Brothers In Arms: Part One
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Writer’s Note: Brothers In Arms: Part One was published originally in Jump Point 3.5.
The heads-up display on Gavin Rhedd’s Cutlass dimmed at the edges. Green triangles representing the members of his security team distorted to form horizontal spikes of flickering static. He smacked the side of his helmet. It was a practiced move, and one that had snapped the HUD back into focus in the past. This time, the display flickered, faded and then died.
A heavy breath sent a thin veil of vapor climbing the visor of his helmet. Condensation obscured the view of black, empty space ahead.
Empty like the dead heads-up display.
Empty just like it had been for weeks.
There were brigands and marauders plaguing every planet in the ’verse and he couldn’t find one damned gang. Nothing was working out like he’d planned.
On the navsat, the other three members of Rhedd Alert Security fanned out to either side. His brother Walt was locked into position directly to port. Jazza and Boomer were painfully out of position.
Sloppy.
Everyone was getting bored and careless.
Boomer was the first to break radio silence this time.
“Hey, guys?”
“What’s up, Boomer?” Walt was the first to respond.
“I’m cold.”
Jazza didn’t follow orders better than any of the others, and her banter had the comfortable cadence of friendly rivalry. “Then put on a sweater.”
“Hey, Jazz?” Boomer fired back at her.
“Yeah?”
“Take your helmet off for a tick.”
“Why’s that, old man? You want a kiss?”
“Nope. I’m hoping you get sucked out and die when I shoot a hole through your cockpit.”
Gavin sighed into his helmet before triggering his mic. “Come on, gang. I want comms dark. The miners on Oberon hired us to take care of their pirate problem. And the three of you chattering on an open channel won’t help us find them any faster.”
“I’m starting to hate this system,” Walt muttered.
They were all tired and strung out from weeks of long hours and no action. But Walt was killing their morale by giving voice to that frustration. This whole thing — Rhedd Alert Security, abandoning smuggling to go clean, applying for Citizenship — was something they’d agreed to do together. Gavin and Walt. Brothers. Going legit and starting a business.
It seemed a good idea when they were dodging system alerts and dumping a fortune into forged tags. But some things don’t change, and Walt was the same old Walt — all talk and no follow through. It wouldn’t be long before he came up with some excuse to move on to clearer skies.
“What’s wrong, Boomer?”
“Cold, Gavin. Think the heat’s out.”
Wonderful. Something else to fix. Maybe Walt wouldn’t be the first to quit after all. Dell would leave if Gavin let her father freeze to death over this rock.
Jazza barked a laugh, “Yep. That sounds about right for this outfit.”
“Jazza, will you shut up already? Which part are you having trouble with? Comms or dark?”
“Yes sir, Big Boss Man.”
“Jesus. I got more respect from you guys when we were criminals. Boomer, by all the Banu gods, why didn’t you tell me you were having trouble before we left the hangar?”
“I, uh . . . I figured to keep quiet until after the mission. Until we got paid, you know?”
This should have been a quick in and out job. But after weeks of fruitless hunting, even if they eventually drove off the pirates, the job would be a net loss.
“Hey, guys?” Jazza was really starting to get on his nerves. He told her as much. “Shut your hole, Gavin. I just wanted to let you know I found something.”
Gavin quickly studied the navsat console. The area looked empty other than the four of them, so whatever she’d found wasn’t showing up on any of his feeds. He smacked his helmet again in mute hope that the HUD would spring back to life.
“It’s a hull,” Jazza said. “Big one. Looks like a stripped Idris. Looks dead.”
“I’m not seeing you on . . . crap,” Walt said. “There you are. How’d you get way the hell out there?”
“Easy, folks,” Gavin said. “Boomer? You head toward Jazza. Walt and I will hold position.”
“Copy that.”
An Idris represented a fair chunk of creds as salvage. Strange that no one had claimed it. They were in Oberon to chase off pirates, but a little scrap job on the side was a welcome bonus.
“Jazza,” Gavin said, “I’ve got nothing near you on sensors. You think it’s just some floating junk?”
“I think so,” she spoke slowly, uncertain. “I thought I saw a heat trace, but I’m not seeing it now. Going in for a closer — Jesus!”
“Jazz,” Boomer’s voice was flat. The old man was all business. “Break right, I’ll pull this one off you and lead them back to the boys.”
“Can’t shake him.”
The navsat showed three new ships. A 325a with scrambled tags closed in on Jazza. Walt streaked past, already accelerating toward the fray, and Gavin turned to follow.
“Pull up hard,” Boomer said. “Bring him back around — Damn it.”
“Talk to us, Boomer,” Walt said.
“Jazza took a big hit. These guys are each sporting a Tarantula — the big one.”
“Hold tight,” Gavin said. “We’re nearly there. Walt, my HUD’s out. I need visual to fight, can you engage?”
“On it.”
“Hold on, Boomer. We’re coming.”
Walt was an incandescent streak ahead of him. The nearby space seemed deceptively empty without the visualizations that his HUD instrumentation would normally project. Only Oberon IV, looming beneath them, gave him any sense of perspective.
Walt’s voice crackled into the oppressive silence. “Boomer. I’m coming in low at your three o’clock.”
“Copy that.”
“I’m going to strafe with the repeaters to get their attention. You give that 325 a broadside he can’t resist. I’ll shove a missile somewhere the sun don’t shine.”
“Hurry, Walt. I’m too old for a three-on-one.”
“On you in five. Four. Three. Break now!”
Up ahead, razor thin beams of red slashed across space. The lasers streaked straight and then abruptly fanned out as Walt yawed around a pirate ship.
“Boomer!” Walt’s words tumbled out in a rush. “I can’t take a missile shot with you between us.”
“Can’t shake him.”
“Well that Tarantula is going to shake you plenty if you don’t.”
A missile streaked toward one of the pirate ships. Gavin saw a stuttering series of small flashes inside the cockpit, then the 325a vented a blazing ball of burning oxygen and went dark.
Gavin dropped into the swirling tangle of ships and added his own laser fire to the melee. Rippling blossoms of dispersed energy glowed against a pirate’s shields.
“That’s done it,” Walt said, “they’re gonna run.”
He was right. Realizing they were outnumbered, the remaining pirates turned together and accelerated past Jazza’s drifting ship.
And with them would go any hope of a profitable job. “Pen them in and stitch them up, guys.”
“Screw that,” Walt pulled up, quickly falling behind. “Let them run. They won’t operate here once we steal their hideout. We win, Gav.”
“This job won’t even cover our fuel costs, Walt. We need those ships.”
“I got ’em.” Boomer yawed around to pin the fleeing ships between them.
“Boomer,” Walt cried, “don’t!”
The pirate pair turned nose to nose with Boomer. Their guns sparked twice, muzzles flashing, and Boomer’s Avenger bucked from the impact. Most of the starboard wing spun away in a blaze of erupting oxygen. The pirates flew straight through the floating wreckage and streaked away at full acceleration.
Gavin cursed and slowed. Without his HUD, the fleeing pirates quickly faded from view. “Boomer? Talk to me, buddy.”
Boomer’s Avenger drifted slowly away toward the black. Then it burped, venting air and Boomer’s survival suit out into open space.
A new, flashing red icon reflected up and off the canopy of Gavin’s cockpit. He didn’t have to check the console to know it was Boomer’s recovery beacon.
He let his hands fall away from the controls, closed his eyes and let his head slump backwards. His helmet struck the headrest with an audible clunk. Colored lights sprang up to swim in front of his closed eyes.
Resigned, he cracked one heavy lid to peek out at the intruding light source. His HUD had decided to grace him with a reappearance.
“What. The hell. Was that?” Walt pronounced his words biting precision.
“Tarantula GT-870 Mk3,” Gavin recited in detail.
“I know about the damn guns, Gavin. I mean sending Boomer after them. We won. We had them on the run.”
“These ships don’t repair themselves, Walt. Maybe you haven’t done the math, but we’re broke. We need the salvage.”
“Salvage is nice, but Dell is going to kill you if Boomer is hurt again.”
“I’ll deal with Dell.” Gavin rolled his shoulders and settled his hands back on the controls. “Put a call in to Oberon. Let them know we took care of their pest problem and that we’ll tow away the clever little base the pests were hiding in to block scans. Then get Jazza patched up. Assuming the pirate survived, the two of you can drop him off before towing the salvage home.”
“Got it,” Walt’s voice was caustic, “money first. Good job keeping our priorities straight”
“Damn it, Walt. Will you stow the lip for two minutes so we can pack up and get everyone home.”
“Fine.”
“I’ll get Boomer. Can you please go see if you can get Jazza back up and running?”
“You’re the boss, little brother.”
Gavin pushed his family troubles to the back of his mind. Prioritize. First things first, take care of the crew. Get Boomer home. Repair the ships. Pay down some debt. He rattled off a painfully long list of critical next steps and one item kept rapidly, forcefully climbing its way to the top.
They really needed to get another job.
Walt beat the others back to the hangar. He matched rotation with Goss system’s Vista Landing and drifted along its length until he reached the Rhedd Alert hangar. He slowed and then stopped at three sets of wide double doors, each painted an alarming shade of red.
Hazard beacons floated in front of the first set of doors. Short bursts from tiny thrusters kept them in place a dozen meters out while a work crew applied high-pressure, ghost-grey paint over stencils of the Rhedd Alert logo.
Walt drew in a proud breath that pressed his chest against the confines of his flight suit. It looked cool having their name up in big letters on the side of the complex.
Then the moment soured.
The hangar and support staff were dead weight around their necks. The painting crew and logo were all part of the lease agreement with the station, but they served as a pointed reminder of the permanence of the commitment. Walt gnawed at his bottom lip, uncomfortable with the weight of the obligation.
He tried to put the sense of buyer’s remorse aside, but it sat heavy and rekindled his anger at Gavin. His brother wanted this company so much. Dell did, too.
Success — legit success — meant they could leave the old routines behind, forever. No more hiding. No more flipping tags every couple weeks to stay ahead of the Advocacy. Starting a company and working toward Citizenship was a big deal, but at what price?
Employing folks and applying for Citizenship was fine, but it started to lose luster in a hurry if success meant getting someone killed. Walt had to make sure Gavin saw that. They were all tired, but this was too important to wait.
“Knock knock, Dell,” Walt said. “Open up.”
D’lilah’s voice came over the comm immediately. She’d been waiting. “Bay 3, Walt. And mind the paint crew.”
“I see ’em. Glad to be home, Dell.”
Gavin touched down last, and Walt was waiting at the foot of the ladder when his brother slid down to the deck.
“Don’t start with me,” were the first words out of Gavin’s mouth.
“Listen,” Walt said, “Maybe I was out of line to second guess you during a fight, but we need to talk about what happened out there.”
“We won, okay? Right now I need to get Boomer to the med techs, and then contact Barry about another job.”
“Barry got us this job, Gav. I’m not sure if you noticed, but it really didn’t end so well.”
“We got sucker-punched by some thugs. That’s what happens when you get sloppy.”
He was talking about procedures and performance. Two of their ships got shot up, Boomer wounded and Gavin was grumbling about tight flight formations. Walt stretched his fingers, willing them not to form fists. His brother tucked his helmet under one arm and stepped to the side to move around him.
“Damn it, Gavin,” Walt grabbed the shorter man’s shoulder and pressed him back against the ladder. “Would you slow down for two seconds?”
He’d caught Gavin by surprise, but his younger brother was fast. Gavin slapped the hand from his shoulder, threw his helmet to the hangar deck and planted a two-handed shove of his own into Walt’s chest. “What’s your problem, Walt?”
The hangar grew quiet. A quick glance to either side showed the rest of the staff looking very hard for something productive to do, as far from the brothers as possible. Walt leaned in and hissed, “I’m trying to keep you from getting someone hurt. What’s the point of Rhedd Alert if we get everyone killed for one crappy job?”
“One crappy . . . ?” Gavin’s eyes were wide, showing white all around the edges. “You need to wake up, Walt. This was our only job. I got half the ships in the squad with parts falling off. I got Boomer freezing his junk off in nothing more than his flight suit. We can’t jump systems to hijack the next ship that comes along any more. This is what we signed up for, man.”
Walt was getting hot again. He knew he should walk away, but Gavin was still missing his point. “I know what I signed up for.” He knew that they had to make good on jobs, but why die trying just to pay the bill collectors? “And I remember why I signed up, too.”
Gavin stepped in again. Closer. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”
“You, Gavin.”
“So everything’s my fault? Because I made you join up.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know I screwed up the bid on this job. I should have priced it higher. But guess what? I didn’t. And this is all we had.”
Walt lowered his voice, getting right in Gavin’s face. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m here because you want this.” He jabbed a stiff finger into Gavin’s chest. “You want it for Dell. Because you’re afraid she’ll leave if you can’t pull it off.”
And then Gavin was on him.
They went down hard and Walt’s head cracked against the deck when they landed. Gavin was compact and built like a Sataball defenseman, but Walt had length and leverage. It was a dichotomy they had put to the test a hundred times since they were boys, with nearly uniform results. But Gavin just didn’t know when to give up.
The tussle was short and ugly. In seconds, Walt had one forearm jammed into the back of his brother’s neck, with the other propping himself up off the deck. Gavin’s face was pressed into the cold steel of the hangar floor.
Then the scuffed toe of a black work boot crunched down painfully on Walt’s fingers. His stranglehold on Gavin relaxed, and the smaller man started to squirm free. That was, at least, until the socketed head of a heavy wrench dropped on Gavin’s shoulder, pushing him back down, face first and flat onto the deck.
“Oomph.”
“Now, now, boys,” Dell said. “What are the neighbors gonna think?”
Walt winced, gritting his teeth as she ground his fingers against the steel deck. He craned his neck around to look at her. D’lilah’s boots were cinched tight by pink laces with a white skull-and-crossbones pattern stitched into them. She wore worn, canvas coveralls that hugged strong legs, pockets bulging with tools and spare parts. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail that hung over one shoulder, and she’d dyed the last couple inches a bright, electric blue. The color was new since they’d left for Oberon. It was a playful accent that wasn’t echoed in the angry blue of her eyes.
“Oh. Hey there, Dell.” Walt struggled to keep a pinched note of pain from his voice. “Hello to you, too.”
“Unless the next words out of your mouth tell me where my dad is, you’re going to be working your stick left-handed.”
Gavin answered her. “Ease up, Dell.”
“Who’s got him?”
“I do.” Gavin nodded back toward his ship.
“Well then.” She lifted her foot and Walt yanked his hand back to rub at aching knuckles. He glared at her, as sour a look as he could manage while kneeling on the deck. Her smile feigned a sweetness that did nothing to thaw the frozen fury in her eyes. “I’ll fetch the buggy. If you two are done snuggling, it sounds like my dad has a date with the techs in the med center.”
Dell swung the wrench up to rest over one shoulder, spun on the balls of her feet, and strode away.
Gavin rolled over onto his back with a groan. “That woman is going to kill us one of these days.”
“Think we could outrun her?”
“You, maybe. There’s not a dark enough hole in the ’verse for me to hide.”
“Yeah, well,” Walt pushed himself to his feet with a grunt, “that’s your own damn fault for marrying her.”
Several systems away, on a station much larger and better appointed than Vista Landing, Morgan Brock scowled at a set of numbers on her mobiGlas. She lifted her eyes, shifting her gaze over the top edge of the screen to stare at Riebeld. The salesman sprawled casually in what Brock knew to be an uncomfortable chair. She made sure that it was uncomfortable, so no one felt confident when sitting opposite her desk.
Riebeld somehow pulled it off, though. It was that braggadocio that made him such a good breadwinner for her company. Irritating, yes. But good for business.
She powered down the mobiGlas. “The net profits on this estimate are based off a twelve percent commission.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I think we both know that your negotiated commission is ten, Riebeld.”
“And I think we also both know that this job could double the size of the company within two years.” He sat forward then and leaned on her desk. “I want twelve if I bring it in.”
“And you think I’m going to just give it to you?”
“I know you will.”
It was her turn to lean forward. It put her too close to him, and he should have backed off. He didn’t. “And why,” she asked, “is that?”
“Because I know that you’re not going to let principle stand in the way of profit.” His toothy grin was bright enough to deflect lasers. She was used to predatory smiles from men, but with men like Riebeld, it only meant there was money on the line. His mobiGlas chirped beside them. Riebeld had an incoming call.
He ignored it.
She waited for the incoming alert to stop.
It did.
“You get twelve,” she said. “But anyone who helps bring it in gets paid out of your cut, not mine. And I want three options for one-year extensions. Not one. Bring it to me with three or I won’t sign it.”
“Done.”
“Fine. Now get out.”
He did and Brock leaned back in her chair. She was going to need more ships. Riebeld would get the extensions or he wouldn’t. They gave him something to work toward, and he’d get sloppy if he didn’t have a challenge.
Good sales guys were like racehorses, high maintenance and temperamental. Most days, they were nothing more than a pain in the ass. Come race day, though – you always wanted one in your stable.
There was a quick knock on her door. Riebeld didn’t wait for her to answer before he shoved his head in.
“I won’t budge on the options, Riebeld. I want three or no deal.”
“No,” he said. “It’s not that. Navy SysCom just put our Tyrol contract up for rebid.”
“What?”
“Yeah. We’re allowed to rebid, but they’re putting it out for open competition.”
“Why the hell would they do that?” Escorting UEE scientists to the research facilities in Tyrol wasn’t their biggest job, but she’d put a lot of work into it. They’d spent years clearing the shipping lanes in the Nexus system — lucrative years, admittedly — and now the missions were pure profit and promised future growth.
“I don’t have the full story yet, but apparently they are trying to push low-risk contract work out to local companies. Some brainiac in accounting identified the Tyrol run as a candidate and boom, Major Greely pulled the contract.”
“See what you can find out,” she said. “And get to work on the rebid.”
“Already got it covered.”
“And Riebeld?”
“Yeah?”
“Find me the name of that accountant.”
It was late when Gavin left the station. By way of apology, he invited Walt to join him on the short trip to Cassel to meet with Barry Lidst. Whether Walt came along as reconciliation or simply to avoid another run-in with Dell was unclear. Regardless, he didn’t seem inclined to talk about the argument as they flew, and Gavin saw no reason to bring it up.
Barry, a Navy SysCom accountant by trade and freelance rainmaker by inclination, had grown up with the brothers. He had left Goss to join the Navy while the Rhedd boys stayed to work the smuggling routes with Boomer and their father before he passed.
Officially, Barry was responsible for negotiating contracts between the UEE Navy and private vendors, but he also managed to broker a few off-the-record jobs on the side. He was, if anything, an opportunist, and Gavin trusted him about as much as he trusted any of the shady characters they’d worked with in the past. Which is to say, not at all.
The fact that Barry was involved with Dell before leaving to join the Navy didn’t factor into his opinion at all. Nope, not in the slightest. Still, Barry had come through with their first legitimate job. With luck, he’d have more.
Gavin swallowed hard, focusing on the fact that they needed work. Walt kept quiet. By the time Cassel swelled, massive, blue and inviting against the gold and turquoise bands of the Olympus Pool, Gavin could feel his brows drawing down into a scowl.
The brothers landed and made their way to a club that catered to the resort world’s local crowd. It was busy, of course, but Barry was waiting and had managed to find an open table.
“I was beginning to think you two bought it in Oberon.” Barry’s naval uniform was cut from some shiny material that was either freshly pressed or engineered to be wrinkle-free. It looked tragically uncomfortable, but did a reasonable job of hiding a rounded gut.
“Oberon took a bit longer than we thought,” Gavin forced a smile, “but we got them.”
“Everything go okay?”
“Absolutely.” He injected confidence into his words and hoped it sounded genuine. Walt looked at him sharply, but Gavin ignored him. They had to appear capable or better jobs were going to be in short supply. “Pirates are not a problem.”
Barry motioned them to sit and his voice took on a somber note. “Word is that Dell’s dad got busted up. He okay?”
“Jesus, Barry,” Walt said. “How’d you even hear about that?”
“I’m the government. We’ve got our eyes and ears everywhere.” Gavin stared at him and raised an eyebrow, waiting. “Yeah. Well,” Barry shrugged and took a sip of his drink, “those miners on Oberon might have mentioned something.”
“Boomer’s fine. Our ships took more of a beating than he did,” Gavin turned the subject away from his team getting shot up on the job. “I was surprised to hear you were in Goss system.”
“Mom retired here on Cassel,” Barry cast a sour glare around the room when he said it. “I’m just here visiting. Can’t stand it with all the tourist traffic, but she loves the shows and exhibits and stuff. Anyway, I’m glad you guys were able to help out in Oberon.”
“Happy to.”
“Stuff like this comes up from time to time,” Barry said. “It’s not like we don’t want to take care of it ourselves or anything. We do. But the Navy can’t send troops after every brigand and thug in the ’verse, you know? Particularly when they’re camped out in an unclaimed system. So, yeah. No one minds if we feed these jobs to indies like you guys.”
“Well,” Gavin said, “we’re light on work right now. Got anything for us?”
“I might have something — not UEE work, but still a decent job. And I know the client will be happy with your rates.”
Gavin’s heart sank a bit, but maybe they could increase their price without chasing Barry away. He encouraged the accountant to keep talking.
“The job is close, just a couple hops away. It’s hard work, but I can hook you up if you’re interested.”
“What’s the job?” Walt asked.
“You ever heard of molybdenum?” Gavin’s face must have looked as blank as Walt’s. “No? It’s a rare metal used in electronics and stuff. You find it near copper deposits. You know what? Doesn’t matter. A friend of mine knows a guy who just got his hands on the mining rights to a moon.”
“Mining,” Walt muttered. “Why is it always mining?”
“I guess the whole moon is riddled with tunnels and caverns. Apparently there used to be a bunch of copper there, but now all that stuff is gone. The only thing left is the molybdenum. This guy, he’s got three weeks to start producing or he loses his lease to the next prospector in line.”
“Barry,” Gavin said, “if you’re looking for a team to wear hardhats and swing pickaxes, you’ve got the wrong guys.”
“Naw, it’s nothing like that. They’re empty now, but someone set the caves up as a fortified base. Smugglers, probably. They put auto-targeting turrets in there. My guy told me they’re all over the place. Around every corner. Anyway, it’s all Banu tech. A group of them must have hopped over from Bacchus.”
“So what’s the job?”
“They need someone to comb through the whole thing and take out the turrets. They can’t send mining equipment and operators in there until it’s clear. Those guys don’t have shields.”
“That’s it?” Gavin asked.
“Yup. That’s it.”
Walt watched Barry across the table with a bemused tilt to one eyebrow. “That’s the most boring job I’ve ever heard of.”
“Hey,” Barry said, “if you want something with a little higher chance of combat, I’ve got a UEE escort contract up for bid. We were getting absolutely fleeced by the incumbent contractor. I finally convinced the major to rebid the job.”
