No Surrender Page 4

  Eventually the jump came to an end. And when it did, Chozick ordered the ship's XO to land the DE in an unpopulated part of Long Jump's surface, which was easy to do, because there were only a few million sentients on the planet.

  Once on the ground Chozick made good on his previous offer. Those members of the crew who wanted to leave were given ten days worth of rations and a map. Two officers and four enlisted people elected to stay.

  Then, before the newly freed swabbies were allowed to leave, Chozick had them shot. The bodies went into unmarked graves--and Chozick ordered his "associates" to paint new numbers on the ship's hull and give her a new name. The Star Queen had a nice ring to it. Chozick figured that the Mohawk and everybody aboard her was listed as MIA by then, and, so long as the ship's name didn't pop up somewhere, it would stay that way.

  Though overworked, the remaining sailors managed to get the ship off the ground and successfully docked with the space station above. That was when Chozick went about recruiting the kind of crew members he could rely on. Cutthroats, to be sure, but noncoms like Kobo would keep them in line.

  Chozick sidestepped a robo vendor and took a left. Both sides of the busy corridor were lined with tiny hole-in-the-wall businesses. Chozick passed a travel agency and a nail salon before arriving in front of the nondescript hatch. The sign on the door read, NOOL HANDRA, SHIPPING BROKER.

  Chozick knew the title was accurate, even if Handra made most of his living from activities other than shipping. He palmed the hatch and it hissed open. That allowed Chozick to enter a small reception area. There was a desk and there, seated behind it, was Handra's daughter.

  Chozick knew Kella to be short, as all Thrakies were, which meant the chair was boosting her up. She had large light-gathering eyes, pointed ears, and horizontal slits where Human nostrils would have been. Kella was dressed in what passed for high fashion on Orb 1. That included spray-on face glitter and lots of internally-lit jewelry. "Good morning, citizen Vemy," she said brightly. "Go on back. My father is expecting you."

  Chozick said, "Thanks," and made his way back to a featureless door. Then he heard a click and knew that a lock had been released. By Kella? Yes, that made sense. The barrier slid out of the way, then closed behind him. The inner office was very different from the sterile reception area. Fine art graced the walls. And, where the far wall met the deck, a row of pillows gave Handra something to lean on. He was of indeterminate age, affected a red pillbox hat, and was swathed in a matching robe. A generously proportioned robe that could conceal just about anything weapons included. "How nice to see you," Handra said in flawless standard. "Please have a seat."

  There were no seats. Just the plush rug located opposite Handra. So Chozick sat on the floor. A low table separated them. The top was inscribed with alien hieroglyphics and home to a hand comp, air stylus, and Handra's "form”. Chozick knew that almost every Thrakie had a form, or miniature robot, all of which were handmade. Some were programmed to perform simple tasks--but most served as electromechanical pets. Judging from appearances, Handra's form fell into the latter category. Like its owner, the robot was bipedal and equipped with two arms. It did a handstand and proceeded to walk about the surface of the table as the conversation began.

  "I received your message," Chozick said. "You have news for me?"

  "I do," Handra said solemnly. "I received a response from a Hudathan official named Oro Bo-Ka. He wants you to know that your request was received--and the ruling triad is scheduled to consider the matter in two standard weeks."

  "Two weeks? I sent the message, the video, and the finger bone a month ago."

  Handra shrugged. "One must be patient. And remember... It took the message more than two weeks to get here. So chances are that the meeting Tola-Sa referred to has already taken place."

  Chozick felt a sense of rising desperation. Because of the war, there was no way to contact the Hudathan government, other than through the Thrakies. A race of aliens which had been chased into Human space by a fleet of robotic warships years before and had eventually been granted asylum. They claimed to be neutral where the current conflict was concerned--but had a well-known tendency to play both sides against the middle.

  But the Hudathans were the only ones who would pay for the reliquary--and the Thrakies were the only ones who had the means to contact them. Besides, were it possible to conduct face-to-face negotiations with the ridgeheads, only a crazy person would choose to do so. If there was a faster way to wind up dead, Chozick couldn't imagine what it would be. "Please send a confirmation," he said. "And let me know when the next message arrives."

