Stephen Berry - The AI War

"Generous. What does he want?"

"As usual, I wasn't told." Reaching into his pocket, he took out a small white cylinder and handed it to KTran. "It's all in there. Mission and delivery specs. Same terms as the last venture-less my client's deposit on that debacle, of course."

"Of course." KTran slipped the commwand into his shirt pocket. "We won't be seeing each other again."

"Just as well," said B'Rol as fresh drinks arrived. "Fleet wants you dead, and I don't want ta be in the same system "with cruisers shooting it out. Rumor has it they pulled four task groups out of relief and recovery to hunt you down."

KTran sipped his wine, watching the freighter. "Six task groups. Four in this quadrant alone. Flattering, but unwanted attention. We'll lift ship for a new base port as soon as my business with you is finished."

"I'll drink to that," said the drugger.

KTran lifted his glass. "Your health, B'Rol. I don't suppose your client's available for questions, once I've read this?'' He tapped the pocket holding the commwand.

B'Rol shook his head. "That came to me circuitously, like the rest. I've no idea who the client is-though I'm sure if I found out I wouldn't live to tell." He smiled, shaking his head. "Almost, I'm sorry to see you go, K'Tran. It's brought in some nice side money-my personal account always swelled the day after you lifted." Setting down his drink, he frowned, staring at the agro freighter. "Odd."

"What?" said the corsair, following his gaze. The ship had landed, but without any of the usual port bustle. It sat alone, port center, locks closed, dwarfing the port buildings and government towers-a ship big enough to feed a world.

"Any freighter pulling into S'Takport, Captain, has about ten other ports to reach as fast as possible. We're a designated provision planet. What we don't eat is sent to the liberated planets-fast. Freighters come in, off-load, on-load and upship. One, two, three. Millions are starving. Time is life."

"So?"

B'Rol looked at the corsair. "So, why is that ship just sitting out there, not locked into the docks, no haulers approaching?"

"They're opening up." K'Tran nodded toward the ship. A forward lock the size of the restaurant was cycling open. The two men watched as a broad, gray ramp extended from the ship. Eight dull, black vehicles sped out onto the duralloy.

B'Rol spilled his drink. "Combat cars!" he cried, staring wide-eyed at the turret-topped assault vehicles. Spreading into a long line, they raced toward a series of dun-colored warehouses along the field's northern edge.

"Standard ground assault formation." K'Tran nodded approvingly. "Aren't those your warehouses?"

B'Rol watched ashen-cheeked as three utility haulers hurried from the warehouses, away from the combat car. "Cowards," he said hoarsely. "Stand and fight!"

"Not even for dopers' wages," said KTran. "Not with hand weapons against Mark Forty-fours and battlesteel."

The drugger looked toward the distant gray block of Planetary Defense Command, now encased in the shimmering haze of a forcefield. "Why aren't the port defenses firing?"

"Perimeter's penetrated," said KTran. "The batteries would have to be reconfigured and reranged. Two, three days work.''

"They'll hit her as she leaves."

"Comforting."

The combat cars had reached the warehouses. Assault ramps dropped. Squads of heavily armed troopers scrambled up the loading docks and charged into the warehouses. The restaurant was too far from the action for the men to recognize the uniforms.

From the freighter, five silver shuttles flew on n-gravs to the loading docks, landing unchallenged.

The few other people in the restaurant had gathered in small groups by the glass wall, drinks in hand, chatting quietly as they watched the raid.

KTran checked the time. "Very professional," he said. "Not a shot fired, either. Wonder when the Planetary Guard's-"

First from the spaceport, then from every direction, alert sirens began warbling.

The vidscreen over the bar flashed on. "Attention! Attention!" The head and torso of a green-uniformed Guards captain filled the screen. He looked haggard-there was some shouting going on off scan. "A corsair raid is in' progress. A corsair raid is in progress." The officer's voice boomed through the restaurant at max volume. "All military personnel and reservists to rally points. All emergency services personnel report for duty. All others to bombardment shelters."

The restaurant emptied quickly as the announcement continued, accompanied by the siren's wail. Only the two men at the bar heard the rest: "Be advised. Be advised.

Fleet units are insystem and are responding. Fleet units are insystem and are responding." Evidently recorded, the alert began repeating.

K'Tran took out a slim communicator. "A'Tir, got anything on those Fleet units?"

"Three heavy cruisers, coming in at flank," replied a woman's voice, crisp and efficient.

"Can we make it?"

"If we load only four shuttles."

"Do it. Send the fifth for me, now. Straight in, commlink vector."

"Acknowledged."

Setting down the communicator, he faced B'Rol's baleful gaze.

"You," said the drugger. "That's Victory Day out there-your ship!" K'Tran nodded.

Heavy blaster fire echoed through the port. The combat cars were sweeping the rooftops with bursts of red fusion bolts, answering a scattering of sniper fire. Flames sprang up as the sniper fire died.

"Why, K'Tran?"

"I'm a thief and a killer, B'Rol, like you," said K'Tran casually. "The only merchandise worth stealing on this dustball world is yours-so I'm taking it. You have eight h'kals of narcotics in those warehouses. Six of them are now mine. The other two will burn. I'll make two and a half million credits. Not bad for an afternoon's work."

"Dead men don't spend," said B'Rol, his voice low, hard and cold. "Run. Hide. Bury yourself in a citadel. Nothing'll save you, K'Tran. You'll die under torture. That's a vidscan I'll enjoy for the rest of my life."

The corsair shrugged. "No doubt." A palm-sized blaster appeared in his hand. "But your life is over."

"Waa…

The thin rel bolt flashed into the drugger's open mouth and out the back of his head.

"Stupid," said KTran as the body tumbled onto the polished hardwood floor. It twitched briefly, then lay still.

A shuttle appeared, silver hull filling the broad sweep of glass on the spaceport side of the restaurant. Pocketing his communicator, KTran walked past the corpse and tables to the window. Standing opposite the shuttle's open side port, he adjusted his weapon and fired.

A wide hole blossomed in the glass. Taking a helping hand from the shuttle, KTran leaped aboard, the updraft tousling his hair. The lock closed behind him.

"Status?" he asked.

"Last shuttle's loading now, Captain," said the big red-bearded corsair. The two men stood alone in the cargo bay. They grabbed for the crashbars as the shuttle rose and banked.

"And those cruisers?"

"We'll be gone before they're in range."

A moment later and they were on the ship's cavernous hangar deck. KTran jumped out as the lock cycled open, and ran past crew hastily unloading white duraplast shipping containers.

Reaching the bridge, he stepped to the main screen and its view of STakport. The last shuttle was coming in, the combat cars following.

"Enemy disposition, A'Tir?" he asked his first officer.

"Coming in like the Wrath of S'Halak," said the slight brunette, watching her telltales. "Their shields are up, all transmissions are highspeed and battlecoded. Computer identifies as two PTan-class heavy cruisers and a R'Sal-class command dreadnought."

KTran looked over her shoulder at the tactical readouts. "R'Sal class." He nodded, impressed. "That one alone could wipe us."