Now that sounded exactly like the job Rhedd Alert needed.
“Tell me more about that,” Gavin said. “About the escort job, I mean.”
“I, uh listen,” Barry said. “I wasn’t really serious about that. No offense, but that is an armed escort through some pretty rough systems.”
This was it. The chance they needed. “Our guys can do it,” Gavin said.
“It’s a small job now, but it’s scheduled to mature into something big. I don’t even know if you have enough ships to meet the contract requirements.”
“Give us a shot. If we perform, I’ll find the extra ships and pilots.”
“The outfits that sign on for gigs like this are generally ex-military. Highly trained. Lots of contacts in Navy SysCom. Most of the contractors we use are actually based right next to the Navy in Kilian system. I was joking, guys. Forget I mentioned it.”
“No, we can do this. What’s the run? How many —”
“Gav,” Walt interrupted, “we’re talking naval flight formations and tactics. Superior weapons systems. Maybe we should get more info on the turret thing in the mulberry mine.”
“Molybdenum.”
“Whatever.”
“Come on, Walt. This sounds perfect for us. And I’d put you or Jazza up against an ex-Navy pilot in a heartbeat. Any system, any time.”
“Fellas . . . hey, listen,” Barry said. “The UEE is trying to push local work to local contractors. The big defense companies are fighting it. If you feel like sticking your hand in the middle of that fire, I’ll forward you the RFP. Good enough? In the meantime . . . about my buddy with the moon mine?”
Gavin half-heartedly followed along while Walt and Barry discussed the turret job, but in his mind they were already escorting UEE ships through hostile space. Walt startled him out of his reverie when he hushed a surprised Barry into silence.
“Wait,” Walt said, “back up a second. These Banu weapon systems. Did you say this stuff came out of Bacchus?”
“Probably. Why?”
“This moon . . . Barry, where is it?”
“Oberon VI, why?”
Gavin’s heart sank again. A glance at Walt did nothing to reassure him. His brother’s smile looked fantastically strained.
“Ah, come on,” Barry said. “You’ve already done good work for these guys.”
“They’ll kill us,” Walt said.
“Naw,” Barry waved at them dismissively, “They love Rhedd Alert.”
“No,” Walt said, “not the miners.”
“Who?” Barry looked concerned now. “Who’ll kill you?”
Gavin answered. “Our team is going to kill us if we drag them back to Oberon.”
“Hey,” Barry relaxed, “it’s a small ’verse. You’re going to end up passing through there sooner or later. Might as well get paid for it. Am I right?”
“Yeah,” Walt said, “but Oberon?”
“I did mention it pays, didn’t I?” Barry keyed something up on his mobiGlas. He turned it so they could read the projected display. At the bottom was a number. A not-insignificant number. Gavin stared at his hands as Walt absorbed the figures.
Walt’s head made an audible clunk when it struck the table. He groaned something muffled and to the effect of, “I can’t believe we’re going back to Oberon.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
The heads-up display on Gavin Rhedd’s Cutlass dimmed at the edges. Green triangles representing the members of his security team distorted to form horizontal spikes of flickering static. He smacked the side of his helmet. It was a practiced move, and one that had snapped the HUD back into focus in the past. This time, the display flickered, faded and then died.
A heavy breath sent a thin veil of vapor climbing the visor of his helmet. Condensation obscured the view of black, empty space ahead.
Empty like the dead heads-up display.
Empty just like it had been for weeks.
There were brigands and marauders plaguing every planet in the ’verse and he couldn’t find one damned gang. Nothing was working out like he’d planned.
On the navsat, the other three members of Rhedd Alert Security fanned out to either side. His brother Walt was locked into position directly to port. Jazza and Boomer were painfully out of position.
Sloppy.
Everyone was getting bored and careless.
Boomer was the first to break radio silence this time.
“Hey, guys?”
“What’s up, Boomer?” Walt was the first to respond.
“I’m cold.”
Jazza didn’t follow orders better than any of the others, and her banter had the comfortable cadence of friendly rivalry. “Then put on a sweater.”
“Hey, Jazz?” Boomer fired back at her.
“Yeah?”
“Take your helmet off for a tick.”
“Why’s that, old man? You want a kiss?”
“Nope. I’m hoping you get sucked out and die when I shoot a hole through your cockpit.”
Gavin sighed into his helmet before triggering his mic. “Come on, gang. I want comms dark. The miners on Oberon hired us to take care of their pirate problem. And the three of you chattering on an open channel won’t help us find them any faster.”
“I’m starting to hate this system,” Walt muttered.
They were all tired and strung out from weeks of long hours and no action. But Walt was killing their morale by giving voice to that frustration. This whole thing — Rhedd Alert Security, abandoning smuggling to go clean, applying for Citizenship — was something they’d agreed to do together. Gavin and Walt. Brothers. Going legit and starting a business.
It seemed a good idea when they were dodging system alerts and dumping a fortune into forged tags. But some things don’t change, and Walt was the same old Walt — all talk and no follow through. It wouldn’t be long before he came up with some excuse to move on to clearer skies.
“What’s wrong, Boomer?”
“Cold, Gavin. Think the heat’s out.”
Wonderful. Something else to fix. Maybe Walt wouldn’t be the first to quit after all. Dell would leave if Gavin let her father freeze to death over this rock.
Jazza barked a laugh, “Yep. That sounds about right for this outfit.”
“Jazza, will you shut up already? Which part are you having trouble with? Comms or dark?”
“Yes sir, Big Boss Man.”
“Jesus. I got more respect from you guys when we were criminals. Boomer, by all the Banu gods, why didn’t you tell me you were having trouble before we left the hangar?”
“I, uh . . . I figured to keep quiet until after the mission. Until we got paid, you know?”
This should have been a quick in and out job. But after weeks of fruitless hunting, even if they eventually drove off the pirates, the job would be a net loss.
“Hey, guys?” Jazza was really starting to get on his nerves. He told her as much. “Shut your hole, Gavin. I just wanted to let you know I found something.”
Gavin quickly studied the navsat console. The area looked empty other than the four of them, so whatever she’d found wasn’t showing up on any of his feeds. He smacked his helmet again in mute hope that the HUD would spring back to life.
“It’s a hull,” Jazza said. “Big one. Looks like a stripped Idris. Looks dead.”
“I’m not seeing you on . . . crap,” Walt said. “There you are. How’d you get way the hell out there?”
“Easy, folks,” Gavin said. “Boomer? You head toward Jazza. Walt and I will hold position.”
“Copy that.”
An Idris represented a fair chunk of creds as salvage. Strange that no one had claimed it. They were in Oberon to chase off pirates, but a little scrap job on the side was a welcome bonus.
“Jazza,” Gavin said, “I’ve got nothing near you on sensors. You think it’s just some floating junk?”
“I think so,” she spoke slowly, uncertain. “I thought I saw a heat trace, but I’m not seeing it now. Going in for a closer — Jesus!”
“Jazz,” Boomer’s voice was flat. The old man was all business. “Break right, I’ll pull this one off you and lead them back to the boys.”
“Can’t shake him.”
The navsat showed three new ships. A 325a with scrambled tags closed in on Jazza. Walt streaked past, already accelerating toward the fray, and Gavin turned to follow.
“Pull up hard,” Boomer said. “Bring him back around — Damn it.”
“Talk to us, Boomer,” Walt said.
“Jazza took a big hit. These guys are each sporting a Tarantula — the big one.”
“Hold tight,” Gavin said. “We’re nearly there. Walt, my HUD’s out. I need visual to fight, can you engage?”
“On it.”
“Hold on, Boomer. We’re coming.”
Walt was an incandescent streak ahead of him. The nearby space seemed deceptively empty without the visualizations that his HUD instrumentation would normally project. Only Oberon IV, looming beneath them, gave him any sense of perspective.
Walt’s voice crackled into the oppressive silence. “Boomer. I’m coming in low at your three o’clock.”
“Copy that.”
“I’m going to strafe with the repeaters to get their attention. You give that 325 a broadside he can’t resist. I’ll shove a missile somewhere the sun don’t shine.”
“Hurry, Walt. I’m too old for a three-on-one.”
“On you in five. Four. Three. Break now!”
Up ahead, razor thin beams of red slashed across space. The lasers streaked straight and then abruptly fanned out as Walt yawed around a pirate ship.
“Boomer!” Walt’s words tumbled out in a rush. “I can’t take a missile shot with you between us.”
“Can’t shake him.”
“Well that Tarantula is going to shake you plenty if you don’t.”
A missile streaked toward one of the pirate ships. Gavin saw a stuttering series of small flashes inside the cockpit, then the 325a vented a blazing ball of burning oxygen and went dark.
Gavin dropped into the swirling tangle of ships and added his own laser fire to the melee. Rippling blossoms of dispersed energy glowed against a pirate’s shields.
“That’s done it,” Walt said, “they’re gonna run.”
He was right. Realizing they were outnumbered, the remaining pirates turned together and accelerated past Jazza’s drifting ship.
And with them would go any hope of a profitable job. “Pen them in and stitch them up, guys.”
“Screw that,” Walt pulled up, quickly falling behind. “Let them run. They won’t operate here once we steal their hideout. We win, Gav.”
“This job won’t even cover our fuel costs, Walt. We need those ships.”
“I got ’em.” Boomer yawed around to pin the fleeing ships between them.
“Boomer,” Walt cried, “don’t!”
The pirate pair turned nose to nose with Boomer. Their guns sparked twice, muzzles flashing, and Boomer’s Avenger bucked from the impact. Most of the starboard wing spun away in a blaze of erupting oxygen. The pirates flew straight through the floating wreckage and streaked away at full acceleration.
Gavin cursed and slowed. Without his HUD, the fleeing pirates quickly faded from view. “Boomer? Talk to me, buddy.”
Boomer’s Avenger drifted slowly away toward the black. Then it burped, venting air and Boomer’s survival suit out into open space.
A new, flashing red icon reflected up and off the canopy of Gavin’s cockpit. He didn’t have to check the console to know it was Boomer’s recovery beacon.
He let his hands fall away from the controls, closed his eyes and let his head slump backwards. His helmet struck the headrest with an audible clunk. Colored lights sprang up to swim in front of his closed eyes.
Resigned, he cracked one heavy lid to peek out at the intruding light source. His HUD had decided to grace him with a reappearance.
“What. The hell. Was that?” Walt pronounced his words biting precision.
“Tarantula GT-870 Mk3,” Gavin recited in detail.
“I know about the damn guns, Gavin. I mean sending Boomer after them. We won. We had them on the run.”
“These ships don’t repair themselves, Walt. Maybe you haven’t done the math, but we’re broke. We need the salvage.”
“Salvage is nice, but Dell is going to kill you if Boomer is hurt again.”
“I’ll deal with Dell.” Gavin rolled his shoulders and settled his hands back on the controls. “Put a call in to Oberon. Let them know we took care of their pest problem and that we’ll tow away the clever little base the pests were hiding in to block scans. Then get Jazza patched up. Assuming the pirate survived, the two of you can drop him off before towing the salvage home.”
“Got it,” Walt’s voice was caustic, “money first. Good job keeping our priorities straight”
“Damn it, Walt. Will you stow the lip for two minutes so we can pack up and get everyone home.”
“Fine.”
“I’ll get Boomer. Can you please go see if you can get Jazza back up and running?”
“You’re the boss, little brother.”
Gavin pushed his family troubles to the back of his mind. Prioritize. First things first, take care of the crew. Get Boomer home. Repair the ships. Pay down some debt. He rattled off a painfully long list of critical next steps and one item kept rapidly, forcefully climbing its way to the top.
They really needed to get another job.
Walt beat the others back to the hangar. He matched rotation with Goss system’s Vista Landing and drifted along its length until he reached the Rhedd Alert hangar. He slowed and then stopped at three sets of wide double doors, each painted an alarming shade of red.
Hazard beacons floated in front of the first set of doors. Short bursts from tiny thrusters kept them in place a dozen meters out while a work crew applied high-pressure, ghost-grey paint over stencils of the Rhedd Alert logo.
Walt drew in a proud breath that pressed his chest against the confines of his flight suit. It looked cool having their name up in big letters on the side of the complex.
Then the moment soured.
The hangar and support staff were dead weight around their necks. The painting crew and logo were all part of the lease agreement with the station, but they served as a pointed reminder of the permanence of the commitment. Walt gnawed at his bottom lip, uncomfortable with the weight of the obligation.
He tried to put the sense of buyer’s remorse aside, but it sat heavy and rekindled his anger at Gavin. His brother wanted this company so much. Dell did, too.
Success — legit success — meant they could leave the old routines behind, forever. No more hiding. No more flipping tags every couple weeks to stay ahead of the Advocacy. Starting a company and working toward Citizenship was a big deal, but at what price?
Employing folks and applying for Citizenship was fine, but it started to lose luster in a hurry if success meant getting someone killed. Walt had to make sure Gavin saw that. They were all tired, but this was too important to wait.
“Knock knock, Dell,” Walt said. “Open up.”
D’lilah’s voice came over the comm immediately. She’d been waiting. “Bay 3, Walt. And mind the paint crew.”
“I see ’em. Glad to be home, Dell.”
Gavin touched down last, and Walt was waiting at the foot of the ladder when his brother slid down to the deck.
“Don’t start with me,” were the first words out of Gavin’s mouth.
“Listen,” Walt said, “Maybe I was out of line to second guess you during a fight, but we need to talk about what happened out there.”
“We won, okay? Right now I need to get Boomer to the med techs, and then contact Barry about another job.”
“Barry got us this job, Gav. I’m not sure if you noticed, but it really didn’t end so well.”
“We got sucker-punched by some thugs. That’s what happens when you get sloppy.”
He was talking about procedures and performance. Two of their ships got shot up, Boomer wounded and Gavin was grumbling about tight flight formations. Walt stretched his fingers, willing them not to form fists. His brother tucked his helmet under one arm and stepped to the side to move around him.
“Damn it, Gavin,” Walt grabbed the shorter man’s shoulder and pressed him back against the ladder. “Would you slow down for two seconds?”
He’d caught Gavin by surprise, but his younger brother was fast. Gavin slapped the hand from his shoulder, threw his helmet to the hangar deck and planted a two-handed shove of his own into Walt’s chest. “What’s your problem, Walt?”
The hangar grew quiet. A quick glance to either side showed the rest of the staff looking very hard for something productive to do, as far from the brothers as possible. Walt leaned in and hissed, “I’m trying to keep you from getting someone hurt. What’s the point of Rhedd Alert if we get everyone killed for one crappy job?”
“One crappy . . . ?” Gavin’s eyes were wide, showing white all around the edges. “You need to wake up, Walt. This was our only job. I got half the ships in the squad with parts falling off. I got Boomer freezing his junk off in nothing more than his flight suit. We can’t jump systems to hijack the next ship that comes along any more. This is what we signed up for, man.”
Walt was getting hot again. He knew he should walk away, but Gavin was still missing his point. “I know what I signed up for.” He knew that they had to make good on jobs, but why die trying just to pay the bill collectors? “And I remember why I signed up, too.”
Gavin stepped in again. Closer. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”
“You, Gavin.”
“So everything’s my fault? Because I made you join up.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know I screwed up the bid on this job. I should have priced it higher. But guess what? I didn’t. And this is all we had.”
Walt lowered his voice, getting right in Gavin’s face. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m here because you want this.” He jabbed a stiff finger into Gavin’s chest. “You want it for Dell. Because you’re afraid she’ll leave if you can’t pull it off.”
And then Gavin was on him.
They went down hard and Walt’s head cracked against the deck when they landed. Gavin was compact and built like a Sataball defenseman, but Walt had length and leverage. It was a dichotomy they had put to the test a hundred times since they were boys, with nearly uniform results. But Gavin just didn’t know when to give up.
The tussle was short and ugly. In seconds, Walt had one forearm jammed into the back of his brother’s neck, with the other propping himself up off the deck. Gavin’s face was pressed into the cold steel of the hangar floor.
Then the scuffed toe of a black work boot crunched down painfully on Walt’s fingers. His stranglehold on Gavin relaxed, and the smaller man started to squirm free. That was, at least, until the socketed head of a heavy wrench dropped on Gavin’s shoulder, pushing him back down, face first and flat onto the deck.
“Oomph.”
“Now, now, boys,” Dell said. “What are the neighbors gonna think?”
Walt winced, gritting his teeth as she ground his fingers against the steel deck. He craned his neck around to look at her. D’lilah’s boots were cinched tight by pink laces with a white skull-and-crossbones pattern stitched into them. She wore worn, canvas coveralls that hugged strong legs, pockets bulging with tools and spare parts. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail that hung over one shoulder, and she’d dyed the last couple inches a bright, electric blue. The color was new since they’d left for Oberon. It was a playful accent that wasn’t echoed in the angry blue of her eyes.
“Oh. Hey there, Dell.” Walt struggled to keep a pinched note of pain from his voice. “Hello to you, too.”
“Unless the next words out of your mouth tell me where my dad is, you’re going to be working your stick left-handed.”
Gavin answered her. “Ease up, Dell.”
“Who’s got him?”
“I do.” Gavin nodded back toward his ship.
“Well then.” She lifted her foot and Walt yanked his hand back to rub at aching knuckles. He glared at her, as sour a look as he could manage while kneeling on the deck. Her smile feigned a sweetness that did nothing to thaw the frozen fury in her eyes. “I’ll fetch the buggy. If you two are done snuggling, it sounds like my dad has a date with the techs in the med center.”
Dell swung the wrench up to rest over one shoulder, spun on the balls of her feet, and strode away.
Gavin rolled over onto his back with a groan. “That woman is going to kill us one of these days.”
“Think we could outrun her?”
“You, maybe. There’s not a dark enough hole in the ’verse for me to hide.”
“Yeah, well,” Walt pushed himself to his feet with a grunt, “that’s your own damn fault for marrying her.”
Several systems away, on a station much larger and better appointed than Vista Landing, Morgan Brock scowled at a set of numbers on her mobiGlas. She lifted her eyes, shifting her gaze over the top edge of the screen to stare at Riebeld. The salesman sprawled casually in what Brock knew to be an uncomfortable chair. She made sure that it was uncomfortable, so no one felt confident when sitting opposite her desk.
Riebeld somehow pulled it off, though. It was that braggadocio that made him such a good breadwinner for her company. Irritating, yes. But good for business.
She powered down the mobiGlas. “The net profits on this estimate are based off a twelve percent commission.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I think we both know that your negotiated commission is ten, Riebeld.”
“And I think we also both know that this job could double the size of the company within two years.” He sat forward then and leaned on her desk. “I want twelve if I bring it in.”
“And you think I’m going to just give it to you?”
“I know you will.”
It was her turn to lean forward. It put her too close to him, and he should have backed off. He didn’t. “And why,” she asked, “is that?”
“Because I know that you’re not going to let principle stand in the way of profit.” His toothy grin was bright enough to deflect lasers. She was used to predatory smiles from men, but with men like Riebeld, it only meant there was money on the line. His mobiGlas chirped beside them. Riebeld had an incoming call.
He ignored it.
She waited for the incoming alert to stop.
It did.
“You get twelve,” she said. “But anyone who helps bring it in gets paid out of your cut, not mine. And I want three options for one-year extensions. Not one. Bring it to me with three or I won’t sign it.”
“Done.”
“Fine. Now get out.”
He did and Brock leaned back in her chair. She was going to need more ships. Riebeld would get the extensions or he wouldn’t. They gave him something to work toward, and he’d get sloppy if he didn’t have a challenge.
Good sales guys were like racehorses, high maintenance and temperamental. Most days, they were nothing more than a pain in the ass. Come race day, though – you always wanted one in your stable.
There was a quick knock on her door. Riebeld didn’t wait for her to answer before he shoved his head in.
“I won’t budge on the options, Riebeld. I want three or no deal.”
“No,” he said. “It’s not that. Navy SysCom just put our Tyrol contract up for rebid.”
“What?”
“Yeah. We’re allowed to rebid, but they’re putting it out for open competition.”
“Why the hell would they do that?” Escorting UEE scientists to the research facilities in Tyrol wasn’t their biggest job, but she’d put a lot of work into it. They’d spent years clearing the shipping lanes in the Nexus system — lucrative years, admittedly — and now the missions were pure profit and promised future growth.
“I don’t have the full story yet, but apparently they are trying to push low-risk contract work out to local companies. Some brainiac in accounting identified the Tyrol run as a candidate and boom, Major Greely pulled the contract.”
“See what you can find out,” she said. “And get to work on the rebid.”
“Already got it covered.”
“And Riebeld?”
“Yeah?”
“Find me the name of that accountant.”
It was late when Gavin left the station. By way of apology, he invited Walt to join him on the short trip to Cassel to meet with Barry Lidst. Whether Walt came along as reconciliation or simply to avoid another run-in with Dell was unclear. Regardless, he didn’t seem inclined to talk about the argument as they flew, and Gavin saw no reason to bring it up.
Barry, a Navy SysCom accountant by trade and freelance rainmaker by inclination, had grown up with the brothers. He had left Goss to join the Navy while the Rhedd boys stayed to work the smuggling routes with Boomer and their father before he passed.
Officially, Barry was responsible for negotiating contracts between the UEE Navy and private vendors, but he also managed to broker a few off-the-record jobs on the side. He was, if anything, an opportunist, and Gavin trusted him about as much as he trusted any of the shady characters they’d worked with in the past. Which is to say, not at all.
The fact that Barry was involved with Dell before leaving to join the Navy didn’t factor into his opinion at all. Nope, not in the slightest. Still, Barry had come through with their first legitimate job. With luck, he’d have more.
Gavin swallowed hard, focusing on the fact that they needed work. Walt kept quiet. By the time Cassel swelled, massive, blue and inviting against the gold and turquoise bands of the Olympus Pool, Gavin could feel his brows drawing down into a scowl.
The brothers landed and made their way to a club that catered to the resort world’s local crowd. It was busy, of course, but Barry was waiting and had managed to find an open table.
“I was beginning to think you two bought it in Oberon.” Barry’s naval uniform was cut from some shiny material that was either freshly pressed or engineered to be wrinkle-free. It looked tragically uncomfortable, but did a reasonable job of hiding a rounded gut.
“Oberon took a bit longer than we thought,” Gavin forced a smile, “but we got them.”
“Everything go okay?”
“Absolutely.” He injected confidence into his words and hoped it sounded genuine. Walt looked at him sharply, but Gavin ignored him. They had to appear capable or better jobs were going to be in short supply. “Pirates are not a problem.”
Barry motioned them to sit and his voice took on a somber note. “Word is that Dell’s dad got busted up. He okay?”
“Jesus, Barry,” Walt said. “How’d you even hear about that?”
“I’m the government. We’ve got our eyes and ears everywhere.” Gavin stared at him and raised an eyebrow, waiting. “Yeah. Well,” Barry shrugged and took a sip of his drink, “those miners on Oberon might have mentioned something.”
