Star Risk - 01 Star Risk, Ltd (2 page)

She tried to stay cheerful, but it looked as if the man who'd been so enthusiastic on the vid about hiring her wasn't going to materialize.

So much for the old "go almost anywhere, do almost anything" personal ads.

What came next?

She had less than no ideas for the future, so she reconsidered the past.

Would it have been a total pain to have stayed in the Marines and taken the assignment that dickhead colonel arranged for her, merely because she wouldn't be his "assistant" on a "inspection trip" to a certain gambling planet?

Yes, it would've. She'd called up the fiche for whatever satellite of whatever frozen giant she was supposed to be the garrison CO of.

It was whatever is outback of the outback.

Or, come to think about it, should she have packed the old neglig�and gone along with the colonel?

He wasn't the worst-looking man she'd gone to bed with.

Her stomach roiled. She'd never yet had sex with anyone when it wasn't her idea, and she'd rather starve than change that.

Speaking of starving, her stomach reminded her. You're a big healthy girl, with a big healthy appetite. So what's this roll and tea business?

Don't think about how few credits are in the old hidden pouch under your slacks. Or what'll be for dinner at that warehouse district diner, which served a meat none of the reluctant poverty row customers had been able to identify.

Not that anyone tried hard.

Or let's not think about sneaking back into that lousy little room in the lousy little hotel, hoping the manager wasn't on duty, and what lie she might come up with to keep a cot under her for one more night if he was.

M'chel ruffled her tawny hair. Come on, brain. You've never given up before.

I've never been this hungry before came back at her.

There was a newsscreen on the next table, and she was thinking about going to the ads, and seeing if Trimalchio was hiring women in other categories than highly technical or highly available.

At the moment, waitressing looked pretty good, if anybody would consider hiring a waitress with no better experience than opening ration paks.

Then, coming out of the caf�nto the patio was a man she recognized, and who she hoped didn't recognize her.

He was Fal'at's bodyguard, whom she'd knocked sprawling and then gassed two weeks ago.

The man saw her, smiled brightly, and started over.

Riss's hand slid down into her boot top, and the tiny pistol was in her hand, held under the table.

The man saw the movement, held up both hands, palm out, and waited.

M'chel thought, couldn't see any problem, since she had the ready gun and he didn't, nodded.

The man came to the table, still keeping his hands motionless, bowed.

"I am Friedrich von Baldur," he said. "At your service, Miss�?"

Riss gave him her name.

"May I join you?"

"Why not?"

Baldur sat down.

"This is a much nicer milieu than the other evening."

Riss managed a smile as a waitress came out with a heavy tray. She saw Baldur, brought the tray over and set it down.

M'chel tried not to look at the tray as Baldur paid. There was a jug of caff, toasted breads, buttery and steaming, an omelet, sausages, and cheeses.

Baldur noticed her expression, misread it.

"I know," he said. "I am a slave to my stomach. At least I do not put on weight easily. But I should eat more like you."

M'chel tried, without success, to keep a deadpan expression.

Baldur caught the flicker.

"Ah," he said, "I had heard that the former Mrs. Fal'at is reluctant to meet her obligations. My sympathies.

"I, too, am at liberty, although at least I was paid before being punted onto the welfare rolls.

"Paid well, with the correct amount for severance," he said thoughtfully, and motioned to another waitress.

"Could we see a menu? My friend here is hungry."

"No," M'chel protested. "I can't�"

But her mouth was filling with saliva.

"Yes," Baldur said firmly. "You can. And the only debt you will owe is to do the same for some other soldier who has fallen on hard times."

M'chel knew she should protest, couldn't. She ordered baked eggs, juice, multiseeded toast, unbuttered, and fruit.

"Good," Baldur approved. "Starving to death is most terrible."

"How did you know I was a soldier?"

"My dear Miss Riss, very few people end up in our chosen line of work without some form of military training. And none of the amateurs would dare that entrance from the roof that you made."

"Thanks, I guess."

