Star Risk - 03 The Doublecross Program (6 page)

"Hmm," M'chel said. "If that building's still there, and still in use, I'd think it was probably important� at least to one of their chiefs.

"Now, to figure out a way in� and a way out. I suspect I need to put Grok and you in motion."

The prisoner was ushered into the small, bare holding room.

"This is the Shaoki agent, Toas," the prison officer said.

"I am not�"

The officer, without looking disturbed, slammed Toas into the wall, headfirst.

"That is enough," Friedrich said.

The officer looked surprised but obeyed. He crossed his arms and took a position against one wall.

"I will talk to him alone, if you please," von Baldur said.

The officer started to object.

"I have permission from your deputy warden."

The officer nodded and marched out.

Toas looked at him with scorn.

"Sit down," Friedrich said, extending a hand to the other chair in the room, on the other side of the table, bare except for a solid-sided suitcase, Friedrich sat at.

"I'll stand."

"Suit yourself," Friedrich said indifferently.

Toas looked puzzled.

"I want to talk to you about the Shaoki beliefs," von Baldur said.

"I know of none."

Von Baldur nodded, as if expecting that answer. He touched the side of his briefcase twice.

"There are, as I am sure you've guessed, listening devices in this cell. Now they are receiving nothing but static. You can speak honestly."

"Why should I trust you?"

"A good question. I surely would not, if I were you."

Toas's puzzlement grew.

"You come from the village of Jahka?" Friedrich asked.

"There is no longer such a village."

"What happened to it?"

"It was leveled and those people who did not flee to the city were named bandits. Like me."

"Why?"

"Because�" Toas looked about, then firmed his lips. "Because Prince Quan wanted our land that we had held for generations, for a main plantation."

"Of course," Friedrich said.

Toas blinked.

"You believe me?"

"I believe you," von Baldur said. "You are not the first, nor the tenth, farmer I have seen called a bandit because he stood against a rich man. Have you ever met a real bandit?"

"No," Toas said, then hesitated. "Yes, yes, I have. Once, when I was a boy. The villagers had taken him when he was lying drunk, after having raped one of our women. They hanged him to a harvester's top brace."

"Good," von Baldur said, standing. "That is all I need."

"Wait," Toas said. "Can you help me?"

"Do you want me to?" von Baldur said. "That attracts attention."

"I do not care," Toas said. "I was just ready to kill myself when you called me out. I do not care what happens to me, especially if there is some way you can help me get revenge on Prince Quan."

"For yourself?"

"For myself� for my family� for my village."

"I shall see what I can do," Friedrich said. "Perhaps have you paroled to me as being particularly helpful in understanding the ways of the Shaoki."

A smile that wasn't humorous came to Toas.

"You are a devious man."

"I try to be."

The lifter moved slowly toward the guard shack. There were two sentries.

One stepped out of the booth, saw the stanchion flag with the twin stars of a general, waved the lifter into the compound, and stiffened into a salute, not seeing the three outlanders�Jasmine, Grok, and Riss�in the opaque rear.

The lifter moved past the booth.

"Interesting," Grok said softly. "He didn't bother looking inside, nor checking our ID. �Sloppy' is the word for it, I suspect, which is somewhat frightening, considering this compound is one of the main arms depots."

"Umm," Riss agreed. She was looking back through the rear window. The sentry lowered his blaster and stared with a look of utter hatred at the lifter.

"The people really love their royalty, don't they?" she said. "Since the guard couldn't see through the tinted plex, he must've assumed we're some sort of prince."

"Or else he just hates generals," Grok said.

"There is that," Riss agreed. "So what do you have for me?"

"You shall see."

The three walked down the waist-high stacks of missiles. The warehouse was dimly lit, but she could make out the stenciling on the crates.

"Ten� fifteen years old, Alliance issue," she said. "Remote Pilot Vehicles. Not the fastest around, as I recall. Nuclear option, which isn't what I'm thinking of. Yet. I remember seeing some of these back when I was a �cruit."

"These are supposedly out-atmosphere fitted," Jasmine said.

