"Staffa," Kaylla called, glancing off to one side. "I've got a report that just came in. We have a riot on Terguz. From the preliminary reports, a mob just broke into the Administrator's residence. They've apparently executed him and declared a civil government to be in control. "
Staffa closed his eyes, almost reeling. "Where is Sabot?" "She's incoming. ETA four hours."
"Contact Seekore. Give her the details as best you have them. Kaylla, I want her working with you on this. She may look like a fragile, soft-eyed, porcelain doll at first glance, but you're going to have to keep her under your thumb. If you don't, she'll have the corpses of those union leaders hanging all over Terguz like ornaments. Just to keep the people mindful of good manners, you understand. In the meantime, patch through to this civil government. See what cooperation you can get from them. "
Kaylla had sagged into her former state of weary acceptance. The sight of her despair sent fire through Nyklos' gut. Some representative for the Seddi. A weary and weak woman. It should have been me at the Order's helm. Seizing opportunity instead of despairing.
" You'll have to excuse me," she said. "Staffa, do what you must." Then the holo went blank.
Nyklos slumped. If Terguz, with its critical production of raw materials, cut off exports to jockey for position, it would be the same as dropping more fuel into an unstable reactor.
' 'It would appear," Staffa stated, "that events are taking their own turn.
Does anyone have anything to add?"
"You know my thoughts," Bruen stated.
Staffa glanced around the room. "No one else? Then I call this meeting adjourned."
Nyklos cast a glance at Bruen, then followed Staffa out, catching him in the compound. "What are you going to do? "
Staffa gave him a suffering look. "Go deal with the machine, Master. Ask it your questions.
"And then?"
"Make my decision."
CHAPTER 29
For days, business had been disastrous for Wiley Jenkins. Genetic research, engineering, and programming depended on comm interfaces. He might store most of his data in his own computer bank, but it was infinitely cheaper to access software from Comm Central rather than buy his own. When the entire system fell apart, Wiley had thrown his hands up in despair and sent his people home as soon as they finished what work they could.
Now, at last, the comm was more or less reliable, and one by one, Wiley had been calling his people back to work. As usual, he'd taken the tube to the Grand Palace Lodgings and was walking through the tree-lined gardens. As he neared his office, he noticed the woman, barely visible in the predawn glow. Dark though it might be, Wiley couldn't mistake the fact that she was gorgeous, and what a body!
Large breasts strained at the too-tight fabric of her golden blouse. She wore a black sheath skirt, slit up one muscular leg.
"Wiley? Correct?" Her voice chimed, a musical contralto.
For a moment, he stumbled, trying to find the words, and finally, he managed a noncommittal, "Yes."
She stepped closer, and he caught a faint trace of her scent, beguiling and sensual. "I'm here to have a little genetic work done. We need ID cards, two of them. Tailored for just the right chem-code. And while you're at it, I believe you have the equipment here, nanopipettes which would allow us to modify a retinal imprint?"
"Yeah, sure, but that takes a security clearance from .
She reached up, running a warm hand down the side of his face. Her lips parted, and he seemed to fall into the
amber depths of her eyes. Through his shirt, he could feel the pressure of her breasts against his chest.
:'We need help, Wiley. You can do that, can't you?"
'I . . . sure . . . with the proper . He took a deep breath.
"We'll pay. Very, very well." She smiled, and he couldn't ignore the way her body had molded to his.
Careful, the warning voice in his mind cried, but his tes tosterone was already rising. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he whispered.
"Let's go inside, Wiley. Talk about exactly what I need. Do the job for me, and fifteen thousand ICs are yours. " Her eyes seemed to dance with rapture.
"And anything else I can give you."
:'This isn't happening to me
10h, but it is. And I promise, you'll never regret it, as long as you live."
MacRuder had come to the conclusion that planetary government wasn't his preferred occupation. The initial excitement had rapidly deteriorated into a lot of hard drudge work. He wasn't much for social occasions, so Boyz spent a lot of time turning down offers to attend parties, receptions, awards presentations, grand openings, and other functions that would have bored him to death and would have left him even farther behind on his mounting work load.
