Chapter Three
The asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter was a lot like the old gold rushes in the 19th Century. Once a single expedition had turned a profit, dozens of corporations rushed in to seek claim to the big floating rocks, hoping that burrowing into the asteroids would reveal new sources of raw materials. Not much more than basic minerals like iron had been discovered, but even in an advanced civilization, those primitive metals had some value. So the corporations that had remained continued to mine the asteroids. At last count, there were about eight major companies still operating in the belt.
The only difference between the asteroid belt and old
As the Poseyville approached the belt, I could see Palmer’s eyes start to shine. The asteroid belt was the one place in the system where the pilot could really show off his skills if he could get the bulky hauler through the belt without taking severe hull damage from debris. I had never navigated the belt in my years as a captain, but Palmer had done so at least a dozen times by his recollection, which I discounted as mostly boasting. Nevertheless, I sat back and watched as Palmer eased the ship into the outermost edge of the asteroid belt, gingerly moving the ship around the asteroids that came into our path as we closed on our goal.
The Poseyville would not actually complete its run through the belt in one day. It would take a few days to arrange passage with the various mining companies, to make sure that they kept their operations out of the way while the Poseyville went through. In the meantime, the ship glided in to dock at the Central Logistics Station, the port at the edge of the belt where all haulers came to unload their supplies for redistribution to the companies that had requested the cargoes. This is where I would have to meet with various officials to grease their palms so that my ship could go about its business without running into an unfortunate “accident” inside the belt.
After Palmer had docked, I stood up, motioning to Sirvenski. “James and I will be going aboard. Brian, you stay here with our esteemed guest,” I tossed an icy glance to Turgeon, who returned it silently.
“Will do, Boss,” Palmer replied, almost too happily. I had noticed over the last few days how he and Turgeon often disappeared at the same time, returning to the bridge with not very well concealed smiles on their faces. It was not entirely unexpected for Palmer to go after Turgeon, especially given the way that Sirvenski and I had already embarrassed ourselves to the woman, but I couldn’t help but wonder what she saw in Palmer. Sirvenski seemed hesitant to follow me, but finally left his post and trailed behind me to the airlock.
Usually I would have left the flight engineer aboard to supervise the ship, but there were some things that I needed Sirvenski’s expertise for. Something about Turgeon kept bothering me, maybe it was her icy demeanor, or maybe it was her story, but I had a gut feeling that there was more than she was telling me. With Sirvenski’s computer skills I might be able to find out before we arrived at the
The Central Logistics Station was nothing like the customs station over Mars. The station was much smaller, but the corridors were wide, with more than enough room to accommodate the light foot traffic. The walls, the ceiling, the deck, everything was a uniform gray, giving the place the look of a station that had not only been built recently, but that was a place of business. There was an assortment of shops charging enormously inflated prices for goods from Earth and its colonies, and a few up-scale bars, but overall the place was much less seedy than the customs station. The bars were all for the mining company employees, with a legitimate, respectable feel. Of course there were probably other bars hidden away to cater to those looking for a little more off-color entertainment, but it was my first time aboard the station and I hadn’t any idea about such things. Sirvenski was as clueless as I, following a step behind me and trying to remain inconspicuous.
Along the way I kept my eyes peeled for Net terminals, I would need to find one out of the way for Sirvenski to use. I finally stopped the random search, deciding on a more focused approach. I stopped at an information kiosk, which quickly gave me the location of all Net terminals as well as directions to the station administrator’s office. I downloaded the latter for myself and studied the former for a few long moments. I finally steered Sirvenski into an alley between two small shops, handing him my comcard.
“What do you want a Net terminal for?” Sirvenski asked.
“I want you to find out anything you can about this Ms. Turgeon and who she’s working for,” I replied quietly.
“You think there’s something wrong?”
I sighed, “I don’t know, but something isn’t sitting right with me. Try and dig up whatever you can, just to make me feel better.”
