"Yeah, Mac." A pause. "Say, you think we might have a chance of making it after all?"
"I guess we'll see." Mac accessed his comm again. "Rysta? Power up the big dish. Contact Itreata. Tell them we're going to be patching the Ashtan comm programmers through to Gyton and then to them. We've done our part. Now it's up to Kaylla Dawn's people."
"Affirmative, Mac. Good work."
"All Groups have reported in, Mac," Chrysla told him. "We've got the preliminary objectives."
"Want a quick cup of stassa?" Mac asked. "It's going to be a long couple of days before this mess is sorted outif then. When things start cracking, you may not get time to scratch your ear, let alone drink anything. "
She nodded, standing. "Here's to success."
"We hope." Mac shook his head. "A lot could still go wrong.
Skyla did what every other spacer did on making port. She walked into the nearest tavern as soon as her papers had cleared. She hadn't been into the Wayside in over fifteen years. The place hadn't changed in the slightest. Even the men and women seated at the bar and among the tables might have been the same. This time, like last, the conversation had been subdued. Skyla understood that the Wayside was normally a raucous place. The first time she'd walked in had been in the company of Mac Rylee, Ryman Ark, and some others.
Companions entering a tavern had the same effect as throwing a firebrand into vacuum.
The Wayside appeared about half full, men and women sitting in two and threes at tables and at the long bar. Holos of ships and planets graced the walls.
The ceiling remained hidden in a smoke-grimed murk. From old habit, Skyla cataloged the faces, noting the interest perking among the men as they eyed her appreciatively. The women appraised her with reserve-except for one young girl sitting slightly apart from two hard-eyed techs. She watched Skyla with green eyes and struggled to keep from fidgeting, too much energy and curiosity bundled into her young body.
Skyla seated herself at the bar, asking for Ashtan rye and slipping her credit chip into the monitor.
I'You just in?" a burly man asked as he settled next to her. "Watched a yacht dock a couple of hours ago. Where you from?"
"Rega. " Skyla gave him a look. He wore coveralls belted at the waist. Pieces of equipment had been clipped to either belt or clothing loops. He gave her a bland look from a round face needing a shave. When he met her eyes, he stopped, staring for a moment, ftn added, "You've got the bluest eyes I've ever seen. Want to drop that Vegan scarf, so I can get a look? I'd say you're the best thing to come through here in a long time."
"I'm busy tonight, sorry."
He growled under his breath. "Figures. Ah, hell, all right. I don't blame you.
If I'd known, I'd have stopped, took a shower, dressed right smart, and tried to be a little sharper. Serves me right, but I'll stand you another rye if you give me news from Rega. " He stuck out a grimy hand. "Name's Garn. "
Skyla chuckled. "I'm called Silk for reasons you can't guess. Sure, Nab. Order up." She tossed down her whiskey and studied the man from the corner of her eye. He had style, she had to give him that. Those soft brown eyes had just a bit too much reservation. Internal Security? She fought the urge to shiver.
They'd be sniffing around anyone setting foot on the station, keeping track.
"Rega's doing all right. The Star Butcher blasted the Rotted pus out of Comm Central. That played hell. Most of the government buildings are gone. Defense, Economics, Health and Welfare-as if that was a loss. Even Internal Security is a pile of slag. Tybalt's palace is a hole in the ground."
"Blessed Gods, " Gam mumbled, a truly shocked look on his face. "We'd heard, seen the holos from Itreata. That stuff can be doctored, made to look like anything. But to talk to a person that's seen with her own eyes, you know that ain't propaganda. "
" Nope, it's happened. Rega is gone. So is Sassa.
He squinted slightly as he tilted his head. "You're Vegan?"
"I wear the scarf because it hides the fact my jaw got shot off when I was a kid and I drool a lot.'I
Gam lowered his voice. "You here because of what happened to the Representative?"
"Pardon me."
"Pedro Maroon, the Vegan Rep. He's missing." Gam lifted an eyebrow, hesitant as he watched her. "Thought you Vegans checked in on making planet. All that kin obligation andstuff."
Skyla nodded, rolling the drinking bulb from hand to hand. The Rep was missing? Another one of Ilys agents?