  "I will," the Thrakie promised.

  "I guess that's it then," Chozick said, as he prepared to stand.

  "There is one more issue," Handra said, as the form climbed up onto his shoulder. "And that's the matter of payment."

  "You'll get paid when I do."

  "That is not the way the contract reads," the Thrakie replied. "Line 2 of paragraph 157 specifies that an interim payment of twenty thousand credits is due upon receipt of the first message from the Hudathan government."

  Chozick scowled. "How do I know the message is real? You could have made it up."

  Handra sighed in much the same manner as a parent might while dealing with an especially difficult child. "Here," he said, as he flipped a disk into the air. Chozick caught it. "That," Handra said, "is the device the message arrived on. Drop it into a reader. Assuming you speak Hudathan, you'll be able to verify what I told you."

  Chozick slipped the disk into a pocket as the form wrestled with Handra's ear. "I can't pay you yet. But I will soon."

  Handra nodded. "I'm glad to hear it. But I'm afraid it will be necessary to withhold any future messages until I have the money in hand."

  Chozick wanted to shoot the Thrakie, but figured the alien was armed. And how would he communicate with Hudathans if Handra was dead? The Human forced a smile as he stood. "No problem... I plan to pay you before then."

  There was a click as the lock was released. "Excellent," Handra replied. "Have a nice day.” The form waved as Chozick left.

  ***

  The town of Sunrise on the planet Long Jump

  It was raining. Not a driving rain, but a persistent mist that settled over the mourners like a shroud and, eventually, found their skin. The procession started in front of Kim's funeral parlor, and followed main street to a hill made out of mine tailings, where row upon row of grave markers stood. Some of the graves belonged to people who died of old age, but not many, the town was too young for that. Most of the dead were miners killed in accidents. And there, at the front of the procession, walking arm in arm with Reverend Goolsby, was Boss Ryker.

  The mine owner had always been big, but he was even larger now. He'd been a laborer once, and muscular, but years of good living had put thirty extra pounds on him. And that had something to do with a bad hip. Every step caused him pain.

  It was important to lead the procession however. To show the mine workers and their families that he cared. Because running the mine, the town, and most of the surrounding countryside required more than the simple application of force. A certain level of support was necessary. And, in order to get it, Ryker had to convince the locals that he cared about them. That was why the families of the five dead miners would receive a month's pay and whatever amount of money they owed the company store would be forgiven.

  But business was business, and if there was no one who could step forward to take the dead man or woman's place, the family would have to leave its company owned house to make way for a new employee. It was sad, but what could he do? He was only one man after all--and couldn't support a town full of moochers.

  So Ryker limped up the spiral path as the mist fell around him. The prime real estate at the top of the hill had already been claimed, so the miners were going to be buried two thirds of the way up the slope. Their graves had already been dug and were starting to go soft after hours of rain.

  Ryker didn'
t like to think about dying, so, rather than listen to Goolsby's drivel, he took the opportunity to look out over his kingdom. Copper Mountain was off to his left only half visible in the mist. And there, on the flat land below, was the town of Sunrise. It was a tidy community with arrow straight streets all of which were laid out grid style. The spaceport? He'd built that... As well as the school, medical clinic, and park.

  "Mr. Ryker?" Goolsby inquired. "Would you like to say a few words?"

  That was when Ryker realized Goolsby had finished and it was his turn to speak. It was something he'd done many times before and didn't have to prepare for. His eyes swept the downcast faces around him. "This is a sad day... Five of our friends and loved ones are gone but they remain here in our hearts. I can see their faces now, happy to start a shift, and to provide for their families. Let's hold those images in our minds so that these fine men and women will always be with us. Thank you."

  It was bullshit of course... Every word of it. But the people around Ryker nodded and some even managed to smile. That was the part that amazed him. How some empty platitudes could make them feel better. He was grateful, though, because what would he do without them?

  Once the bodies were in the ground, the townsfolk followed the trail down to the foot of main street and, from there, many went to spend the rest of the day in the town's saloon. It was always a profitable enterprise, but never more so than on the day of a funeral. Ryker wasn't going to spend any of his time drinking, however. He had a business to run.

