A Brother's Debt (3 page)

Carboni nodded. “Did our friend tell you anything about Mr Velkin, other than that he has arrived?” He had spent the past three weeks discovering everything he could about Andrei Velkin’s brother and hoped to add to the information he had gathered.

“Upon his arrival Stepanovich went straight from The Frontier Queen to admin, where he spoke to a Ri Charid and made arrangements for his brother’s body. A service is to be held at half past nine tomorrow morning, no ashes were requested. When he had finished with Charid he had a meeting with Bund Fret.”

“So he knows about his brother’s debt to the station. Do we know how he reacted to the news?”

Crezia shook her head. “No, Father, but he doesn’t appear to have cleared the debt.”

“Good, my sources indicated he doesn’t have the means to do so, that means he will be looking for a way to come up with the money. I’m sure he will have been told what will happen if he doesn’t clear the debt, so we will take advantage of their scare tactics by providing him with an opportunity to make the problem go away.

“Where is Mr Velkin now?”

“I don’t know,” Crezia admitted, not looking at her father. “I suspect he has either gone to the Gambler’s Luck, to see the ship his brother has left him, or he has gone to a bar. After hearing about the debt he has been stuck with, the chances are he is in need of a drink.”

“A reasonable assumption; what are you doing to find him?”

“Since he hasn’t repaid the debt he can’t leave the station, we know admin will prevent him leaving until the debt has been dealt with. I’ve sent Yon to keep watch on the ship in case he shows up there, and the others are checking the bars.

“I’ve told them to be discreet. Until you give the word we don’t want Velkin to have any idea we are looking for him.”

“When they find him, have them bring him to me.”

“Yes, Father.” Turning away from the desk Crezia left the office to forward his instructions.

Chapter Five

Step didn’t stop until he reached the bar. After hearing what lay in store for him if he didn’t pay off his brother’s debt, or agree to a deal which would pay it off, his first thought had been to get himself a drink, a large one, and upon leaving the administration offices he had made for the nearest bar. It turned out to be an unsavoury looking place by the name The Razor’s Edge.

“What can I get ya?”

A server appeared in front of Step before his eyes had made it all the way across the first shelf of available drinks. Abandoning his examination of the most extensive array of alcohol he had seen he settled for what he knew, not caring whether he received the house brand or one of the more expensive ones displayed. “Domon, double.”

“Four credits,” the server requested, his eyes on Step’s face, and a hint of recognition on his own as he reached behind him for a purple bottle. When the sum had been placed on the bar he poured two measures of the harsh, blood-red spirit into a glass.

Step took the glass and knocked the Domon back in one. The spirit burned its way down his throat, but he was used to it, and it was exactly what he needed just then. Sliding the glass back to the server he dropped another four credits on the bar. “Same again.” He downed the second double as quickly as the first. “Another. And a pitcher of Litebs. Is that enough?” He asked, taking out a twenty credit note and laying it on the bar.

The server nodded from a few feet away, where a steady stream of golden beer flowed from the Litebs tap into the pitcher he held below it. “I’ll get your change in a moment.”

“Keep it,” Step told him. Given the size of the debt his brother had left him with he saw little point in worrying about a credit or two.

“I’d almost think you were someone who used to be in here all the time, but for this,” the server picked up the note from the bar, “he never left me no tips, no matter how small. You Andrei’s brother?”

“You know Andrei? Knew, I mean.”

“I knew him, as well as anyone in here I suppose.” The original glass, again filled with Domon, was placed alongside the pitcher, and was joined by an empty glass for the Litebs. “If I were you I’d be careful. There’s a lot of people in here who didn’t like your brother. He owed most of them, blood or money.

“I wouldn’t let on you’re Andrei’s brother, though looking so much like him I doubt it’ll take ‘em long to figure it out.” With his advice given the server moved away to deal with another person in need of a drink, leaving the surprised scout pilot no opportunity to ask the reason for the warning.

Step drained the glass of Domon and left it on the bar while he took the pitcher and empty glass and went looking for an empty table. He spotted one and weaved his way between the solitary drinkers and tables of gamblers to reach it, being careful not to bump anyone. He’d been in enough rough bars with his fellow fighter pilots to know a fight was never far from breaking out, for the slightest of reasons, and just then he was in the mood for drinking, not fighting.

When he reached the table he settled heavily on the chair he pulled out and lifted the pitcher to fill the glass. In his haste to pour he spilt some of the beer, leaving a puddle, which he ignored. The glass full, he put the pitcher down and raised the glass, draining half the beer in one long pull.

He settled down after that to drink the Litebs at a slower pace, as he considered the problem his brother had left him with. A problem that was far more serious than he’d expected when he made the decision to answer Andrei’s call for help, a call he now wished he’d ignored.

Chapter Six

It wasn’t until he reached the bottom of the pitcher, and had downed another double of Domon, that Step decided he’d had enough. The booze wasn’t making him feel any better about the mess his brother had left him in, nor was it helping him to work out the best way to deal with it. Not that he had many options; Bund Fret had made that clear.

He set the glass down next to the pitcher and rose to his feet, aware that he was a little unsteady. He would have been surprised if he wasn’t unsteady on his feet after four doubles of Domon and a pitcher of Litebs all to himself. He’d been in worse shape before however, so he reached down for his duffel bag and made for the exit, walking with the exaggerated slowness of someone who knows they are drunk and doesn’t want to make a mistake because of it.

Despite his care, Step wasn’t able to make it out of the bar without bumping into a table and knocking over a chair. Fortunately the chair was unoccupied and no-one was sitting at the table, so his clumsiness didn’t cause a fight. Nonetheless he was relieved to finally get outside and away from a group of people who would have made even a Mulnoy marine drill instructor think carefully about what he said and did.