"I guess for this part of the world," Riss said, "they must be state of the art. Have you had a tech find out if they're still in banging order?"

"No," Grok said. "I wanted you to see them first and decide if they further your scheme."

"I'm not sure," Riss said. "No. I do have a bit of an idea. Assuming Chas comes through with what we need."

***

It was Chas Goodnight's first trip to Boyington, a spaceflight recruitment center for that part of the First Galaxy.

He'd always thought that he loved a party; the wilder the better. Unfortunately, the craziness on Boyington reminded him more of the way he used to carry on as a teenage recruit.

Pilots, engineers, and navigators filled the hotel bars, and it seemed the screaming and hollering went on all day and night.

Fortunately, Goodnight had made his connections before he lost his temper at anyone, and was negotiating with them in a drawing room of the Bishop Inn.

He decided that two out of three contacts wasn't bad.

Redon Spada, the super patrol ship pilot, had taken an assignment, no one quite knew where.

Tough, Goodnight figured. The flier, who seemed about half in love with Riss, could nurse his broken heart�and depleted bank account�when he got back.

Besides, Goodnight thought, Riss probably wasn't in the mood for anyone making calf eyes at her, as she was still recovering from her jarhead colonel's death.

At least he'd tracked down Inchcape, who'd run the destroyers on Gentric, and Vian, with his patrol ships.

"All right," Goodnight said briskly. "We need both of you and your ships, plus anybody you know who happens to have a spare cruiser up her sleeve, and enough armed transports to mount a smallish sort of invasion. Plus, Star Risk will want you to double the number of ships you brought last time."

"This one sounds fat," Inchcape, who was stocky and no-nonsense, said, a touch of greed in her voice.

"It is," Goodnight said. "We're working for a legit ing that might piss the Alliance off.

"We'll go either ten thousand plus real expenses per day per ship, or a flat rate of a hundred g's per week. Plus combat bonus, insurance, and compensation for injuries or death. Don't bother trying to bargain. I don't have time to footle around."

"I can round up another three or four more DDs," Inchcape said. "And I'll take the daily rate. I'm cautious."

"The same rate for patrol ships as for destroyers?" Vian asked suspiciously.

"Yep," Goodnight said. "We'll be putting you into stickier places, and more of them. You'll earn it."

"Let me try one," Vian said. "I'll tentatively accept the day rate like Captain Inchcape here� But I want a clause that I can renegotiate after, say, six weeks, when I've had a chance to personally evaluate the situation."

"I'll put it in the contract," Goodnight said. "But you'll swing by your toes before you get a raise."

Vian looked closely at Goodnight, then reluctantly nodded.

"And I'll be able to round up four more of the McGees," he said. "But they'll be delayed, since they've still got the Mark I power plant, and I want them refitted before I'll trust them."

"You'd better set to, then," Goodnight said. "Now, I'll transfer, say, a million to each of your accounts as earnest money as soon as the contracts are signed. You'll be paid weekly, money deposited to your accounts offworld. We're not having people staggering around, waving credits in all directions on the client worlds. Not that there's much worth buying, anyway."

Goodnight felt satisfied. He'd gotten everything and everyone that was on the shopping list.

Then something struck him.

"Man does not live by air strikes alone," he muttered.

"Pardon me?" asked Vian.

"Never mind," Goodnight said. "Something I seem to have forgotten."

"I am sorry," the official said, very clearly showing no sorrow at all, "but the prisoner Toas cannot be released to your company."

Friedrich glowered into the pickup.

"I must remind you that I speak with the highest authority!"

"I am not questioning that," the official said. "However, the prisoner Toas was killed yesterday. Shot while attempting to escape."

He almost smiled.

Von Baldur decided not to say anything. He was damned if he would let this pissant little murderer get his goat.

He nodded brusquely, cut off the connection, and mentally made a note of the official's name.

Friedrich was a firm believer in the old saw that what goes around comes around.

Mik Hore's battalion was a little more what Star Risk needed.

"Strictly advisory?" Hore asked into the screen. He was an older man, balding, stocky, and looked more like a prosperous banker than a warrior.

