One Jump Ahead-ARC Page 3

  I followed him to the top floor and down a corridor to his office, a corner room with a great view of the town and the ocean beyond it, floors of a deep brown wood, walls of a lighter version of the same, and displays of Macken promotional videos on the walls that lacked windows. Some things, including the offices and views of power-craving bureaucrats, never change. Armed with a glass of water and seated in his chair, Barnes looked much more comfortable than he had outside. I sat in a padded wooden chair on the other side of his desk and waited.

  "First, thank you for coming in."

  I sighed. "Please, stop. No niceties, no chitchat, just get to the point. Or I can leave. Your choice."

  He put down his water and tried to sit taller. "Fair enough, fair enough. As you might imagine, visitors like you don't come here all that often."

  That damn advance payment, I thought. Make a mistake once, pay many times.

  "So of course I looked into your background, and, as I'm sure you know, you don't have much of one, at least as far as our records go. That alone says a lot. The fact that Ron Slake visited you this morning says more. That he was clearly not satisfied when he left tells me the rest: He wants your help, and you haven't decided to give it to him."

  Lovely: Now I had to worry about both Slake and Barnes monitoring me and becoming threats. "Is there a reason you're telling me this?" Barnes was brighter than he appeared, but I saw no reason to make this easy for him.

  "You wanted to get to the point," he said, "so why play games? I know about Kelco's purchase of exclusive commercial rights to Macken and the new aperture growing at the jump gate. I know that Xychek backed out of the contest and is no longer bidding, though I don't understand why they would give up so easily with a new aperture on the way. And, of course, I know about the kidnapping." He leaned forward, striving to impress me with his seriousness and power. "Do you really think we in the Coalition would fail to monitor an executive of Slake's level?"

  "I honestly don't think anything at all about you or your government. I'm a tourist here, no more. So, I repeat: What's the point? Why are we talking?"

  "I know I can't stop Kelco's deal, and I know I can't stop the development it will inevitably bring, but not everyone else here is as realistic as I am. I need some time to work with my constituencies and prepare them for the inevitable, or we'll end up with our more militant groups fighting the Kelco militia, a conflict that's bound to destroy this town."

  "I repeat: What do you want from me?"

  "Don't you care at all about what this deal will mean to the people here? If—when, I guess—Kelco signs this contract, all it has to do is keep to the terms of the deal and in ten to twenty years, when the new aperture is ready, it'll have exclusive rights to explore whatever's on the other side. We don't have many apertures here; losing the freedom to profit from one of them will really hurt the Coalition in the long run."

  I gave up on politics a long time ago. I've never been able to figure out how you can address the big issues, and I know how easy it is for large corporations and governments to screw you, so I keep my focus on the problems I can solve. "I told you: I'm just a tourist here."

  "Tourists will suffer, too. Kelco people are already acting like they own the place, and we can't stop them. We have almost no security staff, no militia backup from the Coalition, and no real way to get Kelco employees to obey our laws."

  I thought about Lobo, who with a minimal staff—or even alone, if it came to that—could be a powerful force anywhere, much less in a small colony like this one. He wouldn't be any good for the bar brawls and petty crimes, but in any serious action, he'd be hard to beat. "What about that PCAV I saw in your square?"

  "We don't have the parts or the budget to fix it," Barnes said, "and I doubt it could do much for us even if it worked. Our problems aren't the kind it can solve. We stationed it there basically for show, at least until we get big enough that our tax payments will persuade the Coalition to fund the kind of firepower we need: troops on the ground, more police, and so on."

  That Barnes had no idea how much Lobo could do for him proved his ignorance. I was showing my own stupidity by staying here. None of this was my problem. I stood to leave.

  "Okay, okay," Barnes said. "Here's the point: Slake is trying to hire you to get his daughter back, so you have his ear. I don't care if you take his offer or not. What I do care about is delaying Kelco's deal, gaining enough time to maybe be able to do something about it, or at least to prepare people for it. Xychek bowed out so quickly that I've had no time to react. So, I want you to talk Slake into leaving the planet and delaying the contract signing for a month."

  "Why would he do that?"

  "Because you talked him into it," Barnes said with a shrug. "I honestly don't know. Maybe you could persuade him that rescuing the girl will take longer than he thought."

  That Barnes would so casually use a young girl's freedom as a bargaining chip infuriated me, but I forced myself to act calm. Stupid actions often open opportunities, and I owed it to myself to consider the angles his offer was opening. I'd make better choices if I took the time to think before I acted. "One last time: What's in it for me?"

