In Earth's Service (Mapped Space Book 2) Read online

  “The Rashidun are known for their discretion, Captain.”

  “And for their corruption.”

  When I got to my stateroom, I used my threading to trigger instant sleep. Whatever was happening tomorrow, I wanted to be fully rested. After what seemed like only a moment, a side effect of threading induced sleep, the intercom sounded.

  “Captain,” Izin said, “another ship has just landed. The same ship that left Nisport ahead of us, the Merak Star.”

  It was almost dawn.

  With three hundred grams of niskgel in my pocket, I walked down the belly door-ramp into cloyingly thick air. The tropical heat and humidity was made more oppressive by the harsh orange sunlight. Jase had strung several photon sheets from the gantries astern where we normally towed three VRS shipping containers. He’d set up a folding table in the shade with a sign offering niskgel and informing prospective buyers that he’d be open for business at eight.

  I hurried past our stall into the tent city. The maze of narrow alleys and multicolored pavilions that had grown up around the grounded ships were just coming to life with vendors laying out their rare and beautiful items for sale. Some were stolen, some were banned because of their intoxicating, sexual, violent or depraved natures, but all would deliver tremendous rewards to any who could sneak them onto a human populated world. The Rashidun Souk was a gold mine for smugglers, collectors and UniPol agents alike, although one had to be well connected to know when and where it would next appear.

  Some vendors held up items as I passed, hoping to tempt me to buy, showing only the merest disappointment when I ignored them. Several of the shadier types watched me, wondering what treasure I might be carrying, but with my P-50 in plain sight, none tried their luck. After passing seven ships and the makeshift stalls surrounding them, I reached the dirty prefab walls of the trading post. It comprised a cluster of mostly two story warehouses and sleeping quarters for the sales agents who would stay after the Souk moved on, picking up what local intersystem trade they could while they waited for the floating black market to return.

  The factor lived and worked in an imposing white building with an ornate façade in the center of town. When I entered, a well dressed young man offered to accept my exaction, but I insisted on speaking with the factor himself. Without any sign of irritation, he politely showed me through to the inner sanctum, a surprisingly plush office decorated with marble and thickly woven carpet.

  “Captain Sirius Kade? I am Jasim Hajjar,” he said, extending his hand in greeting. He had a full beard with flecks of gray and wore purple silk robes with a curved thermal-dagger protruding from his sash. “You wished to see me?”

  “I did,” I said, placing the niskgel on the table as we took our seats.

  He quickly calculated the quantity before him, then said, “One hundred and ninety grams is the required amount.”

  I reached forward and separated the ten gram cylinders into two groups. “For the Rashidun,” I said, motioning to the larger group. When his eyes settled on the smaller group, I added, “For the factor.”

  Hajjar looked intrigued, as I knew he would. “And the service required for such generosity?”

  “I’m interested in a ship, the Merak Star. It landed a few hours ago.”

  The factor nodded slowly. “The Rashidun Souk is fabled for its discretion, Captain Kade.”

  “I merely seek information. Anything you might know that is worthy of such a gift,” I said, motioning to the containers that would more than double his annual income.

  Jasim Hajjar’s eyes settled thoughtfully on the niskgel. “Why would you seek such information?”

  “It is a personal matter. A matter of honor.”

  “Indeed?” he said suspiciously. “Forgive me, Captain, but what honor is there among thieves and smugglers?”

  I smiled sourly. “None, but a sister with child requires a husband, even if he is a two timing, bed hopping, scum sucking, purge rat.”

  Jasim looked sympathetic, relieved that the matter was something he could help me with. “The Merak Star is an infrequent participant in our market. When she comes, it is always to conduct a private trade, always with the same partner.”

  “I see. How long have these trades been taking place?”

  He shrugged. “Two, maybe three years.”

  “And who is the partner?”

  Jasim winced. “A rather dangerous man by the name of Rix. He will be landing later today.”

  I nodded appreciatively, then pushed the smaller collection of niskgel containers toward him. “Jasim Hajjar, my sister thanks you.”