"Of course not," Riss said. "If somebody shoots at you, you better damned well shoot back."

"What's the ROE?" Hore said.

"The Rules of Engagement are very simple," M'chel said. "Anybody who's got a gun and isn't Khelat is to be assumed as the enemy. If somebody has a gun, waving it in any of your people's general direction, don't become a target.

"But, on the other hand, if no gun, your troopie might get his or her contract broken. Or worse case, if it's an obvious fraud, they could be turned over to the locals."

"I don't like that," Hore said.

M'chel didn't respond, and there was nothing but the hum of the N-space transmission for a moment.

"However," Hore said, "we've been a time without a contract. These damned fools around my part of the sector seem to want to hire killers rather than people who specialize in building killers."

"That's why they're hiring mercenaries, not training their own," Riss said.

"I guess so," Hore said.

Again, he considered.

"I'll admit that your terms are more than generous," he said. "And if we've got to be under the local law� I guess we can live with it. As soon as we can hire some horses, we'll be riding on over."

"You might want to wait until I can give you an escort," Riss said. "We've got a DD squadron under a woman named Inchcape we'll run over to you. Be a shame to have your asses blown off before you even get issued the local uniform."

M'chel found, and hired, two more tightly knit and well-trained units before reporting her successes to Prince Barab.

Jasmine considered the mercenaries she personally had hired and decided that none of them would be worth, in Goodnight's phrase, sour owl crud in a firefight.

Which was exactly what she wanted, since the dozen women and men were the part of the military that never gets mentioned in the romances.

These were highly skilled clerks, some payroll, others inventory, all cross-trained, most of them formerly part of the Alliance military bureaucracy.

Jasmine realized Star Risk was coming up in the world, since she had never needed more than one clerk to take care of payroll and such before. But then, Star Risk had never taken on a good chunk of a galactic cluster as a client and brought their own logistical support before, either.

"Since I'm in charge of your division," King said, "I guess I'm supposed to give you the welcome aboard speech. Consider it given.

"I'll be through in a minute, and you'll get shown where your quarters and mess are here in the hotel. By the way, we now occupy most of it, and it's secure. Other than that, I'll give you two cautions:

"First, your sort of soldiering doesn't include killing or getting killed. This is one reason you're going to stay in mufti, so nobody thinks of you as an instant target. You'll be issued gas guns and grenades for self-protection in the event of an emergency. There isn't much of a threat here on Khelat II, but there are a few people who don't seem to like outsiders. Stay where the bright lights are, and keep a low profile.

"Second, and most important: You are working for the woman or man with a gun, at the sharp end. Don't ever, ever forget it, or you'll have your contract broken and be on the way back to wherever you came from.

"Some paper shufflers seem to feel that it's their money that's being spent, and think it delightful to make life difficult. Don't become one of them.

"That's all. You're dismissed."

Jasmine decided she wanted a drink. Making speeches wasn't her fort�

The patrol boats came in low over Rafar City, lifted, and set neatly down, holding a diamond formation.

The Khelat had barely reassured themselves that they weren't Shaoki when, an hour later, Inchcape's five destroyers, with Goodnight aboard the lead ship, came in for a landing, a little less showily than Vian's troops.

Behind them, in hastily leased transports, came Hore's battalion, six hundred strong.

M'chel was one step closer to her showing of the flag raid.

Riss took time off from planning her raid to put Hore's mercenaries and the other units to work.

As promised, she broke them down into squad-sized units, assigned each of those tiny units to a Khelat infantry or artillery unit.

"So where do you want us to begin teaching?" Hore asked.

"This is a blaster," Riss said. "It goes bang. It goes bang out this end�"

"That bad?"

"I always assume the worst," M'chel said.

The huge, fur-covered being on screen surveyed his caller.

"Being Grokkonomonslf. It is a surprise."

"And for me, as well," Grok said in the unpronounceable-by-humans language. "How do you like being in a world of nonthinkers?"

"I am quite enjoying it," the other replied. "I can study their illogic back through the ages and wonder yet again why they are a dominant culture."