I. MANDEYN: EMBRIG SPAÇEPORT
AT WELL past local midnight in Embrig Spaceport--port of call for the wealthy provincial world of Mandeyn--the Freddisgatt Allee ran almost deserted from the Port Authority offices to the Strip. The warehouses lining the Allee blocked most of the sky-glow from the lighted docking areas beyond, and Mandeyn's high-riding moon shed its pale illumination only in the center of the broad Allee.
Beka Rosselin-Metadi whistled an off-key tune through her front teeth as she took a leisurely return walk down the Allee to her ship. The black wool cloak she wore against the cold of Embrig's winter night swirled around her booted ankles, and if she'd put a bit of extra swagger into her stride as she left the Painted Lily Lounge--well, she figured she was entitled.
Damn right you're entitled, my girl, she told herself. You made a tidy profit on carrying those parts for Interworld Data, and you've got another good cargo alreadyon board for Artat--not bad work for a twelve-hour layover with time out for dinner with an old shipmate.
The Sidh had been her first ship after leaving home, and she'd been junior to everyone on board, including Ignaceu LeSoit. The knowledge that beSoit and his friend Eterynic were crewing now on the luckless Reforger--still in Embrig after three days, Standard, without finding a cargo--hadn't spoiled her evening in the least. Now that Beka was captain of her own ship, she lined up cargoes two ports ahead; if she could, so could anybody.
Maybe I should think about hiring a crew of my own, she thought. Copilot, say, or an engineer who knows a bit of gunnery. A gunner, that's the ticket; then I could push my routes out further into the fringes, and get a bit closer to what I'm really after--
Something hit her behind her right knee, hard. The leg collapsed beneath her, and she fell onto her back in the street.
"What the--" she began, and swallowed the rest of it when a blaster bolt ripped through the air where her head had been.
A second blaster answered, firing from a point above and beside her. She rolled toward the nearest wall, where her black cloak stood a chance at blending into the shadows, and grabbed for her own sidearm. Her hand came up empty.
She pressed herself flat against the metal siding of the warehouse. I'm a shadow, she thought. Just a shadow that moved across the picture for a moment. The trick had always worked for her brother Owen when they were both young; maybe it'd work for her if she tried hard enough.
Out in the street where she'd been walking a stranger stood, a blaster in each hand. He fired once toward the rooftop opposite; Beka heard the clatter of a dropped weapon and the heavy thud of a falling body. A left-handed shot down the intersecting alley brought a scream followed by silence.
As the outcry died, she heard a faint ratchety noise from farther along the road, a clear, distinct sound in the frigid air. The stranger heard it, too: he whirled and fired both blasters down the Allee. The man who had stepped fromthe shadows holding an energy lance flew backward and lay still.
The stranger turned to where Beka was lying and gestured at her to come out.
Beka unpeeled herself from the wall. Her knee hurt, and she'd dragged her cloak through the slush when she rolled clear. The wet wool slapped against her legs as she limped out into the light and said, "Who the hell are you?"
"A friend," said the stranger. He holstered one of the blasters, and held her own weapon out toward her.
She looked at the grey-haired gentleman, dressed for the weather in a long winter topcoat with silver buttons. Without the hardware--and if she hadn't seen him use it--she'd have figured him for a teacher of languages and deportment at a young ladies' finishing school.
She took back the blaster, checked the charge and the safety, and put it away. "Friend, huh?" she said when she'd finished. "I suppose those other guys weren't?"
"Not if your name's Rosselin-Metadi. Can you walk?"
"If it's back to my ship and out of here, yes. I've got a lift-off at zero-four-hundred local, and I'm not in the mood for long explanations."
"Then here's a short one," said the grey-haired gentleman. "The odds in town are running twelve to one against you making it that far."
"Short and sweet," said Beka. "Almost enough to make me bet against myself. What's your angle, Professor?"
The gentleman gave a dry chuckle. "I'm playing the long shot," he said. "I believe the Allee is clear of amateur talent for the moment--my suggestion is that you make what haste you can to your ship and wait for me there."
"And then what?"
"And then I'll tell you some things you ought to know."
The gentleman gave Beka a polite half-bow, stepped sideways into the shadows, and vanished. The Adepts do it better, Beka told herself. Then she looked back down the Allee, empty except for her and the dead. But not by much.
She made it home to Warhammer without any more trouble.As always, her spirits lifted at the sight of the familiar bulk of her ship, looming in silhouette against the white glare of the dock lights.
My ship. Damn, but that sounds good. In spite of the pain in her knee, Beka grinned as she gave the 'Hammer a prelift walkaround.
"My lady?" came a cultured voice from the entrance of the docking bay. "Permission to come aboard?"
She jumped, thought about going for her blaster, and decided the hell with it. If he'd wanted to kill me, I'd be dead by now anyway.
"Permission granted, Professor," she said. "And let's make that 'Captain,' if you don't mind."
"My apologies, Captain."
the grey-haired gentleman came forward out of the shadowed entryway as she toggled off the force field at the 'Hammer's ramp. The readouts on the security panel by the side of the main hatch showed clear, so she went on through and gestured for him to follow.
"welcome aboard Warhammer," she said.
She brought the force field up again behind her visitor. After a second's thought, she closed and sealed the hatch as well. She'd finished all the paperwork with the port and with her cargo before leaving the docks at the start of the evening, and anybody wanting in now wasn't likely to be friendly.
Beka led the way to the 'Hammer's common room. "Wait here while I check things out for lift-off," she said, dropping her wet cloak onto the deck beside the mess table. "Then I'll have a few minutes clear for talk."
She waited to see the stranger settled into one of the padded seats, then pulled a clipboard out of its bulkhead niche and started working her way down the prelift checklist. First stop, the main hold: crates of fresh Mandeynan crallach meat, destined for the gourmet trade on nearby Artat, all on board and secure for lift-off. Then--limping from one station to another--she did the operational checkson all the systems and backups, from the realspace engines to the cockpit controls.
Checkout complete, she flipped on the cockpit comm system. "Port Control, this is Free Trader Warhammer. Request permission to lift on time."
"Free Trader Warhammer, this is Port Control. Scheduled lift time your vessel zero-four-one-four, I say again zero-four-one-four."
She signed off, and switched the countdown timer to show minus minutes in real-time running. She had about half an hour, Standard, before lift--not really enough time to tend to her leg, if she wanted to give her visitor's tale the...