  We shook hands, then I headed out of the trading post, through the tent market, toward the Merak Star. It didn’t take long before I saw her bulk rising above the tents ahead, parked in an area cordoned off from the rest of the Souk by a high tent wall. It hid what she was unloading and was patrolled by four armed guards who allowed no one to approach. It was not exactly in the spirit of unfettered trade that had made the Rashidun Souks famous, but it left me in no doubt the Rightly Guided were being well paid for their services.

  Knowing I couldn’t get to the tent blind, I worked my way back through the market, then out into the shallow swamp. The partially submerged proto-forest was teaming with insects and lizards while the trees were packed closely enough that I could sneak past the edge of the tent blind unseen by the guards. Once past the tent blind, I crept back to dry land for my first unobstructed view of the Merak Star.

  She stood on six stubby landing struts close to the tree line. Her two stern mounted engines pointed toward the forest while her topside sensor array was fully deployed watching the sky. If she had weapons, they were well hidden, but all four of her port side cargo doors were down, providing ramp access to her internal holds. Cargobots were busily unloading her, stacking sealed metal containers in rows between the ship and the vacant half of the private landing area.

  I zoomed my short, cylindrical monoscope onto the growing stack, finding they ranged in size from small lockers to large vacuum-radiation-sealed containers requiring two bots to handle. Most were unmarked, some had had their labeling painted over while others had been left untouched, although nothing could disguise the high grade security locks on many of them. One stack of dark green containers were imprinted with the letters IRF – Indian Republic Forces – the ground combat arm of one of Earth’s four great powers. Nearby, a large black container was embossed with the words Nanjing Industries, the People’s Federation of Asia’s largest armaments manufacturer. Alongside it were containers marked with Naskhi calligraphy, the Second Caliphate’s cursive script, which my threading told me translated to ‘seeker grenade launcher’.

  Four cargobots emerged from the central hold carrying a white domed structure the size of a small house, which my threading profile matched as a Union manufactured mark forty one cruiser turret. The bots carefully placed the big naval gun on the ground and returned to the Merak Star for another load. It was an impressive collection of weapons drawn from all four of Earth’s collective governments, but while gun running was banned, it hardly rated an aleph-null classification. The EIS left such cases to UniPol as there were usually no Access Treaty implications.

  I was beginning to wonder if Tiago Sorvino had overstated the importance of his find when a distant rumble rolled down out of the sky, growing rapidly in volume, then a charcoal black ship passed overhead. It was a squat cylinder with three large maneuvering engines mounted amidships, external to her hull and equally spaced as if at the points of a triangle. I recognized the hull geometry immediately, having ridden in her like years before. She’d once been a navy assault carrier, a heavily armored transport designed to land ground forces under fire. Her navy livery was gone, replaced by blast scars and a ring of point defense polarity guns above her maneuvering engines. As she came down, a single massive turret atop her blunt bow came into view, dwarfing the cruiser weapon the cargobots had unloaded and leaving me in no doubt, whatever she’d once been, she was now
a brawler with a punch no navy frigate could match. My threading had no record of such a ship operating in this part of Mapped Space, perhaps because anyone unlucky enough to cross her path had not lived to tell the tale.

  When her thrusters fell silent, the black assault carrier stood like a dark fortress, looming above the fourteen thousand tonne Merak Star, and no doubt drawing a few apprehensive looks from the smugglers in the Rashidun Souk. Before the dust had settled, an armored door lowered to form a ramp wide enough for the heaviest combat vehicles and revealing the thickness of her armored hull. With all that mass, she’d fly like a pig, but she’d be the devil in a fight.

  A woman in tight fitting, bright red body armor appeared wearing a gun slung low to her thigh. She wore a slender commband which wrapped across the right side of her forehead and vanished beneath her auburn hair. Two well armed men in bulky, mismatched battle armor followed her across to the stacked containers. A moment later, Domar Trask, Julkka Olen and Stina Kron emerged from the Merak Star. They were followed by an unarmed spacer who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else than there. I cranked up my bionetic listener to maximum gain as Trask and the red suited woman met.

  “You were supposed to have finished unloading before we landed,” the woman snapped. “You know Rix hates being on the ground longer than necessary.”

  “What Rix wants isn’t my concern,” Trask replied coldly.