  Barnes slumped a bit. "I don't know. We have some money, but nothing like Slake's, and even if my plan works reasonably well you probably won't want to be vacationing here in a month, so I don't know. But I had to ask."

  I thought about his request. I had no reason to help, but I also had no reason not to continue to ponder what he could do for me—unless, of course, helping him would cost me Slake's business. I defaulted to my standard answer, which generally serves me well. "I'll get back to you tomorrow," I said.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but I stood and cut him off. "That's the best you'll get from me now, so let it go."

  I headed out.

  Chapter 3

  The wind blowing off the water cooled the lush early-evening air. The sky still glowed, pinks and oranges shading the clouds over the ocean, but darkness was coming, the colors muting, as if the wind were shoving away the day. I felt its push, too, as I walked back and forth on the stretch of beach in front of my house. The urge to leave was strong. One person wanting me to work for him and monitoring me was bad; two was almost intolerable.

  Where to go, though, was the problem. I wanted desperately to return to Pinkelponker, to find out if my island-studded home planet still existed and to learn something I was embarrassed to admit was even more important to me: whether Jennie was still alive. I couldn't go there, though, because there was no way through the permanent blockade that surrounded the only jump gate that led to Pinkelponker. Even if I could find a way through the gate, I probably wouldn't survive; none of the ships that had made the jump since the disaster had ever returned.

  Another option was to follow up the rumors of another survivor of the Aggro experiments, but even if they were true I wasn't sure I wanted to meet him—or her—because he might recognize me. The fewer people who know what I am, the safer I am.

  I kept coming back to Pinkelponker. It tugged at my heart, as it often did in moments of contemplation. Trying to go there meant facing off with the best mercenaries and equipment the Central Coalition government could afford, and doing so with no allies, no ship, and, even if I saved Jasmine Slake and her father paid me, not enough cash to buy a ship that might survive the voyage. If I was going to be totally honest with myself, I also had to admit that as long as I didn't go there and personally witness the planet's remains, I could believe there was a chance that Pinkelponker had survived and Jennie was alive.

  Maybe it was time for another career, a new start on some planet where no one knew me. I could find work again as a private courier. I could try something completely different, though I had no idea what that might be.

  The more I walked, the less I knew what I wanted.

  When long-term planning fails me, as it so often does, I turn my attention to whatever is in front of me. Given what Lobo had told me about the Gardeners, I had lit
tle doubt I could get them to give up the girl. I worried only that I might have to hurt some of them; once I open the door to violence, I have a hard time closing it.

  Then there was Barnes' plea. I doubted he could do much with the month he wanted, but that was his business and his choice. My business was to figure out whether he could provide anything I wanted.

  I walked back to the house, killed all the lights, and sat close to the main window, the glass a familiar separator distancing me from the world. I closed my eyes, focused on nothing, and tried to drift off, to let my subconscious do the heavy lifting. Before she fixed my brain—not just fixed it, changed it more profoundly than I believe she ever realized—Jennie told me that I might not have a smart head, but I had a smart heart, and a smart heart was better. Now, almost a century and a half, several wars, and the Aggro prison stint later, I doubted much smart or good remained in my heart. I didn't, however, doubt my ingrained ability to protect myself, nor did I doubt that I could either make the best of bad situations or at least survive them.

  A few minutes later, everything clicked. I knew what to do. It might not be the best course to follow, but it would at least be a path that would take me a useful step forward from where I was.

  I ran down the stairs to the car's shuttle and headed for town. I had several stops to make and some supplies to get, and I wanted to finish early enough that I could sleep late into the next day so I'd be ready for the long night that would follow.

  * * *

  As I'd hoped, Barnes worked late. No one stopped me on the way to his office, another sign of the easygoing, early-colonization manner in which he ran things. On any planet that either the Central or the Frontier Coalition would consider civilized, you'd never be able to get within pistol range of the mayor of a city without encountering security—another of the mixed blessings of civilization.

  I let myself in and sat in the chair I'd occupied previously.

  I'd clearly unnerved him: His eyes flickered between me and the desk's display as he tried to play it cool. He finished a bit of work, murmuring instructions I couldn't make out, forced a smile, and looked up. "May I help you?"

  "That's up to you."

  He leaned back, visibly confused. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand."

  "How much do you want the month of delay you asked me to get?"