“You know that kind of Net time is going to be expensive, especially out here…”
“Don’t worry about it, Fischer will cover it,” I reassured him, giving him a wallet for Fischer’s expense account. I gave Sirvenski a final fatherly pat on the shoulder and left him to find the terminal I selected, then I made my way up to the administrator’s office.
Bret Higginson was the typical station administrator: competent, but with a blind eye toward what decent people would call corruption. His office reflected his status in life: a few knickknacks, reprints of paintings, and an imitation oak desk, just a mid-level mining company employee trying to look more important than he was. I sat uncomfortably on a thinly padded chair while Higginson reviewed the mining activity for the next few days.
“You’re asking for quite a large disruption of operations,” Higginson grumbled, scrolling through screens of data while I watched light reflect off of his bald head.
“I’m aware of that,” I replied, trying not to sound too bored. There were times when I wished that we could all be more open about bribery instead of having to put on a charade of legitimacy. “I’m prepared to compensate anyone for the loss of revenue they may experience.”
Higginson turned towards me, smiling broadly. “Very good, Mr. Gallowes. I can get you a list of all the company contacts, you’ll have to arrange to meet with them individually.” Higginson paused, clearly waiting for his own bribe. With a barely audible sigh I took his wallet and downloaded two hundred into it. Higginson was apparently satisfied, he turned back to his computer and downloaded the contact list to my comcard.
I took the comcard back, shaking Higginson’s hand and uttering some pleasantry before I left. It was getting late in the “day”, most of the contacts were already gone for the evening. It didn’t matter, I walked through the almost-empty corridors until I found Sirvenski at the Net terminal. “Find anything yet?” I asked.
He shook his head, “Nothing really, just the standard information on the
“Don’t worry, you can do that tomorrow, I’m sure there will be plenty of time while I haggle with the locals,” I said it as lightly as I could, not really looking forward to two or three days of wading through small talk and bribery. Sirvenski disengaged from the Net after a few minutes, giving me what little information he had found so far.
The problem with using the Net, especially from here, was that it took forever to access anything. Signals had to routed through satellite networks back to hubs on Mars, Earth, and the moon, then back. It was a long wait, made even longer if asteroids or debris blocked the station’s equipment. What Sirvenski might be able to find out in an hour on Earth would take four or five hours out here, but it was the only Net-capable station outside of Mars. If I wanted to assuage my fears about Turgeon and the
Sirvenski and I checked into the station’s only hotel, renting two rooms scarcely bigger than a closet, but it would be enough. It would have made things easier if the hotel had Net access, but that kind of equipment was too expensive for such a small business to operate. I was about to leave Sirvenski in his room when I saw a troubled look on his face. “Is something wrong?” I asked.
“I’m just hoping that those guys we left my sisters with don’t try anything,” Sirvenski replied.
“I wouldn’t worry, they don’t have any interest in girls and they’re being paid more than enough to keep them honest.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Sirvenski didn’t sound convinced and I started to wonder what was really eating at him.
I sat down on the bed next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Is there something else?”
“I’m not sure if I can do this, leave them alone every time I go out for some cargo run.”
I smiled, doing my best to sound paternal, although I was five years out of practice. “With the money you’ll make off this mission you won’t have to stay on Mars, you can move your whole family back to Earth, where they’ll be a lot safer.” I knew better than anyone that Earth was not entirely safe, but crime and corruption were much less rampant there.
Sirvenski smiled weakly, but there were tears in his eyes. “After my father died, my mother had to take care of all of us, working two or even three jobs until I was old enough to help support the family. I don’t want the same thing that happened to my father happen to me, I don’t want to let them down like he did!”
“Look, James, you’re a bright kid, you won’t let that happen,” the words sounded hollow even to my own ears. It was hard to comfort him when I still hadn’t worked out issues about letting my family down. We were more alike than I had ever realized, both of us had lost family, but Sirvenski at least still had some of his. “You could always finish school after this is over, get a job on Earth and stay close to them.”
