Chapter 17
TK came through with the compiled list. After a quick review I whittled it down to four possibles. The third was promising, a certain Vee Hars. Said he’d pay cash for everything, especially the manufactured, enhanced weapons. The crystal he’d take as a favor. “Meet us in three days in the capital of Myx on the nearby world of Trellian. Volgrim Enterprises, north end of the city.”
Time to rendezvous with Dolgra on Urgon. I varwoled into orbit around Phoros, radioed Dolgra, told him we’d be there in minutes. Dolgra confirmed. I took TK over in the shuttle, where he set up the flight path and we shuttled back.
Next stop Trellian.
A day to arrive at Myx City and some more time to find the drop point. That’s a long time on a starship. A man’s mind can wander into stray territory. As mine did. Something about the whole affair with Pazarol still rankled. I’d had to kill Raez; Gris was casualty damage, scumbags without question, that was not a problem. But another loose end, some stone left unturned, I couldn’t figure it out. The puzzle left me staring up at the plated ceiling, lying in my hard bunk that night in wordless dismay, wondering what wolf was waiting around the next corner. Not even the lusty affections of Wren could assuage that.
I jolted up, knowing there was going to be trouble with that phaso. I whipped on my clothes and staggered down to the hold. There in my workshop, near Raez’s former cubby hole, I set about making a clever imitation of it with the materials I had aboard and my budding artistic talent. To foil any eager searchers, I used extra varnish and colored lead tinsel to give it that shiny, iridescent look. I felt better when it was done. I inserted the fake in the strongbox and put it back in the forward bulkhead where it had been and hid the real phaso in a place no one would find it—in the conduit leading to the engine core, the Barenium chambers, taped to the inner wall. Maybe not the safest place for it, but at least out of TK’s reach, or anyone else who might be searching. I could trust nobody.
Trellian came up on our sights and we bore down on the single, prominent continent. Starrunner flew over rich woodland—gigantic, three hundred-foot trees with plumed tops like ostrich tails. Beyond the outriders of Myx’s towers we coasted where a long patch of industrial lots stretched within the forest confines.
We landed in Volgrim’s yard, Urgon first and Starrunner after, spraying up dust and specks of dirt from the grainy tarmac. The sky was overcast and the air slightly muggy. Even these outer worlds seemed to have been terraformed long ago with thick atmospheres to make them habitable. Their air generators had been running for decades to keep the planet warm, in addition to thousands of geothermal stations set up around the globe to pipe heat from the planet’s crust into the air. Major acreage of forests had been planted to supply ready oxygen.
Two battered, rusty buildings stood in the foreground, with flat, rectangular roofs. A gravel pit loomed in the back, with several large freighters and smaller range vehicles huddled in the landing yard out front. It looked dead as a graveyard, could as easily have been a gravel yard, or some construction depot. Dolgra’s men stayed back to watchdog the shipment while Wren, Dolgra and I debarked to meet Vee Hars and his associates and consummate the transaction. I relished closure on this deal. I packed extra weapons—R4, R3, some explosives—while ensuring Wren and I were carrying trackers that TK could monitor steadily from Starrunner. I wasn’t taking any chances. That bad feeling had not abated, even after hiding the phaso in a safe place, so I started to wonder if it was something else that had my imagination piqued.
I motioned to Dolgra. “There, at two o’clock.” The equipment yard was bare but for oil drums, fork lifts and some metal skids piled with crates. Four figures came out of the first set of ugly, rust-coated double-doors on the warehouse.
Hars was a medium-boned man of no great stature. A woman kept his stride, wearing a hardhat and two other men in coveralls trailed behind. I sized them up in a second—a set of trade business professionals, black market operators, possibly, but clean. So, why the worry?
“Rusco? Hars, here,” the man said, husky of chest, short of leg, and held out a pink hand. “These are my colleagues: Deen, Faber and Lozane.” I gave them a salute and they all nodded.
“Pleasure, Hars. My crew, Dolgra and Wren.”
Hars tipped his head. “You have my merchandise?”
“In the Urgon over there.” I pointed. “Ready for transport.”
“Good, let’s move it out then. I’ve got a busy day and there are lots more things to do. There’s a spot set out in the warehouse.”
“Not so fast,” I called. “Where’s our yols?”
“Relax, you’ll get them, Rusco.” He frowned, fingering his jaw at the delay. “All two million of it. Fresh credits.”
“Then let’s go get them, shall we?”
He shook his head. “Let me take a look first at the merchandise.”
“Fair enough. Follow me.” I set out at a brisk pace, Wren behind me, Dolgra to my side, forcing Hars and his gang to keep up to my impatient