“Boomer’s fine. Our ships took more of a beating than he did,” Gavin turned the subject away from his team getting shot up on the job. “I was surprised to hear you were in Goss system.”
“Mom retired here on Cassel,” Barry cast a sour glare around the room when he said it. “I’m just here visiting. Can’t stand it with all the tourist traffic, but she loves the shows and exhibits and stuff. Anyway, I’m glad you guys were able to help out in Oberon.”
“Happy to.”
“Stuff like this comes up from time to time,” Barry said. “It’s not like we don’t want to take care of it ourselves or anything. We do. But the Navy can’t send troops after every brigand and thug in the ’verse, you know? Particularly when they’re camped out in an unclaimed system. So, yeah. No one minds if we feed these jobs to indies like you guys.”
“Well,” Gavin said, “we’re light on work right now. Got anything for us?”
“I might have something — not UEE work, but still a decent job. And I know the client will be happy with your rates.”
Gavin’s heart sank a bit, but maybe they could increase their price without chasing Barry away. He encouraged the accountant to keep talking.
“The job is close, just a couple hops away. It’s hard work, but I can hook you up if you’re interested.”
“What’s the job?” Walt asked.
“You ever heard of molybdenum?” Gavin’s face must have looked as blank as Walt’s. “No? It’s a rare metal used in electronics and stuff. You find it near copper deposits. You know what? Doesn’t matter. A friend of mine knows a guy who just got his hands on the mining rights to a moon.”
“Mining,” Walt muttered. “Why is it always mining?”
“I guess the whole moon is riddled with tunnels and caverns. Apparently there used to be a bunch of copper there, but now all that stuff is gone. The only thing left is the molybdenum. This guy, he’s got three weeks to start producing or he loses his lease to the next prospector in line.”
“Barry,” Gavin said, “if you’re looking for a team to wear hardhats and swing pickaxes, you’ve got the wrong guys.”
“Naw, it’s nothing like that. They’re empty now, but someone set the caves up as a fortified base. Smugglers, probably. They put auto-targeting turrets in there. My guy told me they’re all over the place. Around every corner. Anyway, it’s all Banu tech. A group of them must have hopped over from Bacchus.”
“So what’s the job?”
“They need someone to comb through the whole thing and take out the turrets. They can’t send mining equipment and operators in there until it’s clear. Those guys don’t have shields.”
“That’s it?” Gavin asked.
“Yup. That’s it.”
Walt watched Barry across the table with a bemused tilt to one eyebrow. “That’s the most boring job I’ve ever heard of.”
“Hey,” Barry said, “if you want something with a little higher chance of combat, I’ve got a UEE escort contract up for bid. We were getting absolutely fleeced by the incumbent contractor. I finally convinced the major to rebid the job.”
Now that sounded exactly like the job Rhedd Alert needed.
“Tell me more about that,” Gavin said. “About the escort job, I mean.”
“I, uh listen,” Barry said. “I wasn’t really serious about that. No offense, but that is an armed escort through some pretty rough systems.”
This was it. The chance they needed. “Our guys can do it,” Gavin said.
“It’s a small job now, but it’s scheduled to mature into something big. I don’t even know if you have enough ships to meet the contract requirements.”
“Give us a shot. If we perform, I’ll find the extra ships and pilots.”
“The outfits that sign on for gigs like this are generally ex-military. Highly trained. Lots of contacts in Navy SysCom. Most of the contractors we use are actually based right next to the Navy in Kilian system. I was joking, guys. Forget I mentioned it.”
“No, we can do this. What’s the run? How many —”
“Gav,” Walt interrupted, “we’re talking naval flight formations and tactics. Superior weapons systems. Maybe we should get more info on the turret thing in the mulberry mine.”
“Molybdenum.”
“Whatever.”
“Come on, Walt. This sounds perfect for us. And I’d put you or Jazza up against an ex-Navy pilot in a heartbeat. Any system, any time.”
“Fellas . . . hey, listen,” Barry said. “The UEE is trying to push local work to local contractors. The big defense companies are fighting it. If you feel like sticking your hand in the middle of that fire, I’ll forward you the RFP. Good enough? In the meantime . . . about my buddy with the moon mine?”
Gavin half-heartedly followed along while Walt and Barry discussed the turret job, but in his mind they were already escorting UEE ships through hostile space. Walt startled him out of his reverie when he hushed a surprised Barry into silence.
“Wait,” Walt said, “back up a second. These Banu weapon systems. Did you say this stuff came out of Bacchus?”
“Probably. Why?”
“This moon . . . Barry, where is it?”
“Oberon VI, why?”
Gavin’s heart sank again. A glance at Walt did nothing to reassure him. His brother’s smile looked fantastically strained.
“Ah, come on,” Barry said. “You’ve already done good work for these guys.”
“They’ll kill us,” Walt said.
“Naw,” Barry waved at them dismissively, “They love Rhedd Alert.”
“No,” Walt said, “not the miners.”
“Who?” Barry looked concerned now. “Who’ll kill you?”
Gavin answered. “Our team is going to kill us if we drag them back to Oberon.”
“Hey,” Barry relaxed, “it’s a small ’verse. You’re going to end up passing through there sooner or later. Might as well get paid for it. Am I right?”
“Yeah,” Walt said, “but Oberon?”
“I did mention it pays, didn’t I?” Barry keyed something up on his mobiGlas. He turned it so they could read the projected display. At the bottom was a number. A not-insignificant number. Gavin stared at his hands as Walt absorbed the figures.
Walt’s head made an audible clunk when it struck the table. He groaned something muffled and to the effect of, “I can’t believe we’re going back to Oberon.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
Writer's Note: Brothers In Arms: Part One wurde ursprünglich in Jump Point 3.5 veröffentlicht.
Das Heads-up-Display auf Gavin Rhedd's Entermesser ist an den Rändern abgedunkelt. Grüne Dreiecke, die die Mitglieder seines Sicherheitsteams repräsentieren, verzogen sich zu horizontalen Spitzen aus flackerndem statischem Material. Er schlug auf die Seite seines Helmes. Es war ein geübter Zug, der das HUD in der Vergangenheit wieder in den Fokus gerückt hatte. Diesmal flackerte das Display, verblasste und starb dann.
Ein schwerer Atemzug schickte einen dünnen Schleier aus Dampf, der das Visier seines Helmes kletterte. Kondenswasser verdunkelte den Blick auf den schwarzen, leeren Raum vor sich.
Leer wie die tote Warn-up-Anzeige.
Leer, genau wie seit Wochen.
Es gab Räuber und Plünderer, die jeden Planeten im Vers plagten, und er konnte keine einzige verdammte Bande finden. Nichts lief so gut, wie er es geplant hatte.
Auf dem Navsat stürzten sich die anderen drei Mitglieder der Rhedd Alert Security auf beide Seiten. Sein Bruder Walt wurde direkt am Hafen in Position gebracht. Jazza und Boomer waren schmerzhaft aus der Position.
Schlampig.
Alle langweilten sich und wurden leichtsinnig.
Boomer war der erste, der diesmal die Funkstille durchbrach.
"Hey, Leute?"
"Was ist los, Boomer?" Walt war der erste, der geantwortet hat.
"Mir ist kalt."
Jazza folgte keinen Befehlen besser als die anderen, und ihr Scherz hatte die angenehme Kadenz freundlicher Rivalität. "Dann zieh einen Pullover an."
"Hey, Jazz?" Boomer feuerte auf sie zurück.
" Ja?"
"Nimm den Helm für eine Zecke ab."
"Warum das, alter Mann? Willst du einen Kuss?"
"Nein. Ich hoffe, du wirst rausgelutscht und stirbst, wenn ich ein Loch durch dein Cockpit schieße."
Gavin seufzte in seinen Helm, bevor er sein Mikrofon auslöste. " Kommt schon, Leute. Ich will, dass die Kommunikation dunkel wird. Die Bergleute auf Oberon haben uns angeheuert, um sich um ihr Piratenproblem zu kümmern. Und ihr drei, die ihr auf einem offenen Kanal plaudert, wird uns nicht helfen, sie schneller zu finden."
"Ich fange an, dieses System zu hassen", murmelte Walt.
Sie waren alle müde und erschöpft von wochenlangen langen Stunden und ohne Action. Aber Walt tötete ihre Moral, indem er dieser Frustration eine Stimme gab. Diese ganze Sache - Rhedd Alert Security, die Aufgabe des Schmuggels, um sauber zu werden, die Beantragung der Staatsbürgerschaft - war etwas, das sie gemeinsam beschlossen hatten. Gavin und Walt. Brüder. Sich legalisieren und ein Unternehmen gründen.
Es schien eine gute Idee zu sein, als sie den Systemmeldungen ausweichen und ein Vermögen in gefälschte Tags werfen wollten. Aber einige Dinge ändern sich nicht, und Walt war derselbe alte Walt - alle reden und nicht durchziehen. Es dauerte nicht lange, bis er sich eine Ausrede ausdachte, um zu einem klareren Himmel überzugehen.
"Was ist los, Boomer?"
"Kalt, Gavin. Ich denke, die Hitze ist aus."
Wunderbar. Etwas anderes zu reparieren. Vielleicht wäre Walt nicht der erste, der nach allem aufhört. Dell würde gehen, wenn Gavin ihren Vater über diesem Felsen erfrieren lassen würde.
Jazza bellte lachend, "Ja. Das klingt ungefähr richtig für dieses Outfit."
"Jazza, würdest du jetzt endlich die Klappe halten? Mit welchem Teil hast du Probleme? Komm oder dunkel?"
"Ja, Sir, Big Boss Man."
"Jesus. Ich habe mehr Respekt von euch bekommen, als wir Kriminelle waren. Boomer, bei allen Banu-Göttern, warum hast du mir nicht gesagt, dass du Probleme hast, bevor wir den Hangar verlassen haben?"
"Ich, ähm.... Ich dachte, ich sollte bis nach der Mission schweigen. Bis wir bezahlt wurden, weißt du?"
Das hätte ein schneller In- und Out Job sein sollen. Aber nach wochenlanger erfolgloser Jagd, auch wenn sie die Piraten schließlich vertrieben haben, wäre der Job ein Reinverlust.
"Hey, Leute?" Jazza fing wirklich an, ihm auf die Nerven zu gehen. Das hat er ihr gesagt. "Halt die Klappe, Gavin. Ich wollte dich nur wissen lassen, dass ich etwas gefunden habe."
Gavin studierte schnell die Navsat-Konsole. Das Gebiet sah leer aus, außer den vier, also tauchte das, was sie gefunden hatte, auf keinem seiner Feeds auf. Er schlug seinen Helm wieder in der stummen Hoffnung, dass das HUD wieder zum Leben erwachen würde.
"Es ist ein Rumpf", sagte Jazza. "Der Große. Sieht aus wie ein ausgezogener Idris. Sieht tot aus."
"Ich sehe dich nicht bei.... Scheiße", sagte Walt. "Da bist du ja. Wie bist du da rausgekommen?"
"Ruhig, Leute", sagte Gavin. "Boomer? Du gehst in Richtung Jazza. Walt und ich werden die Position halten."
" Verstanden."
Ein Idris stellte einen fairen Teil der Creds als Bergung dar. Seltsam, dass niemand es behauptet hatte. Sie waren in Oberon, um Piraten zu vertreiben, aber ein kleiner Schrottjob nebenbei war ein willkommener Bonus.
"Jazza", sagte Gavin, "Ich habe nichts in deiner Nähe über Sensoren. Denkst du, es ist nur ein schwimmender Müll?"
"Ich glaube schon", sprach sie langsam, unsicher. "Ich dachte, ich hätte eine Wärmespur gesehen, aber ich sehe sie jetzt nicht. Ich gehe näher ran - Jesus!"
"Jazz", Boomer's Stimme war flach. Der alte Mann war nur ein Geschäft. "Brich rechts ab, ich ziehe das von dir ab und führe sie zu den Jungs zurück."
"Ich kann ihn nicht abschütteln."
Das Navsat zeigte drei neue Schiffe. Ein 325a mit verschlüsselten Tags, der auf der Jazza geschlossen ist. Walt zog vorbei und beschleunigte sich bereits auf den Kampf zu, und Gavin drehte sich um, um zu folgen.
"Zieh hart hoch", sagte Boomer. "Bring ihn wieder her - verdammt."
"Rede mit uns, Boomer", sagte Walt.
"Jazza wurde stark getroffen. Diese Typen tragen jeweils eine Tarantel - die große."
"Halt dich fest", sagte Gavin. "Wir sind fast da. Walt, mein HUD ist raus. Ich brauche Sichtkontakt, um zu kämpfen, kannst du kämpfen?"
" Da drauf."
"Warte mal, Boomer. Wir kommen."
Walt war eine Glühlampe vor ihm. Der nahe gelegene Raum schien täuschend leer zu sein, ohne die Visualisierungen, die seine HUD-Instrumentierung normalerweise projizieren würde. Erst Oberon IV, der unter ihnen auftauchte, gab ihm einen Eindruck von Perspektive.
Walts Stimme knisterte in die bedrückende Stille. "Boomer. Ich komme um drei Uhr tief rein."
" Verstanden."
"Ich werde mich mit den Repeatern herumschlagen, um ihre Aufmerksamkeit zu erregen. Sie geben der 325 eine Breitseite, der er nicht widerstehen kann. Ich schiebe eine Rakete irgendwo hin, wo die Sonne nicht scheint."
"Beeil dich, Walt. Ich bin zu alt für ein Dreiergespräch."
"Bei dir in fünf Minuten. Vier. Drei. Brecht jetzt!"
Da vorne schlugen rasiermesserscharfe dünne rote Strahlen durch den Raum. Die Laser streiften gerade und dann plötzlich aufgefächert, als Walt um ein Piratenschiff herum gierte.
" Boomer!" Walts Worte fielen schnell heraus. "Ich kann keinen Raketenschuss mit euch machen, zwischen uns."
"Ich kann ihn nicht abschütteln."
"Nun, diese Tarantel wird dich reichlich erschüttern, wenn du es nicht tust."
Eine Rakete streifte auf eines der Piratenschiffe zu. Gavin sah eine stotternde Serie von kleinen Blitzen im Cockpit, dann entlüftete der 325a eine lodernde Kugel aus brennendem Sauerstoff und wurde dunkel.
Gavin fiel in das wirbelnde Gewirr von Schiffen und fügte dem Nahkampf sein eigenes Laserfeuer hinzu. Rippende Blüten mit verstreuter Energie leuchteten gegen die Schilde eines Piraten.
"Das war's", sagte Walt, "sie werden weglaufen."
Er hatte Recht. Als sie erkannten, dass sie in der Unterzahl waren, drehten sich die verbleibenden Piraten zusammen und beschleunigten an Jazzas treibendem Schiff vorbei.
Und mit ihnen würde jede Hoffnung auf einen profitablen Job gehen. "Steckt sie ein und näht sie zusammen, Leute."
"Scheiß drauf", fuhr Walt hoch und fiel schnell zurück. "Lass sie laufen. Sie werden hier nicht mehr operieren, sobald wir ihr Versteck gestohlen haben. Wir gewinnen, Gav."
"Dieser Job wird nicht einmal unsere Treibstoffkosten decken, Walt. Wir brauchen diese Schiffe."
"Ich habe sie." Boomer gierte herum, um die fliehenden Schiffe zwischen sich zu halten.
"Boomer", schrie Walt, "nicht!"
Das Piratenpaar drehte Nase an Nase mit Boomer. Ihre Waffen funkelten zweimal, Maulkörbe blinkten, und Boomer's Rächer bockte vom Aufprall ab. Der größte Teil des Steuerbordflügels wurde in einem Feuer ausbrechendem Sauerstoff weggesponnen. Die Piraten flogen direkt durch das schwimmende Wrack und streiften mit voller Beschleunigung davon.
Gavin verfluchte und verlangsamte. Ohne sein HUD verblassten die fliehenden Piraten schnell aus den Augen. "Boomer? Rede mit mir, Kumpel."
Boomer's Rächer trieb langsam weg in Richtung Schwarz. Dann rülpste es, entlüftete Luft und Boomers Überlebensanzug ins Freie.
Ein neues, blinkendes rotes Symbol spiegelte sich auf und von der Haube von Gavins Cockpit wider. Er musste die Konsole nicht überprüfen, um zu wissen, dass es Boomers Rettungszeichen war.
Er ließ seine Hände von der Steuerung fallen, schloss die Augen und ließ seinen Kopf nach hinten fallen. Sein Helm traf mit einem hörbaren Klopfen auf die Kopfstütze. Farbige Lichter sprangen auf, um vor seinen geschlossenen Augen zu schwimmen.
Resigniert, knackte er einen schweren Deckel, um auf die eindringende Lichtquelle zu schauen. Sein HUD hatte beschlossen, ihn mit einem Wiederauftauchen zu beehren.
"Was. Zur Hölle. War das so?" Walt sprach seine Worte aus, beißend präzise.
"Tarantel GT-870 Mk3", rezitierte Gavin ausführlich.
"Ich weiß von den verdammten Waffen, Gavin. Ich meine, Boomer hinter ihnen her schicken. Wir haben gewonnen. Wir hatten sie auf der Flucht."
"Diese Schiffe reparieren sich nicht von selbst, Walt. Vielleicht hast du noch nicht gerechnet, aber wir sind pleite. Wir brauchen die Bergung."
"Bergung ist schön, aber Dell wird dich töten, wenn Boomer wieder verletzt wird."
"Ich kümmere mich um Dell." Gavin rollte die Schultern und legte seine Hände wieder auf die Bedienelemente. "Rufen Sie Oberon an. Lassen Sie sie wissen, dass wir uns um ihr Schädlingsproblem gekümmert haben und dass wir die clevere kleine Basis, in der sich die Schädlinge versteckt haben, abschleppen werden, um Scans zu verhindern. Dann lass Jazza zusammenflicken. Angenommen, der Pirat hat überlebt, können Sie ihn absetzen, bevor Sie die Bergung nach Hause schleppen."
"Verstanden", Walts Stimme war ätzend, "Geld zuerst". Gute Arbeit, um unsere Prioritäten klar zu setzen".
"Verdammt, Walt. Würdest du die Lippe für zwei Minuten verstauen, damit wir zusammenpacken und alle nach Hause bringen können?"
"Gut."
"Ich hole Boomer. Kannst du bitte sehen, ob du Jazza wieder zum Laufen bringen kannst?"
"Du bist der Boss, kleiner Bruder."
Gavin schob die Probleme seiner Familie in den Hintergrund. Priorisieren. Das Wichtigste zuerst, kümmere dich um die Crew. Hol Boomer nach Hause. Reparieren Sie die Schiffe. Zahlen Sie ein paar Schulden zurück. Er rasselte von einer schmerzhaft langen Liste kritischer nächster Schritte, und ein Gegenstand hielt sich schnell und kletterte energisch an die Spitze.
Sie brauchten wirklich einen neuen Job.
Walt schlug die anderen zurück zum Hangar. Er passte die Rotation mit der Vista-Landung des Goss-Systems an und driftete über deren Länge, bis er den Rhedd Alert Hangar erreichte. Er verlangsamte und hielt dann an drei breiten Doppeltüren an, die jeweils einen alarmierenden Rotton annahmen.
Vor dem ersten Türensatz schwebten Gefahrenmelder. Kurze Ausbrüche von winzigen Triebwerken hielten sie ein Dutzend Meter entfernt an Ort und Stelle, während eine Arbeitsgruppe Hochdruck- und geistergraue Farbe auf Schablonen des Rhedd Alert Logos auftrug.
Walt holte einen stolzen Atemzug ein, der seine Brust gegen die Grenzen seines Fluganzuges drückte. Es sah cool aus, ihren Namen in großen Buchstaben auf der Seite des Komplexes zu tragen.
Dann sauerte der Moment.
Der Hangar und das Hilfspersonal hatten ein Eigengewicht um den Hals. Die Malcrew und das Logo waren alle Teil des Mietvertrages mit der Station, aber sie dienten als gezielte Erinnerung an die Dauerhaftigkeit des Engagements. Walt nagte an seiner Unterlippe, unbequem mit dem Gewicht der Verpflichtung.
Er versuchte, das Gefühl der Reue des Käufers beiseite zu legen, aber es saß schwer und entfachte seine Wut auf Gavin. Sein Bruder wollte diese Firma so sehr. Dell auch.
Erfolg - echter Erfolg - bedeutete, dass sie die alten Routinen für immer hinter sich lassen konnten. Kein Verstecken mehr. Kein Umlegen von Tags mehr alle paar Wochen, um der Advocacy voraus zu sein. Eine Firma zu gründen und auf dem Weg zur Staatsbürgerschaft zu arbeiten, war eine große Sache, aber zu welchem Preis?
Die Beschäftigung von Menschen und die Beantragung der Staatsbürgerschaft war in Ordnung, aber es begann in Eile an Glanz zu verlieren, wenn der Erfolg bedeutete, jemanden zu töten. Walt musste sicherstellen, dass Gavin das sah. Sie waren alle müde, aber das war zu wichtig, um zu warten.
"Klopf, klopf, Dell", sagte Walt. " Mach auf."
D'lilahs Stimme kam sofort über den Funk. Sie hatte gewartet. "Bucht 3, Walt. Und achtet auf die Lackierer."
"Ich sehe sie. Schön, zu Hause zu sein, Dell."
Gavin landete zuletzt, und Walt wartete am Fuß der Leiter, als sein Bruder zum Deck hinunterrutschte.
"Fang nicht mit mir an", waren die ersten Worte aus Gavins Mund.
"Hör zu", sagte Walt, "Vielleicht war ich unangebracht, um dich während eines Kampfes zu erraten, aber wir müssen darüber reden, was da draußen passiert ist."
"Wir haben gewonnen, okay? Im Moment muss ich Boomer zu den Medizinern bringen und dann Barry wegen eines anderen Jobs kontaktieren."
"Barry hat uns diesen Job besorgt, Gav. Ich bin mir nicht sicher, ob du es bemerkt hast, aber es hat wirklich nicht so gut geendet."
"Wir wurden von ein paar Schlägern verprügelt. Das passiert, wenn man schlampig wird."
Er sprach von Verfahren und Leistung. Zwei ihrer Schiffe wurden erschossen, Boomer verwundet und Gavin meckerte über enge Flugformationen. Walt streckte seine Finger aus und wollte, dass sie keine Fäuste bildeten. Sein Bruder steckte seinen Helm unter einen Arm und trat zur Seite, um sich um ihn herum zu bewegen.
"Verdammt, Gavin", packte Walt die Schulter des kleineren Mannes und drückte ihn zurück gegen die Leiter. "Würdest du zwei Sekunden langsamer werden?"