As the morning sun rose over the building studded horizon of Ashtan City, Mac sat at the desk he'd become so familiar with. Comm monitors rose around him like pods on some perverted fungi. One chattered constantly, tied into the battle comms his people carried, while the others reached from locations as close as the planetary comm center ten blocks away to those as distant as Itreata.
He glanced around idly, aware of a curious fact. The rich and privileged had access to all these wonderful furnishings, but once you reached an exalted position you never had the time to enjoy them in the hedonistic fashion he'd always expected.
"So what's the point?" He turned a sour stare on the monitor. "You spend three-quarters of your day glued to a
comm monitor, and the other quarter unconscious in sleep. We could just as well have set up camp in a box. "
"Grumbling again?" Chrysla asked as she entered wearing a soft red robe.
"Do you know what it's like to unsnarl this mess? They need fertilizer out in Santos. No problem, right? A couple of airtrucks ought to be able to hustle the stuff right over. It's in the warehouse in Santiago. The problem is, in Dulce they need a load of tractor parts that's sitting here in the warehouse in the City. That's just for starters. I've got requests coming in from all over the planet that are just like that. So how do you route a limited number of trucks to the greatest number of places without running empty partway and wasting valuable time and fuel?"
"Now you know what comm. is for." She smiled, reaching down to massage his shoulders. "You know, that expression you've developed is a new one."
"It is?"
"You look old."
"I'm a full rejuv younger than you are." Mac grunted, leaning back and closing his eyes. "You've kept me sane, you know. "'
"I have? "
He nodded, savoring her fingers as they worked the Muscles in his back. "Tell you what, why don't I let the fertilizer, tractors, plastic hose fittings, and paper crates wait a while longer and we'll just hop into that big sleeping platform, strip our clothes off, and--
Comm beeped, forming Rysta's walnut features. "Mac? We've got an update.
Terguz just blew up. A crowd ransacked the Administrator's residence. Cut him into little pieces and didn't leave much more of the rest of his family either. Looks like this is the first major civil explosion."
Mac straightened. "All right. I'll start packing, issue a recall. We should be ready to space within about three hours. Start powering up and--
"Whoa! Settle down, boy. It's not our dustup. One of Staffa's ships is already inbound. It's Sabot. " Rysta shook her head. "Those goons on Terguz could have picked a better time. I wouldn't cross Seekore with a feather wand. She'll have it turned from a boil to an ice cube again in a matter of hours. Rotted Gods help them. I just thought I'd let you know."
Mac sighed, lifting an eyebrow. "All right. Think I should release a statement? "
Rysta sucked at her lips. "Yeah, they'll hear about it anyway. No sense in making anyone think we've been withholding information. Sometimes that spooks people faster than the truth. Besides, we want trust now not suspicion.
"Affirmative. Anything new on your end?"
"Detectors don't show any trouble anywhere. Marrak
has the southern bunch pretty much under control. Had a Phillipian freighter make orbit last night. A couple of hours later, a CV came in to pick up some medicines from one of the labs here. The freighter captain said she'd take another load of grain to Imperial Sassa. Thought that would make you feel good - "
"It does. They going to be outbound soon?"
"From customs reports, they paid in cash and said they'd space as soon as they were loaded and had conducted some business dirtside. "
Mac gave her a broad smile. "So I guess we saved what's left of them. We can start putting Sassa back together again. "
Rysta's dark eyes gleamed. "That makes you feel better, Mac? You've lost enough sleep over it."
"Yeah. I'm worried about this thrice-cursed job though. It's like walking through tar. The farther you go, the deeper you get. How soon can we space out of here and get back to doing serious things? "
"Chafing, are you? Call Sinklar, see if he'll let you go." "I'll do that . . .
just as soon as I fix this truck snafu. :'Truck snafu? "
'Yeah, I've got to get stuff shuttled from all over the planet to other places all over the planet, and the Blessed Gods didn't leave me enough trucks. "
Rysta smacked her lips as she shook her head. "Kids! It just figures. "
:'What does?"