“Yeah, I could, but…” His voice trailed off and he almost winced as if in pain. “I like this.”
It was hard to not break out laughing, but I could understand how he felt. Even with the sleazy locales, and my own problems with pills and drinking, there was still such freedom to being on a hauler. Sometimes during a run I could stare out at the stars and be swept up in the vastness of space, everything seeming to melt away until there was nothing but the beauty of the universe all around me. It was probably like sailors in ancient times staring out at the huge expanse of the ocean and the endless horizon, it was a kind of spiritual moment between man and nature. Those moments were fleeting, but they were one of the reasons that I had remained a hauler captain as long as I had. For a young man like James Sirvenski, who had spent most of his life in the festering slums of Mars, I could see why such a sight would be so addictive.
“They’re your family, James, they’ll understand and respect your decision.” That was not always true, my own parents and siblings had teased me for years about becoming an accountant, “bean counting” as they called it. “Even if they don’t agree with it, they’ll stand by you and support you, that’s what a family is for.”
Sirvenski smiled, I could see that I was getting through to him. “Maybe you’re right. I can decide after this over, there’s plenty of time.” I patted Sirvenski on the shoulder and left him for the confines of my own room. The talk with Sirvenski only made me miss my own family even more, but unfortunately I hadn’t brought any scotch with me to help drown the pain. I popped a few Lexmafil, leaning back in bed as my entire body started to go numb. A few minutes later I drifted into a dreamless slumber, the pain seeming so far away.
It was a good thing that I had a restful night, because the next day was very trying. After making sure that Sirvenski was set up on his terminal, I went to meet with the representative of Bon-Dar Industries, one of the smaller players in the asteroid mining. I stepped into the manager’s office and it was as though all the color in the universe had suddenly been drained away. Everything in the office was a shade of gray from the walls of the room to the manager’s gray hair severely scraped back into an unattractive bun. The woman’s personality was not much better than her concept of office design.
I never even found out the woman’s name, there was no small talk or pleasantries, she simply handed me a stack of legal comcards and watched me closely while I signed every form in triplicate. After stamping my digital signature at all the indicated places, I paid the woman a “processing fee” and took a receipt that guaranteed me that all Bon-Dar operations would stop in the time it would take my ship to navigate through their work zones. I shook the woman’s pale, cold hand and left to meet with the next representative.
Cale Harvey of McGuire Mining Company was a completely different specimen than the last representative I had visited. He insisted on spending hours talking about trivial things from politics and business to the status of his favorite sports teams.
The rest of the day was a whirlwind of going from office-to-office, each company manager with a different style and a different business pace. I managed to get almost all of the companies by the end of the day, with the largest two for the next day, which was about what I had planned. I found Sirvenski at his terminal, nibbling at leftovers from the lunch I had brought him hours ago. “So how’s it going?” I asked him.
He shrugged indifferently. “Still not much other than very basic information. I have a kind of skimpy history of Francesca Turgeon if you want to read it.”
I took a comcard from him, glancing over the contents. As Sirvenski had said, it was pretty short of details, just giving the woman’s birth date, place of birth, and some brief information on her schooling and career. Turgeon was originally from
The simple biography Sirvenski had given me did little to ease my mind. There was a lot that we didn’t know about this woman, a lot that could be hidden. I watched Sirvenski work for another three hours, then we went back to our rooms for the night. Sirvenski was making progress, by tomorrow he promised to get into government intelligence files to see if he could find out anything about Turgeon, the Jovian Research Station, or the station’s benefactor, but time was running out. I drowned my worries with a few Lexmafil, feeling the tension melt away until I was lost in the embrace of sleep.
The first half of the day went just as the previous. I met with the local manager for Hackett, Weinrich, and Perrault Company, an investment firm that owned a large chunk of the asteroid mining rights in the belt. The company did not actually own any mining equipment, rather it leased local contractors for its operations. Given the large amount of territory Hackett, Weinrich, and Perrault operated in the belt, there was quite a bit of haggling over how much the company would lose as my ship passed through.