  "A great deal," he said, "but as I told you, my budget is extremely limited."

  "I don't want money. I want the weapon you're not using."

  He looked puzzled for a moment, then laughed as he realized as I was talking about Lobo. He cut the laugh short when I didn't join him. "You're serious?"

  "Yes. You don't see any use for it. I do."

  "Individuals don't own that kind of equipment," he said. "Corporations and governments do."

  This time, I smiled as I thought about some of the people I've worked with—and against—in the past. A PCAV was nothing compared with the personal armadas some of the very rich assemble to advance their agendas. I saw no point, however, in debating the issue. "It's completely legal for anyone to own," I said, "provided, of course, that the local government issues the necessary permits."

  Barnes' face relaxed, and he suppressed a smile as he came to what I'm sure he thought was the trump in our little exchange. His expressions broadcast his thoughts as clearly as if he were narrating them; I would love to have gambled against him.

  "I'm afraid it would be of little use to you," he said. "Its weapons control complex, a very, very expensive piece of equipment—trust me, I know—doesn't work."

  "I don't care. I'll take it as is. And, you have to leak to the Gardeners that I'll be coming after the girl."

  He shook his head. "Surely there must be something other than that weapon that—"

  I cut him off. "No," I said. "We're not negotiating. This is my only offer. I'm doing the job for Slake, and soon. You decide now whether the contract signing will occur immediately after I finish or a month later."

  "Mr. Moore."

  I stood. He stopped talking.

  "I'm going home," I said. "On the way, I'm calling Slake and telling him that I'll help him. Am I going to tell him anything else?"

  Barnes stared at me, and finally he nodded his head. "You get the month delay, and I'll transfer ownership of the PCAV to you."

  I sat. "You've recorded this discussion, so have the system issue the contract."

  I had to give Barnes credit for efficiency: Having decided to make the deal, he wasted little time in formalizing it. All that was missing was his role in letting the Gardeners know I'd be coming.

  "You understand, of course," he said, "that the contract shouldn't reflect that commitment."

  "Of course," I said, "as long you keep it."

  "I'll talk to some people tonight."

  "Fine," I said as I stood to go, the contract safe in my wallet and copies already in two local banks. "I'll be back when it's over."

  In the shuttle on the way to the beach house, I called Slake.

  He listened and agreed easily. "You understand that a month won't change a thing," he said, laughing.

  "I expect you're right," I said, "but that's what I'm giving Barnes."

  "And what is he giving you?"

  "Does it matter?" I said.

  "Of course not," Slake said, laughing again. The laughter stopped and his expression turned grim as he added, "What matters is that you bring my daughter safely back to me."

  "I understand," I said, "and I will. The next time I see you, she'll be with me."

  Lobo's voice in my ear brought me around quickly. "They are about a klick away and closing. I count six humans. No machine is talking near them, and the sat shots show no electrical devices in their hands, so you can assume all their weapons are small, mechanical, and able to fit in their pockets. All six are male, so you will need to get them to take you back to their camp. Is there any other intel you need?"

  I stood slowly, stretched, and thought for a moment. Everything so far was just as you'd expect from an amateur group, so I was confident these six were less of a threat to me than I was to them. Still, with a group that large one mistake could definitely hurt me, so I started deep-breathing and relaxing, calming myself so I could calm them.

  I turned my attention back to Lobo and his question. "Yes," I said. "I assume you're also monitoring their camp."

  "Of course, though only via IR imaging. The canopy over their camp is thick enough to block the sat's standard optics, and the drone cannot provide any useful information without exposing itself to them."

  "How many more are at the camp?"

  "Thirteen humans, one of whom is in a tent and has a smaller IR signature than the rest; that is likely the target. A fire is burning. There is also a bored media recorder, which will not shut up about the poor grammar of the manifestos the group produces on a daily basis, and a pair of what may be the stupidest beverage dispensers I have ever encountered. Those machines must be ancient."

  "Any large weapons?"

  "Nothing as far as I can tell, though I suppose one of the beverage dispensers could go wild with a hot fluid nozzle."

  Great. I hate machine humor. Couldn't Lobo's programmers have skipped that part of the emotive work?

  Maybe I could focus him on the problem at hand. "Lobo, if anything does go wrong, is there any help you can give me?"

  "Other than information, no. You are on your own."

  From my earlier conversations with him I had known that fact, but I figured it couldn't hurt to ask one last time.