Trouble Magnet (12 page)

“What a waste.” Subar was shaking his head regretfully. “You should have seen how he handled Chal and the others! If only I could have cogited a way to keep him around!”

Ashile glanced back over her shoulder as a neatly dressed couple changed direction to avoid them. Though the woman smiled at Ashile, it was just as well that Flinx was not present to read her true feelings.

“You’re better off without him, Subar. What did you expect? He’s an offworlder. Did you think you were going to start a new gang with him as your sidekick and bodyguard? You should be glad he took an interest in you at all.” They rounded a corner. “Me, I think you’re better off away from him.”

Subar edged away from her, deliberately putting emotional as well as actual space between them. Ashile could be such a weight sometimes. “You weren’t there when he downed Chal and Dirran and Behdul. You don’t know
anything
.”

She was not intimidated. “I know that he was strange. Nice maybe, but strange.”

Subar sniffed derisively. “Because he was an offworlder.”

“No.” Almost as if she expected to see something noncorporeal lingering behind her, she looked sharply back the way they had come. “Something else. You know how sometimes you get the feeling from some people that they’re looking right through you? With this Flinx, I got the impression he was looking right into me.”

Subar deliberately lengthened his stride, forcing her to hurry to keep up. “And you think
he
was strange. Hurry up or we’ll have to wait for a pod.”

They rode back to Alewev in silence, a disappointed Subar staring out the transparent wall of the transport, Ashile alternating between ignoring him and casting concerned sideways glances in his direction. Back at her building, his parting kiss was perfunctory, fleeting, and, worst of all—polite. He was not being deliberately spiteful: it was just that his thoughts were elsewhere.

Tomorrow, she mused to herself as she watched him leave and head back toward his own building. By tomorrow he would have forgotten all about it. The offworlder would be out of their existence and life would return to normal. She contented herself with that thought as she entered her own complex of cobbled-together, utility-sharing residences.

Things might have returned to normal had Subar managed to make it back to his chamber cubbyhole within his family’s makeshift habitation. He did not, because events conspired to stand in his way. Events, and euphemistically named “friends.”

“
Tcal,
Subar.”

It was Zezula. Emerging from the deepening shadows to confront him, her luminous eyes were full of amusement and challenge. The effect was somewhat offset by the smoldering stimstick that drooped from the left corner of her mouth. Enhancer smoke curled from the hot tip.

“Zezu, I—”

He did not get a chance to say anything more, as Chaloni stepped out from behind her. There was no amusement in his eyes. Subar took a step backward—to stumble right into the hulking, silent mass of Sallow Behdul. Dirran and Missi were there, too. The bandage beneath the slipshod on her injured foot was painfully apparent, though she walked without too much difficulty.

“How’s your mind-twisting longsong of a friend?” The annoyance in the gang leader’s voice was not concealed.

Subar didn’t have to look around. There was nowhere to run, and anyway, they knew where he lived. Brazen it out, he told himself. In the absence of a real weapon, his boldness had always been his best defense.

“He’s not my friend. Tried to make him think so, though.” When Chaloni didn’t reply, an encouraged Subar stood a little straighter. “Strange liv. Something definitely spine with him. But somehow, I don’t know how, he can make you ‘feel’ things.”

“Truth there,” agreed Dirran readily, recalling the unsettling emotions that had raced through him back in their priv place.

Subar jabbed a thumb at his chest. “I was trying to win him over, that’s all. Figured maybe he could be of some use to us.”

“But you didn’t,” Zezula finished for him.

The younger boy gestured unashamedly. “He’s offworld. Leaving soon. I tried.”

Chaloni appeared to ponder the younger boy’s words. Subjected to that stare, Subar did his best to avoid the gang leader’s gaze while maintaining his pose of indifference. If it came to a fight, he knew he’d have no chance against Chal, even if Dirran and Behdul stayed out of it. He’d have to take his beating and live with it.

It was Zezula who saved him, though unintentionally. “What
did
happen up there, Chal?”

Her query immediately put Chaloni on the defensive. More concerned with defending his macho, he abruptly lost interest in teaching Subar a lesson. “It wasn’t nothing much,” he demurred. “The boys and me, we got hit with some kind of attack. This wire-weird longsong, he must have had some kind of wave-form projector in his pocket. It put us down, but we could have fought through it if we’d had to. He ran before we could get at him.” He glared fixedly at Subar. “That’s what happened, wasn’t it?”