  Ryker's office was located in the Sunrise bank, his bank, on the second floor. It was surrounded by a wall, and built like a fort. Armed guards nodded respectfully as he passed through the gate and climbed the steps that led to the front door. A mercenary dressed in body armor was there to open it for him. "Good morning, boss."

  "It's raining," Ryker pointed out, "and I just attended a funeral. But I appreciate the sentiment."

  The bank was closed for the day, so the lobby was empty. Ryker took a hard right, opened a door, and climbed a flight of stairs to the second floor. That made his hip hurt, so he was cranky by the time he entered his office. And the sight of "Stick" Matthews sitting in his chair, smoking one of his cigars did nothing to improve his humor.

  "Oops! Sorry, boss," Stick said as he jumped up out of the chair. "I was killing time, that's all."

  "Yeah, sure," Ryker said as he rounded the cluttered desk to claim his seat. "And stealing my cigars."

  Stick was seated on one of two guest chairs by then and completely unapologetic. He was tall, thin, and too well dressed for the town of Sunrise. "You'll forgive me," he predicted confidently. "I brought you a deal. A good deal."

  That was the reason why Stick got away with so much. He spent most of his time on the space station where he was always on the lookout for business opportunities. Some legit and some less so. "Okay," Ryker said indulgently. "What have you got?”

  "There's a new player on the space station," Stick answered. "A guy named George Vemy. He owns a DE that must be forty years old. I figure he bought it surplus and fixed it up. Anyway, he claims to have a ton of hafnium sitting in the ship's hold and he's looking for a buyer."

  Ryker frowned. "Have you seen it?"

  Stick shook his head. "No. Vemy won't let visitors on his ship. But the sample he gave me tested out. This is the good stuff, Boss--so I figured you would be interested."

  And Ryker was interested. Trading valuable metals was a profitable sideline. "And you were correct, Stick... Well done.” Ryker pointed to a well stocked bar. "Pour yourself a drink. Let's talk this through."

  ***

  Aboard the Star Queen

  For the first time in a long time Chozick felt happy. His efforts to find a buyer for the hafnium had been successful--and he would soon have three million credits to tide him over until the Hudathans bought the skeleton. That would bring in fifty million. Enough to start the mercenary outfit he'd been thinking about. Not just any outfit, but one equipped with cyborgs. Just like the Legion. It would make his group so special that clients would be willing to pay premium prices.

  Such were Chozick's thoughts as the Star Queen completed a full orbit of Long Jump and began to slow. His buyer, a man named Ryker, had agreed to pay cash on delivery. And in this case that meant a deposit at one of Orb 1's three banks. A deposit which Ember would verify before the hafnium was unloaded.

  Would Ryker try to hijack the hafnium? He might. Chozick had done some research and, according to Handra, Mr. Ryker had a bad reputation. But Chozick figured that a destroyer escort plus a company of ex-legionnaires should provide more than enough protection.

  So, as the ship circled the town of Sunrise, Chozick felt happy. And when he saw that the area around the small spaceport was nearly deserted, he felt even happier. There was a truck, and a small group of men, but that was to be expected. Chozick, who was seated at the rear of the control room said, "Put her down.”

  The man who had been XO under Dickerson was the captain now--but everyone still referred to him as XO. A nom de guerre that was fine with him. He issued a series of orders that brought the DE to a hover. Then, with the dignity befitting a vessel of her age, the Star Queen lowered herself onto the large patch of heat fused soil that functioned as the town's spaceport. There was a solid thump followed by the usual creaks and groans as the DE's frame was forced to support all of the ship's weight.

  Chozick was dressed in one of the new uniforms he had supplied his bio bods. They were similar to those issued by the Legion, but with what he considered to be improvements. Small things, mostly, but the first step towards creating his mercenary army. The Legion helmet had been repainted, but was otherwise the same. Chozick chinned his mike as he made his way back to the hold. "Remember everything I told you," he said, "and things will go smoothly. Drop the ramp."

