Takedown on Titan (Stark Raven Voyages Book 2) Read online

  Chan ignored them, moving deeper into the dome. He met a man coming the other way, a burly guy in blue coveralls. The man shuffled along with his head down, and Chan caught a whiff of chemicals as he went past.

  Bay Twelve was a scratched door with graffiti scrawled all around the frame. Chan stared at the door, his heart sinking, wondering if there was any point in pressing the buzzer. As he was pondering, the door slid open and he found himself eye to eye with a woman of indeterminate age. Her startled eyes were bleary and bloodshot, and she gave him a frightened look before darting around him and hurrying away. A wave of odor came through the doorway with her, and Chan sniffed, recognizing the chemical smell.

  A man stepped into the doorway, dissolute and surly with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He eyed Chan up and down and growled, "What?"

  Chan kept the disgust from his face. It was time to verify his worst suspicions. "I'm looking for some rock. You got?"

  There was a glimmer of interest in the man's rheumy eyes. "Maybe. Who sent you?"

  That was all Chan needed to hear. "Never mind." He turned and headed back the way he'd come, moving quickly. He didn't need the sleazeball deciding he was a cop and signalling the thugs at the airlock to stop him.

  Sure enough, the one with the tattoos was pressing a finger to his ear, taking a call, as Chan breezed past. Chan fished out his own phone. He'd never gone for implants. There was too much variation in technology as you travelled. A hand-held phone was a lot easier to swap out than an implant. He called Liz.

  "The windows look great!" She was bubbling with enthusiasm. "It's going to take a while, but the Raven's going to look pretty sharp by the time they're done."

  "That's great, Liz."

  "How's the job hunt going?"

  He exhaled gustily. "Not good so far. We can smuggle some drugs if we want." When her only reply was a thoughtful silence he added, "We're not going to smuggle drugs, Liz."

  "Er, no. Of course not."

  "Anyway, I'll keep my eyes open. Are you okay up there for now?"

  "Sure," she replied. "There isn't anything for me to really do. I'm just watching to make sure they don't do anything half-assed, but these guys are pros. They're doing good work."

  "All right," he said. "I'll check back in later." He pocketed the phone and looked around. He was in the public corridor that ran through Dome Nine. A sign caught his eye. A little orange arrow pointed down a side tunnel, and the text read, "Prometheus Café. Saturn's Best Liver Pâté."

  Chan grinned and followed the arrow. The café was an open area in the heart of the dome, the ceiling rising two decks high, with flowerbeds along the base of every wall and vines and potted plants filling almost every vertical surface. Several kiosks served food. Chan was browsing a menu when he remembered that he didn't have any money.

  "I don't actually recommend the liver," said a voice at his elbow. "It's synthetic. All of the disgusting flavours of real liver, plus a petroleum aftertaste as a bonus, without any of liver's nutritional value."

  He turned. The woman beside him was middle-aged, wearing a pinstriped business suit with low heels that increased her height until she could almost look him in the eye. Her skin was a few shades too dark to match the auburn of her hair. She might have stepped off of a vid screen from a show set on Earth.

  Chan could remember a time when a skirt, hair dye, and shoes with heels would have brought peals of laughter from the spacer community. Space, long the domain of practical, pragmatic people, was slowly being infiltrated by the superficial values of Earth. It was the wave of the future, he supposed, but he didn't like it.

  She raised a sculpted eyebrow. "You are Mr. Chan, of the Stark Raven, are you not?"

  He stiffened, looking around. No one in the café was paying any attention to them. She was clearly no pirate. If she was an agent of the mysterious organization that had been doing experiments on Enceladus, the trap was too subtle for him to see.

  "My name is Eloise Hansard," she said. "I'm personal secretary to John Riverson of Amalgamated Orbital."

  Chan nodded, distracted. "I've heard of the company." His heart was racing madly. Being hunted, and not knowing who was hunting you, was remarkably stressful.

  "I wonder if we could have a little chat. Away from prying ears." She gave him a reassuring smile. "I might have need of your services."

