M. Planck - The Kassa Gambit

“Because you left out of here to Carnor, about two weeks ago. And whatever spooked Fleet came here from Carnor, on a patrol boat named the Launceston .”

Damn. She’d passed through Altair with her shipment of threshing machines, now rusting in an abandoned Kassan wheat field. Since she had to log a flight plan with Fleet, her destination would be a matter of record. Fleet felt it was a public service to keep track of the free-traders, and to let everyone know what they were up to. Everyone but the free-traders probably appreciated it.

She was intending to broad-beam her news, anyway. No point in not telling Welsing. She sighed, not because she didn’t enjoy talking to Welsing, but because she hated telling this story. “Wels, you better send the girl out.”

“No can do, Pru, it’s her room. Hang on a second.” Screeching, the sound of something soft being thrown as violently as possible, and then the slam of a door.

Welsing came back on the line. “Okay, Pru, I’m standing in a hotel hallway with no pants on, but I’m alone. Spill.” His voice started out aggravated, but by the end of his first sentence he had returned to his smoothest charm.

“Maybe later would be a better time?” she said, unable to resist teasing him.

“Nonsense. Now that I’ve been reminded of your stunning beauty, how could I possibly settle for that doxy? Just your voice is more sensuous than a dozen Vegas showgirls stark naked in a vat of butter.”

She had to make a face at that. Jorgun laughed at her, although he couldn’t hear what Welsing had said. Jorgun had his own headset on, and was watching something on his console. Probably the last few weeks of cartoons.

Normally he wouldn’t notice anything outside of his cartoons. The atmosphere of tension must be getting to him, too.

“Real butter, Pru, not the synthetic stuff.” Welsing was filling the silence. If she let him go on, he’d start describing the showgirls. “Vegas” wasn’t a real place, just a slang term for high-class glitz and glamour, but she had no doubt his mind was full of very concrete images.

“It’s not nice, Wels. But there’s profit, if you’re fearless. Kassa colony was bombed into the Stone Age. Thousands dead, no machinery, and winter coming on. They need stuff, a lot of stuff. I have a list.”

The inevitable response. Swearing, then the question. “Earth-fire! By who?”

“Nobody knows.” The lie got harder every time she repeated it. “But … Fleet has plenty of reason to be on alert.”

Welsing was a blowhard, but he wasn’t stupid. “Why did you say ‘fearless,’ Pru?”

“If nobody knows why they came, nobody knows if they’ll come back. I don’t want you blaming me when a war-fleet drops out of the sky on your pizza delivery.”

“Damn, Pru. Damn.”

“Put me through to a data channel. I’ll transmit the list. And Wels … don’t keep this a secret. Tell everyone on your list. The long list. This is a humanitarian crisis, not a monopoly-profit opportunity.”

She thought of something else that might be more motivational.

“There’ll be plenty of profit for everyone. Especially if you’re willing to take future-payment vouchers.” Anybody who had the cash to lend could make a profit both on delivery and interest. Welsing was the kind of guy who always seemed to have a lot of cash.

“You don’t want a window?” He was asking if she wanted him to sit on the information until she had time to cut a few deals.

“No, Wels. I don’t think I’m going back there. It was…” It was too much to ask of Jorgun. “I’ve seen enough.” It was too much to ask of her. Kyle might still be there, with his damnable papers and smoky black eyes. “I’m not giving you a window, either. I’ve got a dozen calls to answer, and I’ll be handing out the list to everyone.” The comm station had kept adding them while she had been talking to Welsing.

“Understood, Pru. I’ll spread it around too. Humanitarian, like you said. Um, hate to chat and run, but I need to get some pants on. There’s a bellboy at the end of the hall now, and he doesn’t look amused.”

Probably he just wanted to fill his hold with the prime cargos before the local vendors raised the prices. Welsing wasn’t the kind of guy who worried about bellboys.

“Fair enough, Wels. Although I regret this comm was only audio.”

“Honey, you have the taste to appreciate the unadorned human form. Not like these prudes on Altair. But call me later, we’ll do something naked.”

“Prudence out,” she answered, rolling her eyes at his salaciousness. Constant repetition tended to rob it of effectiveness.

“Welsing out,” and he was gone.

Sighing, she pushed another button at random.

Kyle walked into his empty apartment and shut the door. Nothing greeted him, not even the apartment’s computer. He’d programmed it to not announce his comings and goings.

Almost two weeks in the presence of the insufferably pompous Rassinger had flayed his patience to the bone. But he had learned things. He was certain, now, that Rassinger had expected to find the alien wreck. He was pretty sure that Rassinger had not expected to find Kyle.

What he didn’t know was whether his tip had been a setup to get him killed, or a lead from a competing faction of the League. Or possibly even from an anti-League agent. And he didn’t know why Rassinger was out there looking for alien spaceships.

After only one day, the Phoenix had loaded the wreck into its hold, and bolted for home. Kyle had begged a ride, partly to spy on the odious Rassinger, but also because he could accomplish nothing more on Kassa. The locals finally had enough government established that they resented his influence.

Rassinger had tried to hide the wreck from him, sealing off the cargo bay and posting armed guards. Kyle found it disturbing that the district leader trusted Fleet personnel more than he trusted a fellow League officer. One with a sterling reputation, no less. True to that reputation, he had not even tried to breach Rassinger’s security cordon.

Instead, he’d bowed and scraped, flattered and obeyed. It was sickening.

Back on Altair, the Phoenix had vanished into the depths of a Fleet dock, discharging him like a bad sneeze along the way. He appreciated it. Security was tight, and the newsvid hounds had missed him. They found Rassinger and the captain of the Phoenix, through their various inside contacts, and ambushed the two officials with cameras and microphones. To little effect, since those two exalted individuals could cry “No comment” and push through the pack of slavering reporters with impunity. But a lowly functionary like Kyle would have found his private credit history accessed, and investigative snoops threatening to broadcast those indiscreet trips to the topless bar unless he gave them the scoop now.

Not that there were any such trips. He’d lived his cover twenty-four and seven. After the traffic stop incident, he hadn’t really felt like a man, anyway. The urge had shriveled up and slunk away to hide.

It was back now, in full insatiated force. The cool, slim figure of Prudence Falling haunted his nights. Her ambiguous status only added fuel to the fire.

Was she a carefully placed operative or just a freelance captain in the wrong place at the wrong time? All he knew for sure was that she didn’t like Rassinger. That made him like her, of course, but it wasn’t quite enough. It didn’t mean she was on his side.

If she was working for the League, and found out his true mission, she’d kill him without blinking. If she wasn’t working for the League, then just the armband he wore would drive her as far away as star-flight could take her. Either way, Prudence Falling was going to be nothing but a memory for him.