  “If we’re caught down here, you’ll be the first to die. I promise you.”

  “Spare me your threats, Anya,” Trask said, genuinely unconcerned. “Every ship here is slower than the Cyclops. You’ll have plenty of time to run if there’s a raid.”

  That must have been why they picked the Souk, to use the other ships as interference while they got away.

  “Rix wants a report on the security breach,” Anya said.

  “We took care of it,” Trask snapped. “That’s all he needs to know.”

  “Our agent said a crewman hacked the Merak Star’s nav log. That puts us at risk!”

  “If your man had waited at Nisport, instead of running as soon as your ship picked him up, he’d know we eliminated Sorvino and recovered the data taps.”

  “He didn’t run. We only made this rendezvous because he left when he did,” she said coldly. “Did this Sorvino communicate with anyone?”

  “Only his maker!” Julkka Olen said with a cruel grin.

  “There was a trader in the street,” Kron reminded him.

  “Yeah, but I cracked his head like an egg,” Olen boasted. “He’s as dead as Sorvino.”

  Good thing Julkka Olen was not well acquainted with Nisk medical technology.

  “Who was he working for?” Anya demanded.

  “His snooper-tech was mil-spec,” Kron replied. “Too fancy for UniPol. Could have been naval intelligence.”

  Anya’s eyes flared with anger. “Rix will have your head if you lead Earth Navy to us!”

  “You Drakes worry too much,” Trask said dismissively.

  Drakes? They were the Pirate Brotherhood faction operating in Outer Draco. Anya and her two gun humpers looked the part, but I’d never heard of Drakes cooperating with mercs before.

  “So you killed the spy before you interrogated him?” Anya persisted.

  “He wouldn’t have talked,” Trask said. “His kind never do.”

  “Rix won’t be happy.”

  “Rix is never happy,” Trask growled indifferently. “Comes from sneaking around out here all his life, running from every fight.”

  She bristled. “I wouldn’t say that to him if I were you!”

  “You’re not me.”

  I tried DNA-locking Anya but she was just out of range.

  “How long will it take to load the Cyclops?” Trask demanded, glancing at the black Drake ship as four cargobots emerged carrying a polished white hemisphere almost as large as the cruiser turret. The bots moved slowly, either in fragile transport mode or because the machine was unusually heavy.

  “If the Merak Star’s bots help, two hours,” Anya said.

  I focused the monoscope on the white hemisphere. It was encircled by a translucent ring and had a flat base with a conical protrusion at its center. My threading couldn’t profile match it and the monoscope couldn’t even get a basic spectral read on its composition. With a sinking feeling, I realized it was alien-tech, and by the size of it, no mere trinket. Aleph-null!

  Trask glanced past the four cargobots edging down the ramp into the Cyclops’s cavernous vehicle deck. “Where’s the other one?”

  Anya shook her head. “They didn’t have it. They said it’ll be ready next time.”

  “It better be,” Trask said irritably. “We’re running out of time.” He nodded for his two merc companions to follow, then started across to the Cyclops.

  Anya glanced at her two guards, nodding toward Trask. Without a word, they followed the three Orie mercs past the alien-tech hemisphere into the Cyclops. Clearly Anya didn’t like Trask prowling around her ship unescorted. When Trask had disappeared from sight, she turned to the swarthy spacer who’d stood quietly by during the exchange. “Is the stasis cradle ready, Nazari?”

  “Yes Miss Anya, exactly as Captain Rix specified.” From his accent and bearing, he was obviously a Cali trader. Perhaps he was how the Drakes had gotten landing rights at the Souk. Considering their mutual distrust, a lot of credits must have changed hands to stop the Rashidun and the Brotherhood from blasting each other on sight.

  Anya looked bemused. “Rix didn’t specify anything. He knows as much about this stuff as I do!”

  Nazari looked puzzled. “The instructions were very precise. If they did not come from you, then who?”

  “Trask’s technical advisor. I’ve never met him, no one has, except Rix. Trask’s got ten men guarding him night and day.”

  “What does Rix say about him?”

  She laughed. “Not a thing. I’ve never seen him so secretive.”

  “Do you wish to inspect the installation?”