Er hatte Gavin überrascht erwischt, aber sein jüngerer Bruder war schnell. Gavin schlug ihm die Hand von der Schulter, warf seinen Helm auf das Hangardeck und pflanzte einen eigenen Zweihandstoß in Walts Brust. "Was ist dein Problem, Walt?"
Der Hangar wurde ruhig. Ein kurzer Blick auf beide Seiten zeigte, dass der Rest der Belegschaft sehr intensiv nach etwas Produktivem suchte, so weit weg von den Brüdern wie möglich. Walt lehnte sich hinein und zischte: "Ich versuche, dich davon abzuhalten, jemanden zu verletzen. Was nützt Rhedd Alert, wenn wir alle für einen beschissenen Job töten lassen?"
"Eine beschissene.... ?” Gavins Augen waren breit und zeigten Weiß an allen Rändern. "Du musst aufwachen, Walt. Das war unsere einzige Aufgabe. Ich habe die Hälfte der Schiffe in der Gruppe mit herunterfallenden Teilen. Ich habe Boomer dazu gebracht, seinen Müll in nichts anderem als seinem Fluganzug einzufrieren. Wir können keine Systeme springen, um das nächste Schiff zu entführen, das vorbeikommt. Dafür haben wir uns angemeldet, Mann."
Walt wurde wieder heiß. Er wusste, dass er gehen sollte, aber Gavin verfehlte immer noch seinen Standpunkt. "Ich weiß, wofür ich mich angemeldet habe." Er wusste, dass sie ihre Jobs wieder gutmachen mussten, aber warum sterben, wenn sie versuchten, nur die Rechnungssammler zu bezahlen? "Und ich erinnere mich, warum ich mich auch angemeldet habe."
Gavin trat wieder ein. Näher. "Oh ja? Und warum ist das so?"
"Du, Gavin."
"Also ist alles meine Schuld? Weil ich dich dazu gebracht habe, mitzumachen."
"Das ist nicht das, was ich meine."
"Ich weiß, dass ich das Angebot für diesen Job vermasselt habe. Ich hätte es teurer machen sollen. Aber weißt du was? Das habe ich nicht. Und das ist alles, was wir hatten."
Walt senkte seine Stimme und bekam direkt in Gavins Gesicht. "Das ist nicht das, was ich meinte, und das weißt du. Ich bin hier, weil du das willst." Er stieß einen steifen Finger in Gavins Brust. "Du willst es für Dell. Weil du Angst hast, dass sie geht, wenn du es nicht schaffst."
Und dann war Gavin an ihm dran.
Sie gingen hart hinunter und Walts Kopf schlug gegen das Deck, als sie landeten. Gavin war kompakt und baute wie ein Sataball Verteidiger, aber Walt hatte Länge und Hebelwirkung. Es war eine Dichotomie, die sie seit ihrer Kindheit hundertmal auf die Probe gestellt hatten, mit nahezu einheitlichen Ergebnissen. Aber Gavin wusste einfach nicht, wann er aufgeben sollte.
Das Gerangel war kurz und hässlich. In Sekundenschnelle hatte Walt einen Unterarm in die Rückseite des Halses seines Bruders gesteckt, während der andere sich vom Deck stützte. Gavins Gesicht wurde in den kalten Stahl des Hangarbodens gedrückt.
Dann knirschte der geschabte Zeh eines schwarzen Arbeitsstiefels schmerzhaft auf Walts Finger. Sein Würgegriff an Gavin entspannte sich, und der kleinere Mann begann sich frei zu winden. Das war zumindest so lange, bis der gesockelte Kopf eines schweren Schlüssels auf Gavins Schulter fiel und ihn wieder nach unten drückte, mit dem Gesicht nach vorne und flach auf das Deck.
" Oomph."
"Jetzt, jetzt, Jungs", sagte Dell. "Was werden die Nachbarn denken?"
Walt zuckte zusammen und knirschte mit den Zähnen, als sie seine Finger gegen das Stahldeck drückte. Er drehte seinen Hals um, um sie anzusehen. Die Stiefel von D'lilah wurden durch rosa Schnürsenkel mit einem weißen Totenkopfmuster eng umschlossen. Sie trug getragene Leinenoveralls, die starke Beine umarmten, Taschen, die mit Werkzeugen und Ersatzteilen gefüllt waren. Ihr dunkles Haar wurde zu einem Pferdeschwanz zurückgezogen, der über einer Schulter hing, und sie hatte die letzten paar Zentimeter in einem hellen, elektrischen Blau gefärbt. Die Farbe war neu, seit sie nach Oberon aufgebrochen waren. Es war ein spielerischer Akzent, der nicht im wütenden Blau ihrer Augen widerhallt.
"Oh. Hey, Dell." Walt kämpfte darum, eine gekniffene Schmerznote von seiner Stimme fernzuhalten. "Hallo auch an dich."
"Wenn die nächsten Worte aus deinem Mund mir nicht sagen, wo mein Vater ist, wirst du deinen Stock mit der linken Hand bearbeiten."
Gavin antwortete ihr. " Immer mit der Ruhe, Dell."
"Wer hat ihn?"
"Das tue ich." Gavin nickte zurück zu seinem Schiff.
"Nun denn." Sie hob ihren Fuß an und Walt zog seine Hand zurück, um an schmerzenden Knöcheln zu reiben. Er starrte sie an, so sauer ein Blick, wie er es beim Knien auf dem Deck schaffen konnte. Ihr Lächeln täuschte eine Süße vor, die nichts tat, um die gefrorene Wut in ihren Augen aufzutauen. "Ich hole den Buggy. Wenn ihr beide mit dem Kuscheln fertig seid, klingt es, als hätte mein Vater ein Date mit den Technikern im Krankenhaus."
Dell schwang den Schraubenschlüssel hoch, um sich über eine Schulter zu legen, drehte sich auf die Ballen ihrer Füße und ging davon.
Gavin rollte sich mit einem Stöhnen auf den Rücken. "Diese Frau wird uns eines Tages umbringen."
"Denkst du, wir könnten ihr entkommen?"
"Du, vielleicht. Es gibt kein dunkles Loch im Vers, das ich verstecken könnte."
"Ja, nun," Walt drückte sich mit einem Grunzen auf die Beine, "das ist deine eigene verdammte Schuld, weil du sie geheiratet hast."
Mehrere Systeme entfernt, auf einer Station, die viel größer und besser ausgestattet war als Vista Landing, starrte Morgan Brock eine Reihe von Zahlen auf ihrem mobiGlas an. Sie hob ihre Augen an und schob ihren Blick über den oberen Rand des Bildschirms, um Riebeld anzustarren. Der Verkäufer spreizte sich beiläufig in einem, wie Brock wusste, unbequemen Stuhl. Sie stellte sicher, dass es unangenehm war, so dass sich niemand sicher fühlte, wenn er gegenüber ihrem Schreibtisch saß.
Aber Riebeld hat es irgendwie geschafft. Es war dieser Prahlerei, die ihn zu einem so guten Ernährer für ihre Firma machte. Reizend, ja. Aber gut für das Geschäft.
Sie hat das mobiGlas ausgeschaltet. "Der Reingewinn basiert auf dieser Schätzung auf einer zwölfprozentigen Provision."
"Ja, Ma'am."
"Ich denke, wir beide wissen, dass deine ausgehandelte Provision zehn beträgt, Riebeld."
"Und ich denke, wir wissen auch beide, dass dieser Job die Größe des Unternehmens innerhalb von zwei Jahren verdoppeln könnte." Er setzte sich dann nach vorne und lehnte sich auf ihren Schreibtisch. "Ich will zwölf, wenn ich es reinbringe."
"Und du denkst, ich werde es dir einfach geben?"
"Ich weiß, dass du das wirst."
Sie war an der Reihe, sich nach vorne zu lehnen. Es brachte sie zu nahe an ihn heran, und er hätte sich zurückziehen sollen. Das hat er nicht. "Und warum", fragte sie, "ist das so?"
"Weil ich weiß, dass du nicht zulassen wirst, dass das Prinzip dem Profit im Wege steht." Sein zähes Grinsen war hell genug, um Laser abzulenken. Sie war an das räuberische Lächeln von Männern gewöhnt, aber bei Männern wie Riebeld bedeutete das nur, dass Geld auf dem Spiel stand. Sein MobiGlas zwitscherte neben ihnen. Riebeld hatte einen eingehenden Anruf.
Er ignorierte es.
Sie wartete darauf, dass der eingehende Alarm aufhörte.
Das hat es.
"Du bekommst zwölf", sagte sie. "Aber jeder, der hilft, es einzubringen, wird von deinem Anteil bezahlt, nicht von meinem. Und ich will drei Optionen für eine einjährige Verlängerung. Nicht eine. Bring es mir mit drei oder ich unterschreibe es nicht."
" Erledigt."
"Gut. Und jetzt raus hier."
Das tat er und Brock lehnte sich in ihrem Stuhl zurück. Sie würde mehr Schiffe brauchen. Riebeld würde die Erweiterungen bekommen oder nicht. Sie gaben ihm etwas, auf das er hinarbeiten konnte, und er würde schlampig werden, wenn er nicht eine Herausforderung hätte.
Gute Verkäufer waren wie Rennpferde, pflegeintensiv und temperamentvoll. Meistens waren sie nichts anderes als eine Nervensäge. Kommen Sie zum Renntag - Sie wollten schon immer einen in Ihrem Stall.
Es klopfte schnell an ihre Tür. Riebeld wartete nicht darauf, dass sie antwortete, bevor er seinen Kopf hineinschob.
"Ich werde mich nicht auf die Optionen festlegen, Riebeld. Ich will drei oder gar keinen Deal."
"Nein", sagte er. "Das ist es nicht. Die Navy SysCom hat gerade unseren Tiroler Vertrag zur Rückgabe freigegeben."
" Was?"
"Ja. Wir dürfen rebidieren, aber sie stellen es für einen offenen Wettbewerb aus."
"Warum zum Teufel sollten sie das tun?" Die Begleitung von UEE-Wissenschaftlern zu den Forschungseinrichtungen in Tirol war nicht ihre größte Aufgabe, aber sie hatte viel Arbeit in sie investiert. Sie hatten Jahre damit verbracht, die Schifffahrtswege im Charon-System zu räumen - lukrative Jahre, zugegebenermaßen - und jetzt waren die Missionen reiner Gewinn und versprachen zukünftiges Wachstum.
"Ich habe noch nicht die ganze Geschichte, aber anscheinend versuchen sie, die risikoarme Vertragsgestaltung für lokale Unternehmen voranzutreiben. Ein Verstand in der Buchhaltung identifizierte den Tiroler Lauf als Kandidat und Boom, Major Greely zog den Vertrag."
"Sieh, was du herausfinden kannst", sagte sie. "Und mach dich an die Arbeit mit dem Rückkauf."
"Ich habe es bereits abgedeckt."
"Und Riebeld?"
" Ja?"
"Finde den Namen des Buchhalters."
Es war spät, als Gavin den Bahnhof verließ. Zur Entschuldigung lud er Walt ein, sich ihm auf dem kurzen Weg nach Cassel anzuschließen, um sich mit Barry Lidst zu treffen. Ob Walt als Versöhnung oder einfach nur, um einen weiteren Zusammenstoß mit Dell zu vermeiden, kam, war unklar. Unabhängig davon schien er nicht geneigt, über das Argument zu sprechen, als sie flogen, und Gavin sah keinen Grund, es zur Sprache zu bringen.
Barry, ein Navy SysCom Buchhalter von Beruf und freiberuflicher Regenmacher von Neigung, war mit den Brüdern aufgewachsen. Er hatte Goss verlassen, um der Marine beizutreten, während die Rhedd-Jungs blieben, um die Schmuggelrouten mit Boomer und ihrem Vater zu bearbeiten, bevor er starb.
Offiziell war Barry für die Aushandlung von Verträgen zwischen der UEE Navy und privaten Verkäufern verantwortlich, aber er schaffte es auch, ein paar Off-the-Record-Aufträge zu vermitteln. Er war, wenn überhaupt, ein Opportunist, und Gavin vertraute ihm etwa so sehr wie er einem der zwielichtigen Gestalten vertraute, mit denen sie in der Vergangenheit gearbeitet hatten. Das heißt, überhaupt nicht.
Die Tatsache, dass Barry mit Dell zu tun hatte, bevor er ging, um der Marine beizutreten, spielte in seiner Meinung überhaupt keine Rolle. Nein, nicht im Geringsten. Dennoch hatte Barry ihren ersten legitimen Job erledigt. Mit etwas Glück hätte er mehr.
Gavin schluckte hart und konzentrierte sich auf die Tatsache, dass sie Arbeit brauchten. Walt schwieg. Als Cassel anschwoll, massiv, blau und einladend gegen die goldenen und türkisfarbenen Bänder des Olympus-Pools, spürte Gavin, wie seine Augenbrauen in einen finsteren Blick übergingen.
Die Brüder landeten und machten sich auf den Weg zu einem Club, der für die lokale Bevölkerung des Resorts sorgte. Es war natürlich besetzt, aber Barry wartete und hatte es geschafft, einen offenen Tisch zu finden.
"Ich hatte schon gedacht, dass ihr beide es in Oberon gekauft habt." Barrys Marineuniform wurde aus glänzendem Material geschnitten, das entweder frisch gepresst oder faltenfrei hergestellt wurde. Es sah tragisch unbequem aus, aber es leistete eine angemessene Arbeit, einen runden Darm zu verstecken.
"Oberon hat etwas länger gebraucht, als wir dachten", zwang Gavin ein Lächeln, "aber wir haben sie."
"Alles in Ordnung?"
" Auf jeden Fall." Er injizierte Vertrauen in seine Worte und hoffte, dass es echt klang. Walt sah ihn scharf an, aber Gavin ignorierte ihn. Sie mussten den Anschein erwecken, dass es an leistungsfähigen oder besseren Arbeitsplätzen mangeln würde. "Piraten sind kein Problem."
Barry bewegte sie zum Sitzen und seine Stimme nahm eine düstere Note an. "Es heißt, dass Dells Vater verhaftet wurde. Geht es ihm gut?"
"Jesus, Barry", sagte Walt. "Woher weißt du überhaupt davon?"
"Ich bin die Regierung. Wir haben überall unsere Augen und Ohren." Gavin starrte ihn an und hob eine Augenbraue und wartete. "Ja. Nun," zuckte Barry mit den Achseln und nahm einen Schluck von seinem Drink, "diese Bergleute auf Oberon könnten etwas erwähnt haben."
"Boomer ist in Ordnung. Unsere Schiffe haben mehr Prügel als er erlitten", wandte Gavin das Thema von seinem Team ab, das bei der Arbeit erschossen wurde. "Ich war überrascht zu hören, dass Sie im Goss-System sind."
"Mom zog sich hier wegen Cassel zurück", Barry warf einen sauren Blick durch den Raum, als er es sagte. "Ich bin nur zu Besuch hier. Kann es mit dem ganzen Touristenverkehr nicht aushalten, aber sie liebt die Shows und Ausstellungen und so. Wie auch immer, ich bin froh, dass ihr in Oberon helfen konntet."
" Das freut mich."
"Solche Dinge kommen von Zeit zu Zeit vor", sagte Barry. "Es ist ja nicht so, dass wir uns nicht selbst darum kümmern wollen oder so. Das tun wir. Aber die Marine kann keine Truppen nach jedem Räuber und Schläger im Vers schicken, weißt du? Vor allem, wenn sie in einem nicht beanspruchten System unterwegs sind. Also, ja. Es stört niemanden, wenn wir diese Jobs an Indies wie euch weitergeben."
"Nun," sagte Gavin, "wir haben gerade wenig Arbeit. Hast du etwas für uns?"
"Ich habe vielleicht etwas - keine UEE-Arbeit, aber trotzdem einen anständigen Job. Und ich weiß, dass der Kunde mit deinen Preisen zufrieden sein wird."
Gavins Herz sank ein wenig, aber vielleicht konnten sie ihren Preis erhöhen, ohne Barry zu verjagen. Er ermutigte den Buchhalter, weiter zu reden.
"Der Job ist knapp, nur ein paar Schritte entfernt. Es ist harte Arbeit, aber ich kann dir helfen, wenn du interessiert bist."
"Was ist der Job?" fragte Walt.
"Hast du schon mal von Molybdän gehört?" Gavins Gesicht muss genauso leer ausgesehen haben wie das von Walt. "Nein? Es ist ein seltenes Metall, das in der Elektronik und so verwendet wird. Sie finden es in der Nähe von Kupferlagerstätten. Weißt du was? Das spielt keine Rolle. Ein Freund von mir kennt einen Kerl, der gerade die Minenrechte an einem Mond in die Finger bekommen hat."
"Mining", murmelte Walt. "Warum wird es immer abgebaut?"
"Ich schätze, der ganze Mond ist voller Tunnel und Höhlen. Anscheinend gab es dort früher einen Haufen Kupfer, aber jetzt ist das ganze Zeug weg. Das Einzige, was übrig bleibt, ist das Molybdän. Dieser Kerl, er hat drei Wochen Zeit, um mit der Produktion zu beginnen, oder er verliert seinen Mietvertrag an den nächsten Goldsucher in der Reihe."
"Barry", sagte Gavin, "wenn du ein Team suchst, das Schutzhelme und Pickel trägt, hast du die falschen Leute."
"Nein, so ist es nicht. Sie sind jetzt leer, aber jemand hat die Höhlen als befestigte Basis eingerichtet. Schmuggler, wahrscheinlich. Sie haben da drin Auto-Targeting-Türme eingebaut. Mein Typ hat mir gesagt, dass sie überall sind. Um jede Ecke. Wie auch immer, es ist alles Banu-Tech. Eine Gruppe von ihnen muss von Bacchus herübergesprungen sein."
"Also, was ist der Job?"
"Sie brauchen jemanden, der die ganze Sache durchkämmt und die Geschütztürme ausschaltet. Sie können keine Bergbaugeräte und -betreiber da reinschicken, bis es klar ist. Diese Typen haben keine Schilde."
"Das ist alles?" fragte Gavin.
"Jawohl. Das ist es."
Walt beobachtete Barry über den Tisch mit einer verwirrten Neigung zu einer Augenbraue. "Das ist der langweiligste Job, von dem ich je gehört habe."
"Hey," sagte Barry, "wenn du etwas mit etwas höherer Kampfchance willst, habe ich einen UEE Escort Vertrag zur Ausschreibung. Wir wurden von dem etablierten Auftragnehmer absolut geschröpft. Ich habe den Major endlich davon überzeugt, den Job zu revidieren."
Das klang jetzt genau so, wie es der Job war, den Rhedd Alert brauchte.
"Erzähl mir mehr darüber", sagte Gavin. "Wegen des Escortjobs, meine ich."
"Ich, äh, hör zu", sagte Barry. "Das war mir nicht wirklich ernst gemeint. Nichts für ungut, aber das ist eine bewaffnete Eskorte durch einige ziemlich raue Systeme."
Das war's dann. Die Chance, die sie brauchten. "Unsere Jungs können das", sagte Gavin.
"Es ist jetzt ein kleiner Job, aber er soll zu etwas Großem werden. Ich weiß nicht mal, ob du genug Schiffe hast, um die Vertragsbedingungen zu erfüllen."
"Gib uns eine Chance. Wenn wir auftreten, finde ich die zusätzlichen Schiffe und Lotsen."
"Die Outfits, die sich für solche Auftritte anmelden, sind in der Regel Ex-Militärs. Hervorragend ausgebildet. Viele Kontakte in Navy SysCom. Die meisten der von uns eingesetzten Auftragnehmer haben ihren Sitz direkt neben der Marine im Kilian-System. Ich habe nur Spaß gemacht, Leute. Vergiss, dass ich es erwähnt habe."
"Nein, wir können das schaffen. Was ist der Lauf? Wie viele -"
"Gav", unterbrach Walt, "wir sprechen hier von Marineflugformationen und Taktiken. Überlegene Waffensysteme. Vielleicht sollten wir mehr Informationen über das Turm-Ding in der Maulbeer-Mine bekommen."
" Molybdän."
" Was auch immer."
"Komm schon, Walt. Das klingt für uns perfekt. Und ich würde dich oder Jazza bei einem Herzschlag gegen einen Ex-Navy-Piloten antreten lassen. Jedes System, jede Zeit."
" Freunde. . hey, hör zu", sagte Barry. "Die UEE versucht, die lokale Arbeit auf lokale Auftragnehmer zu übertragen. Die großen Verteidigungsunternehmen kämpfen dagegen an. Wenn du Lust hast, deine Hand in die Mitte des Feuers zu stecken, leite ich dir das RFP weiter. Gut genug? In der Zwischenzeit.... über meinen Kumpel mit der Mondmine?"
Gavin folgte halbherzig, während Walt und Barry den Turmjob diskutierten, aber in seinem Kopf eskortierten sie bereits UEE-Schiffe durch den feindlichen Raum. Walt erschreckte ihn aus seiner Träumerei, als er einen überraschten Barry zum Schweigen brachte.
"Warte", sagte Walt, "eine Sekunde zurück. Diese Banu-Waffensysteme. Hast du gesagt, dass dieses Zeug aus Bacchus kam?"
"Wahrscheinlich. Warum?"
"Diesen Mond. . . Barry, wo ist es?"
"Oberon VI., warum?"
Gavins Herz sank wieder. Ein Blick auf Walt tat nichts, um ihn zu beruhigen. Das Lächeln seines Bruders sah fantastisch angespannt aus.
"Ah, komm schon", sagte Barry. "Du hast bereits gute Arbeit für diese Jungs geleistet."
"Sie werden uns töten", sagte Walt.
"Nein", winkte Barry ihnen abweisend zu, "Sie lieben Rhedd Alert."
"Nein", sagte Walt, "nicht die Bergleute."
" Wer?" Barry sah jetzt besorgt aus. "Wer wird dich töten?"
antwortete Gavin. "Unser Team wird uns umbringen, wenn wir sie nach Oberon zurückbringen."
"Hey", entspannte sich Barry, "es ist ein kleiner Vers. Früher oder später wirst du dort durchkommen. Ich könnte genauso gut dafür bezahlt werden. Habe ich Recht?"
"Ja", sagte Walt, "aber Oberon?"
"Ich habe erwähnt, dass es sich lohnt, nicht wahr?" Barry hat etwas auf seinem mobiGlas eingeklebt. Er drehte es so, dass sie die projizierte Anzeige lesen konnten. Unten war eine Zahl. Eine nicht unbedeutende Zahl. Gavin starrte auf seine Hände, als Walt die Figuren aufnahm.
Walts Kopf machte ein hörbares Klopfen, als er auf den Tisch traf. Er stöhnte etwas gedämpftes und mit dem Effekt: "Ich kann nicht glauben, dass wir zurück nach Oberon gehen."
WIRD FORTGESETZT......
