Sato opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. “Why are you insisting on going along?”
“Because you’re about to do something illegal.”
Sato blanched. “What makes you think I’m doing something illegal?”
“You mean besides your reaction just now? Your body language. Analysis based on your previous behavior and indexed for your racial type suggests a 99% probability you’re about to do something either dangerous or illicit. Since you don’t seem to be the type to randomly risk your life on a space station, I’m left with the latter as my conclusion.”
“Your pinplants seem to be working just fine,” Sato said peevishly. Rick had nothing more to add. “Fine, come on.”
Karma Station was many things to many beings. To some, it was a trading hub. Others considered it a good stopping point midway across the galaxy’s Tolo arm. And to still more, it was home to numerous merc pits, places where mercenaries gathered to negotiate contracts, celebrate successes, and sometimes mourn lost comrades. However, where you found mercs doing business, you often found mercs doing shady deals, as well.
“What are you going to do?” Rick asked as they walked. A pair of women in the hotel lobby looked up when Rick and Sato left the lift. They gave Sato a cursory look, but both did a double take at Rick. He wished Rick had stuck with the ill-fitting spacesuit as a disguise; the robe was too damned suspicious.
“Alexis Cromwell once said that for every legitimate merc guild contract issued, there were three that weren’t legally registered.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“Almost nothing in the Union is illegal,” Sato corrected. “Most of the things that are involve rules of war. You can’t nuke people from orbit, no genocide, biological warfare…”
“Antimatter weapons?”
Sato cringed slightly. The Keesius-class ship he’d inadvertently activated had turned out to be a massive antimatter bomb designed to crack planets, so he knew the reasons for banning antimatter weapons better than most. He’d actually been working on a reactor… “Yeah, that too. A few others exist, like piracy and such, but there’s no requirement that a merc contract be registered with the Merc Guild. But outside a sanctioned contract, you don’t get certain guarantees.”
“Like?”
“Well, there are rules concerning surrender, and even targeting leadership. Sure, I think a lot of those aren’t followed perfectly, but still. The Mercenary Guild acts as a negotiating party between aggressors, as well. I sometimes think it isn’t as important as the Merc Guild claims. A lot of it is more akin to brand loyalty, if you ask me.” I feel the same about other guilds, too. If I could remember why those feelings were so strong, this trip might make more sense.
“Anyway,” Sato continued, “the lawless element extends to matters of trade, as well. Planets are free to make whatever rules they want, up to and including draconian, state-run religions, and all manner of murderous juntas. You can torture your own citizens all you want.”
“We studied that sort of thing in school,” Rick said as they maneuvered to the hotel’s main doors.
A pair of huge purple ursine Oogar flanked the doors, both in combat armor and carrying massive projectile weapons. Sato had noticed a lot more armed guards at establishments than he’d seen the last time he was there. When was it? He couldn’t recall.
The Oogar glanced at him with tiny black eyes as they exited and pushed through traffic on the promenade adjacent their hotel. There were hundreds of various races, many Sato didn’t recognize, others he did. “One of our own colonies is strictly authoritarian; Talus 211c.”
“Talus,” Sato said and nodded. “For a while, there was a very prestigious research operation….”
“Dr. Sato, sir? Doctor? Are you okay?”
Sato was watching the data scroll through his pinplants, exabytes flowing through him like the spillway on an overfull hydroelectric dam. Even so, he reviewed it all, compared, correlated, and identified what he wanted. The view outside the fifth floor showed the northern edge of the Ember Plains to the south east of the city. To the west glimmered The Great Shallow Sea, where fishing ships danced back and forth across its glittering waters. The university was in an area of Johnstown called Old Town, surrounded by some of the remaining settlement dating back to when the world was held by the Equiri.
A sound made him freeze between taking one data chip from his pinplant interface and inserting another. “Dr. Watanabe? What are you doing here this late?” The woman stepped from the hallway into the afternoon light coming through the window. “What are you doing in the database?” Her eyes took in the portable reader, as well as the stack of chips. “I don’t understand…”
“No, you don’t,” he said, raising his weapon and firing.
“Dr. Sato!” The voice held alarm.
He felt strong mechanical hands holding him, and his eyes focused again. It was Rick, and he’d pulled Sato off the main promenade and into one of the innumerable little alcoves, which often held a service kiosk, or just a place to sit. This one was unoccupied except for them.
Sato swallowed and squinted against the now brightly flashing blue eyes of his companion. “I’m fine,” he croaked.
“The hell you are,” Rick said and lowered Sato onto the bench that circled the alcove perimeter. Sato hadn’t realized Rick was carrying him. “You started spasming and would have fallen if I hadn’t caught you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sato said. “I just haven’t been sleeping well.”
“You don’t sleep at all,” Rick told him. “Whenever I check on you in the middle of the night, you’re just sitting on your bed, staring at the Tri-V environment display, your lips moving without saying anything. I think you’re mumbling Japanese, but I didn’t want to be rude, so I left you.”
“Not sleeping?” Sato mumbled. He
