike.

"Inch Two, Three, did you monitor?"

Two affirms came in.

"You do the same. Hold the missiles in a orbit when they're close."

She cut her mike. "Now we wait."

They did, for almost an hour.

"Not very damned efficient, are those Khelat? They should've had them formed up and gone fifteen minutes ago."

"They're in range of our birds," the weapons officer reported.

"Have our babies acquired them?"

"That's affirmative," the officer said.

"Let �em get a little closer," Inchcape said. "It never hurts to put �em straight down the throat."

Goodnight was suddenly aware his lower lip was sweating.

"Fine," Inchcape said after a few moments, looking utterly calm. "Fire �em up."

The blue dots that were the missiles began moving.

"On auto-home," she ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," the weapons officer reported.

"See if you can't get some good targeting on those incoming escorts," Inchcape said. "It'd be nice to have some icing on the cake."

Seconds passed.

The Fletcher, then the other two ships, reported targets acquired.

"Three shipkillers per target," Inchcape said. "On my command� fire."

She turned to Grok. "I should, if I was a professional, be scooting on home. But I'd like to see some blood."

"I also," the alien agreed.

Goodnight was watching a timer flash down.

"We should be seeing some explosions right about�"

"Hit!" weapons reported. "Hit! Hit!"

There were flashes onscreen. Then came three more.

"So much for those freighters," Inchcape said.

"Homing on one escort� three seconds to closing� hit!"

There was another flash.

"Three got lucky," Inchcape said. "Now, what about that other rascal�"

But there were no signs of another hit on the last escort.

"Just as well, I suppose," Inchcape said. "Somebody's gotta carry the message to Ghent. Now, let's go home and let them lick their wounds. Wonder what they were carrying?"

"This world is primarily agricultural," Grok said. "It could well be main."

"I'd rather it were minerals, but we can live with the slow pain," Goodnight said. "It'll make sure Omni Foods is paying attention."

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TWENTY-NINE � ^ � We have something interesting," the technician back at Star Risk said.

Riss made a face. She was tired of screens, and thinking, and was thoroughly enjoying being out on a firing range working with Shaoki recruits.

"What is it?" she asked into the pocket-sized com.

"I think you'd better look at it, if you can find a larger screen somewhere."

M'chel grunted.

"Hold on. I'll get back to you." She turned to the Shaoki officer. "Take charge, sir."

The officer saluted.

Riss made her way to the range office, grabbed the com, and contacted the tech.

"It better be good, troop," she threatened.

"I don't know if it's good or not, M'chel," the tech said. "But it's interesting. I'm sending you the map of Rafar City you were looking at. See the three dots where someone has set off some bombs?"

"I have it."

"There have been four more bombings� The Khelat press have admitted to a psychopath in the streets. I'm patching you the location of those four."

"I've got them, too," Riss said. "So what?"

"I'm now cutting the map into the background."

"Son of two bitches!" M'chel swore.

With the map subdued, the bomb locations made a very precise letter J.

"J," M'chel muttered. "Like in Jasmine, maybe?"

Hope came.

"No," she said. "Just chance."

"Probably," the tech agreed.

"I'm headed back right now," Riss said. "Get whatever firm principals are reachable, and tell them I want a face-to-face. Urgent."

"Right," the technician said. "I don't believe in chance, either."

Grok was helping the security crew make a routine sweep of Star Risk headquarters when he was commed.

"I shall be available in one E-hour," he said. "As soon as we finish checking the ventilation system. Out."

He cut the com, and eyed the cover one of his operators was unfastening.

"I shall never fit down that passage," he said. "But you are slender and young."

"And you outrank me," the operator said, grinning, lifting away the screen.

"I'll just slither up this one," the man said. "I think there's another outlet around the passageway� and HOLY GODDAMNED SHIT!"

"You have found something?" Grok said.

"You bet your furry ass," the operator said, wriggling back out. "Have a look."

Grok crouched and stuck his head in as the operator came out of the tunnel.

"Well, Bishop Berk with his hat on," the alien said mildly. "Someone appears to have planted a bomb on us."

"This," Grok said, "is the detonator of the bomb I found just under your suite, Friedrich. The bomb, incidentally, is about one kiloton in size."

Von Baldur eyed the device, as did Goodnight and Riss.

"Command detonated," M'chel said.

"One �cast on its frequency and no more Star Risk, with a bomb that big," Goodnight said. "That'll take out this whole floor and then some. How very nice."

Behind them, ignored for the moment, was the map of Rafar City and the bomb site locations.

"I think we can assume," von Baldur said, "it has probably been planted by our employers. The Khelat do not appear to be very good at infiltrating."

"That's one of the problems," M'chel agreed. "It's the Shaoki's world, so it's hard to run an airtight operation. Not to mention we're too thin on the ground to provide anybody with any security, let alone us."

"First the bastards try a coup on us, next they're going to murder us," Goodnight said. "Nice sort of bosses to have."

"I wonder when they'll try to trigger it," Riss wondered.

"A better question," von Baldur said, "is why."

There was a blank silence. No one had any answers.

"I deactivated it," Grok said. "But I added a small device that will make a record if anyone tries to set it off."

"I'd suppose," Riss said, "whenever whoever has the bang switch decides we've become redundant, they'd want to wait until we're all together. So, no more family home evenings, boys and girls. We want to keep the fact that we know about their bombie secret as long as possible."

"We now have two things to discuss," Friedrich said. "First, and most importantly, what are we proposing to do about this bomb?"