Fred Hackett was in a similar situation as Jorgen Fischer on Mars, only Hackett had offended the wrong high-placed person in the company, who had since schemed to place Hackett as far out of the loop as possible. Like Jorgen Fischer, the posting had done little to dampen Fred Hackett’s entrepreneurial spirit. Hackett seemed to sense that I was over a barrel, so he did what he could to milk as much money out of me as possible.
The negotiations went as high as three hundred thousand until I finally threatened to walk out and take the issue up with Hackett’s friends back on Earth. After that, the price of passage sank to a manageable seventy-five thousand unibucks. I paid Hackett, finished signing forms, and took leave of him, savoring the defeated look on his face as I left much richer than he would have liked.
I checked back with Sirvenski before my next appointment. He was working on the government files, but it was slow work to cut through the encryption, security systems, and so forth, especially as far away as he was. I left my relay on so that he could contact me when and if he ever got access to any important information. Meanwhile, I had one last appointment to keep, with Mr. Toby Hershbek of Jumars Mineral Development Corporation.
It was clear from Hershbek’s office that his firm was the number one player in asteroid mining between Mars and Jupiter. His desk was real oak, his chairs were real leather, his paintings on the walls were originals, even the man himself was wearing a real designer suit that must have cost five thousand unibucks and a gold watch that must have been another ten thousand. He looked like a lot of my bosses back at Kovalchuk, Spezza, and Weiss, which made me wonder what he was doing out here. That soon became evident when he introduced himself as the CEO, not just some regional manager.
“Thank-you for coming, Mr. Gallowes. I’m sure by now you’ve met with the various other firms that do business here, I hope you had fun with their bureaucratic red tape,” Hershbek’s face broke into a wide grin, which I knew was forced, to put me more at ease. “The difference between my company and the others is that Jumars Mineral Development is the only company based entirely within the belt itself. We’re not just some prospecting operation that plans to get what we can and run. We’re in this for the long haul, besides mining, we also have several other ventures planned to make the belt a hub for commerce with the inevitable expansion of colonization to the far reaches of the Solar System and beyond.”
It was a standard sales pitch and I started to wonder where it was going, but as Hershbek wound down I began to understand. With so many “ventures” going on, he’d want much more to pass through his turf. Like any good businessman, behind the designer suits and platitudes was a wolf looking to devour a few sheep. As I suspected, Hershbek let his message sink in, then hit me with the punch line. “Of course you have to understand, that with so much of an investment in this belt, we lose quite a bit of productivity when we have to stop operations to let a ship through.”
“How much of a loss of productivity are we talking about?” I asked, a phony smile on my face as well. I’d played this game before, but Hershbek was going to be a tougher customer than most.
“Well, Mr. Gallowes, I’m sure that you’re on a tight budget, so I’m willing to make you a deal. Fifty thousand, plus I have a cargo that needs to be delivered.”
Fifty thousand was a good price, but what kind of cargo was he talking about? It could only be something illegal. “That sounds reasonable, but first I would have to inspect this cargo to see if my ship has room.”
“Of course, Mr. Gallowes. Follow me.” Hershbek stood, walking briskly from behind his desk and down the hall to a warehouse. I followed a step behind, into a dark corner where a single long crate lay on a pallet. Hershbek looked to make sure that no one was around, then explained what the cargo was while he opened the crate. “We found this in one of the mining tunnels about a week ago, but a supply ship isn’t due for another two weeks, so I thought you could take this off my hands now.”
The crate came open with a hiss to reveal a frozen storage container. From the size of it I knew what it was and some part of me wanted to throw up. There was a human body inside, yet Hershbek continued to talk as though it were a broken piece of equipment. “This isn’t one of our workers, and bringing this to the attention of the police would bring unwelcome attention onto the company. So a more discreet method of disposal is in order.”