'You know, stuff would get done a lot more efficiently if young boys like you weren't running things. Why didn't you say so? I've got a comm program up here. It's a subject I'll have to tell you about someday. It's called combat logistics,
and us old farts have used it for years to maximize supplies on places called battlefields. You see, you usually have Seqtions scattered from hell to breakfast
that need everything under the sun, and when you've only got a limited supply of heavy lifters to carry the stuff-"
"Save me the details! Send me the program!"
Rysta chuckled, pulling at her sunken chin. "I'll patch it right down."
"All right. Hey, I've got planetary comm. coming in on the priority channel.
I'll talk to you later. " Mac killed the connection and accessed another of his monitors. A soberfaced Red stared out. "Hi, Mac. We've got a problem."
"If it involves trucks, I don't want to hear it."
Red shook his head, freckles standing out against his pale skin. "Sorry, Mac.
We just got a call a couple of minutes ago. Emergency, you know. Sounded serious enough that we flew the LC. We beat the Ashtan Civil Police by about three minutes. Seems someone screwed up a genetics lab. You know, one of those places they develop--
"I know, I know. What happened?"
Red's face screwed up. "Well, there's a guy in here. He doesn't have a stitch of clothing on. Someone, well, I guess a girlfriend from the looks of it, gave him a real good time then . . . " Red swallowed nervously, glancing up at Chrysla. "Well, she cut him, you know, his man stuff." "Castrated. "
"Yeah, and that's not all. I mean, she really made a mess. Guess he lived through part of it from what the police say. "So let them handle it."
"Well, here's the part that involves us. The guy's name was Wiley Jenkins . .
. ran the lab here. Supervised the genetic work. Uh, he didn't have a registered blaster. Neither did any of his hired help. I mean, what would a geneticist do with a blaster, right?"
"I thought you said he was cut."
"He was. Whoever did it blew hell out of the computers here. Shot them up real good. Ruined the whole bank. " Mac chewed at his lip. "Run a check, Red. Get in touch
with Boyz ASAP. Find out wher-e all of our people were last night. Got an idea a-s-to- how long ago this happened?" Red nodded. "Sort of. The blood wasn't dry by the time we arrived. It wasn't more than an hour ago. "
"That narrows it - "
Red shifted, half flinching as he said, "You think it could be one of our guys?"
Mac exhaled. "No. Ashtan has some of the toughest weapons control laws in the Empire. Which is fine, it just means that the bad guys have all the guns and the good guys can be treated like sheep. Ask Wiley Jenkins. But we've got the most high-profile blasters on the planet. Someone will think of it. When they do, I want us ahead of the process. And, Red, if it turns out that one of our people looks suspicious, I want it taken care of by the book, you understand?
"
Red barely gave a nod. Firmative. The comm cleared.
Mac sank into the chair. "What do you think?"
Chrysla frowned down at the monitor. "I think we don't know enough yet. Wait, Mac, don't jump to conclusions. Maybe it was a veteran? Someone with a grudge?
An old lover who had a weapon in the closet? It could be anyone - "
Mac shook his head. "If it's one of my people, I'm going to have to execute her myself. And, Chrysla, what if it's someone I know, someone I've fought beside? How am I going to pull the trigger?"
"You'll do it," she said evenly. "You'll shoot because you have to."
A premonition of dread had knotted in Mac's belly. He'd heard of things like this before. But that had been on Targa and Rega. Arta had done them, but she was crazy, a pathological killer. Is that what had happened? One of his people had broken? Snapped?
Who, Mac? Which one? Someone like Viola Marks?
No, he couldn't believe it. Even if it turned out that he had to.
An eerie thought continued to nag at him. No, not Arta, not here. You can't go jumping to conclusions, Mac. People will think you're paranoid.
Nevertheless, Mac triggered the comm. "First Boyz? Just in case this goes sour, we'd better tighten security around headquarters. No one in or out without a complete checkout. "
" 'Firmative.