"I have an idea," Goodnight said with an evil grin. "I just need to do a little research."

"I thought you might," Friedrich said. "But that brings up questions two and three: What are we going to do about ourselves, and what are we going to do about this mysterious J?"

Again, a silence. Finally, Riss tried one.

"If you've got some ideas on the bomb," she said, "I think I better get my young ass saddled up and go visit a certain prince. That might help us toward answering questions two and three."

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THIRTY � ^ � The civilian Shaoki com operators routing the call were in awe. They'd never handled a com from the Alliance before, let alone one from Earth itself.

"This is Friedrich von Baldur." Freddie wondered who on Earth� literally� would be� oh.

"Scramble R342," a synthesized voice said.

Von Baldur nodded at the Star Risk operator, who set the appropriate key on a scrambler. It was a most sophisticated device, providing not a single scramble but synchronized with the sending com, changing both frequencies and code on a completely random basis at irregular intervals.

The screen cleared, and it was, indeed, their lobbyist, Anya Davenport.

"Good day," von Baldur almost cooed.

"I hope it is," Davenport said, in a far less congenial tone than she'd had before.

The very long subspace connection blurped occasionally, so von Baldur had to listen closely to the transmission.

"I have," she said without preamble, "established contact with the entity you wished."

Omni Foods.

"They are aware that you, essentially, control the supply of the item we discussed."

Main. Von Baldur was impressed with Davenport's sense of security.

"Good," he said.

"I'm not so sure. The shipments have been irregular of late, and sometimes not arriving at all. The entity claims that you and your units are responsible for this."

"We are," von Baldur agreed. "We are fighting a war, remember?"

"I'm aware of that," Davenport said. "But is this wise? If you desire to be in the position you hired me for, at the conclusion of the fighting, wouldn't you be best advised to ensure regularity in the availability of the commodity?"

"Why?" Friedrich asked.

"The entity will, no doubt, think that if you can perform as promised now, they're more likely to have faith in you in the future," Davenport said.

"I understand your position," von Baldur said. "But, to rephrase what I already said, it is necessary to win this war first."

Davenport grimaced.

"I have only taken on people of your profession twice in my career, not with particularly happy conclusions. I took your company as a client because I was advised you are more subtle and aware of long-range consequences than soldiers are normally."

"That is, indeed, why you were hired," von Baldur said.

"Very well," Davenport said. "I'll do what I can to soothe the entity's feathers. But for the future, consider what I've said."

"I shall."

Without further chitchat, the screen blanked. Von Baldur sat for a time, staring thoughtfully at the blank screen.

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THIRTY-ONE � ^ � Riss chose her world, or rather worlds, carefully.

Her first com to Prince Wahfer told him the meeting was on a certain world beyond the Khelat-Shaoki Cluster, and to check into a certain hotel. There a message waited, saying that unavoidable circumstances made it necessary to change the meeting place to a second world a system away.

Not that she thought the Khelat were evil backstabbers who might have a hit team waiting for any member of Star Risk who materialized, but she thought the Khelat were evil backstabbers with hit teams.

The real meet was set on a small resort planetoid blessed with large mineral deposits, so it had E-normal gravitation.

The owner of the planetoid owed Star Risk, which M'chel thought meant that Freddie had lost large there.

And Riss called the favor in.

All she wanted was her choice of back doors to where Redon Spada's patrol ships waited, a plain-clothes security detail, and periodic reports on her incoming guest.

The planetoid's owner told M'chel that she could have an entire casino hotel for her own. All other guests, other than Prince Wahfer and his retinue, would be local gunnies.

Riss wondered just how much von Baldur had lost on the tables there�

Wahfer arrived in a sleek, gleaming, almost-Alliance-current-issue cruiser, with another one as escort.

Riss didn't get worried�princes do things like that.

The two met for dinner.

Wahfer's bodyguards had been stopped on their way in, frisked, disarmed, and escorted out. Wahfer started to protest, looked at Riss, said nothing.

"You are even more beautiful than I remembered," he gushed.

Riss thought he was debonair, impeccably tailored, charmingly accented, wonderfully mannered�and a frigging Khelat creep.

But this was business.

"Thank you, my prince," she said in a voice slightly oilier than his. "Please, sit down, and order us a drink. I know little about drinking."

She thought that if Wahfer held still for that one, he'd led an even more sheltered life than she thought. But he seemed to accept it, and ordered a magnum of Ganymede champagne.

It came, was loudly opened by the casino's sommelier, and poured.

Wahfer thought it wonderful.

Riss thought it not nearly dry enough.

Wahfer looked through the dining room, which was quite full, into the casino beyond, also filled with gamblers.

Riss thought too many of these phony customers were watching them, but Wahfer didn't seem to notice.

"Ah," he sighed. "I do love the riffle of the cards and the click of the dice� But I'm afraid this trip must be held to business."

"Ah?" Riss thought about pretending disappointment, decided not to push her acting skills.

"Your com," Riss said, "told me there was some sort of terrible error made toward Star Risk."

"It absolutely was," Wahfer said. "Our accounting department became confused, which is why you had payroll problems. I do wish that you had come to me, or to the king, with your problems, rather than acting so precipitately."

Either Wahfer didn't know about Prince Jer having murdered Dov Lanchester, about the attempt to kill Goodnight and Grok in the warehouse, and possibly not about the Khelat pirating of Alliance supplies, or he was an excellent liar.