I couldn’t find the words to reply, so I simply wiped the frost off of the window on the top of the container to see who was inside. Once the frost had cleared I recoiled in shock and horror, my legs turning to rubber beneath me. Hershbek reached out to steady me with an arm, but I could no longer control my urge to vomit. I somehow avoided throwing up on Hershbek’s expensive suit, although I did get some on his shoes, not that it mattered at that point anyway. For lying in the container, the coffin as it were, was the still face of Francesca Turgeon.
The body was hardly recognizable, it was so bloody and bruised, but I could tell from her face that she was indeed Turgeon. However she had died, it was not an accident, her hands had been chopped off, her eyes taken from her head, her scalp brutally slashed off, and there were long gashes all over her body. Someone had not only killed Turgeon, they had butchered her.
My stomach finally stabilized a little, the terror in my brain receding enough to think rationally for a moment. I snatched the relay from my belt, shouting into it, “James, James, do you hear me?” There was only static in reply, horrible thoughts crossing my mind. I sprinted away from Hershbek and towards the terminal where I had left Sirvenski, praying that I was not too late.
As I ran, I thought of all the possibilities that I could, but I still could not answer the questions haunting me. Who had killed the real Francesca Turgeon? Who did they work for? What did they want? I could only hope that I found the imposter Turgeon and got some answers. I skidded to a halt at Sirvenski’s terminal, but he wasn’t there. The computer was still downloading information, the machine adorned with Sirvenski’s notes and food wrappers, but there was no sign of the boy. “Shit,” I cursed to myself. Why hadn’t I noticed something about her, something that would have told me Turgeon was not who she claimed to be?
It took a minute for the self-criminations to clear from my mind. I hadn’t noticed anything because this woman was a professional. She may have given Sirvenski and I the cold shoulder, but there was no evidence that she could not have been the
The obvious answer was the Poseyville. If Turgeon, or whoever she really was, knew that I had found out her secret, she would have to make herself scarce, and the Poseyville was the only ship around to do it. That meant that not only was Sirvenski in danger, but so was Palmer, although at least he would probably live until he had taken Turgeon to wherever she was going.
I quickly thought about what to do next. I could go to the station security force and hope that they were able to snag Turgeon without any incident. The problem was, besides that the security team would probably not care if Sirvenski was killed in the process of apprehending Turgeon, I didn’t want to call attention to the Poseyville or its mission. There was something very big going on, and if I wanted to know what it was, I couldn’t have my ship impounded for an investigation. Which meant that I had to stop her by myself. Checking the supply of ammunition in my stun pistol, I ran towards the Poseyville as fast as I dared.
It would take time for the ship to get clearance to launch, although if Turgeon was really desperate she could have the airlock disengaged in a couple of minutes and take off, but that was only if she thought I would go to the station authorities. If she gambled that I wouldn’t, then she would try to be more nonchalant about her exit, which would give me more time. I dashed across the station, knocking over quite a few people, but still I knew that I could be too late.
I finally reached the airlock after what seemed like an eternity, and to my relief saw that the Poseyville was still docked. The airlock was shut, but I had the necessary command codes to open the airlock and gain access to the ship. As the airlock door opened, a shot rang out, a bullet embedding itself into the bulkhead to my left. I flattened against the wall, my stun pistol suddenly feeling like a toy in comparison to the gun Turgeon had.
In the holopics I had seen as a kid, the heroic space captain always had some kind of laser gun to blast the bad guys with. Unfortunately, reality had yet to catch up with fantasy, there were still no laser pistols, even for heroic space captains. The traditional handgun had improved over the centuries, with bullets that went faster and caused more damage. There were several types of bullets, the most standard of which was the “slug”, a traditional bullet that focused damage in one location. There were also “fléchettes”, which released hundreds of tiny darts that caused more damage to the overall surface of the victim, although it might not be as bad as a single slug shot to one vital location. Other types of munitions existed, but I could tell from the damage to the bulkhead that Turgeon had used a slug, although most pistols could accommodate various types of ammunition simultaneously. At the very least, though, it gave me some kind of idea of the type of weapon she had, which I might be able to use to my advantage.