Das Heads-up-Display auf Gavin Rhedd's Entermesser ist an den Rändern abgedunkelt. Grüne Dreiecke, die die Mitglieder seines Sicherheitsteams repräsentieren, verzogen sich zu horizontalen Spitzen aus flackerndem statischem Material. Er schlug auf die Seite seines Helmes. Es war ein geübter Zug, der das HUD in der Vergangenheit wieder in den Fokus gerückt hatte. Diesmal flackerte das Display, verblasste und starb dann.
Ein schwerer Atemzug schickte einen dünnen Schleier aus Dampf, der das Visier seines Helmes kletterte. Kondenswasser verdunkelte den Blick auf den schwarzen, leeren Raum vor sich.
Leer wie die tote Warn-up-Anzeige.
Leer, genau wie seit Wochen.
Es gab Räuber und Plünderer, die jeden Planeten im Vers plagten, und er konnte keine einzige verdammte Bande finden. Nichts lief so gut, wie er es geplant hatte.
Auf dem Navsat stürzten sich die anderen drei Mitglieder der Rhedd Alert Security auf beide Seiten. Sein Bruder Walt wurde direkt am Hafen in Position gebracht. Jazza und Boomer waren schmerzhaft aus der Position.
Schlampig.
Alle langweilten sich und wurden leichtsinnig.
Boomer war der erste, der diesmal die Funkstille durchbrach.
"Hey, Leute?"
"Was ist los, Boomer?" Walt war der erste, der geantwortet hat.
"Mir ist kalt."
Jazza folgte keinen Befehlen besser als die anderen, und ihr Scherz hatte die angenehme Kadenz freundlicher Rivalität. "Dann zieh einen Pullover an."
"Hey, Jazz?" Boomer feuerte auf sie zurück.
" Ja?"
"Nimm den Helm für eine Zecke ab."
"Warum das, alter Mann? Willst du einen Kuss?"
"Nein. Ich hoffe, du wirst rausgelutscht und stirbst, wenn ich ein Loch durch dein Cockpit schieße."
Gavin seufzte in seinen Helm, bevor er sein Mikrofon auslöste. " Kommt schon, Leute. Ich will, dass die Kommunikation dunkel wird. Die Bergleute auf Oberon haben uns angeheuert, um sich um ihr Piratenproblem zu kümmern. Und ihr drei, die ihr auf einem offenen Kanal plaudert, wird uns nicht helfen, sie schneller zu finden."
"Ich fange an, dieses System zu hassen", murmelte Walt.
Sie waren alle müde und erschöpft von wochenlangen langen Stunden und ohne Action. Aber Walt tötete ihre Moral, indem er dieser Frustration eine Stimme gab. Diese ganze Sache - Rhedd Alert Security, die Aufgabe des Schmuggels, um sauber zu werden, die Beantragung der Staatsbürgerschaft - war etwas, das sie gemeinsam beschlossen hatten. Gavin und Walt. Brüder. Sich legalisieren und ein Unternehmen gründen.
Es schien eine gute Idee zu sein, als sie den Systemmeldungen ausweichen und ein Vermögen in gefälschte Tags werfen wollten. Aber einige Dinge ändern sich nicht, und Walt war derselbe alte Walt - alle reden und nicht durchziehen. Es dauerte nicht lange, bis er sich eine Ausrede ausdachte, um zu einem klareren Himmel überzugehen.
"Was ist los, Boomer?"
"Kalt, Gavin. Ich denke, die Hitze ist aus."
Wunderbar. Etwas anderes zu reparieren. Vielleicht wäre Walt nicht der erste, der nach allem aufhört. Dell würde gehen, wenn Gavin ihren Vater über diesem Felsen erfrieren lassen würde.
Jazza bellte lachend, "Ja. Das klingt ungefähr richtig für dieses Outfit."
"Jazza, würdest du jetzt endlich die Klappe halten? Mit welchem Teil hast du Probleme? Komm oder dunkel?"
"Ja, Sir, Big Boss Man."
"Jesus. Ich habe mehr Respekt von euch bekommen, als wir Kriminelle waren. Boomer, bei allen Banu-Göttern, warum hast du mir nicht gesagt, dass du Probleme hast, bevor wir den Hangar verlassen haben?"
"Ich, ähm.... Ich dachte, ich sollte bis nach der Mission schweigen. Bis wir bezahlt wurden, weißt du?"
Das hätte ein schneller In- und Out Job sein sollen. Aber nach wochenlanger erfolgloser Jagd, auch wenn sie die Piraten schließlich vertrieben haben, wäre der Job ein Reinverlust.
"Hey, Leute?" Jazza fing wirklich an, ihm auf die Nerven zu gehen. Das hat er ihr gesagt. "Halt die Klappe, Gavin. Ich wollte dich nur wissen lassen, dass ich etwas gefunden habe."
Gavin studierte schnell die Navsat-Konsole. Das Gebiet sah leer aus, außer den vier, also tauchte das, was sie gefunden hatte, auf keinem seiner Feeds auf. Er schlug seinen Helm wieder in der stummen Hoffnung, dass das HUD wieder zum Leben erwachen würde.
"Es ist ein Rumpf", sagte Jazza. "Der Große. Sieht aus wie ein ausgezogener Idris. Sieht tot aus."
"Ich sehe dich nicht bei.... Scheiße", sagte Walt. "Da bist du ja. Wie bist du da rausgekommen?"
"Ruhig, Leute", sagte Gavin. "Boomer? Du gehst in Richtung Jazza. Walt und ich werden die Position halten."
" Verstanden."
Ein Idris stellte einen fairen Teil der Creds als Bergung dar. Seltsam, dass niemand es behauptet hatte. Sie waren in Oberon, um Piraten zu vertreiben, aber ein kleiner Schrottjob nebenbei war ein willkommener Bonus.
"Jazza", sagte Gavin, "Ich habe nichts in deiner Nähe über Sensoren. Denkst du, es ist nur ein schwimmender Müll?"
"Ich glaube schon", sprach sie langsam, unsicher. "Ich dachte, ich hätte eine Wärmespur gesehen, aber ich sehe sie jetzt nicht. Ich gehe näher ran - Jesus!"
"Jazz", Boomer's Stimme war flach. Der alte Mann war nur ein Geschäft. "Brich rechts ab, ich ziehe das von dir ab und führe sie zu den Jungs zurück."
"Ich kann ihn nicht abschütteln."
Das Navsat zeigte drei neue Schiffe. Ein 325a mit verschlüsselten Tags, der auf der Jazza geschlossen ist. Walt zog vorbei und beschleunigte sich bereits auf den Kampf zu, und Gavin drehte sich um, um zu folgen.
"Zieh hart hoch", sagte Boomer. "Bring ihn wieder her - verdammt."
"Rede mit uns, Boomer", sagte Walt.
"Jazza wurde stark getroffen. Diese Typen tragen jeweils eine Tarantel - die große."
"Halt dich fest", sagte Gavin. "Wir sind fast da. Walt, mein HUD ist raus. Ich brauche Sichtkontakt, um zu kämpfen, kannst du kämpfen?"
" Da drauf."
"Warte mal, Boomer. Wir kommen."
Walt war eine Glühlampe vor ihm. Der nahe gelegene Raum schien täuschend leer zu sein, ohne die Visualisierungen, die seine HUD-Instrumentierung normalerweise projizieren würde. Erst Oberon IV, der unter ihnen auftauchte, gab ihm einen Eindruck von Perspektive.
Walts Stimme knisterte in die bedrückende Stille. "Boomer. Ich komme um drei Uhr tief rein."
" Verstanden."
"Ich werde mich mit den Repeatern herumschlagen, um ihre Aufmerksamkeit zu erregen. Sie geben der 325 eine Breitseite, der er nicht widerstehen kann. Ich schiebe eine Rakete irgendwo hin, wo die Sonne nicht scheint."
"Beeil dich, Walt. Ich bin zu alt für ein Dreiergespräch."
"Bei dir in fünf Minuten. Vier. Drei. Brecht jetzt!"
Da vorne schlugen rasiermesserscharfe dünne rote Strahlen durch den Raum. Die Laser streiften gerade und dann plötzlich aufgefächert, als Walt um ein Piratenschiff herum gierte.
" Boomer!" Walts Worte fielen schnell heraus. "Ich kann keinen Raketenschuss mit euch machen, zwischen uns."
"Ich kann ihn nicht abschütteln."
"Nun, diese Tarantel wird dich reichlich erschüttern, wenn du es nicht tust."
Eine Rakete streifte auf eines der Piratenschiffe zu. Gavin sah eine stotternde Serie von kleinen Blitzen im Cockpit, dann entlüftete der 325a eine lodernde Kugel aus brennendem Sauerstoff und wurde dunkel.
Gavin fiel in das wirbelnde Gewirr von Schiffen und fügte dem Nahkampf sein eigenes Laserfeuer hinzu. Rippende Blüten mit verstreuter Energie leuchteten gegen die Schilde eines Piraten.
"Das war's", sagte Walt, "sie werden weglaufen."
Er hatte Recht. Als sie erkannten, dass sie in der Unterzahl waren, drehten sich die verbleibenden Piraten zusammen und beschleunigten an Jazzas treibendem Schiff vorbei.
Und mit ihnen würde jede Hoffnung auf einen profitablen Job gehen. "Steckt sie ein und näht sie zusammen, Leute."
"Scheiß drauf", fuhr Walt hoch und fiel schnell zurück. "Lass sie laufen. Sie werden hier nicht mehr operieren, sobald wir ihr Versteck gestohlen haben. Wir gewinnen, Gav."
"Dieser Job wird nicht einmal unsere Treibstoffkosten decken, Walt. Wir brauchen diese Schiffe."
"Ich habe sie." Boomer gierte herum, um die fliehenden Schiffe zwischen sich zu halten.
"Boomer", schrie Walt, "nicht!"
Das Piratenpaar drehte Nase an Nase mit Boomer. Ihre Waffen funkelten zweimal, Maulkörbe blinkten, und Boomer's Rächer bockte vom Aufprall ab. Der größte Teil des Steuerbordflügels wurde in einem Feuer ausbrechendem Sauerstoff weggesponnen. Die Piraten flogen direkt durch das schwimmende Wrack und streiften mit voller Beschleunigung davon.
Gavin verfluchte und verlangsamte. Ohne sein HUD verblassten die fliehenden Piraten schnell aus den Augen. "Boomer? Rede mit mir, Kumpel."
Boomer's Rächer trieb langsam weg in Richtung Schwarz. Dann rülpste es, entlüftete Luft und Boomers Überlebensanzug ins Freie.
Ein neues, blinkendes rotes Symbol spiegelte sich auf und von der Haube von Gavins Cockpit wider. Er musste die Konsole nicht überprüfen, um zu wissen, dass es Boomers Rettungszeichen war.
Er ließ seine Hände von der Steuerung fallen, schloss die Augen und ließ seinen Kopf nach hinten fallen. Sein Helm traf mit einem hörbaren Klopfen auf die Kopfstütze. Farbige Lichter sprangen auf, um vor seinen geschlossenen Augen zu schwimmen.
Resigniert, knackte er einen schweren Deckel, um auf die eindringende Lichtquelle zu schauen. Sein HUD hatte beschlossen, ihn mit einem Wiederauftauchen zu beehren.
"Was. Zur Hölle. War das so?" Walt sprach seine Worte aus, beißend präzise.
"Tarantel GT-870 Mk3", rezitierte Gavin ausführlich.
"Ich weiß von den verdammten Waffen, Gavin. Ich meine, Boomer hinter ihnen her schicken. Wir haben gewonnen. Wir hatten sie auf der Flucht."
"Diese Schiffe reparieren sich nicht von selbst, Walt. Vielleicht hast du noch nicht gerechnet, aber wir sind pleite. Wir brauchen die Bergung."
"Bergung ist schön, aber Dell wird dich töten, wenn Boomer wieder verletzt wird."
"Ich kümmere mich um Dell." Gavin rollte die Schultern und legte seine Hände wieder auf die Bedienelemente. "Rufen Sie Oberon an. Lassen Sie sie wissen, dass wir uns um ihr Schädlingsproblem gekümmert haben und dass wir die clevere kleine Basis, in der sich die Schädlinge versteckt haben, abschleppen werden, um Scans zu verhindern. Dann lass Jazza zusammenflicken. Angenommen, der Pirat hat überlebt, können Sie ihn absetzen, bevor Sie die Bergung nach Hause schleppen."
"Verstanden", Walts Stimme war ätzend, "Geld zuerst". Gute Arbeit, um unsere Prioritäten klar zu setzen".
"Verdammt, Walt. Würdest du die Lippe für zwei Minuten verstauen, damit wir zusammenpacken und alle nach Hause bringen können?"
"Gut."
"Ich hole Boomer. Kannst du bitte sehen, ob du Jazza wieder zum Laufen bringen kannst?"
"Du bist der Boss, kleiner Bruder."
Gavin schob die Probleme seiner Familie in den Hintergrund. Priorisieren. Das Wichtigste zuerst, kümmere dich um die Crew. Hol Boomer nach Hause. Reparieren Sie die Schiffe. Zahlen Sie ein paar Schulden zurück. Er rasselte von einer schmerzhaft langen Liste kritischer nächster Schritte, und ein Gegenstand hielt sich schnell und kletterte energisch an die Spitze.
Sie brauchten wirklich einen neuen Job.
Walt schlug die anderen zurück zum Hangar. Er passte die Rotation mit der Vista-Landung des Goss-Systems an und driftete über deren Länge, bis er den Rhedd Alert Hangar erreichte. Er verlangsamte und hielt dann an drei breiten Doppeltüren an, die jeweils einen alarmierenden Rotton annahmen.
Vor dem ersten Türensatz schwebten Gefahrenmelder. Kurze Ausbrüche von winzigen Triebwerken hielten sie ein Dutzend Meter entfernt an Ort und Stelle, während eine Arbeitsgruppe Hochdruck- und geistergraue Farbe auf Schablonen des Rhedd Alert Logos auftrug.
Walt holte einen stolzen Atemzug ein, der seine Brust gegen die Grenzen seines Fluganzuges drückte. Es sah cool aus, ihren Namen in großen Buchstaben auf der Seite des Komplexes zu tragen.
Dann sauerte der Moment.
Der Hangar und das Hilfspersonal hatten ein Eigengewicht um den Hals. Die Malcrew und das Logo waren alle Teil des Mietvertrages mit der Station, aber sie dienten als gezielte Erinnerung an die Dauerhaftigkeit des Engagements. Walt nagte an seiner Unterlippe, unbequem mit dem Gewicht der Verpflichtung.
Er versuchte, das Gefühl der Reue des Käufers beiseite zu legen, aber es saß schwer und entfachte seine Wut auf Gavin. Sein Bruder wollte diese Firma so sehr. Dell auch.
Erfolg - echter Erfolg - bedeutete, dass sie die alten Routinen für immer hinter sich lassen konnten. Kein Verstecken mehr. Kein Umlegen von Tags mehr alle paar Wochen, um der Advocacy voraus zu sein. Eine Firma zu gründen und auf dem Weg zur Staatsbürgerschaft zu arbeiten, war eine große Sache, aber zu welchem Preis?
Die Beschäftigung von Menschen und die Beantragung der Staatsbürgerschaft war in Ordnung, aber es begann in Eile an Glanz zu verlieren, wenn der Erfolg bedeutete, jemanden zu töten. Walt musste sicherstellen, dass Gavin das sah. Sie waren alle müde, aber das war zu wichtig, um zu warten.
"Klopf, klopf, Dell", sagte Walt. " Mach auf."
D'lilahs Stimme kam sofort über den Funk. Sie hatte gewartet. "Bucht 3, Walt. Und achtet auf die Lackierer."
"Ich sehe sie. Schön, zu Hause zu sein, Dell."
Gavin landete zuletzt, und Walt wartete am Fuß der Leiter, als sein Bruder zum Deck hinunterrutschte.
"Fang nicht mit mir an", waren die ersten Worte aus Gavins Mund.
"Hör zu", sagte Walt, "Vielleicht war ich unangebracht, um dich während eines Kampfes zu erraten, aber wir müssen darüber reden, was da draußen passiert ist."
"Wir haben gewonnen, okay? Im Moment muss ich Boomer zu den Medizinern bringen und dann Barry wegen eines anderen Jobs kontaktieren."
"Barry hat uns diesen Job besorgt, Gav. Ich bin mir nicht sicher, ob du es bemerkt hast, aber es hat wirklich nicht so gut geendet."
"Wir wurden von ein paar Schlägern verprügelt. Das passiert, wenn man schlampig wird."
Er sprach von Verfahren und Leistung. Zwei ihrer Schiffe wurden erschossen, Boomer verwundet und Gavin meckerte über enge Flugformationen. Walt streckte seine Finger aus und wollte, dass sie keine Fäuste bildeten. Sein Bruder steckte seinen Helm unter einen Arm und trat zur Seite, um sich um ihn herum zu bewegen.
"Verdammt, Gavin", packte Walt die Schulter des kleineren Mannes und drückte ihn zurück gegen die Leiter. "Würdest du zwei Sekunden langsamer werden?"
Er hatte Gavin überrascht erwischt, aber sein jüngerer Bruder war schnell. Gavin schlug ihm die Hand von der Schulter, warf seinen Helm auf das Hangardeck und pflanzte einen eigenen Zweihandstoß in Walts Brust. "Was ist dein Problem, Walt?"
Der Hangar wurde ruhig. Ein kurzer Blick auf beide Seiten zeigte, dass der Rest der Belegschaft sehr intensiv nach etwas Produktivem suchte, so weit weg von den Brüdern wie möglich. Walt lehnte sich hinein und zischte: "Ich versuche, dich davon abzuhalten, jemanden zu verletzen. Was nützt Rhedd Alert, wenn wir alle für einen beschissenen Job töten lassen?"
"Eine beschissene.... ?” Gavins Augen waren breit und zeigten Weiß an allen Rändern. "Du musst aufwachen, Walt. Das war unsere einzige Aufgabe. Ich habe die Hälfte der Schiffe in der Gruppe mit herunterfallenden Teilen. Ich habe Boomer dazu gebracht, seinen Müll in nichts anderem als seinem Fluganzug einzufrieren. Wir können keine Systeme springen, um das nächste Schiff zu entführen, das vorbeikommt. Dafür haben wir uns angemeldet, Mann."
Walt wurde wieder heiß. Er wusste, dass er gehen sollte, aber Gavin verfehlte immer noch seinen Standpunkt. "Ich weiß, wofür ich mich angemeldet habe." Er wusste, dass sie ihre Jobs wieder gutmachen mussten, aber warum sterben, wenn sie versuchten, nur die Rechnungssammler zu bezahlen? "Und ich erinnere mich, warum ich mich auch angemeldet habe."
Gavin trat wieder ein. Näher. "Oh ja? Und warum ist das so?"
"Du, Gavin."
"Also ist alles meine Schuld? Weil ich dich dazu gebracht habe, mitzumachen."
"Das ist nicht das, was ich meine."
"Ich weiß, dass ich das Angebot für diesen Job vermasselt habe. Ich hätte es teurer machen sollen. Aber weißt du was? Das habe ich nicht. Und das ist alles, was wir hatten."
Walt senkte seine Stimme und bekam direkt in Gavins Gesicht. "Das ist nicht das, was ich meinte, und das weißt du. Ich bin hier, weil du das willst." Er stieß einen steifen Finger in Gavins Brust. "Du willst es für Dell. Weil du Angst hast, dass sie geht, wenn du es nicht schaffst."
Und dann war Gavin an ihm dran.
Sie gingen hart hinunter und Walts Kopf schlug gegen das Deck, als sie landeten. Gavin war kompakt und baute wie ein Sataball Verteidiger, aber Walt hatte Länge und Hebelwirkung. Es war eine Dichotomie, die sie seit ihrer Kindheit hundertmal auf die Probe gestellt hatten, mit nahezu einheitlichen Ergebnissen. Aber Gavin wusste einfach nicht, wann er aufgeben sollte.
Das Gerangel war kurz und hässlich. In Sekundenschnelle hatte Walt einen Unterarm in die Rückseite des Halses seines Bruders gesteckt, während der andere sich vom Deck stützte. Gavins Gesicht wurde in den kalten Stahl des Hangarbodens gedrückt.
Dann knirschte der geschabte Zeh eines schwarzen Arbeitsstiefels schmerzhaft auf Walts Finger. Sein Würgegriff an Gavin entspannte sich, und der kleinere Mann begann sich frei zu winden. Das war zumindest so lange, bis der gesockelte Kopf eines schweren Schlüssels auf Gavins Schulter fiel und ihn wieder nach unten drückte, mit dem Gesicht nach vorne und flach auf das Deck.
" Oomph."
"Jetzt, jetzt, Jungs", sagte Dell. "Was werden die Nachbarn denken?"
Walt zuckte zusammen und knirschte mit den Zähnen, als sie seine Finger gegen das Stahldeck drückte. Er drehte seinen Hals um, um sie anzusehen. Die Stiefel von D'lilah wurden durch rosa Schnürsenkel mit einem weißen Totenkopfmuster eng umschlossen. Sie trug getragene Leinenoveralls, die starke Beine umarmten, Taschen, die mit Werkzeugen und Ersatzteilen gefüllt waren. Ihr dunkles Haar wurde zu einem Pferdeschwanz zurückgezogen, der über einer Schulter hing, und sie hatte die letzten paar Zentimeter in einem hellen, elektrischen Blau gefärbt. Die Farbe war neu, seit sie nach Oberon aufgebrochen waren. Es war ein spielerischer Akzent, der nicht im wütenden Blau ihrer Augen widerhallt.
"Oh. Hey, Dell." Walt kämpfte darum, eine gekniffene Schmerznote von seiner Stimme fernzuhalten. "Hallo auch an dich."
"Wenn die nächsten Worte aus deinem Mund mir nicht sagen, wo mein Vater ist, wirst du deinen Stock mit der linken Hand bearbeiten."
Gavin antwortete ihr. " Immer mit der Ruhe, Dell."
"Wer hat ihn?"
"Das tue ich." Gavin nickte zurück zu seinem Schiff.
"Nun denn." Sie hob ihren Fuß an und Walt zog seine Hand zurück, um an schmerzenden Knöcheln zu reiben. Er starrte sie an, so sauer ein Blick, wie er es beim Knien auf dem Deck schaffen konnte. Ihr Lächeln täuschte eine Süße vor, die nichts tat, um die gefrorene Wut in ihren Augen aufzutauen. "Ich hole den Buggy. Wenn ihr beide mit dem Kuscheln fertig seid, klingt es, als hätte mein Vater ein Date mit den Technikern im Krankenhaus."
Dell schwang den Schraubenschlüssel hoch, um sich über eine Schulter zu legen, drehte sich auf die Ballen ihrer Füße und ging davon.
