The Process Server

  ***

  We had two issues worth pursuing right away, I told Jayde as we made our way back up to G’Farg Station, and my stepfather, Harrison Peel, might be able to help with both.

  First, which professional used a .32 caliber sniper’s rifle to cap the engineer?

  Second, who could handle the resale of a piece of tech that valuable?

  Half the powerbrokers in the known universe would want in, but only a handful would have the kind of credits needed to land it.

  Cardale was obviously looking for the thing, or he wouldn’t have brought Hanna Dow in for a grilling. Hui-Matsumori was probably terrified at the prospect of it hitting the market; and VirtuTech would finally get a chance to branch out of networking and into galactic trade.

  But past that, we need help from someone with murky contacts and that suited my stepfather to a ‘T’.

  The jump to the NTC was uneventful, but I can’t say I wasn’t nervous as hell after the incident with The Technocracy – and thankful when the bright light of the Quantum jump gave way to the familiar confines of NTC Approach.

  The space about the New Terra Colonies is pragmatic beyond belief, sort of an intergalactic refueling strip, complete with floating hotels, bars, casinos and fuel stops. Harrison thought taking the discussion off planet would be prudent, so we agreed on a popular restaurant, where the crowd would offer both some anonymity and protection.

  Even talking about this stuff seemed to be getting a lot of people killed.

  We walked into The Loaded Goat through swinging front doors, like an old-style saloon, greeted by a sickly sweet mixture of bleach and vomit that a thousand cleanings couldn’t mop up.

  A handful of card players occupied the tables to the right. To the left, most of the seats were empty, except for one booth by the far wall, just a few seats away from the bar, where Harrison was nursing a K’Laar Gin and Tonic.

  Good stuff, if you can stand the near-anesthetic effect it had on the tip of the tongue.

  “OK kid, enough with the mystery. What the hell was so important that you dragged me up here?” he asked.

  “Sorry Harrison, I know you hate going off-world.”

  “Hate’s a strong word, son. Dislike is more the speed. And at my age, you dislike a whole lot of things.” He looked at Jayde when he smiled and said it, momentarily forgetting her advanced years, then remembering at the last second. “I take it you know what I mean.”

  She nodded. “I like him,” Jayde told me. “We should visit more often.”

  He slugged back his drink and shook his head adamantly. “No, bad idea. We’re almost the same age, but you’re a hell of a lot less depressing to look at than me.”

  The he glanced subconsciously at his artificial arms, before gently placing his glass back on the table.

  That soured me a little and I must have looked it.

  “Sorry kid,” he said. “Didn’t mean to start wallowing in the semi-retirement blues.”

  I frowned. “Munch not using you much these days?”

  He shook his head. “He’s been so paranoid lately he’s replacing almost everyone around him. It’s a good thing we’re all old as shit. If this were the old days, he’d have had us all whacked.”

  I said, “So you need a job to keep your busy.”

  His eyes glinted with interest. “What do you got in mind?” He used two metallic fingers to wave to the server and order us a round.

  I leaned in close and spoke low. “I need to find a hitter. But not just any guy: this dude is old school. Uses a .32 caliber sniper rifle and…”

  “Geez, kid, so much for bringing me a challenge. You’re looking for a Telaxian named Gutman Breck; his name hasn’t made polite discussion in a while. Last time I heard anything about him was the hit on Chandler Hammett the president of the Deneleth Personnel Corporation, ‘bout six years ago.”

  “Deneleth Personnel?” I said. “Never heard of it.”

  The waitress dropped off our drinks and he took a pull off of his.

  “That’s because it didn’t last long. Heavily-capitalized, big personnel cruiser…and the first time the owner steps out in public, Breck puts one of those nasty little .32 caliber bullets of his between the late, lamented CEO’s eyes.

  “The next day, with the company in chaos, Vega Personnel comes in and undercuts every one of their contracts to a loss-leader level. The subsequent loss in business destroys investor confidence in DPC on the Intergalactic Stock Market, and its value plummets, bankrupting its principle investors. The day after that, Vance Vega buys them out.”

  Jayde was wide-eyed. “And he got away with that?”

  Harrison smiled wistfully. “Vance is a smooth operator, kid. He looks at the angles, makes the percentage play, backs it up with firepower. Have you seen that ship of his? Sweet sunlight, that thing is a monster. Twin JPCs in the engines. Sixteen cannons. Yeah, he got away with it. Nobody said a word.”

  I looked around the room, worrying about potential security problems, but if anything it had gotten even emptier and more quiet since we’d arrived.

  “So you think he could have hired Breck for this other job?” I filled him in on Dr. Sandford Santiago’s murder.

  “Sounds like him.”

  “How would I find him?”

  A head shake. “Dunno. Maybe an ad looking for a contractor. Maybe you just call Vega and ask him. You could drop my name, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Does not like me one bit.”

  “By reputation, I don’t think he likes anyone.”

  He took a deep, slow breath then exhaled heavily. “Almost. He has this robot assistant, called K9 or KTel or something. Loves it like a son.”

  “Weird.”

  “You’d think. But I met the robot once. Funny little guy.”

  “Universe is getting surreal, pops.”

  “Always has been. You just had to look around more.”

  “So what’s the percentage play? How do we handle Breck? Do we go after him through Vance?”

  He sighed again. “No. No, you don’t want Vega involved unless it’s unavoidable. No, your best bet is to figure out who else knew about him, or might have known where he picked up the job. Figure that out and he’s probably somewhere nearby.”

  I thanked him for the advice, which was as solid as always. “What about you, pops? How are you feeling?”

  “Me?” Harrison sighed again then drained the rest of his drink with a fervency that seemed like an explanation point. He smacked the glass down then motioned to the waitress. “I’m a few liters low.”

  “Drowning your sorrows? Seems a little … pedestrian for the great Harrison Peel.”

  He shrugged. “You make do with what you’ve got.”

  Speaking of which, I said, “What about the merchandise these people are all chasing? It’s big time, probably worth billions. Who could move something like that?”

  “Only two people, and one of them is Fesker. And as much as he don’t seem to want me around no more, I still woulda heard if he had anything that big on the cook.”

  “Who’s the other?”

  “That would be Resko G’Deevar, trade council rep to the K’Laar Trade Consortium and its recently appointed ambassador. Nothing goes into the other systems without Resko’s stamp of approval.”

  Jayde said, “I guess we know who we need to talk to next.”

  Harrison smiled. “Nah, you’ll never get in without the right help. Fortunately for you, Resko and I go way back. Way back.”

  When Harrison went way back with someone, they were either really, really crooked, or really, really loyal.