I heard footsteps pounding the deck away from me, back towards the cargo hold. Turgeon obviously didn’t want to risk charging my position, even though my cover wasn’t that good, instead she would go to the cargo hold where she would have a better position to fight from. I took a deep breath, then followed after her.
I stopped at the access door to the cargo bay, feeling my heart rising up into my throat. I had never been in combat, not even a bar fight or a playground scuffle to test my mettle with. Fischer had provided me with some self-defense courses, but they didn’t help much in this situation. Turgeon had Sirvenski and possibly Palmer hostage and I was completely alone with just one stun pistol that I had fired only twice. I took another deep breath, letting it out slowly and concentrating on Sirvenski, the boy who was counting on me to save him. I wished I had a bottle with me to take a shot of courage, but I finally forced all doubts aside and slapped the button to open the door.
I dashed inside, throwing myself behind a crate just as a shot went over my head. My heart continued to race, but I risked taking a peek over the crate. Turgeon was not cowering behind a cargo container, she stood boldly in the center of the room with Sirvenski in one arm and a large, nasty-looking pistol in her other hand. I could almost see the change in her face, the hard, cold mask of a professional killer.
“Come on, Gallowes, give up your gun or I’ll shoot the kid!” Her voice had subtly changed, becoming harsher and haughtier.
“If I give you my weapon you’ll shoot us both anyway!” I shouted back, trying to sound tougher than I felt. “But we both know that if you shoot James you won’t walk out of here a free woman!” I kept behind the crate, peeking just around the edge to take in my surroundings. There were containers all around, if I could use them for cover, I might be able to circle around behind Turgeon without her noticing. I could feel sweat dripping down my face and building up on my palms, but I steadied myself, hoping that maybe I could find stall her long enough to find a way to make my move.
“If I surrender I won’t be free either,” Turgeon replied, tightening the grip on her weapon.
“Look, I don’t know why you killed the real Francesca Turgeon and why you’re posing as her, but all I want is to go safely on my way to finish the mission I was paid to do. Let James go and you’re free to go.” I looked around the hold, but there was no way to maneuver around behind Turgeon without her seeing me, then it would be too late.
“No!” Sirvenski shouted. “You can’t let her go free!”
“Shut up!” Turgeon hissed.
“I had finally gotten into the U.N. Intelligence files when she came after me. Her real name is Lindsey Pettyjohn, she’s wanted in at least thirteen different countries for murder, sabotage, espionage, and other crimes. If we let her go, she’s just going to kill again.”
“So what do you want me to do, James? Shoot both of you?” I asked incredulously.
“Maybe that’s what it will take, but at least we’d be putting a dangerous woman away!”
There was another crate to my right about three meters away, I took a deep breath, then bolted across the gap, a shot whizzing over my head to bury itself in the wall behind me. “I won’t sacrifice you, James! Lindsey, if that’s your real name, I made you a promise and I’ll honor it. Let James go and you can go free.”
Pettyjohn did about the last thing I would have hoped for, she laughed derisively, tightening her grip on Sirvenski. “You’re a fool, Gallowes, you can’t kill anyone, you aren’t the type. You’re just a naïve fool, like Francesca Turgeon.” Pettyjohn shifted her weight, steadying Sirvenski against her body. “She was so trusting that she never suspected anything until it was too late. It was too bad that there wasn’t enough time for a proper, thorough interrogation, but I enjoyed her screams as I beat the information out of her. For hours and hours she begged for me to kill her, begged for the pain to stop, until I had finally taken every scrap of knowledge, every dirty little secret from her. Maybe you’d like to know how she died? I started with the scalp, slowly peeling the skin off until I was down right to the bone. Then I took her hands, one at a time, letting the blood flow into a container so I could use it later. Finally, just before she died, I took out her eyes, so that my face was the last thing she would ever see. Then I dumped that pretty little girl’s body in a mining shaft, it’s a pity that I couldn’t find a place where I could incinerate the body, I would have enjoyed watching her burn.”