  A rectangle of light appeared as the ramp went down. Chozick thumbed his visor up and out of the way as he clumped down onto the ground. Kobo and a bio bod named Farley followed him. Both were heavily armed.

  As Chozick stepped off the ramp, Stick Matthews came forward to shake hands. "We meet again," he said cheerfully.

  Chozick nodded. "Where's Mr. Ryker?"

  "He asked me to handle the transaction for him," Stick answered smoothly.

  Chozick shrugged. "Okay... It makes no difference to me. Make the transfer. My man will verify the deposit and radio the ship. Once he does, we'll bring the hafnium out."

  "Of course," Stick said, as he produced a hand com. "Three million, minus five hundred thousand for the landing tax, leaves two-point-five mil. I'll authorize the transfer now."

  "Whoa," Chozick said. "What landing tax? That's bullshit.”

  "You're welcome to your opinion," Stick said politely, "but the spaceport has a legal right to impose a landing tax as set by the port commissioner."

  Chozick scowled. "And who is the port commissioner?"

  Stick smiled. "That would be Mr. Ryker."

  "Okay," Chozick said. "The deal is off. Tell Ryker to take his landing tax and shove it up his ass."

  Stick murmured something into the com and Chozick heard a crackling sound from behind him. All three renegades whirled in time to see the front end of a monstrous machine break through the surface of the tarmac! Seconds later a huge claw reached out to secure a grip on one of the Queen's landing skids. How much did the subterranean beast weigh? Ten tons? Twenty? More than enough to prevent the ship from lifting off. But the DE was far from defenseless. Chozick chinned his mike. "Blast that thing. Do it now."

  The Queen's belly turret swiveled toward the mining machine, but stopped as some sort of drill shot up out of the ground to skewer it. "Sorry," Stick said. "But once a ship lands on our spaceport the fee must be paid. So I suggest that you unload the hafnium. Two and a half mil is a lot of money. Take what you can get and be happy."

  Chozick caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned in time to see a couple of men pull a cover off the truck. The pedestal
mounted energy cannon made a whining sound as it traversed around to point at the spaceship. Chozick chinned his mike. "Destroy the truck."

  One of the ship's guns burped coherent energy and the truck vanished in a flash of light and a clap of thunder. Pieces of fiery debris were still falling as Chozick turned back to Stick. "You took it too far," the renegade said grimly, "and now you're going to pay. Kobo, we're switching to plan B."

  Stick watched in horror as a column of T-2s marched down the ramp. Except for the first three, the rest of the cyborgs were carrying bio bods, and all of them were armed. The movement was so fast that the pistol seemed to materialize in Chozick's hand. "Ryker... Where is he?"

  Stick was frightened but not enough to turn on Ryker. "I don't know. He ..."

  Chozick pulled the trigger and a third eye appeared between the two Stick already had. The body fell with arms out-flung. The hand com skittered away. There was a crunching sound as Kobo stepped on it.

  "Okay," Chozick said into his mike. "Don't kill anyone you don't have to -- but secure this town. I'm looking for a man named Ryker. Speak up if you find him."

  There was some resistance as they entered the town, snipers mostly, but none of it made any difference. Chozick and his T-2 led the way, and it wasn't long before his renegades were in control of the town hall, the police station, and the power plant.

  Then, acting on a tip from a citizen, Chozick went looking for the bank. It wasn't hard to find. And when he got there, Chozick could tell that Ryker was inside. Nothing else would explain why it was so well protected.

  Having seen the nine-foot tall duracrete wall that surrounded the building, Chozick wanted to know what was waiting behind it before he and his company attacked. He was a businessman now, and his people were assets. Especially the cyborgs.

  So Chozick told his troops to take cover in and next to the surrounding buildings while he sent a drone in to check things out. It wasn't long before the flying robot drew fire and had to pull out. But not before the device got a good look at some mortar pits, well placed machine guns, and mercs armed with rocket launchers. The latter being weapons that could have been used to bring them down. So, why hadn't they? Because they wanted him to see what he was up against. That suggested a leader, a good leader, who wanted to conserve his or her resources. After all, why fight if you didn't have to? This was about money rather than politics.