Once out of the bar Step stopped, not sure what he should do next. When he arrived on the station he had expected to be able to stay on board Andrei’s ship while he dealt with the aftermath of his death. That was no longer an option for him. Bund Fret had made it clear his brother’s ship, while technically his now, had been sealed by security, and would not be released until the debt had been resolved.

Since he couldn’t make use of his brother’s ship he needed to find somewhere else to stay, which meant spending money he couldn’t really afford. Before he did that he had a more pressing need, food. The last time he ate was on board The Frontier Queen, when he had the ship’s midday meal, and that had been three hours before docking. He still had no idea what time it was on board the station, so he didn’t know what meal was appropriate, but just then he didn’t care if he ate dinner when he should be having breakfast, as long as he filled his stomach with something.

He looked over his shoulder but quickly shook his head. He wasn’t sure if The Razor’s Edge served food, but he wasn’t hungry enough to risk food poisoning, which, from what he had seen of the place, was a distinct possibility, if it did. Moving away from the bar he made for the nearest information board.

He reached the board safely, though he did nearly knock a passer-by off his feet when he swung his duffle bag off his shoulder, and the first thing he did was check the station time.

His chronometer, which had been set to the time on board The Frontier Queen for the last week, proved to be out by only a little under an hour and a half. Step corrected that, feeling better knowing his body wasn’t that far out of sync with the station. With that done he queried the information board for places to get something to eat.

From the list displayed Step eliminated two places that were obviously out of his price range, and another three he suspected would be no better than eating in The Razor’s Edge. That left him with eleven choices, more than he really wanted to deal with at that time. None of the options leapt out at him as he scanned their menus so he made the decision in a time honoured fashion, he closed his eyes and picked at random, he then slid his guide card into the slot and had it programmed to direct him to his selection.

Before he headed to the restaurant Step detoured to the nearby facilities so he could relieve himself, a necessity after the amount of booze he’d consumed. Looking in the mirror above the sink as he washed his hands he saw his face was dirty as well, and he had spilt beer down his shipsuit at some point during his drinking session, there was a sizeable stain covering part of his waist and the top of his leg. He was relieved it wasn’t in a place where people might think he had pissed himself, though was still annoyed that he had made a mess of himself.

He was just sorting through the other outfits he had brought with him, looking for something to change into, not that he had much of a selection, when the door of the facilities slid open. Out of habit he looked up to see who had come in and found himself faced with two thugs.

Step had dealt with enough thugs, mostly while helping his brother with his troubles, to recognise a pair when confronted by them. They all tended to look alike, no matter their race, or the system they were found in. Every thug he had ever encountered was well over six feet tall and heavily muscled, usually with either visible scars or tattoos, and frequently both. They also suffered from a lack of intelligence, though they invariably made up for it with a stubborn loyalty to whoever was paying them.

The two in front of him were no different.

They were identical in height and build, with matching hard looks that spoke eloquently of the violence they took pleasure in dishing out. The similarities ended with their skin however. The one on the right had pale pink skin, while the one on the left had the slate grey skin of someone from Grejlon.

“Stepanovich Velkin?”

The moment he heard his name Step knew he was in trouble, and he was sure it was trouble of his brother’s making, like always. He hadn’t been on the station long enough to do anything that might have resulted in thugs being sent after him.

“Mr Carboni wants a word.” It was the thug on the right who spoke, clearly expecting the name Carboni to be known to the man before him. “Come with us.”

“No thanks. I don’t know who Mr Carboni is, but if he’s the sort to send the likes of you two to give an invitation, I don’t want to talk to him.” Step didn’t waste his breath asking how their boss knew who he was, or that he was on the station, he had no doubt that Mr Carboni, whoever he was, knew a great deal about him.

“He insists. Mr Carboni is not the sort of man to accept a refusal.”

“I’m sure he isn’t. I’m not stupid enough to go with a pair of thugs to meet a man I know nothing about though.” Step kept half an eye on the two men before him as he looked around for something he could use as a weapon.

At the bottom of his bag was his knife, ten inches of unbreakable carbonized steel, issued to every Mulnoy marine and scout. It was no good to him in his bag however, and he doubted he would be allowed the time to retrieve it.

“If Mr Carboni wants to speak to me, perhaps you should give me his contact number so I can give him a call.”

“Mr Carboni does not conduct business over unsecured coms; he prefers to deal with people face to face. You can come with us willingly, Mr Velkin.” he said in a voice whose roughness spoke of years of Fliquan abuse, “or unwillingly.”

The Grejlon had approached while his companion spoke and his hand suddenly shot towards Step. He slapped it away at the last moment and backed up to give himself space, automatically bringing to mind his self-defence training. It took him less than half a second to realise his situation was not a good one. Even if he had the advantage of training, which he suspected he did, the two thugs were bigger than him, had him trapped in a confined location, and were obviously no strangers to violence. It was also clear they were used to dealing with people who were reluctant to do as they were ordered.

While the Grejlon advanced again his partner remained by the door, making sure no-one could disturb them. More importantly, he also prevented Step leaving.

Watching the Grejlon, to see what he was going to do, Step waited until he was within arm’s reach. He had backed up until he was against the first of the cubicles but suddenly he sprang forward, catching the thug by surprise as he ducked beneath his outstretched hand. Turning on his heel once he was behind him, Step kicked the huge Grejlon in the back of the knee; he followed that up by throwing a punch into the man’s kidney.