  Pull yourself together, Chan. She's offering you a job. You need a job. It's not a kidnapping, and if it is, you're not escaping anyway. So calm down. Accept the situation. "All right."

  The café, it turned out, had a small private dining room. She led him in and bought cups of coffee and snack bars from the vending machines inside before sitting down at a small table. Chan sat across from her, still far from comfortable, but with the worst of his terror under control.

  "There are job boards," he said as he accepted a cup of coffee and stirred in a sweetener. "You could have advertised there."

  She smiled as if he'd said something insightful. "That's true. But this job is somewhat delicate in nature. We didn't want it too widely known. We're doing a bit of screening and only approaching a few selected candidates."

  He took a sip of coffee to give himself time to think. The coffee on the Raven was better, but the vending machine brew was entirely palatable. Screening? What kind of screening could I have possibly passed? My last job was mucking out sludge in the water filters of Coriolis Station. What in space are you looking for?

  Eloise seemed to sense his misgivings as clearly as if he'd spoken them out loud. "We prefer not to hire locally," she said. "You're not from Crius, so you can't be affiliated with any of our rivals. And you'll be moving on afterward, so you're unlikely to gossip about anything you might see during the job."

  He nodded, still suspicious but wanting to believe her. He wished Joss was with him. She could read people like no one he'd ever met.

  "It's a very simple job," Eloise said. "Our company president, Mr. Gustav Riverson, is probably the wealthiest man on Titan. Amalgamated Orbital is a fairly big deal around here." She smiled modestly. "Mr. Riverson has enemies, both corporate and personal. He'll be coming to Crius in a couple of days, and I want to hire you as a bodyguard."

  Chan stared at her. "It's not exactly my line of work," he said. "Surely you have security people…"

  "Any of whom may have been compromised," she replied. "But you. You're an unknown. I know I can trust you, because no one knows who you are. You can't be bribed or blackmailed by people who don't know you exist." She folded her hands on the tabletop. "Now. Mr. Riverson is only here for a day. He has extensive holdings, and he's just stopping by for a quick visit. I'm prepared to pay you five hundred dollars for your time. Are you interested?"

  In response, Chan took another sip of coffee. His mind was spinning. Her story sounded improbable, but if she was lying, what was her game? "Do you expect something to happen?" he said at last.

  "Oh, no." She smiled. "But if there was no security at all, something might. No, your simple presence will be a deterrent. At the worst, you might have to hold back some disgruntled worker who's angry that he got laid off. In all likelihood, though, all you'll have to do is trail along behind Mr. Riverson for a day. It should be quite straightforward. Now, are you interested, or will I need to find someone else?"

  His thoughts went in circles as he swirled coffee in his cup. He needed the money badly, and that was what finally decided him. "I have expenses," he said. "I'll need fifty percent up front."

  Eloise beamed. "Splendid." She produced a small handbag and drew out a pair of credit chips and a folded sheet of paper. "I can't give you fifty percent, but I can offer you a hundred and fifty dollars in advance, and the rest at the end of Mr. Riverson's stay. Will that be sufficient?"

  He nodded, took the sheet of paper as she handed it to him, and scanned it. It was a contract, fairly straightforward, offering the sum of five hundred dollars for the provision of "Security services not to exceed 24 hours in duratio
n." He printed his name, signed it, and pressed his thumb against the thumbprint box. She passed him the credit chips.

  "Mr. Riverson will be docking at Dome Seven on Tuesday morning. You should check with traffic control on Monday night for an updated landing time, but at the moment we expect him at 06:00 Crius time." Her eyes flicked over Chan. "You'll be accompanying him to a number of business meetings. It would be best if you dressed appropriately."

  He nodded and pocketed the credit chips. "I will."

  She stood. "Until Tuesday morning, then."

  He stood as well, and she walked out, her movements brisk and businesslike. Chan sat back down, finishing his coffee and snack bar and replaying the conversation in his mind. Then he took out his phone and called Liz to give her the news.

  Chapter 3

  Joss toyed with her drink and sulked. Somewhere in the corridors of Crius Chan was doing… something, and he wouldn't tell her what it was. Liz alternated between supervising ship repairs and helping him with his mysterious errand.