'What are you thinking, Mac?" 'Nothing. Nerves. A bad dream.
"Ashtan insystem Traffic Control, this is Rega One. We're inbound on vector zero seven three by two eight five by one eight nine. Request confirmation. "
Skyla studied the navcomm. projections into Ashtan orbit. In the second chair, Lark kept an eye on the reactor stats as Rega One decelerated into the gravity well at forty-five g.
"Confirmed, Rega One. This is Ashtan insystem Traffic Control. We have your plot on zero seven three by two eight five by one eight nine. Request that you redirect reaction mass on axis two eight five by at least point three degrees.
We have a freighter outbound at one one seven by zero two three by three two zero. "
"Affirmative. Correction input." Skyla leaned over, saying, "Plot that vector, kid. Tell me where they're going." "Rega One, this is Ashtan insystem Traffic Control. Request registry information. Our comm source indicates no Regan registry.
Please clarify. "
Skyla squinted at the comm. "How in hell would they know? Regan Comm Central was blasted into plasma when Staffa hit the Capital." Unless they had a warship in orbit. Any of the battleships would have registry data in their banks.
She keyed the mike. "Affirmative, Ashtan insystem Traffic Control. Rega One is not, repeat, not, Regan registered. Registry is out of Itreata. " Skyla leaned back. "Chew on that, asshole. "
Long moments passed as Rega One creaked under the strain of revectoring and the gyrosystem compensated. "I've got it," Lark said. "Assuming I didn't screw up,
that freighter should be boosting for Imperial Sassa. Could that be right?"
"Probably another food shipment. Folks are starving on Sassa these days. Looks like you're better at course plots than pump repair. "
"I've never manufactured a new pump before. If you hadn't insisted on a micron fit, we'd have been fine." "How's the temperature on that cooling tower?"
"Steady at four hundred and fifty kelvins. "
"Told you. Kid, when you're going to pull these kinds of gravities out of a tub like this, you work like a nanomachinist." Skyla fidgeted in the chair.
"What's with these guys? Granted, their comm was messed up, but what are they doing? Calling Staffa for clearance?"
At that, another voice, clipped and efficient, announced, "Rega One, we
have you on priority. Given your burn, what is your condition? Do we have an emergency? Acknowledge. "
"Negative on that emergency." Skyla tapped her fingers before explaining to Lark. "We're coming in hot. They're wondering if we've got trouble."
"Any sign of Victory?"
Skyla shook her head. "We're too far out for Rega One's telescopes to give us a solid visual. If she's not there, it would be a miracle. " Skyla took a deep breath. "Listen. About the valve. I'm sorry I yelled at you. It wasn't your fault. "
"I know. I forgave you long ago. But, honest, I'm not a three-fingered Riparian slime worm."
Skyla flinched. "Did I really call you that?" "That was the nice part."
"Yeah, well, I shouldn't have tried to hurry you."
"I said I forgave you." A pause. "Besides, I know what, we're doing. Having a greenhorn aboard doesn't help matters any." Another pause. "So what was the part I wasn't going to like? Remember back on Terguz, you said you weren't going to tell me."
Skyla input a slight course correction. "Forget it, kid, I was just jerking your chain. Seeing if I could put a little psychological pressure on you."
"Still don't want to tell me, huh? "
"I told you. Forget it. I was just trying to see if you'd back out." And I don't want to admit that I'm crazy. At least, not yet . . . and not out loud.
Lark laughed, the sound melodic. "Yeah, well if I'd known what a bitch you can be, I might have left you to Internal Security. Tell me something, Skyla. If I hadn't walked in when I did, if that other security team had walked in the door, what would you have done?"
Skyla sighed. "Tried to kill them all. Probably would have done it, too.
Internal Security isn't used to armed re-
sistance-especially not the kind I could have dealt them. Using a service blaster, I could have cleaned out the room.' A couple of grenades tossed into the street would've made goo out of the rest. Then I would have marched right into Rill's office, madder than pus Rotted hell, and beaten the information out of him."