"If you do not mind," Baldur said. "My toast grows chill."

She nodded, and he began eating. A few moments later, Riss's order arrived, and the world vanished as she gorged, wanting to gobble with both hands, but managing to eat in a civilized manner, even if all her plates were bare in a few minutes.

"Might I inquire about your current employment?" Baldur said, who'd finished minutes earlier, and was watching her, a small smile on his face.

Riss thought of lying, thought why bother?

"Since that bitch didn't come through with the money for rescuing her crumb-snatcher, I'm looking hard. I was supposed to meet some bastard here about a courier job, but he's a no-show."

"Just as well," Baldur said. "All too many of those courier contracts mean you are carrying stolen objects. Or else drugs.

"Not that I object to either, but I distinctly dislike being the patsy in the middle who is caught with the loot, and will have to do the time, since there is no one he can sell out to save his own hide.

"What a dirty trade we have chosen."

"Maybe," Riss said. "But there's worse."

"True. True. There is always worse. Might I inquire as to your background?"

M'chel gave a brief, succinct resume of her career.

"Most impressive," Baldur said. "I especially like your time in Intelligence, and the three Expeditionary Force landings.

"You have seen the elephant."

"Since we're giving out bios?" Riss asked, waiting.

"There is little to mine," Baldur said. "I retired as a Colonel in the Alliance Navy after twenty-five, some four or five years ago, when I realized my career was not advancing as I wished.

"I am qualified on most spacecraft, have had the usual number of investitures and excursions.

"I also, although the way you caught me by surprise the other night would seemingly disprove my claim, have dabbled in some of the martial arts."

"Well," M'chel said, starting to rise, "I can't thank you enough for the meal." She smiled wryly. "Now, I've got to be out and about, and find a way to pay for my lodgings."

"Actually, that was why I came over," Baldur said. "I am, as you shall no doubt learn, a creature of rapid decisions.

"How would you like a job?"

"Doing what?"

"As a partner� on a trial basis, of course�

with my firm. Star Risk, Limited. I have a decided need of skilled operatives."

Riss gaped, sat back down, realized her jaw was dangling, and stared at von Baldur, speechless.

"Perhaps we should adjourn to my offices, and you shall understand my situation more clearly."

The building was ultramodern, in the current style dubbed "Unsupported Freeform." Polished steel beams jutted up, zigged at impossible angles that could never buttress or support the alloy structures scattered among them. Riss had once read an article on the style, knew that antigrav generators, each hopefully with emergency backup power, actually kept the fifty-story building from toppling.

The lifts were clear platforms that seemed to hang from spidery cables. Again, hidden antigravs did the work.

Baldur bowed Riss out of the lift on the forty-third floor.

Directly opposite were tall double doors, of what appeared to be real wood, with small, discreet lettering: STAR RISK, LTD.

"Actually, there is no such thing as a 'limited liability corporation' anymore," Baldur explained. "But Trimalchio does not much care what you call yourself, so long as your taxes are kept up to date.

"And I always thought 'Limited' sounded most elegant."

"A question," M'chel said. "What's the significance of 'Star Risk'? I mean, it's sexy and all, but does it have any intrinsic meaning?"

"As you said," Baldur said, "it zs a sensual name."

He touched his finger to the print-lock, and the doors opened.

"Actually, not wood, but fireproof metal under the veneer," he went on. "Also guaranteed to stand up to at least two direct blaster hits."

He entered, coughed apologetically.

M'chel followed, looked around, and started laughing.

"Now," she eventually managed, "now I see why I've been offered a partnership."

The offices had expensive carpeting and more expensive vertical shutters.

And nothing else. No desks, no vids, no computers, no files, no employees.

"You spent all of Mr. Fal'at's payoff renting this?" she gurgled.

"Actually, no," Baldur said. "The architect, also the owner of the building, who incidentally has the penthouse suite, owes me a considerable favor. Also, this style of architecture seems to make prospective tenants a little nervous.

"He discharged his obligation by giving me this suite on a year lease.