Aware he was being handed an out where none could have been foreseen, the younger boy nodded vigorously as he turned to Zezula. “Chal’s right. The longsong got away before he and Dir and Sal could get themselves together.”

Zezula looked dubious but, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, found nothing to say. Chaloni’s expression as he regarded Subar anew was far from brotherly, but neither did the gang leader look anymore like he was going to beat the wheat out of his youthful acolyte, either. Subar kept his relief bottled tightly inside him.

“Just so everybody understands what happened,” Chaloni murmured, mollified if not exactly relieved. Putting an arm around Subar, he drew the younger boy to him as the gang turned to head back the way they had come. “Glad you remember how things really were.” By Chaloni’s standards, the remark almost qualified as a compliment. “Everybody’s gonna have to work together to bring off what I’ve worked out.”

Subar was instantly on guard. Chaloni’s previous venture had not gone exactly according to plan. Dirran and Sallow Behdul, he knew, would comply without question with whatever their leader told them to do. Only Missi looked as apprehensive as Subar felt. Of course, she had her injured foot to remind her of Chaloni’s imperfection. As for Zezula, she was languorously indifferent. Watching her, there were times when Subar felt that she did not particularly care if she, or anyone else in her company, lived or died. Neither the future nor the past mattered to Zezu: only the moment was important. It made him think.

Was it possible his feverish desire for her was misplaced? Might there be a more worthy subject for his devotion? Try as he might, he couldn’t think of anyone. With Zezula standing there right in front of him, it was hard to consider anyone else. For better or worse she dominated his immediate horizon as thoroughly as the light from Visaria’s star did its often hazy atmosphere. Still, her lack of interest in the world around her troubled him.

It struck him suddenly that he had never seen or heard Zezula make a decision of her own. She was brave enough, and forthright, and competent at certain things, but it was always Chaloni who decided what needed to be done. Yet she was far from weak, and when she chose to focus it, her personality could be overpowering. How then to explain the apparent contradiction?

Was it just possible, he decided, that the object of his affections was not very smart?

Chaloni’s voice rose as he slid his arm away from the younger boy’s shoulders. “Sal! Take that stupid bead out of your ear!” He thrust an obscene gesture toward the largest member of the gang. “How can you hear what I’m saying?”

Behdul looked bemused, then nodded once and complied, removing the induction player from his ear. Subar fought not to smile. At least where the much bigger youth was concerned, intelligence was no mystery. Behdul could, however, snap Subar in half without breaking a sweat, so the younger boy was careful to keep on the giant’s good side. Sadly, Behdul worshipped the gang leader.

It was Dirran who prompted Chaloni. “What you got in mind, Chal?”

“No more bugs.” Putting an arm around her boyfriend’s waist, Missi stared half defiantly at their leader.

Chaloni chose to make light of it. “
Tcnaw,
no more bugs, I promise. Look, we only went after the bugs because we need cred, right?” Without allowing time for rebuttal, he raced onward. “So that didn’t go quite like we hoped. Afterward I got to thinking. If we’re going to boost some cred, why risk ourselves again and again for down decimals? I mean, if we’re going to put ourselves in vacuum, what’s the point unless we position ourselves to suck up some serious screed?”

Warning bells were going off in Subar’s head. Chaloni was leading up to something major. That implied major danger. But there was no way Subar could vent. Aside from the risk of being labeled coward, he had committed too much of himself to this group. Venting prior to peril was not a choice they would appreciate. If nothing else, he had to at least stay and listen.

“You get cred off the street one of two ways.” Chaloni kept talking as they walked up the avenue. There was no need to avoid other pedestrians. Seeing the ranked gang coming toward them, mundane citizens did the necessary circumventing. “You boost tech, which none of us here has the skills for, or you steal something worthwhile that you know somebody else will buy.”

Clearly in an unusually defiant mode, Missi spoke up again. “We don’t have the aptitude to boost resalable real property from actual stores any more than we do to scrim tech from the Visaria Shell.”

“Yeah,” an emboldened Dirran added. “Suppose we were to actually zlip a shop someplace like the Kilandria Complex, up in Hendren District? If Complex Security didn’t get us, we’d move right up to the top of the city police alert.” He looked away. “Me, I prefer hanging around the bottom and avoiding notice.”