"Gam, I just made it in. Who do you think I'm busy with tonight? What do you mean Pedro's missing?" Caution made Skyla say, "I thought it was funny when I didn't get a comm link into Pedro's office. What's up?"
The tightness at the corners of his eyes, the enlarged pupils and twitching jaw muscles betrayed his unease.
"Hey, what's happening here?" Skyla placed a hand on his arm. "I'm not walking into trouble, am 1?"
Garn tried to smile, lost it, and shrugged. "How the Rotted Hell do I know?
This whole place is on its ear. All of Free Space is falling apart. The Director of Internal Security is in with the Union leaders, supporting their cause, if you can believe it. The Administrator wants Rill's headbut can't touch him, or is afraid to. There's new factions springing up every night. So what if a couple of guys disappear? Solar wind, right?"
"Wrong," she answered with the same passion a Vegan would. "We don't like our people disappearing. It affects trade. " Political unrest was one thing, but Vegan Trade Reps were as close to sacrosanct-barring Etarian priests-as a person could get in Free Space. Fooling with one could generate awful repercussions. Maybe using the scarf wasn't such a great idea, Skyla.
"A couple of guys disappeared?" She lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah, a Regan merchant-a regular around the tavem. But he's ... Naw, he's around somewhere.
Got to be - That's just the paranoia settling in. People are scared right now, that's all. Pus-licking pimps, you wake up each morning wondering if you'll even have a job when you go to bed at night. " He studied her for long moments, then leaned close "You take passengers?"
Skyla drank the last of her second rye. "I might. Depends on who they are . .
. and how much they want to pay. I don't take people on the run from the law."
He glanced around, making sure that no one was near. "I'm getting a bit of a case of the jittery heebie-jeebies. I've made a good living on Terguz. This frozen rock's been kind, you know what I mean? I made a good stash, but I don't know what's happening. I've got folks on Riparious. Maybe I'd like to live on a place where you don't freeze to death in darkness when the power goes off."
Skyla leaned back, watching him. "I'm going the other way. Sassan territory. And if Pedro really is missing, I'm headed straight to Vega with the news. Vega's a nice place. In another two years, or so, the spring melt will start. " She lifted an eyebrow. "Still interested? Gam winced, rubbing his chin. "I don't know. How long are you going to be docked?"
"Week . . . maybe only a couple of days if it's true that Pedro disappeared."
He took a deep breath. "I'll think about it." "You haven't asked how much, either."
He nodded. "Maybe after I think. Thanks for the news, Silk. I'll be around."
When he left, she punched up another rye, leaning forward to Prop herself on her elbows. She'd have to drop by the Rep's now. Pedro Maroon. He'd be a reliable man. The Vegans wouldn't put a fool into a critical place like Terguz. She hadn't counted on Vegans being high profile, but if the Rep really were missing, Internal Security would be watching-along with the Administrator.
That old premonition of trouble had begun to brew during her talk with Gam.
Skyla chewed anxiously on her lower lip as she watched the deep space monitor shot of Terguz on the big bar monitor. The giant wheel had been eclipsed by the bulk of Terguz, but now, as Skyla watched, the light of Guzman's Star, the system primary, cast its blue-green light over the station.
"How's the rye?" A young woman-the excited one Skyla had noted earlier-slipped in
to the seat. She wore the usual coveralls, smudged around the knees, elbows, and cuffs. Her face would have been pretty but for a knobby nose. Impish green eyes took Skyla's measure. The tangle of brunette hair had been pulled back into a severe ponytail and was held in place by a clip.
"About gone." Skyla shot her a sidelong glance.
"I'll buy! " She said it too fast, almost flushed with eagemess. "I'm Lark.
What's your handle?"
"Silk. "You're a trader? A Vegan?"
"Like I just told the ranny nab ... I wear it so no one will know I'm from Vega."
"You're funny."
"Break your ribs laughing, kid. Say, does your father know you're out?"
Lark's grin widened to expose white teeth. "He's given up on me." She popped around her seat, reminding Skyla of fission tracks in a shadow tank. "I want to space. I can't help it. I mean, Terguz is a lousy rock on the edge of nowhere! I want to see it all! That's why I come here, Silk. I just sit and listen . . . and wish."