"Now I am required to make it work."

"Um, could I ask on what basis you thought Star Risk would be a go?" M'chel asked.

"Certainly. These are times, as someone or other once said, that try men's bank accounts. The Alliance can hardly be considered a strong government, and there are many, many people who think that right grows from the barrel of a gun. Or from a very entrepreneurial law firm. Or from a malleable legislator.

"Not that I am particularly shocked by that proposition.

"But in times that are close to lawless, men will seek out their own law."

"Star Risk, ltd.?" M'chel asked.

"Yes," Baldur said. "Or, since a true mercenary judges not, Star Risk is there to assist those who are acquisitive.

"Assuming," he added hastily, "they can pay for our services. Pay handsomely."

"I don't know if I like the idea of working for the bad guys."

"That is why I use a sliding scale of payments, depending on our involvement or feeling, if any, in a particular cause."

"Credits cancel morality?" Riss suggested.

"Well, I would not put it quite so bluntly," Baldur said. "But a hefty bank balance makes it much easier to look in the mirror each morning."

"So what happened? I don't see a long line of clients, wearing either black or white hats, streaming in the door."

"I may have made some minor miscalculations," Baldur admitted. "Have you ever heard of Cerberus Systems?"

"No," Riss said. "Wait. Yes. I saw something on a vid a few months ago. They're a private security service, right?"

"That, and everything else," Baldur said sadly. "They'll do anything from espionage to counterespionage to union security to strikebreaking to investigative work to military advisory work to collapsing currencies to riot incitement to� and this is only a bit more than a rumor, directed violence beyond any law's forgiveness."

"How far will they take that?" Riss asked.

"The only limits are what you can pay for, the story goes. Murder is supposedly called 'End Certification' by them. But that is neither here nor there, other than I generally discourage assassination. It has a nasty, nasty way of being found out, and the act blowing back on you, the poor operative, rather than the villain who hired you for the dastardly deed.

"Cerberus is also very, very active in dealing with competitors. They'll pass out false rumors, put their operatives in the way of a competitor finishing the mission they were hired for, even if they themselves have no interests in that area.

"Cerberus is one problem. Another is that I am not the only one who has considered a mercenary career. It seems that every half-witted knuckle-dragger who can afford a blaster and a license to carry it are suddenly Emergency Situation Specialists."

M'chel looked down at the carpet.

"I am sorry, my dear," Baldur said. "I was not referring to you."

"No," M'chel said. "Don't apologize. Even though I think I've got talents and skills beyond ruining my manicure on the pavement.

"In fact, I've got a question. When I was in the Marines, one thing I specialized in was Target Analysis.

"Let me," Riss said, unconsciously taking on the tones of an instructor, "ask about this Cerberus Systems.

"I really don't care about how ruthless they are. Are they any good?"

"They are," Baldur said reluctantly. "They are big, so they can put a lot of operatives, equipment, resources into any operation they undertake.

"They pay well, and they actively recruit. I am surprised, quite frankly, that they did not attempt to add you to their organization.

"Overall, they operate on the basic premise that any person is corruptible in one or another way, and all that matters is the size of the bribe.

"Which, in our chosen field, is not altogether an erroneous way to think."

"Fine," Riss said. "What are their weaknesses?"

Baldur considered. "They are slow to move, like any colossus. And once they move in any direction, it is hard for them to change direction. Also, once they decide on a given course, they are reluctant to accept input that might suggest their original examination of the situation was faulty.

"They are bureaucratic, naturally. The longer you are in their employ, the greater respect you are given, and the less likely you are to be terminated without making a series of extreme errors.

"I personally think their board of directors is hidebound, prone to doing business as they did last week and last year, and that they apply the same tactics to Situation B merely because it appears to resemble Situation A, where those tactics worked very well.

"So now you see the reality of my situation. Do you think you might be of service?"

"I don't know," M'chel said. "I don't think I could make it any worse."

"Good. Excellent in fact. It gets most lonely, beating your head against brick walls each day."