  And Joss? Joss sat on the sidelines and wondered what was going on.

  He doesn't trust me. After all we've been through, after I saved his life on Enceladus, he doesn't trust me. Of course, she had lied to him repeatedly, and he still didn't know her real last name. But that was just words. She'd done her best to help him, and surely that counted for more than a few fibs?

  Apparently Chan didn't think so. So she sat and fumed, letting the synthetic music wash over her without making an impression, glaring at the tabletop. The young man sitting across from her assumed he'd done something wrong and watched her with an expression of miserable anxiety. He was a local boy, younger than Joss by about a year. They were close in age, but there was a gulf of experience between them that made him seem like a child. She felt almost motherly toward him, though he'd made it clear that his feelings weren't filial.

  She shrugged off her frustration and made herself smile. It had taken over an hour to find a local. There were several ships in port, and the bars were full of spacers hoping to meet local girls. For that reason the local girls were in hiding, which made Joss far more popular than she wanted to be. But she had persisted, and now she had to make sure she didn't lose the boy before she learned anything.

  "So you work for Amalgamated Orbital?"

  "Yes." He smiled, some of the anxiety fading from his features. "I write code for the little ice haulers that take ice up to the big rail gun." He leaned forward and grinned. "I could show you where I work, if you like."

  She ignored that. "Tell me about the company." One of the few things she'd been able to learn from Chan was that he was researching Amalgamated Orbital. "Are they based here on Titan?"

  His grin faded a bit. "No. The head offices are on Mars. Mr. Riverson is coming out for a visit tomorrow, though."

  She frowned. "Isn't there a Mr. Riverson here in Crius?" She was sure someone had mentioned his name.

  "Oh, that's the local vice president." He had the air of someone determined to be a good sport while he waited for the dull part of the conversation to end. "John Riverson. He's the boss's son. He runs things on Titan for his father."

  She questioned him further, watching his impatience grow, then told him she had a headache and stood. He stood as well, full of generous offers to walk her home or massage away the tension in her shoulders. She politely declined and managed with difficulty to leave without him.

  "There's a big shot coming for a visit," she murmured. Chen was researching the company, and he'd used over an hour of printer time and half their remaining synth making himself a formal-looking suit jacket. Could he be planning some sort of scam? She frowned. Chan didn't seem like the type, but then she didn't know him all that well. If it was a scam, she was even more hurt. How could he not consult her in her own area of expertise?

  Well, whatever was going on, she had to get herself involved. If he never gave her a chance to prove herself, how could she earn his trust? And if she couldn't earn his trust, why would he keep her around? Her stomach fluttered like the first moments in zero gravity as she imagined the Raven leaving Titan without her. She imagined sleeping in a corridor and cadging meals from naive boys in bars.

  It wouldn't be the first time she'd been ditched and left to survive by her wits. It was a cruel solar system that left a girl with no other resources than a nimble intellect and a glib tongue, then surrounded her with people who would shun her for deviating from the strict letter of the truth. She wasn't trying to make herself rich from the gullibility of others. Well, not any more. What she really wanted was something much simpler. A home, a place to belong. People around her to whom she didn't have to lie. Joining the crew of the Stark Raven had been one of the high points of her life, but she could feel it slipping away. They were going to leave her behind, she knew it. If not on Titan, then in the next port, or the one after.

  Her hands clenched into fists, her stomach churning with an equal mix of desperation and determination. "Not this time," she vowed. "I'm going to show you what I'm made of. I'm going to help you, whether you like it or not."

  A cluster of young men moved up the corridor toward her, a couple of them giving her speculative glances. Their matching jumpsuits identified them as spacers, and she circled around them. On the far side of the broad corridor she spotted a couple of men in white dress shirts. No self-respecting spacer would own a garment like that. These had to be locals. They glanced up as she approached, and she smiled brightly. It was time to get to work.