Gavin rollte sich mit einem Stöhnen auf den Rücken. "Diese Frau wird uns eines Tages umbringen."
"Denkst du, wir könnten ihr entkommen?"
"Du, vielleicht. Es gibt kein dunkles Loch im Vers, das ich verstecken könnte."
"Ja, nun," Walt drückte sich mit einem Grunzen auf die Beine, "das ist deine eigene verdammte Schuld, weil du sie geheiratet hast."
Mehrere Systeme entfernt, auf einer Station, die viel größer und besser ausgestattet war als Vista Landing, starrte Morgan Brock eine Reihe von Zahlen auf ihrem mobiGlas an. Sie hob ihre Augen an und schob ihren Blick über den oberen Rand des Bildschirms, um Riebeld anzustarren. Der Verkäufer spreizte sich beiläufig in einem, wie Brock wusste, unbequemen Stuhl. Sie stellte sicher, dass es unangenehm war, so dass sich niemand sicher fühlte, wenn er gegenüber ihrem Schreibtisch saß.
Aber Riebeld hat es irgendwie geschafft. Es war dieser Prahlerei, die ihn zu einem so guten Ernährer für ihre Firma machte. Reizend, ja. Aber gut für das Geschäft.
Sie hat das mobiGlas ausgeschaltet. "Der Reingewinn basiert auf dieser Schätzung auf einer zwölfprozentigen Provision."
"Ja, Ma'am."
"Ich denke, wir beide wissen, dass deine ausgehandelte Provision zehn beträgt, Riebeld."
"Und ich denke, wir wissen auch beide, dass dieser Job die Größe des Unternehmens innerhalb von zwei Jahren verdoppeln könnte." Er setzte sich dann nach vorne und lehnte sich auf ihren Schreibtisch. "Ich will zwölf, wenn ich es reinbringe."
"Und du denkst, ich werde es dir einfach geben?"
"Ich weiß, dass du das wirst."
Sie war an der Reihe, sich nach vorne zu lehnen. Es brachte sie zu nahe an ihn heran, und er hätte sich zurückziehen sollen. Das hat er nicht. "Und warum", fragte sie, "ist das so?"
"Weil ich weiß, dass du nicht zulassen wirst, dass das Prinzip dem Profit im Wege steht." Sein zähes Grinsen war hell genug, um Laser abzulenken. Sie war an das räuberische Lächeln von Männern gewöhnt, aber bei Männern wie Riebeld bedeutete das nur, dass Geld auf dem Spiel stand. Sein MobiGlas zwitscherte neben ihnen. Riebeld hatte einen eingehenden Anruf.
Er ignorierte es.
Sie wartete darauf, dass der eingehende Alarm aufhörte.
Das hat es.
"Du bekommst zwölf", sagte sie. "Aber jeder, der hilft, es einzubringen, wird von deinem Anteil bezahlt, nicht von meinem. Und ich will drei Optionen für eine einjährige Verlängerung. Nicht eine. Bring es mir mit drei oder ich unterschreibe es nicht."
" Erledigt."
"Gut. Und jetzt raus hier."
Das tat er und Brock lehnte sich in ihrem Stuhl zurück. Sie würde mehr Schiffe brauchen. Riebeld würde die Erweiterungen bekommen oder nicht. Sie gaben ihm etwas, auf das er hinarbeiten konnte, und er würde schlampig werden, wenn er nicht eine Herausforderung hätte.
Gute Verkäufer waren wie Rennpferde, pflegeintensiv und temperamentvoll. Meistens waren sie nichts anderes als eine Nervensäge. Kommen Sie zum Renntag - Sie wollten schon immer einen in Ihrem Stall.
Es klopfte schnell an ihre Tür. Riebeld wartete nicht darauf, dass sie antwortete, bevor er seinen Kopf hineinschob.
"Ich werde mich nicht auf die Optionen festlegen, Riebeld. Ich will drei oder gar keinen Deal."
"Nein", sagte er. "Das ist es nicht. Die Navy SysCom hat gerade unseren Tiroler Vertrag zur Rückgabe freigegeben."
" Was?"
"Ja. Wir dürfen rebidieren, aber sie stellen es für einen offenen Wettbewerb aus."
"Warum zum Teufel sollten sie das tun?" Die Begleitung von UEE-Wissenschaftlern zu den Forschungseinrichtungen in Tirol war nicht ihre größte Aufgabe, aber sie hatte viel Arbeit in sie investiert. Sie hatten Jahre damit verbracht, die Schifffahrtswege im Charon-System zu räumen - lukrative Jahre, zugegebenermaßen - und jetzt waren die Missionen reiner Gewinn und versprachen zukünftiges Wachstum.
"Ich habe noch nicht die ganze Geschichte, aber anscheinend versuchen sie, die risikoarme Vertragsgestaltung für lokale Unternehmen voranzutreiben. Ein Verstand in der Buchhaltung identifizierte den Tiroler Lauf als Kandidat und Boom, Major Greely zog den Vertrag."
"Sieh, was du herausfinden kannst", sagte sie. "Und mach dich an die Arbeit mit dem Rückkauf."
"Ich habe es bereits abgedeckt."
"Und Riebeld?"
" Ja?"
"Finde den Namen des Buchhalters."
Es war spät, als Gavin den Bahnhof verließ. Zur Entschuldigung lud er Walt ein, sich ihm auf dem kurzen Weg nach Cassel anzuschließen, um sich mit Barry Lidst zu treffen. Ob Walt als Versöhnung oder einfach nur, um einen weiteren Zusammenstoß mit Dell zu vermeiden, kam, war unklar. Unabhängig davon schien er nicht geneigt, über das Argument zu sprechen, als sie flogen, und Gavin sah keinen Grund, es zur Sprache zu bringen.
Barry, ein Navy SysCom Buchhalter von Beruf und freiberuflicher Regenmacher von Neigung, war mit den Brüdern aufgewachsen. Er hatte Goss verlassen, um der Marine beizutreten, während die Rhedd-Jungs blieben, um die Schmuggelrouten mit Boomer und ihrem Vater zu bearbeiten, bevor er starb.
Offiziell war Barry für die Aushandlung von Verträgen zwischen der UEE Navy und privaten Verkäufern verantwortlich, aber er schaffte es auch, ein paar Off-the-Record-Aufträge zu vermitteln. Er war, wenn überhaupt, ein Opportunist, und Gavin vertraute ihm etwa so sehr wie er einem der zwielichtigen Gestalten vertraute, mit denen sie in der Vergangenheit gearbeitet hatten. Das heißt, überhaupt nicht.
Die Tatsache, dass Barry mit Dell zu tun hatte, bevor er ging, um der Marine beizutreten, spielte in seiner Meinung überhaupt keine Rolle. Nein, nicht im Geringsten. Dennoch hatte Barry ihren ersten legitimen Job erledigt. Mit etwas Glück hätte er mehr.
Gavin schluckte hart und konzentrierte sich auf die Tatsache, dass sie Arbeit brauchten. Walt schwieg. Als Cassel anschwoll, massiv, blau und einladend gegen die goldenen und türkisfarbenen Bänder des Olympus-Pools, spürte Gavin, wie seine Augenbrauen in einen finsteren Blick übergingen.
Die Brüder landeten und machten sich auf den Weg zu einem Club, der für die lokale Bevölkerung des Resorts sorgte. Es war natürlich besetzt, aber Barry wartete und hatte es geschafft, einen offenen Tisch zu finden.
"Ich hatte schon gedacht, dass ihr beide es in Oberon gekauft habt." Barrys Marineuniform wurde aus glänzendem Material geschnitten, das entweder frisch gepresst oder faltenfrei hergestellt wurde. Es sah tragisch unbequem aus, aber es leistete eine angemessene Arbeit, einen runden Darm zu verstecken.
"Oberon hat etwas länger gebraucht, als wir dachten", zwang Gavin ein Lächeln, "aber wir haben sie."
"Alles in Ordnung?"
" Auf jeden Fall." Er injizierte Vertrauen in seine Worte und hoffte, dass es echt klang. Walt sah ihn scharf an, aber Gavin ignorierte ihn. Sie mussten den Anschein erwecken, dass es an leistungsfähigen oder besseren Arbeitsplätzen mangeln würde. "Piraten sind kein Problem."
Barry bewegte sie zum Sitzen und seine Stimme nahm eine düstere Note an. "Es heißt, dass Dells Vater verhaftet wurde. Geht es ihm gut?"
"Jesus, Barry", sagte Walt. "Woher weißt du überhaupt davon?"
"Ich bin die Regierung. Wir haben überall unsere Augen und Ohren." Gavin starrte ihn an und hob eine Augenbraue und wartete. "Ja. Nun," zuckte Barry mit den Achseln und nahm einen Schluck von seinem Drink, "diese Bergleute auf Oberon könnten etwas erwähnt haben."
"Boomer ist in Ordnung. Unsere Schiffe haben mehr Prügel als er erlitten", wandte Gavin das Thema von seinem Team ab, das bei der Arbeit erschossen wurde. "Ich war überrascht zu hören, dass Sie im Goss-System sind."
"Mom zog sich hier wegen Cassel zurück", Barry warf einen sauren Blick durch den Raum, als er es sagte. "Ich bin nur zu Besuch hier. Kann es mit dem ganzen Touristenverkehr nicht aushalten, aber sie liebt die Shows und Ausstellungen und so. Wie auch immer, ich bin froh, dass ihr in Oberon helfen konntet."
" Das freut mich."
"Solche Dinge kommen von Zeit zu Zeit vor", sagte Barry. "Es ist ja nicht so, dass wir uns nicht selbst darum kümmern wollen oder so. Das tun wir. Aber die Marine kann keine Truppen nach jedem Räuber und Schläger im Vers schicken, weißt du? Vor allem, wenn sie in einem nicht beanspruchten System unterwegs sind. Also, ja. Es stört niemanden, wenn wir diese Jobs an Indies wie euch weitergeben."
"Nun," sagte Gavin, "wir haben gerade wenig Arbeit. Hast du etwas für uns?"
"Ich habe vielleicht etwas - keine UEE-Arbeit, aber trotzdem einen anständigen Job. Und ich weiß, dass der Kunde mit deinen Preisen zufrieden sein wird."
Gavins Herz sank ein wenig, aber vielleicht konnten sie ihren Preis erhöhen, ohne Barry zu verjagen. Er ermutigte den Buchhalter, weiter zu reden.
"Der Job ist knapp, nur ein paar Schritte entfernt. Es ist harte Arbeit, aber ich kann dir helfen, wenn du interessiert bist."
"Was ist der Job?" fragte Walt.
"Hast du schon mal von Molybdän gehört?" Gavins Gesicht muss genauso leer ausgesehen haben wie das von Walt. "Nein? Es ist ein seltenes Metall, das in der Elektronik und so verwendet wird. Sie finden es in der Nähe von Kupferlagerstätten. Weißt du was? Das spielt keine Rolle. Ein Freund von mir kennt einen Kerl, der gerade die Minenrechte an einem Mond in die Finger bekommen hat."
"Mining", murmelte Walt. "Warum wird es immer abgebaut?"
"Ich schätze, der ganze Mond ist voller Tunnel und Höhlen. Anscheinend gab es dort früher einen Haufen Kupfer, aber jetzt ist das ganze Zeug weg. Das Einzige, was übrig bleibt, ist das Molybdän. Dieser Kerl, er hat drei Wochen Zeit, um mit der Produktion zu beginnen, oder er verliert seinen Mietvertrag an den nächsten Goldsucher in der Reihe."
"Barry", sagte Gavin, "wenn du ein Team suchst, das Schutzhelme und Pickel trägt, hast du die falschen Leute."
"Nein, so ist es nicht. Sie sind jetzt leer, aber jemand hat die Höhlen als befestigte Basis eingerichtet. Schmuggler, wahrscheinlich. Sie haben da drin Auto-Targeting-Türme eingebaut. Mein Typ hat mir gesagt, dass sie überall sind. Um jede Ecke. Wie auch immer, es ist alles Banu-Tech. Eine Gruppe von ihnen muss von Bacchus herübergesprungen sein."
"Also, was ist der Job?"
"Sie brauchen jemanden, der die ganze Sache durchkämmt und die Geschütztürme ausschaltet. Sie können keine Bergbaugeräte und -betreiber da reinschicken, bis es klar ist. Diese Typen haben keine Schilde."
"Das ist alles?" fragte Gavin.
"Jawohl. Das ist es."
Walt beobachtete Barry über den Tisch mit einer verwirrten Neigung zu einer Augenbraue. "Das ist der langweiligste Job, von dem ich je gehört habe."
"Hey," sagte Barry, "wenn du etwas mit etwas höherer Kampfchance willst, habe ich einen UEE Escort Vertrag zur Ausschreibung. Wir wurden von dem etablierten Auftragnehmer absolut geschröpft. Ich habe den Major endlich davon überzeugt, den Job zu revidieren."
Das klang jetzt genau so, wie es der Job war, den Rhedd Alert brauchte.
"Erzähl mir mehr darüber", sagte Gavin. "Wegen des Escortjobs, meine ich."
"Ich, äh, hör zu", sagte Barry. "Das war mir nicht wirklich ernst gemeint. Nichts für ungut, aber das ist eine bewaffnete Eskorte durch einige ziemlich raue Systeme."
Das war's dann. Die Chance, die sie brauchten. "Unsere Jungs können das", sagte Gavin.
"Es ist jetzt ein kleiner Job, aber er soll zu etwas Großem werden. Ich weiß nicht mal, ob du genug Schiffe hast, um die Vertragsbedingungen zu erfüllen."
"Gib uns eine Chance. Wenn wir auftreten, finde ich die zusätzlichen Schiffe und Lotsen."
"Die Outfits, die sich für solche Auftritte anmelden, sind in der Regel Ex-Militärs. Hervorragend ausgebildet. Viele Kontakte in Navy SysCom. Die meisten der von uns eingesetzten Auftragnehmer haben ihren Sitz direkt neben der Marine im Kilian-System. Ich habe nur Spaß gemacht, Leute. Vergiss, dass ich es erwähnt habe."
"Nein, wir können das schaffen. Was ist der Lauf? Wie viele -"
"Gav", unterbrach Walt, "wir sprechen hier von Marineflugformationen und Taktiken. Überlegene Waffensysteme. Vielleicht sollten wir mehr Informationen über das Turm-Ding in der Maulbeer-Mine bekommen."
" Molybdän."
" Was auch immer."
"Komm schon, Walt. Das klingt für uns perfekt. Und ich würde dich oder Jazza bei einem Herzschlag gegen einen Ex-Navy-Piloten antreten lassen. Jedes System, jede Zeit."
" Freunde. . hey, hör zu", sagte Barry. "Die UEE versucht, die lokale Arbeit auf lokale Auftragnehmer zu übertragen. Die großen Verteidigungsunternehmen kämpfen dagegen an. Wenn du Lust hast, deine Hand in die Mitte des Feuers zu stecken, leite ich dir das RFP weiter. Gut genug? In der Zwischenzeit.... über meinen Kumpel mit der Mondmine?"
Gavin folgte halbherzig, während Walt und Barry den Turmjob diskutierten, aber in seinem Kopf eskortierten sie bereits UEE-Schiffe durch den feindlichen Raum. Walt erschreckte ihn aus seiner Träumerei, als er einen überraschten Barry zum Schweigen brachte.
"Warte", sagte Walt, "eine Sekunde zurück. Diese Banu-Waffensysteme. Hast du gesagt, dass dieses Zeug aus Bacchus kam?"
"Wahrscheinlich. Warum?"
"Diesen Mond. . . Barry, wo ist es?"
"Oberon VI., warum?"
Gavins Herz sank wieder. Ein Blick auf Walt tat nichts, um ihn zu beruhigen. Das Lächeln seines Bruders sah fantastisch angespannt aus.
"Ah, komm schon", sagte Barry. "Du hast bereits gute Arbeit für diese Jungs geleistet."
"Sie werden uns töten", sagte Walt.
"Nein", winkte Barry ihnen abweisend zu, "Sie lieben Rhedd Alert."
"Nein", sagte Walt, "nicht die Bergleute."
" Wer?" Barry sah jetzt besorgt aus. "Wer wird dich töten?"
antwortete Gavin. "Unser Team wird uns umbringen, wenn wir sie nach Oberon zurückbringen."
"Hey", entspannte sich Barry, "es ist ein kleiner Vers. Früher oder später wirst du dort durchkommen. Ich könnte genauso gut dafür bezahlt werden. Habe ich Recht?"
"Ja", sagte Walt, "aber Oberon?"
"Ich habe erwähnt, dass es sich lohnt, nicht wahr?" Barry hat etwas auf seinem mobiGlas eingeklebt. Er drehte es so, dass sie die projizierte Anzeige lesen konnten. Unten war eine Zahl. Eine nicht unbedeutende Zahl. Gavin starrte auf seine Hände, als Walt die Figuren aufnahm.
Walts Kopf machte ein hörbares Klopfen, als er auf den Tisch traf. Er stöhnte etwas gedämpftes und mit dem Effekt: "Ich kann nicht glauben, dass wir zurück nach Oberon gehen."
WIRD FORTGESETZT......
Writer’s Note: Brothers In Arms: Part One was published originally in Jump Point 3.5.
The heads-up display on Gavin Rhedd’s Cutlass dimmed at the edges. Green triangles representing the members of his security team distorted to form horizontal spikes of flickering static. He smacked the side of his helmet. It was a practiced move, and one that had snapped the HUD back into focus in the past. This time, the display flickered, faded and then died.
A heavy breath sent a thin veil of vapor climbing the visor of his helmet. Condensation obscured the view of black, empty space ahead.
Empty like the dead heads-up display.
Empty just like it had been for weeks.
There were brigands and marauders plaguing every planet in the ’verse and he couldn’t find one damned gang. Nothing was working out like he’d planned.
On the navsat, the other three members of Rhedd Alert Security fanned out to either side. His brother Walt was locked into position directly to port. Jazza and Boomer were painfully out of position.
Sloppy.
Everyone was getting bored and careless.
Boomer was the first to break radio silence this time.
“Hey, guys?”
“What’s up, Boomer?” Walt was the first to respond.
“I’m cold.”
Jazza didn’t follow orders better than any of the others, and her banter had the comfortable cadence of friendly rivalry. “Then put on a sweater.”
“Hey, Jazz?” Boomer fired back at her.
“Yeah?”
“Take your helmet off for a tick.”
“Why’s that, old man? You want a kiss?”
“Nope. I’m hoping you get sucked out and die when I shoot a hole through your cockpit.”
Gavin sighed into his helmet before triggering his mic. “Come on, gang. I want comms dark. The miners on Oberon hired us to take care of their pirate problem. And the three of you chattering on an open channel won’t help us find them any faster.”
“I’m starting to hate this system,” Walt muttered.
They were all tired and strung out from weeks of long hours and no action. But Walt was killing their morale by giving voice to that frustration. This whole thing — Rhedd Alert Security, abandoning smuggling to go clean, applying for Citizenship — was something they’d agreed to do together. Gavin and Walt. Brothers. Going legit and starting a business.
It seemed a good idea when they were dodging system alerts and dumping a fortune into forged tags. But some things don’t change, and Walt was the same old Walt — all talk and no follow through. It wouldn’t be long before he came up with some excuse to move on to clearer skies.
“What’s wrong, Boomer?”
“Cold, Gavin. Think the heat’s out.”
Wonderful. Something else to fix. Maybe Walt wouldn’t be the first to quit after all. Dell would leave if Gavin let her father freeze to death over this rock.
Jazza barked a laugh, “Yep. That sounds about right for this outfit.”
“Jazza, will you shut up already? Which part are you having trouble with? Comms or dark?”
“Yes sir, Big Boss Man.”
“Jesus. I got more respect from you guys when we were criminals. Boomer, by all the Banu gods, why didn’t you tell me you were having trouble before we left the hangar?”
“I, uh . . . I figured to keep quiet until after the mission. Until we got paid, you know?”
This should have been a quick in and out job. But after weeks of fruitless hunting, even if they eventually drove off the pirates, the job would be a net loss.
“Hey, guys?” Jazza was really starting to get on his nerves. He told her as much. “Shut your hole, Gavin. I just wanted to let you know I found something.”
Gavin quickly studied the navsat console. The area looked empty other than the four of them, so whatever she’d found wasn’t showing up on any of his feeds. He smacked his helmet again in mute hope that the HUD would spring back to life.
“It’s a hull,” Jazza said. “Big one. Looks like a stripped Idris. Looks dead.”
“I’m not seeing you on . . . crap,” Walt said. “There you are. How’d you get way the hell out there?”
“Easy, folks,” Gavin said. “Boomer? You head toward Jazza. Walt and I will hold position.”
“Copy that.”
An Idris represented a fair chunk of creds as salvage. Strange that no one had claimed it. They were in Oberon to chase off pirates, but a little scrap job on the side was a welcome bonus.
“Jazza,” Gavin said, “I’ve got nothing near you on sensors. You think it’s just some floating junk?”
“I think so,” she spoke slowly, uncertain. “I thought I saw a heat trace, but I’m not seeing it now. Going in for a closer — Jesus!”
“Jazz,” Boomer’s voice was flat. The old man was all business. “Break right, I’ll pull this one off you and lead them back to the boys.”
“Can’t shake him.”
The navsat showed three new ships. A 325a with scrambled tags closed in on Jazza. Walt streaked past, already accelerating toward the fray, and Gavin turned to follow.
“Pull up hard,” Boomer said. “Bring him back around — Damn it.”
“Talk to us, Boomer,” Walt said.
“Jazza took a big hit. These guys are each sporting a Tarantula — the big one.”
“Hold tight,” Gavin said. “We’re nearly there. Walt, my HUD’s out. I need visual to fight, can you engage?”
“On it.”
“Hold on, Boomer. We’re coming.”
Walt was an incandescent streak ahead of him. The nearby space seemed deceptively empty without the visualizations that his HUD instrumentation would normally project. Only Oberon IV, looming beneath them, gave him any sense of perspective.
Walt’s voice crackled into the oppressive silence. “Boomer. I’m coming in low at your three o’clock.”
“Copy that.”
“I’m going to strafe with the repeaters to get their attention. You give that 325 a broadside he can’t resist. I’ll shove a missile somewhere the sun don’t shine.”
“Hurry, Walt. I’m too old for a three-on-one.”
“On you in five. Four. Three. Break now!”
Up ahead, razor thin beams of red slashed across space. The lasers streaked straight and then abruptly fanned out as Walt yawed around a pirate ship.
“Boomer!” Walt’s words tumbled out in a rush. “I can’t take a missile shot with you between us.”
“Can’t shake him.”
“Well that Tarantula is going to shake you plenty if you don’t.”