“We’ve already moved up from the bottom, thanks to the shot we took at those two bugs.” Chaloni did not hesitate to point out the uncomfortable fact. “But not that far up. Not dangerously far.” Striding along in the middle of his small group, he lowered his voice slightly. “Suppose, though, we could scrim a place crammed with really valuable solids. Stuff that could easily and quickly be sold all over the planet. Scrimzees the buyers wouldn’t howl about, and that the original owners wouldn’t report to the police as having been boosted?” His tone was exuberant, though others might have called it maniacal.

Without a doubt, he was pleased at the reactions his words elicited in his companions. These ranged from utter bafflement from Sallow Behdul to suspicious expectation on the part of Dirran and Missi. Even Zezula was prodded out of her apathy by his challenge. As for Subar, he did his best to project a dutiful front. Inside, he was churning. What was Chaloni getting them into now?

“I don’t see it,” Missi finally said. “Any merchant whose goods are scrimmed is going to wail to the police.”

Chaloni nodded slowly, in full agreement with her observation if not her conclusion. “Usually—unless the goods are illegal, their sale is illegal, and the whole operation is less legit than tomorrow’s weathercast.”

Subar wasn’t suspicious anymore. He was frightened. So frightened he forgot to keep his mouth closed. “Chal, are you talking about scrimming malware?”

The gang leader smiled at him. “I’ve been scoping this for months, during the day. Didn’t want to spill it unless I was sure we could make it work.” His tone grew intense, the way it did when he was outgrabed on stim. “Any of you ever hear of Goalaa Endeavors?” He waited, allowing each of them enough time to confess their ignorance. “Cansure you haven’t. It’s out in Tethe.”

“Where the main shuttleport is,” Dirran pointed out unnecessarily.

Chaloni nodded. “Also Tethe Industrial District. Hundreds of warehouses, storage complexes, shipping and transit facilities. One of which is home to Goalaa Endeavors. Heard about it from—well, you don’t need to know. Goalaa brings in offworld goods that aren’t manufactured here yet. Specialized appliances, some integrated heavy building customization units, that sort of thing.” His eyes were bright. “They also bring in offworld furniture. Not unusual for a fast-growing colony world like Visaria that still can’t produce everything it needs or wants. Except that mixed in with the usual everyday, run-of-the-mill, mass-manufactured stuff are antiques.
Real
antiques. Including some from Earth itself.”

Not being especially conversant with the details of interstellar commerce except as it might relate directly to them personally—in the matter of the latest bead loads, for example—bewilderment continued to dominate the expressions of the other gang members. The mere mention of the human homeworld, however, was enough to intrigue them.

“Export from Earth of anything over five hundred years old is strictly edicted by the Commonwealth,” Chaloni finally deigned to explain. “Such objects are considered part of humankind history. Only museums and recognized educational facilities are allowed to take them offEarth, and for that they have to apply for and be granted a special Terran export license.”

Now Missi was impressed. “You’ve been doing some research, Chal.”

He snorted. “You think when I’m not looking out for you flies I spend all my time sleeping and stimming? Real Terran antiques can’t be faked. The materials used can be traced right back to their tree, ore, or synthesis of origin. Who wouldn’t want to own a piece of the homeworld? Boosting and reselling them throughout the Commonwealth is serious business. Me, I was surprised there was an outfit way out here on Visaria with enough tech and testos to bring it off.” His energy and enthusiasm were becoming infectious.

“Wait a minute.” As Subar had learned very early on in his active, difficult life, anything that sounded too good to be true usually was. “This Goalaa Endeavors that’s bringing in Terran antiques: whose place is it? Who’s running the operation?”

“
Tfell,
I don’t know—and I don’t care.” Chaloni’s bravado was blatant. Or suicidal, Subar was thinking. “Don’t you crawlers
see
? It’s the perfect scrim! We boost a transport, change the ident. For one night, it’s no big tech. I’ve been scoping the building for a long time. Dirran and I can neut the automatics. If there’s a liv inside, we neut him, too. I’ve been reading up on what slipslides offEarth. We fill the transport with the real history, unload at our place, lose the lift, and then laze awhile. Then we use an intermede to make the necessary contacts for us and we sky our wares out piece by piece.” His smile was broad. “More cred at one time than we’ve had in our whole lives! And the best part of it is that Goalaa can’t say spiss to the police or anyone else, or they get their operation scanned and probed.”