  The gun felt strangely heavy tucked into the waistband of Chan's pants. It was an old-fashioned revolver with three rounds left in the cylinder. He hadn't been able to find bullets on Crius, which had strict gun control, but it was three more bullets than he expected to need. He stood near the back wall of a meeting room, doing his best to fade into the background. Several dozen people mingled in the room, sipping wine from fragile glasses and eating finger foods. Gustav Riverson was the guest of honor, but every notable person on Crius seemed to be at the party.

  Formal wear hadn't ever become a fixture in the far-flung corners of the solar system, and the crowd reflected the intermittent adoption of an Earth affectation. Gustav Riverson wore a dark business suit and cuff links with shoes polished to a mirror shine. Several men wore similar suits, including John Riverson, his son. Eloise Hansard was there in a shimmering dark gown and shoes even less practical than what she'd worn before.

  The rest of the crowd wore a mismatched selection of dinner jackets and dress shirts, some with neckties, some without. There were natural fabrics, coarse-woven to show they weren't from a printer, and synthetics that looked far more comfortable. Leather was the ultimate status symbol, but printers could produce very good mock leather, so only men like the Riversons wore leather shoes.

  Most of the women wore dresses, but few that could be called formal. Chan fit in perfectly with his printer-fabric jacket that fit fairly well and a dark shirt and trousers, several sizes too big, that he'd scrounged from the cabins on the Raven. His boots didn't go with the ensemble, but half the men in the room wore boots.

  Gustav Riverson was a dry little man in his seventies, stick-thin and below average height. He had some Asian blood, judging by his eyes, but there were reddish streaks in his gray hair, showing some Caucasian in the mix. He was charming and cheerful as he mingled with his guests, but Chan had seen him turn that genial façade on and off at will.

  Chan scanned the other guests, looking for signs of tension or resentment. Most of them, however, were cheerful and relaxed. John Riverson, a younger, taller, and burlier version of his father, wore a smile that was somewhat fixed, and his lips went tight each time he looked at his father. Well, a man had a right to be tense in the presence of his father and boss.

  Liz moved through the crowd, nibbling an hors d'oeuvre. She wore a white blouse and a long, dark skirt that she'd scrounged somewhere. She hated skirts, as she'd told Chan repeatedly, but it let her hide the capacitor pistol strapped to he
r lower leg. She was his ace in the hole, a card that he hoped even Eloise didn't know about. Like the three bullets in his revolver, Liz was a resource he hoped he'd didn't have to use, and for the same reason. If Liz went off, there would be more mayhem than he cared to deal with.

  Not for the first time he wished Joss was here, working the crowd. Liz had been adamant, though. "I don't trust her," she'd said. "She hasn't told us the truth one time since we met her. If anyone's going to sell us out to the highest bidder, it's Joss."

  "But she saved my life," Chan protested.

  "She saved her own life," Liz snapped. "You were incidental."

  He'd argued, but it was hard to defend someone when you didn't even know her last name. He gave in, and was as evasive about the job as Joss herself was when anyone asked about her past.

  He pushed thoughts of Joss from his mind as he watched an older man in a yellow bowtie sidle up to Liz, plant a meaty hand on her hip, and whisper in her ear. Chan couldn't make out her reply, but he plucked his hand away as if she'd burned him, and his face was pale as he backed away. He left the party soon after, looking a bit sick.

  Chan hid a grin, returning his attention to the crowd. Riverson would be leaving in a couple of hours. It looked as if his misgivings had been for nothing. Nothing was happening. The bodyguarding gig was easy money.

  A hoarse shout drew his attention to the entrance. He saw a burly shape in the doorway, a doorman of some sort. The man's voice cut through the hubbub of the party, a single, panicky word uttered at high volume. "Who—"

  There is no sound quite like the impact of metal on human flesh. Chan heard the thump, felt his stomach twist as he recognized the sound, and watched, frozen in shock, as the doorman staggered backward through the doorway and fell sprawling on the meeting room floor. Three people came through after him, anonymous figures in matching brown vac suits, tinted faceplates hiding their features. They were all different heights, and Chan, his limbs rigid, watched as the shortest one scanned the room, then looked straight at him. There was a capacitor pistol in the figure's hand, and the barrel swung up to point straight at Chan.