As Pettyjohn spoke, she slowly maneuvered towards me, hoping that her words would keep me distracted long enough to get a clear shot at me. I wanted to charge forward and beat the daylights out of her then and there, but I tried to stay focused on saving Sirvenski. “It’s not going to work, Lindsey, just let James go and this will all be over!”
I craned my neck around the edge of the container to gauge her reaction. She smiled, one hand running through her red hair seductively while the other held the gun on Sirvenski. “Do you like the hair, little boy,” she cooed at Sirvenski. “I had never thought that doctors on Mars could be so competent, but I guess for the right price, they can do a good job, so good that I might keep it after this is over.”
“You sick pervert!” Sirvenski shouted, trying to free himself, but the hand Pettyjohn had been using to play with her hair moved with an almost impossible quickness to pin Sirvenski to her own body. In the brief confusion I wasn’t able to get a shot, but I did launch myself across another gap to hide behind a different container.
“It’s not going to do you any good, Gallowes. I’m a professional, I’ve killed hundreds of people, many of them much better trained and equipped than you. I promise you that if you surrender, I’ll make sure that you die quickly.”
“You can’t show up at the
“I’m sure I can make up an excuse for your tragic demise,” Pettyjohn replied, though not as confidently as before.
“I don’t think so. You need us, both of us.” I stopped, noticing a shadow move behind Pettyjohn and Sirvenski. I had a good idea who it was, and what I had to do now. I casually stepped out from the cover of the container, my weapon aimed squarely at Pettyjohn. “You need us, at least until you get what you want from the
I started to move towards Pettyjohn, watching her tighten her finger on the trigger of her pistol. Just a couple more seconds, I thought to myself. “I don’t need either of you!” She shouted just as the sound of a pistol firing echoed through the cargo hold. I dove behind a crate, the pistol barking twice more, my head popping up just in time to see Sirvenski throw Pettyjohn’s limp form to the deck, her back torn to ribbons by three fléchette bullets. Palmer materialized from the shadows, a big military-issue pistol in his hand. “Brian, what the hell are you doing here?” I asked.
“I was running a check on the cargo when I heard a shot and someone coming this way. I took cover, but I didn’t have a clear shot until you came and focused all of her attention on you so I could get a better angle,” Palmer replied coolly, but his arrogant tone seemed forced and hollow.
“Well I’m glad you were here,” I replied thankfully. “Are you all right, James?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sirvenski mumbled, looking down at Pettyjohn’s corpse.
“Why don’t you go and clean up, Brian and I can take care of this,” I told Sirvenski, patting him on the back. He nodded numbly and walked away, leaving Palmer and I to find somewhere to store Pettyjohn’s body until we got back to Earth.
After the body was set into a storage crate and the blood was cleaned up, I squared things away with Hershbek, taking on Turgeon’s corpse and paying him fifty thousand unibucks for permission to cross through his company’s territory. I made sure not to mention Pettyjohn’s death or discuss why I had left in such a hurry earlier, but Hershbek did not try to press me for information anyway, some things were better off not knowing about.
Before the Poseyville took off, I used the Net to check news around the Solar System to see if our mysterious trillionaire might have tipped his or her hand at all. I couldn’t see anything to implicate their identity, but I did see an article that confirmed just how deep of trouble my crew and I were in. The article, first printed in the New Freeland News, revealed that the day after my ship had left the customs station, an explosive device planted on his car had killed Jorgen Fischer. The New Freeland authorities had no idea who was behind it or why, but I knew that it had to be Pettyjohn. I couldn’t be sure just how much Fischer had known, but obviously Pettyjohn was being thorough in covering her tracks. It made we wonder just what was so important on the Yellowknife that it was worth killing for, but with a tired sigh I knew that I would soon find out.
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