  “No point. I can fly the Cyclops through a pin hole blind folded, but this stuff is beyond me.”

  Nazari looked puzzled. “I don’t know why I couldn’t use pressure restraints.”

  “Me neither,” she said as they started toward the Merak Star. “So, how’d you like being cooped up with Trask for five weeks?”

  “Mr. Trask is a bully, but he is not the one who scares me. It’s that other one, the one they have watching me. He is a killer.”

  Nazari gave her a frightened look, then they passed inside the Merak Star and out of range of my listener. I waited, but they didn’t reappear. Instead, the Drake cargobots loaded more alien-tech aboard the Merak Star, then began moving the weapon containers onto the Cyclops.

  According to my threading, the standard navy complement for the Drake assault carrier would have been two hundred and eighty, plus bots and a combat team of a thousand grunts. Fitted for raiding, she’d carry at least four hundred with plenty of room for captured cargo. It was too many for me to risk going after Trask, but the alien-tech was on the freighter and her crew would be minimal. That’s what Sorvino had sacrificed his life for, not a bunch of Earth weapons that could be bought in any one of a hundred arms bazaars across Mapped Space.

  Pocketing the monoscope, I crept back into the boggy forest and moved through the proto-trees until the Merak Star stood between me and the Cyclops. Based on what Anya had said, the Drake ship would be scanning space, more worried about being caught on the surface by Earth Navy than being spied upon from the ground. The smuggler ship would be doing the same, only with less sophisticated sensors and with most of her crew catching up on bunk time. Neither would be expecting trouble to come sneaking out the Permian swamp.

  Using the freighter for cover I darted from the forest, under the Merak Star’s engines to the nearest landing strut, then crept beneath her hull toward the aft most cargo door. The cruiser turret and the stack of weapon containers obscured the door-ramp from the Cyclops while my
bionetic listener confirmed no human sounds were coming from inside the freighter’s cargo hold. Satisfied I was alone, I pulled myself up onto the ramp and slipped inside.

  The cargo hold filled the body of the Merak Star, with large rectangular space doors on either side and connecting pressure hatches in the forward and aft bulkheads. This one hold alone could have stowed a ship the size of the Silver Lining, although the Drake assault carrier, with its immense vehicle and hanger decks, had a greater carrying capacity overall. The aft side of the hold was stacked with VRS containers while a square metal frame reaching from the deck to the ceiling dominated the center. The alien-tech hemisphere floated in the center of the frame within a glowing stasis field. Alongside it, magnetic deck clamps secured four small cube-shaped containers and one long rectangular chamber with a transparent upper surface, all loaded from the Cyclops.

  I approached the stasis cradle looking for a control console to sabotage, but it must have been operated from the bridge because there was nothing evident. I drew my P-50 and fired twice at the hemisphere, aiming high, but the stasis field absorbed the slug’s kinetic energy, suspending them both a few meters from the white metal machine.

  “Worth a try,” I muttered to myself, holstering my gun and turning to the nearest cube container.

  It had a simple control panel of recessed surfaces which I tapped experimentally until the top of the cube hinged up to the vertical, revealing four metal circles lying flush with the top of an inner panel. When I pressed lightly on one of the circles, it rose up revealing a twenty centimeter long cylinder with metallic end plates and a transparent body. A blue substance glowed within, held in place by an invisible field preventing it from touching the sides. I lifted the cylinder out of its storage space, finding it surprisingly light and cold to the touch, and held it up for the bionetic receptors in my eyes to optically scan. After a few seconds, my threading projected its nonsensical conclusion into my mind.

  BALL LIGHTNING.

  Deciding to keep it for later analysis, I slid the cylinder into a pocket inside my jacket and resealed the cube, hiding my thievery. Finally, I turned to the three meter long rectangular chamber. Its curved, transparent upper surface was frosted with ice crystals and a faint hum issued from its base. I wiped frosting from the transparent surface revealing a frozen alien lying within. Unable to tell if he was alive or dead, I released the transparent coffin-like lid which lifted up with a hiss of misty air. A frosted life signs display above his head indicated he was barely alive, sustained in hypothermic suspension by the cryochamber.