A missile streaked toward one of the pirate ships. Gavin saw a stuttering series of small flashes inside the cockpit, then the 325a vented a blazing ball of burning oxygen and went dark.
Gavin dropped into the swirling tangle of ships and added his own laser fire to the melee. Rippling blossoms of dispersed energy glowed against a pirate’s shields.
“That’s done it,” Walt said, “they’re gonna run.”
He was right. Realizing they were outnumbered, the remaining pirates turned together and accelerated past Jazza’s drifting ship.
And with them would go any hope of a profitable job. “Pen them in and stitch them up, guys.”
“Screw that,” Walt pulled up, quickly falling behind. “Let them run. They won’t operate here once we steal their hideout. We win, Gav.”
“This job won’t even cover our fuel costs, Walt. We need those ships.”
“I got ’em.” Boomer yawed around to pin the fleeing ships between them.
“Boomer,” Walt cried, “don’t!”
The pirate pair turned nose to nose with Boomer. Their guns sparked twice, muzzles flashing, and Boomer’s Avenger bucked from the impact. Most of the starboard wing spun away in a blaze of erupting oxygen. The pirates flew straight through the floating wreckage and streaked away at full acceleration.
Gavin cursed and slowed. Without his HUD, the fleeing pirates quickly faded from view. “Boomer? Talk to me, buddy.”
Boomer’s Avenger drifted slowly away toward the black. Then it burped, venting air and Boomer’s survival suit out into open space.
A new, flashing red icon reflected up and off the canopy of Gavin’s cockpit. He didn’t have to check the console to know it was Boomer’s recovery beacon.
He let his hands fall away from the controls, closed his eyes and let his head slump backwards. His helmet struck the headrest with an audible clunk. Colored lights sprang up to swim in front of his closed eyes.
Resigned, he cracked one heavy lid to peek out at the intruding light source. His HUD had decided to grace him with a reappearance.
“What. The hell. Was that?” Walt pronounced his words biting precision.
“Tarantula GT-870 Mk3,” Gavin recited in detail.
“I know about the damn guns, Gavin. I mean sending Boomer after them. We won. We had them on the run.”
“These ships don’t repair themselves, Walt. Maybe you haven’t done the math, but we’re broke. We need the salvage.”
“Salvage is nice, but Dell is going to kill you if Boomer is hurt again.”
“I’ll deal with Dell.” Gavin rolled his shoulders and settled his hands back on the controls. “Put a call in to Oberon. Let them know we took care of their pest problem and that we’ll tow away the clever little base the pests were hiding in to block scans. Then get Jazza patched up. Assuming the pirate survived, the two of you can drop him off before towing the salvage home.”
“Got it,” Walt’s voice was caustic, “money first. Good job keeping our priorities straight”
“Damn it, Walt. Will you stow the lip for two minutes so we can pack up and get everyone home.”
“Fine.”
“I’ll get Boomer. Can you please go see if you can get Jazza back up and running?”
“You’re the boss, little brother.”
Gavin pushed his family troubles to the back of his mind. Prioritize. First things first, take care of the crew. Get Boomer home. Repair the ships. Pay down some debt. He rattled off a painfully long list of critical next steps and one item kept rapidly, forcefully climbing its way to the top.
They really needed to get another job.
Walt beat the others back to the hangar. He matched rotation with Goss system’s Vista Landing and drifted along its length until he reached the Rhedd Alert hangar. He slowed and then stopped at three sets of wide double doors, each painted an alarming shade of red.
Hazard beacons floated in front of the first set of doors. Short bursts from tiny thrusters kept them in place a dozen meters out while a work crew applied high-pressure, ghost-grey paint over stencils of the Rhedd Alert logo.
Walt drew in a proud breath that pressed his chest against the confines of his flight suit. It looked cool having their name up in big letters on the side of the complex.
Then the moment soured.
The hangar and support staff were dead weight around their necks. The painting crew and logo were all part of the lease agreement with the station, but they served as a pointed reminder of the permanence of the commitment. Walt gnawed at his bottom lip, uncomfortable with the weight of the obligation.
He tried to put the sense of buyer’s remorse aside, but it sat heavy and rekindled his anger at Gavin. His brother wanted this company so much. Dell did, too.
Success — legit success — meant they could leave the old routines behind, forever. No more hiding. No more flipping tags every couple weeks to stay ahead of the Advocacy. Starting a company and working toward Citizenship was a big deal, but at what price?
Employing folks and applying for Citizenship was fine, but it started to lose luster in a hurry if success meant getting someone killed. Walt had to make sure Gavin saw that. They were all tired, but this was too important to wait.
“Knock knock, Dell,” Walt said. “Open up.”
D’lilah’s voice came over the comm immediately. She’d been waiting. “Bay 3, Walt. And mind the paint crew.”
“I see ’em. Glad to be home, Dell.”
Gavin touched down last, and Walt was waiting at the foot of the ladder when his brother slid down to the deck.
“Don’t start with me,” were the first words out of Gavin’s mouth.
“Listen,” Walt said, “Maybe I was out of line to second guess you during a fight, but we need to talk about what happened out there.”
“We won, okay? Right now I need to get Boomer to the med techs, and then contact Barry about another job.”
“Barry got us this job, Gav. I’m not sure if you noticed, but it really didn’t end so well.”
“We got sucker-punched by some thugs. That’s what happens when you get sloppy.”
He was talking about procedures and performance. Two of their ships got shot up, Boomer wounded and Gavin was grumbling about tight flight formations. Walt stretched his fingers, willing them not to form fists. His brother tucked his helmet under one arm and stepped to the side to move around him.
“Damn it, Gavin,” Walt grabbed the shorter man’s shoulder and pressed him back against the ladder. “Would you slow down for two seconds?”
He’d caught Gavin by surprise, but his younger brother was fast. Gavin slapped the hand from his shoulder, threw his helmet to the hangar deck and planted a two-handed shove of his own into Walt’s chest. “What’s your problem, Walt?”
The hangar grew quiet. A quick glance to either side showed the rest of the staff looking very hard for something productive to do, as far from the brothers as possible. Walt leaned in and hissed, “I’m trying to keep you from getting someone hurt. What’s the point of Rhedd Alert if we get everyone killed for one crappy job?”
“One crappy . . . ?” Gavin’s eyes were wide, showing white all around the edges. “You need to wake up, Walt. This was our only job. I got half the ships in the squad with parts falling off. I got Boomer freezing his junk off in nothing more than his flight suit. We can’t jump systems to hijack the next ship that comes along any more. This is what we signed up for, man.”
Walt was getting hot again. He knew he should walk away, but Gavin was still missing his point. “I know what I signed up for.” He knew that they had to make good on jobs, but why die trying just to pay the bill collectors? “And I remember why I signed up, too.”
Gavin stepped in again. Closer. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”
“You, Gavin.”
“So everything’s my fault? Because I made you join up.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know I screwed up the bid on this job. I should have priced it higher. But guess what? I didn’t. And this is all we had.”
Walt lowered his voice, getting right in Gavin’s face. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m here because you want this.” He jabbed a stiff finger into Gavin’s chest. “You want it for Dell. Because you’re afraid she’ll leave if you can’t pull it off.”
And then Gavin was on him.
They went down hard and Walt’s head cracked against the deck when they landed. Gavin was compact and built like a Sataball defenseman, but Walt had length and leverage. It was a dichotomy they had put to the test a hundred times since they were boys, with nearly uniform results. But Gavin just didn’t know when to give up.
The tussle was short and ugly. In seconds, Walt had one forearm jammed into the back of his brother’s neck, with the other propping himself up off the deck. Gavin’s face was pressed into the cold steel of the hangar floor.
Then the scuffed toe of a black work boot crunched down painfully on Walt’s fingers. His stranglehold on Gavin relaxed, and the smaller man started to squirm free. That was, at least, until the socketed head of a heavy wrench dropped on Gavin’s shoulder, pushing him back down, face first and flat onto the deck.
“Oomph.”
“Now, now, boys,” Dell said. “What are the neighbors gonna think?”
Walt winced, gritting his teeth as she ground his fingers against the steel deck. He craned his neck around to look at her. D’lilah’s boots were cinched tight by pink laces with a white skull-and-crossbones pattern stitched into them. She wore worn, canvas coveralls that hugged strong legs, pockets bulging with tools and spare parts. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail that hung over one shoulder, and she’d dyed the last couple inches a bright, electric blue. The color was new since they’d left for Oberon. It was a playful accent that wasn’t echoed in the angry blue of her eyes.
“Oh. Hey there, Dell.” Walt struggled to keep a pinched note of pain from his voice. “Hello to you, too.”
“Unless the next words out of your mouth tell me where my dad is, you’re going to be working your stick left-handed.”
Gavin answered her. “Ease up, Dell.”
“Who’s got him?”
“I do.” Gavin nodded back toward his ship.
“Well then.” She lifted her foot and Walt yanked his hand back to rub at aching knuckles. He glared at her, as sour a look as he could manage while kneeling on the deck. Her smile feigned a sweetness that did nothing to thaw the frozen fury in her eyes. “I’ll fetch the buggy. If you two are done snuggling, it sounds like my dad has a date with the techs in the med center.”
Dell swung the wrench up to rest over one shoulder, spun on the balls of her feet, and strode away.
Gavin rolled over onto his back with a groan. “That woman is going to kill us one of these days.”
“Think we could outrun her?”
“You, maybe. There’s not a dark enough hole in the ’verse for me to hide.”
“Yeah, well,” Walt pushed himself to his feet with a grunt, “that’s your own damn fault for marrying her.”
Several systems away, on a station much larger and better appointed than Vista Landing, Morgan Brock scowled at a set of numbers on her mobiGlas. She lifted her eyes, shifting her gaze over the top edge of the screen to stare at Riebeld. The salesman sprawled casually in what Brock knew to be an uncomfortable chair. She made sure that it was uncomfortable, so no one felt confident when sitting opposite her desk.
Riebeld somehow pulled it off, though. It was that braggadocio that made him such a good breadwinner for her company. Irritating, yes. But good for business.
She powered down the mobiGlas. “The net profits on this estimate are based off a twelve percent commission.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I think we both know that your negotiated commission is ten, Riebeld.”
“And I think we also both know that this job could double the size of the company within two years.” He sat forward then and leaned on her desk. “I want twelve if I bring it in.”
“And you think I’m going to just give it to you?”
“I know you will.”
It was her turn to lean forward. It put her too close to him, and he should have backed off. He didn’t. “And why,” she asked, “is that?”
“Because I know that you’re not going to let principle stand in the way of profit.” His toothy grin was bright enough to deflect lasers. She was used to predatory smiles from men, but with men like Riebeld, it only meant there was money on the line. His mobiGlas chirped beside them. Riebeld had an incoming call.
He ignored it.
She waited for the incoming alert to stop.
It did.
“You get twelve,” she said. “But anyone who helps bring it in gets paid out of your cut, not mine. And I want three options for one-year extensions. Not one. Bring it to me with three or I won’t sign it.”
“Done.”
“Fine. Now get out.”
He did and Brock leaned back in her chair. She was going to need more ships. Riebeld would get the extensions or he wouldn’t. They gave him something to work toward, and he’d get sloppy if he didn’t have a challenge.
Good sales guys were like racehorses, high maintenance and temperamental. Most days, they were nothing more than a pain in the ass. Come race day, though – you always wanted one in your stable.
There was a quick knock on her door. Riebeld didn’t wait for her to answer before he shoved his head in.
“I won’t budge on the options, Riebeld. I want three or no deal.”
“No,” he said. “It’s not that. Navy SysCom just put our Tyrol contract up for rebid.”
“What?”
“Yeah. We’re allowed to rebid, but they’re putting it out for open competition.”
“Why the hell would they do that?” Escorting UEE scientists to the research facilities in Tyrol wasn’t their biggest job, but she’d put a lot of work into it. They’d spent years clearing the shipping lanes in the Nexus system — lucrative years, admittedly — and now the missions were pure profit and promised future growth.
“I don’t have the full story yet, but apparently they are trying to push low-risk contract work out to local companies. Some brainiac in accounting identified the Tyrol run as a candidate and boom, Major Greely pulled the contract.”
“See what you can find out,” she said. “And get to work on the rebid.”
“Already got it covered.”
“And Riebeld?”
“Yeah?”
“Find me the name of that accountant.”
It was late when Gavin left the station. By way of apology, he invited Walt to join him on the short trip to Cassel to meet with Barry Lidst. Whether Walt came along as reconciliation or simply to avoid another run-in with Dell was unclear. Regardless, he didn’t seem inclined to talk about the argument as they flew, and Gavin saw no reason to bring it up.
Barry, a Navy SysCom accountant by trade and freelance rainmaker by inclination, had grown up with the brothers. He had left Goss to join the Navy while the Rhedd boys stayed to work the smuggling routes with Boomer and their father before he passed.
Officially, Barry was responsible for negotiating contracts between the UEE Navy and private vendors, but he also managed to broker a few off-the-record jobs on the side. He was, if anything, an opportunist, and Gavin trusted him about as much as he trusted any of the shady characters they’d worked with in the past. Which is to say, not at all.
The fact that Barry was involved with Dell before leaving to join the Navy didn’t factor into his opinion at all. Nope, not in the slightest. Still, Barry had come through with their first legitimate job. With luck, he’d have more.
Gavin swallowed hard, focusing on the fact that they needed work. Walt kept quiet. By the time Cassel swelled, massive, blue and inviting against the gold and turquoise bands of the Olympus Pool, Gavin could feel his brows drawing down into a scowl.
The brothers landed and made their way to a club that catered to the resort world’s local crowd. It was busy, of course, but Barry was waiting and had managed to find an open table.
“I was beginning to think you two bought it in Oberon.” Barry’s naval uniform was cut from some shiny material that was either freshly pressed or engineered to be wrinkle-free. It looked tragically uncomfortable, but did a reasonable job of hiding a rounded gut.
“Oberon took a bit longer than we thought,” Gavin forced a smile, “but we got them.”
“Everything go okay?”
“Absolutely.” He injected confidence into his words and hoped it sounded genuine. Walt looked at him sharply, but Gavin ignored him. They had to appear capable or better jobs were going to be in short supply. “Pirates are not a problem.”
Barry motioned them to sit and his voice took on a somber note. “Word is that Dell’s dad got busted up. He okay?”
“Jesus, Barry,” Walt said. “How’d you even hear about that?”
“I’m the government. We’ve got our eyes and ears everywhere.” Gavin stared at him and raised an eyebrow, waiting. “Yeah. Well,” Barry shrugged and took a sip of his drink, “those miners on Oberon might have mentioned something.”
“Boomer’s fine. Our ships took more of a beating than he did,” Gavin turned the subject away from his team getting shot up on the job. “I was surprised to hear you were in Goss system.”
“Mom retired here on Cassel,” Barry cast a sour glare around the room when he said it. “I’m just here visiting. Can’t stand it with all the tourist traffic, but she loves the shows and exhibits and stuff. Anyway, I’m glad you guys were able to help out in Oberon.”
“Happy to.”
“Stuff like this comes up from time to time,” Barry said. “It’s not like we don’t want to take care of it ourselves or anything. We do. But the Navy can’t send troops after every brigand and thug in the ’verse, you know? Particularly when they’re camped out in an unclaimed system. So, yeah. No one minds if we feed these jobs to indies like you guys.”
“Well,” Gavin said, “we’re light on work right now. Got anything for us?”
“I might have something — not UEE work, but still a decent job. And I know the client will be happy with your rates.”
Gavin’s heart sank a bit, but maybe they could increase their price without chasing Barry away. He encouraged the accountant to keep talking.
“The job is close, just a couple hops away. It’s hard work, but I can hook you up if you’re interested.”
“What’s the job?” Walt asked.
“You ever heard of molybdenum?” Gavin’s face must have looked as blank as Walt’s. “No? It’s a rare metal used in electronics and stuff. You find it near copper deposits. You know what? Doesn’t matter. A friend of mine knows a guy who just got his hands on the mining rights to a moon.”
“Mining,” Walt muttered. “Why is it always mining?”
“I guess the whole moon is riddled with tunnels and caverns. Apparently there used to be a bunch of copper there, but now all that stuff is gone. The only thing left is the molybdenum. This guy, he’s got three weeks to start producing or he loses his lease to the next prospector in line.”
“Barry,” Gavin said, “if you’re looking for a team to wear hardhats and swing pickaxes, you’ve got the wrong guys.”
“Naw, it’s nothing like that. They’re empty now, but someone set the caves up as a fortified base. Smugglers, probably. They put auto-targeting turrets in there. My guy told me they’re all over the place. Around every corner. Anyway, it’s all Banu tech. A group of them must have hopped over from Bacchus.”
“So what’s the job?”
“They need someone to comb through the whole thing and take out the turrets. They can’t send mining equipment and operators in there until it’s clear. Those guys don’t have shields.”
“That’s it?” Gavin asked.
“Yup. That’s it.”
Walt watched Barry across the table with a bemused tilt to one eyebrow. “That’s the most boring job I’ve ever heard of.”
“Hey,” Barry said, “if you want something with a little higher chance of combat, I’ve got a UEE escort contract up for bid. We were getting absolutely fleeced by the incumbent contractor. I finally convinced the major to rebid the job.”
Now that sounded exactly like the job Rhedd Alert needed.
“Tell me more about that,” Gavin said. “About the escort job, I mean.”
“I, uh listen,” Barry said. “I wasn’t really serious about that. No offense, but that is an armed escort through some pretty rough systems.”
This was it. The chance they needed. “Our guys can do it,” Gavin said.
“It’s a small job now, but it’s scheduled to mature into something big. I don’t even know if you have enough ships to meet the contract requirements.”
“Give us a shot. If we perform, I’ll find the extra ships and pilots.”
“The outfits that sign on for gigs like this are generally ex-military. Highly trained. Lots of contacts in Navy SysCom. Most of the contractors we use are actually based right next to the Navy in Kilian system. I was joking, guys. Forget I mentioned it.”
“No, we can do this. What’s the run? How many —”
“Gav,” Walt interrupted, “we’re talking naval flight formations and tactics. Superior weapons systems. Maybe we should get more info on the turret thing in the mulberry mine.”
“Molybdenum.”
“Whatever.”
“Come on, Walt. This sounds perfect for us. And I’d put you or Jazza up against an ex-Navy pilot in a heartbeat. Any system, any time.”
“Fellas . . . hey, listen,” Barry said. “The UEE is trying to push local work to local contractors. The big defense companies are fighting it. If you feel like sticking your hand in the middle of that fire, I’ll forward you the RFP. Good enough? In the meantime . . . about my buddy with the moon mine?”
Gavin half-heartedly followed along while Walt and Barry discussed the turret job, but in his mind they were already escorting UEE ships through hostile space. Walt startled him out of his reverie when he hushed a surprised Barry into silence.
“Wait,” Walt said, “back up a second. These Banu weapon systems. Did you say this stuff came out of Bacchus?”
“Probably. Why?”
“This moon . . . Barry, where is it?”
“Oberon VI, why?”
Gavin’s heart sank again. A glance at Walt did nothing to reassure him. His brother’s smile looked fantastically strained.
“Ah, come on,” Barry said. “You’ve already done good work for these guys.”
“They’ll kill us,” Walt said.
“Naw,” Barry waved at them dismissively, “They love Rhedd Alert.”
“No,” Walt said, “not the miners.”
“Who?” Barry looked concerned now. “Who’ll kill you?”
Gavin answered. “Our team is going to kill us if we drag them back to Oberon.”
“Hey,” Barry relaxed, “it’s a small ’verse. You’re going to end up passing through there sooner or later. Might as well get paid for it. Am I right?”
“Yeah,” Walt said, “but Oberon?”
“I did mention it pays, didn’t I?” Barry keyed something up on his mobiGlas. He turned it so they could read the projected display. At the bottom was a number. A not-insignificant number. Gavin stared at his hands as Walt absorbed the figures.
Walt’s head made an audible clunk when it struck the table. He groaned something muffled and to the effect of, “I can’t believe we’re going back to Oberon.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
The heads-up display on Gavin Rhedd’s Cutlass dimmed at the edges. Green triangles representing the members of his security team distorted to form horizontal spikes of flickering static. He smacked the side of his helmet. It was a practiced move, and one that had snapped the HUD back into focus in the past. This time, the display flickered, faded and then died.
A heavy breath sent a thin veil of vapor climbing the visor of his helmet. Condensation obscured the view of black, empty space ahead.
Empty like the dead heads-up display.
Empty just like it had been for weeks.
There were brigands and marauders plaguing every planet in the ’verse and he couldn’t find one damned gang. Nothing was working out like he’d planned.
On the navsat, the other three members of Rhedd Alert Security fanned out to either side. His brother Walt was locked into position directly to port. Jazza and Boomer were painfully out of position.
Sloppy.
Everyone was getting bored and careless.
Boomer was the first to break radio silence this time.
“Hey, guys?”
“What’s up, Boomer?” Walt was the first to respond.
“I’m cold.”
Jazza didn’t follow orders better than any of the others, and her banter had the comfortable cadence of friendly rivalry. “Then put on a sweater.”
“Hey, Jazz?” Boomer fired back at her.
“Yeah?”
“Take your helmet off for a tick.”
“Why’s that, old man? You want a kiss?”
“Nope. I’m hoping you get sucked out and die when I shoot a hole through your cockpit.”
Gavin sighed into his helmet before triggering his mic. “Come on, gang. I want comms dark. The miners on Oberon hired us to take care of their pirate problem. And the three of you chattering on an open channel won’t help us find them any faster.”
“I’m starting to hate this system,” Walt muttered.
They were all tired and strung out from weeks of long hours and no action. But Walt was killing their morale by giving voice to that frustration. This whole thing — Rhedd Alert Security, abandoning smuggling to go clean, applying for Citizenship — was something they’d agreed to do together. Gavin and Walt. Brothers. Going legit and starting a business.
It seemed a good idea when they were dodging system alerts and dumping a fortune into forged tags. But some things don’t change, and Walt was the same old Walt — all talk and no follow through. It wouldn’t be long before he came up with some excuse to move on to clearer skies.
“What’s wrong, Boomer?”
“Cold, Gavin. Think the heat’s out.”
Wonderful. Something else to fix. Maybe Walt wouldn’t be the first to quit after all. Dell would leave if Gavin let her father freeze to death over this rock.
Jazza barked a laugh, “Yep. That sounds about right for this outfit.”
“Jazza, will you shut up already? Which part are you having trouble with? Comms or dark?”
“Yes sir, Big Boss Man.”
“Jesus. I got more respect from you guys when we were criminals. Boomer, by all the Banu gods, why didn’t you tell me you were having trouble before we left the hangar?”
“I, uh . . . I figured to keep quiet until after the mission. Until we got paid, you know?”
This should have been a quick in and out job. But after weeks of fruitless hunting, even if they eventually drove off the pirates, the job would be a net loss.