"And you don't end up in trouble?"
Lark made a throwing away gesture. "Yeah, I've been in messes. Spent most of a year on a community service detail. Hey, on Terguz, that's a real stinker! I mean, you've heard the term Terguzzi sumpshit? That can't hold a feeble photon to a supernova to what it's like to muck out the atmosphere plant, or to have to de-ice the ventilation shafts - "
Skyla watched the girl's hands as she talked. Despite the smudged coveralls, those hands didn't bear calluses. The nails were too perfect. The mannerisms didn't ring true, spacer's gestures but without the instinct.
"What's the gig, Lark? Fess, putrid. Who are you, and what are you after?
Cutting my purse? Trying to put the make on me like a ranny nab?"
Lark hesitated for a moment, surprise in her large green eyes. Skyla could make out a dusting of freckles beneath tastefully done makeup. "No gig, Silk.
Honest. I swear." Her eyes narrowed. "You know, you remind me of a bull. Is that it? You're here to find out what happened to Maroon? "'
"What happened to him?"
"If you're a bull, why should I help you? "So you know, huh?"
Lark shifted uneasily. "Maybe I ought to get back to my friends."
Skyla chuckled. "I'm no pus-Rotted bull. Relax and drink. I could give a rat's ass if you pinched a trick and slit his throat. Stupidity ought to be a killing offense. "
Lark's expression betrayed a battle between curiosity and discretion. The former won. "You're not Vegan, are you? I mean, you don't . . . You're too hard, like reinforced siaIon. It's in your eyes. Dangerous."
"Maybe you're not as dumb as I thought you were.
Skyla made a notation on the comm. "Take off, kid. I've programmed the drink comm. Go have one on me."
"I appreciate that, Silk. Thanks - - - but I'd rather sit here and talk to you. I mean, that's how I learn about . . . " "Space off, kid. And stay out of trouble. You seem like
a nice girl. A little green, but nice anyway. Folks come into a place like this for three reasons. A few actually conduct business. The others land here to learn something: information, you follow? The rest come for pleasure, be it a drunk, drugs, or sex? You're not canny enough for any of the above. Take my advice and go home."
Lark's green eyes frosted for the briefest of instants, then she brightened again, as if barely fazed. "You need anything on Terguz, Silk, you call on me.
I know this ball of ice inside out. Food, drink, or good times, I can tell you where to go. "'
"Yeah, thanks. Vector off."
Skyla watched suspiciously as Lark drifted back to the techs. They'd barely noticed that she'd left.
Silly young girl? Or someone else? Skyla turned her attention back to the monitor displaying Terguz from space. Lark didn't have the right polish for a security agent. Instead, she'd seemed like a bored rich kid who was too bright for her own good. "Pus-licking Gods, I'm never having kids. "
Terguz had gone sour on her. She'd hoped for a place to recoup-not a world in political turmoil and transition. Now, time would be of the essence. She could shuttle down to the Vegan residence and . . . No. Better to place a comm call, talk to someone in charge, then apply for space. Make like something really was wrong and she'd been dispatched for Vega. That was it, get off this ball of ice before ...
The image hadn't registered at first. As she stared, Skyla's heart began to pound. Willing herself to remain calm, she lifted her rye and took a ragged swallow, letting it burn down her throat.
She knew that yacht from long years of association. Having docked on the first ring, she hadn't had a view of the fourth on her approach. And if she had, would she still have had the guts to dock here?
Keep cool, Skyla. Don't panic. Her throat had tightened as if in a choke hold. Pustulous Gods, Skyla, don't lose it. Not here, not now.
Her old yacht gleamed in the sunlight, completely visible in the holo view.
Ily Takka was here, someplace. Had she already learned of Skyla's arrival? Was she even now closing in, ready to finish what she'd started?
Skyla couldn't keep her hand from trembling as she withdrew her credit chip and stood.
Run! Get away! Get back to your ship and space!
Teeth gritted, she made herself walk slowly, casting wary glances to either side. Garn nodded from the table he'd gone to sit at, a solitary drink before him.
Skyla licked her lips, heart racing. On rubbery legs, she stepped over, hoping her fear didn't show. "Garn? You seen a woman around?"
:'You're kidding, right?"
'A . . . a special woman. Sexy. Yellow eyes, big tits, reddish brown hair?"
He looked thoughtful, but he didn't hesitate. "Yeah, Silk. She was in here a couple of weeks ago. Left with a guy name of Blacker. Will Blacker. I almost mentioned him before. He's one of the regulars. His freighter's still out on the hub, but it ain't like him not to roll by here every now and then. "
Skyla nodded, cold fear running through her bowels. "Yeah, he's probably around all right. See you later." Taking a last worried glance, she noticed Lark. The girl
watched her with puzzled eyes before turning to stare at the holo monitor, a frown on her forehead.
With all of her discipline, Skyla kept her retreat to a controlled walk instead of fleeing in a panicked run.
Staffa walked down the ceramic alloy catwalk. His booted feet rang out hollowly on the woven mesh while each breath frosted as he passed through the chilly air of Chrysla's assault bay. Technicians in thermal suits knocked out crisp salutes as Staffa turned off the main walk and strode to the hatch on one of the needle-nosed assault craft.
Unlike the stubby brown-green Regan assault vessels, the Companions used slim wedges, the two-hundred-meter vessel covered by a mirror polished surface.
A similarly reflective STU rapped a smart salute and opened the hatch as Staffa nodded in return and ducked through the double lock.
"All ready, sir?" The STU asked, pausing in the lock. "We're all ready. Inform the pilot."
"Sir." The STU palmed the lock plate, sealing the lock while speaking quietly into the hatch comm.
Staffa proceeded along the assault deck with a critical eye on his personnel as they waited, strapped into the cushioned rows of chairs. Satisfied, he climbed the forward ladder to the combat command deck. There, technicians sat at battle stations, running checks on weapons systems, communications, reactor efficiency, and a host of other chores. These officers barely noticed as Staffa passed, each intent on his or her duty.
In the command nodule, forward and just above the assault craft's flight deck, Staffa found Sinklar and Mhitshul. The aide stood in the rear, uncertainly surveying the monitors and instruments that packed every available inch of the walls and ceiling. Command chairs, the arms and back cocooned by instruments, rose from the deck plates on sturdy columns of sialon. Each had been placed strategically for observation of the monitors.
Sinklar stood in the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back. He wore a simple s
uit of armor. His attention was centered on the main monitor that projected the image of Targa. The planet lay half in shadow, faint pinpricks of light marking the major cities on the Western continent.
Staffa stopped just behind his son, aware of the set of those thin shoulders and the tension in the locked legs. "Are we ready?" Sinklar asked, in a subdued tone. "The grapples will release in a moment." Staffa hesitated, hating to break the mood. "You'll need to take one of the command chairs. Despite the most skilled of pilots, dropping through atmosphere can be a little rough."
Sinklar nodded, then settled himself into one of the chairs. "Mhitshul? I'll be fine. I'm sure you can find a seat on the assault deck."
Mhitshul shot a suspicious look at Staffa, then reluctantly nodded. "Call if you need anything, sir. "
When the aide had left, Staffa noted, "He cares a great deal about you."
"Sometimes he's a nuisance." Sinklar's gaze remained locked on Targa. "I get so tired of that worried look I want to dismiss him forever. Find someone else.
:'But you can't."
'No. " Sinklar smiled, amused at himself. "I couldn't stand to hurt his feelings. Besides, I think he's become something of a habit. The only times I've ignored his advice, I've usually regretted it. " Sinklar inclined his head. "He's been with me for a long time. Since before Makarta. I guess if he stayed through that, he'll stay through anything.
Staffa lowered himself into one of the command chairs, feeling its padding conforming to his body as the assault craft shifted, beginning its descent toward Targa.
' 'I've been in touch with one of the mining companies. By the time we make planet and set up our base camp, they should have a mining machine on site.
We'll reopen the tunnel we used to escape. Meanwhile I have a team of specialists en route to see about preserving and removing the collections from that archive room."
" And what about the interface helmet for the Mag omm?,9
C it "It should be almost finished. One of my techs will carry down as soon as they run the trials on it."
:'It's still going to be an unknown - "