“Hey, guys?” Jazza was really starting to get on his nerves. He told her as much. “Shut your hole, Gavin. I just wanted to let you know I found something.”
Gavin quickly studied the navsat console. The area looked empty other than the four of them, so whatever she’d found wasn’t showing up on any of his feeds. He smacked his helmet again in mute hope that the HUD would spring back to life.
“It’s a hull,” Jazza said. “Big one. Looks like a stripped Idris. Looks dead.”
“I’m not seeing you on . . . crap,” Walt said. “There you are. How’d you get way the hell out there?”
“Easy, folks,” Gavin said. “Boomer? You head toward Jazza. Walt and I will hold position.”
“Copy that.”
An Idris represented a fair chunk of creds as salvage. Strange that no one had claimed it. They were in Oberon to chase off pirates, but a little scrap job on the side was a welcome bonus.
“Jazza,” Gavin said, “I’ve got nothing near you on sensors. You think it’s just some floating junk?”
“I think so,” she spoke slowly, uncertain. “I thought I saw a heat trace, but I’m not seeing it now. Going in for a closer — Jesus!”
“Jazz,” Boomer’s voice was flat. The old man was all business. “Break right, I’ll pull this one off you and lead them back to the boys.”
“Can’t shake him.”
The navsat showed three new ships. A 325a with scrambled tags closed in on Jazza. Walt streaked past, already accelerating toward the fray, and Gavin turned to follow.
“Pull up hard,” Boomer said. “Bring him back around — Damn it.”
“Talk to us, Boomer,” Walt said.
“Jazza took a big hit. These guys are each sporting a Tarantula — the big one.”
“Hold tight,” Gavin said. “We’re nearly there. Walt, my HUD’s out. I need visual to fight, can you engage?”
“On it.”
“Hold on, Boomer. We’re coming.”
Walt was an incandescent streak ahead of him. The nearby space seemed deceptively empty without the visualizations that his HUD instrumentation would normally project. Only Oberon IV, looming beneath them, gave him any sense of perspective.
Walt’s voice crackled into the oppressive silence. “Boomer. I’m coming in low at your three o’clock.”
“Copy that.”
“I’m going to strafe with the repeaters to get their attention. You give that 325 a broadside he can’t resist. I’ll shove a missile somewhere the sun don’t shine.”
“Hurry, Walt. I’m too old for a three-on-one.”
“On you in five. Four. Three. Break now!”
Up ahead, razor thin beams of red slashed across space. The lasers streaked straight and then abruptly fanned out as Walt yawed around a pirate ship.
“Boomer!” Walt’s words tumbled out in a rush. “I can’t take a missile shot with you between us.”
“Can’t shake him.”
“Well that Tarantula is going to shake you plenty if you don’t.”
A missile streaked toward one of the pirate ships. Gavin saw a stuttering series of small flashes inside the cockpit, then the 325a vented a blazing ball of burning oxygen and went dark.
Gavin dropped into the swirling tangle of ships and added his own laser fire to the melee. Rippling blossoms of dispersed energy glowed against a pirate’s shields.
“That’s done it,” Walt said, “they’re gonna run.”
He was right. Realizing they were outnumbered, the remaining pirates turned together and accelerated past Jazza’s drifting ship.
And with them would go any hope of a profitable job. “Pen them in and stitch them up, guys.”
“Screw that,” Walt pulled up, quickly falling behind. “Let them run. They won’t operate here once we steal their hideout. We win, Gav.”
“This job won’t even cover our fuel costs, Walt. We need those ships.”
“I got ’em.” Boomer yawed around to pin the fleeing ships between them.
“Boomer,” Walt cried, “don’t!”
The pirate pair turned nose to nose with Boomer. Their guns sparked twice, muzzles flashing, and Boomer’s Avenger bucked from the impact. Most of the starboard wing spun away in a blaze of erupting oxygen. The pirates flew straight through the floating wreckage and streaked away at full acceleration.
Gavin cursed and slowed. Without his HUD, the fleeing pirates quickly faded from view. “Boomer? Talk to me, buddy.”
Boomer’s Avenger drifted slowly away toward the black. Then it burped, venting air and Boomer’s survival suit out into open space.
A new, flashing red icon reflected up and off the canopy of Gavin’s cockpit. He didn’t have to check the console to know it was Boomer’s recovery beacon.
He let his hands fall away from the controls, closed his eyes and let his head slump backwards. His helmet struck the headrest with an audible clunk. Colored lights sprang up to swim in front of his closed eyes.
Resigned, he cracked one heavy lid to peek out at the intruding light source. His HUD had decided to grace him with a reappearance.
“What. The hell. Was that?” Walt pronounced his words biting precision.
“Tarantula GT-870 Mk3,” Gavin recited in detail.
“I know about the damn guns, Gavin. I mean sending Boomer after them. We won. We had them on the run.”
“These ships don’t repair themselves, Walt. Maybe you haven’t done the math, but we’re broke. We need the salvage.”
“Salvage is nice, but Dell is going to kill you if Boomer is hurt again.”
“I’ll deal with Dell.” Gavin rolled his shoulders and settled his hands back on the controls. “Put a call in to Oberon. Let them know we took care of their pest problem and that we’ll tow away the clever little base the pests were hiding in to block scans. Then get Jazza patched up. Assuming the pirate survived, the two of you can drop him off before towing the salvage home.”
“Got it,” Walt’s voice was caustic, “money first. Good job keeping our priorities straight”
“Damn it, Walt. Will you stow the lip for two minutes so we can pack up and get everyone home.”
“Fine.”
“I’ll get Boomer. Can you please go see if you can get Jazza back up and running?”
“You’re the boss, little brother.”
Gavin pushed his family troubles to the back of his mind. Prioritize. First things first, take care of the crew. Get Boomer home. Repair the ships. Pay down some debt. He rattled off a painfully long list of critical next steps and one item kept rapidly, forcefully climbing its way to the top.
They really needed to get another job.
Walt beat the others back to the hangar. He matched rotation with Goss system’s Vista Landing and drifted along its length until he reached the Rhedd Alert hangar. He slowed and then stopped at three sets of wide double doors, each painted an alarming shade of red.
Hazard beacons floated in front of the first set of doors. Short bursts from tiny thrusters kept them in place a dozen meters out while a work crew applied high-pressure, ghost-grey paint over stencils of the Rhedd Alert logo.
Walt drew in a proud breath that pressed his chest against the confines of his flight suit. It looked cool having their name up in big letters on the side of the complex.
Then the moment soured.
The hangar and support staff were dead weight around their necks. The painting crew and logo were all part of the lease agreement with the station, but they served as a pointed reminder of the permanence of the commitment. Walt gnawed at his bottom lip, uncomfortable with the weight of the obligation.
He tried to put the sense of buyer’s remorse aside, but it sat heavy and rekindled his anger at Gavin. His brother wanted this company so much. Dell did, too.
Success — legit success — meant they could leave the old routines behind, forever. No more hiding. No more flipping tags every couple weeks to stay ahead of the Advocacy. Starting a company and working toward Citizenship was a big deal, but at what price?
Employing folks and applying for Citizenship was fine, but it started to lose luster in a hurry if success meant getting someone killed. Walt had to make sure Gavin saw that. They were all tired, but this was too important to wait.
“Knock knock, Dell,” Walt said. “Open up.”
D’lilah’s voice came over the comm immediately. She’d been waiting. “Bay 3, Walt. And mind the paint crew.”
“I see ’em. Glad to be home, Dell.”
Gavin touched down last, and Walt was waiting at the foot of the ladder when his brother slid down to the deck.
“Don’t start with me,” were the first words out of Gavin’s mouth.
“Listen,” Walt said, “Maybe I was out of line to second guess you during a fight, but we need to talk about what happened out there.”
“We won, okay? Right now I need to get Boomer to the med techs, and then contact Barry about another job.”
“Barry got us this job, Gav. I’m not sure if you noticed, but it really didn’t end so well.”
“We got sucker-punched by some thugs. That’s what happens when you get sloppy.”
He was talking about procedures and performance. Two of their ships got shot up, Boomer wounded and Gavin was grumbling about tight flight formations. Walt stretched his fingers, willing them not to form fists. His brother tucked his helmet under one arm and stepped to the side to move around him.
“Damn it, Gavin,” Walt grabbed the shorter man’s shoulder and pressed him back against the ladder. “Would you slow down for two seconds?”
He’d caught Gavin by surprise, but his younger brother was fast. Gavin slapped the hand from his shoulder, threw his helmet to the hangar deck and planted a two-handed shove of his own into Walt’s chest. “What’s your problem, Walt?”
The hangar grew quiet. A quick glance to either side showed the rest of the staff looking very hard for something productive to do, as far from the brothers as possible. Walt leaned in and hissed, “I’m trying to keep you from getting someone hurt. What’s the point of Rhedd Alert if we get everyone killed for one crappy job?”
“One crappy . . . ?” Gavin’s eyes were wide, showing white all around the edges. “You need to wake up, Walt. This was our only job. I got half the ships in the squad with parts falling off. I got Boomer freezing his junk off in nothing more than his flight suit. We can’t jump systems to hijack the next ship that comes along any more. This is what we signed up for, man.”
Walt was getting hot again. He knew he should walk away, but Gavin was still missing his point. “I know what I signed up for.” He knew that they had to make good on jobs, but why die trying just to pay the bill collectors? “And I remember why I signed up, too.”
Gavin stepped in again. Closer. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”
“You, Gavin.”
“So everything’s my fault? Because I made you join up.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know I screwed up the bid on this job. I should have priced it higher. But guess what? I didn’t. And this is all we had.”
Walt lowered his voice, getting right in Gavin’s face. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m here because you want this.” He jabbed a stiff finger into Gavin’s chest. “You want it for Dell. Because you’re afraid she’ll leave if you can’t pull it off.”
And then Gavin was on him.
They went down hard and Walt’s head cracked against the deck when they landed. Gavin was compact and built like a Sataball defenseman, but Walt had length and leverage. It was a dichotomy they had put to the test a hundred times since they were boys, with nearly uniform results. But Gavin just didn’t know when to give up.
The tussle was short and ugly. In seconds, Walt had one forearm jammed into the back of his brother’s neck, with the other propping himself up off the deck. Gavin’s face was pressed into the cold steel of the hangar floor.
Then the scuffed toe of a black work boot crunched down painfully on Walt’s fingers. His stranglehold on Gavin relaxed, and the smaller man started to squirm free. That was, at least, until the socketed head of a heavy wrench dropped on Gavin’s shoulder, pushing him back down, face first and flat onto the deck.
“Oomph.”
“Now, now, boys,” Dell said. “What are the neighbors gonna think?”
Walt winced, gritting his teeth as she ground his fingers against the steel deck. He craned his neck around to look at her. D’lilah’s boots were cinched tight by pink laces with a white skull-and-crossbones pattern stitched into them. She wore worn, canvas coveralls that hugged strong legs, pockets bulging with tools and spare parts. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail that hung over one shoulder, and she’d dyed the last couple inches a bright, electric blue. The color was new since they’d left for Oberon. It was a playful accent that wasn’t echoed in the angry blue of her eyes.
“Oh. Hey there, Dell.” Walt struggled to keep a pinched note of pain from his voice. “Hello to you, too.”
“Unless the next words out of your mouth tell me where my dad is, you’re going to be working your stick left-handed.”
Gavin answered her. “Ease up, Dell.”
“Who’s got him?”
“I do.” Gavin nodded back toward his ship.
“Well then.” She lifted her foot and Walt yanked his hand back to rub at aching knuckles. He glared at her, as sour a look as he could manage while kneeling on the deck. Her smile feigned a sweetness that did nothing to thaw the frozen fury in her eyes. “I’ll fetch the buggy. If you two are done snuggling, it sounds like my dad has a date with the techs in the med center.”
Dell swung the wrench up to rest over one shoulder, spun on the balls of her feet, and strode away.
Gavin rolled over onto his back with a groan. “That woman is going to kill us one of these days.”
“Think we could outrun her?”
“You, maybe. There’s not a dark enough hole in the ’verse for me to hide.”
“Yeah, well,” Walt pushed himself to his feet with a grunt, “that’s your own damn fault for marrying her.”
Several systems away, on a station much larger and better appointed than Vista Landing, Morgan Brock scowled at a set of numbers on her mobiGlas. She lifted her eyes, shifting her gaze over the top edge of the screen to stare at Riebeld. The salesman sprawled casually in what Brock knew to be an uncomfortable chair. She made sure that it was uncomfortable, so no one felt confident when sitting opposite her desk.
Riebeld somehow pulled it off, though. It was that braggadocio that made him such a good breadwinner for her company. Irritating, yes. But good for business.
She powered down the mobiGlas. “The net profits on this estimate are based off a twelve percent commission.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I think we both know that your negotiated commission is ten, Riebeld.”
“And I think we also both know that this job could double the size of the company within two years.” He sat forward then and leaned on her desk. “I want twelve if I bring it in.”
“And you think I’m going to just give it to you?”
“I know you will.”
It was her turn to lean forward. It put her too close to him, and he should have backed off. He didn’t. “And why,” she asked, “is that?”
“Because I know that you’re not going to let principle stand in the way of profit.” His toothy grin was bright enough to deflect lasers. She was used to predatory smiles from men, but with men like Riebeld, it only meant there was money on the line. His mobiGlas chirped beside them. Riebeld had an incoming call.
He ignored it.
She waited for the incoming alert to stop.
It did.
“You get twelve,” she said. “But anyone who helps bring it in gets paid out of your cut, not mine. And I want three options for one-year extensions. Not one. Bring it to me with three or I won’t sign it.”
“Done.”
“Fine. Now get out.”
He did and Brock leaned back in her chair. She was going to need more ships. Riebeld would get the extensions or he wouldn’t. They gave him something to work toward, and he’d get sloppy if he didn’t have a challenge.
Good sales guys were like racehorses, high maintenance and temperamental. Most days, they were nothing more than a pain in the ass. Come race day, though – you always wanted one in your stable.
There was a quick knock on her door. Riebeld didn’t wait for her to answer before he shoved his head in.
“I won’t budge on the options, Riebeld. I want three or no deal.”
“No,” he said. “It’s not that. Navy SysCom just put our Tyrol contract up for rebid.”
“What?”
“Yeah. We’re allowed to rebid, but they’re putting it out for open competition.”
“Why the hell would they do that?” Escorting UEE scientists to the research facilities in Tyrol wasn’t their biggest job, but she’d put a lot of work into it. They’d spent years clearing the shipping lanes in the Nexus system — lucrative years, admittedly — and now the missions were pure profit and promised future growth.
“I don’t have the full story yet, but apparently they are trying to push low-risk contract work out to local companies. Some brainiac in accounting identified the Tyrol run as a candidate and boom, Major Greely pulled the contract.”
“See what you can find out,” she said. “And get to work on the rebid.”
“Already got it covered.”
“And Riebeld?”
“Yeah?”
“Find me the name of that accountant.”
It was late when Gavin left the station. By way of apology, he invited Walt to join him on the short trip to Cassel to meet with Barry Lidst. Whether Walt came along as reconciliation or simply to avoid another run-in with Dell was unclear. Regardless, he didn’t seem inclined to talk about the argument as they flew, and Gavin saw no reason to bring it up.
Barry, a Navy SysCom accountant by trade and freelance rainmaker by inclination, had grown up with the brothers. He had left Goss to join the Navy while the Rhedd boys stayed to work the smuggling routes with Boomer and their father before he passed.
Officially, Barry was responsible for negotiating contracts between the UEE Navy and private vendors, but he also managed to broker a few off-the-record jobs on the side. He was, if anything, an opportunist, and Gavin trusted him about as much as he trusted any of the shady characters they’d worked with in the past. Which is to say, not at all.
The fact that Barry was involved with Dell before leaving to join the Navy didn’t factor into his opinion at all. Nope, not in the slightest. Still, Barry had come through with their first legitimate job. With luck, he’d have more.
Gavin swallowed hard, focusing on the fact that they needed work. Walt kept quiet. By the time Cassel swelled, massive, blue and inviting against the gold and turquoise bands of the Olympus Pool, Gavin could feel his brows drawing down into a scowl.
The brothers landed and made their way to a club that catered to the resort world’s local crowd. It was busy, of course, but Barry was waiting and had managed to find an open table.
“I was beginning to think you two bought it in Oberon.” Barry’s naval uniform was cut from some shiny material that was either freshly pressed or engineered to be wrinkle-free. It looked tragically uncomfortable, but did a reasonable job of hiding a rounded gut.
“Oberon took a bit longer than we thought,” Gavin forced a smile, “but we got them.”
“Everything go okay?”
“Absolutely.” He injected confidence into his words and hoped it sounded genuine. Walt looked at him sharply, but Gavin ignored him. They had to appear capable or better jobs were going to be in short supply. “Pirates are not a problem.”
Barry motioned them to sit and his voice took on a somber note. “Word is that Dell’s dad got busted up. He okay?”
“Jesus, Barry,” Walt said. “How’d you even hear about that?”
“I’m the government. We’ve got our eyes and ears everywhere.” Gavin stared at him and raised an eyebrow, waiting. “Yeah. Well,” Barry shrugged and took a sip of his drink, “those miners on Oberon might have mentioned something.”
“Boomer’s fine. Our ships took more of a beating than he did,” Gavin turned the subject away from his team getting shot up on the job. “I was surprised to hear you were in Goss system.”
“Mom retired here on Cassel,” Barry cast a sour glare around the room when he said it. “I’m just here visiting. Can’t stand it with all the tourist traffic, but she loves the shows and exhibits and stuff. Anyway, I’m glad you guys were able to help out in Oberon.”
“Happy to.”
“Stuff like this comes up from time to time,” Barry said. “It’s not like we don’t want to take care of it ourselves or anything. We do. But the Navy can’t send troops after every brigand and thug in the ’verse, you know? Particularly when they’re camped out in an unclaimed system. So, yeah. No one minds if we feed these jobs to indies like you guys.”
“Well,” Gavin said, “we’re light on work right now. Got anything for us?”
“I might have something — not UEE work, but still a decent job. And I know the client will be happy with your rates.”
Gavin’s heart sank a bit, but maybe they could increase their price without chasing Barry away. He encouraged the accountant to keep talking.
“The job is close, just a couple hops away. It’s hard work, but I can hook you up if you’re interested.”
“What’s the job?” Walt asked.
“You ever heard of molybdenum?” Gavin’s face must have looked as blank as Walt’s. “No? It’s a rare metal used in electronics and stuff. You find it near copper deposits. You know what? Doesn’t matter. A friend of mine knows a guy who just got his hands on the mining rights to a moon.”
“Mining,” Walt muttered. “Why is it always mining?”
“I guess the whole moon is riddled with tunnels and caverns. Apparently there used to be a bunch of copper there, but now all that stuff is gone. The only thing left is the molybdenum. This guy, he’s got three weeks to start producing or he loses his lease to the next prospector in line.”
“Barry,” Gavin said, “if you’re looking for a team to wear hardhats and swing pickaxes, you’ve got the wrong guys.”
“Naw, it’s nothing like that. They’re empty now, but someone set the caves up as a fortified base. Smugglers, probably. They put auto-targeting turrets in there. My guy told me they’re all over the place. Around every corner. Anyway, it’s all Banu tech. A group of them must have hopped over from Bacchus.”
“So what’s the job?”
“They need someone to comb through the whole thing and take out the turrets. They can’t send mining equipment and operators in there until it’s clear. Those guys don’t have shields.”
“That’s it?” Gavin asked.
“Yup. That’s it.”
Walt watched Barry across the table with a bemused tilt to one eyebrow. “That’s the most boring job I’ve ever heard of.”
“Hey,” Barry said, “if you want something with a little higher chance of combat, I’ve got a UEE escort contract up for bid. We were getting absolutely fleeced by the incumbent contractor. I finally convinced the major to rebid the job.”
Now that sounded exactly like the job Rhedd Alert needed.
“Tell me more about that,” Gavin said. “About the escort job, I mean.”
“I, uh listen,” Barry said. “I wasn’t really serious about that. No offense, but that is an armed escort through some pretty rough systems.”
This was it. The chance they needed. “Our guys can do it,” Gavin said.
“It’s a small job now, but it’s scheduled to mature into something big. I don’t even know if you have enough ships to meet the contract requirements.”
“Give us a shot. If we perform, I’ll find the extra ships and pilots.”
“The outfits that sign on for gigs like this are generally ex-military. Highly trained. Lots of contacts in Navy SysCom. Most of the contractors we use are actually based right next to the Navy in Kilian system. I was joking, guys. Forget I mentioned it.”
“No, we can do this. What’s the run? How many —”
“Gav,” Walt interrupted, “we’re talking naval flight formations and tactics. Superior weapons systems. Maybe we should get more info on the turret thing in the mulberry mine.”
“Molybdenum.”
“Whatever.”
“Come on, Walt. This sounds perfect for us. And I’d put you or Jazza up against an ex-Navy pilot in a heartbeat. Any system, any time.”
“Fellas . . . hey, listen,” Barry said. “The UEE is trying to push local work to local contractors. The big defense companies are fighting it. If you feel like sticking your hand in the middle of that fire, I’ll forward you the RFP. Good enough? In the meantime . . . about my buddy with the moon mine?”
Gavin half-heartedly followed along while Walt and Barry discussed the turret job, but in his mind they were already escorting UEE ships through hostile space. Walt startled him out of his reverie when he hushed a surprised Barry into silence.
“Wait,” Walt said, “back up a second. These Banu weapon systems. Did you say this stuff came out of Bacchus?”
“Probably. Why?”
“This moon . . . Barry, where is it?”
“Oberon VI, why?”
Gavin’s heart sank again. A glance at Walt did nothing to reassure him. His brother’s smile looked fantastically strained.
“Ah, come on,” Barry said. “You’ve already done good work for these guys.”
“They’ll kill us,” Walt said.
“Naw,” Barry waved at them dismissively, “They love Rhedd Alert.”
“No,” Walt said, “not the miners.”
“Who?” Barry looked concerned now. “Who’ll kill you?”
Gavin answered. “Our team is going to kill us if we drag them back to Oberon.”
“Hey,” Barry relaxed, “it’s a small ’verse. You’re going to end up passing through there sooner or later. Might as well get paid for it. Am I right?”
“Yeah,” Walt said, “but Oberon?”
“I did mention it pays, didn’t I?” Barry keyed something up on his mobiGlas. He turned it so they could read the projected display. At the bottom was a number. A not-insignificant number. Gavin stared at his hands as Walt absorbed the figures.
Walt’s head made an audible clunk when it struck the table. He groaned something muffled and to the effect of, “I can’t believe we’re going back to Oberon.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
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- CIG ID
- 16942
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- Brothers In Arms
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- 7 years ago (2019-01-23T00:00:00+00:00)