The Truth of Valor (8 page)

Cho figured hacking the Navy took balls the size of small moons and only doing it once took more brains than were usually evident in the Human species as a whole.

William Ponner—Big Bill to his friends and everyone who used the station was either his friend or about to become a statistic supporting the dangers of living in space—had used balls and brains to create his own personal fiefdom. If a captain had cargo to sell, it could be sold at Vrijheid, no questions asked, fifteen percent to Big Bill. If a captain wanted to outfit his ship so that picking up new cargoes became a little easier, he could do that at Vrijheid. Fifteen percent to Big Bill. If a crew wanted to spend their share of the money, they could do that, too. Sex, drugs, alcohol, high tech, low tech, and useless pretties that sparkled and shone. Fifteen percent to Big Bill. If a person with skills wanted to sell them to the highest bidder, no questions asked, they could sell those skills at Vrijheid. Fifteen percent to Big Bill.

He’d created a sanctuary for those who were tired of a Confederation designed to support the belief that the Elder Races’ shit didn’t stink. Humans, Krai, and di’Taykan almost exclusively—the so-called Younger Races who were treated by the government like they were too stupid or too unstable to be anything but cannon fodder—although every now and then, another race found a niche and filled it.

Cho gave the Ciptran standing by the entrance to the bar as much room as possible—the big bug made his skin crawl. Once inside, he crossed to join Nat and Doc at a table against the far wall. Although all races drank in the
Sleepless Goat
, the staff was predominantly Human, albeit Humans the universe had chewed up and spat out. No one ended up slinging drinks in a place like the
Goat
if they had options. Every server in the place showed the signs of one or more addictions, but Cho preferred it to any of the other dozen or so bars on the station. When he wanted a drink, he wanted a drink. Period. Not a proposition. Not meat pies that might have once had a name.

“Tyra’s dead,” he grunted, dropping into a chair. “Crazy old woman took a walk in vacuum about six tendays ago.”

Doc drained his glass and held up three fingers to the server. “Her codes were so old, they probably wouldn’t have worked anyway.”

“We’ll never know now.”

Drinks arrived with a promptness that suggested the word had been passed on to new staff and the servers were keeping bloodshot eyes locked on Doc. No one wanted to be the one to tip him over. Not if the stories were true.

Most of them were.

“We need to take another fukking salvage operator alive,” Nat growled, fingers curled and heading for her scalp. She scowled at Doc as he wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand back down to the table. “What?”

“It won’t heal if you keep scratching it.”

“It itches!”

They did need to take another salvage operator alive. Nat’s declaration had been stupidly obvious but accurate for all of that. Cho took a long drink of his beer, then sat staring into the foam. Trouble was, most CSOs ditched their pens and ran the moment they figured out what they were facing, and oblivious idiots like Rogelio Page were few and far between. Not likely they’d get that lucky again.

“Cap.”

Cho lifted his head slowly, acknowledging Nat’s warning but not reacting to it. Half of the bar’s clientele could literally smell fear, and all of them would take advantage of it.

Big Bill and the Grr brothers were heading toward the back of the bar. Once his destination became obvious, the noise level rose as the other patrons played
nothing to do with me.

“Mackenzie Cho, as I live and breathe.” Big Bill smiled widely, showing a lot of teeth. Given that his closest associates were Krai, teeth weren’t exactly reassuring. He pulled the fourth chair out from the table, and sat, not caring that his back was to the room. Given that the Grr brothers were at his back, that wasn’t even a little surprising.

Grr was not their actual name. Nor were they necessarily brothers. Both the Krai and di’Taykan in Cho’s crew agreed they were male—the subtle differences in scalp mottling that made up Krai secondary sexual characteristics confused the hell out of Humans. More importantly, they were two of the nastiest sons of bitches in known space. Cho had once seen them eat a man’s feet, totally ignoring the screaming.

That they barely came up to Big Bill’s shoulders when he was sitting down didn’t matter in the slightest. Even Huirre, who’d eaten a body part or two in his day, gave them a wide berth.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” A beer and a shot appeared in front of Big Bill almost before he sat down. He smiled up at the server, tossed the shot back, set the glass back down on the table with an audible click, and smiled again. “We need to talk, Cho. People you’re selling to are talking about how you’re holding back, and today I find out that you’ve been asking after Tyra, bless her withered heart. What did you find out there between the stars?”

And why are you trying to keep it from me?

People who tried to keep things—or at least fifteen percent of things—from Big Bill on Vrijheid didn’t live long.

The Grr brothers smiled.

Nat dug at her scalp again, and Doc tapped the edge of one thumb against the table. Cho felt a drop of sweat run down his back. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he hadn’t kept anything from anyone. Things were being kept from him. “I can’t talk about it here.”

Let this lot of degenerates find out he had a Marine armory on board, and the fukking losers would be fighting over who got to try for it first.

Big Bill made a noncommittal noise that still managed to sound like a threat.

Dragging his tongue over dry lips, Cho added, “Let me show it to you.”

Big Bill maneuvered the eye deftly around the armory in absolute silence, fingers ghosting over the surface of his slate. When he reached the CSO seal, he snorted. “Given what you told me of your captive’s unfortunate death, I see why you were looking for Tyra. Not the sort of lock you can plug your slate into and have it run down the combination; salvage operators write in some bugfuk crazy layers. That said, you do realize Tyra’s codes would have been too old to open this?”

“Her codes would have been a starting point for hacking the lock.”

“Tricky.” Big Bill nodded slowly. “But possible if you have someone sufficiently skilled.”

“I have someone.” Depending, of course, Cho qualified silently, on how much his
thytrins
had exaggerated young Nadayki’s talents.

“Good.” With the eye at full magnification, Big Bill examined every millimeter of the lock, then—after snapping his slate back onto his belt—turned and swept a critical gaze over Cho and his two companions. “If you actually manage to get that open, do you know what you have?”

“A cargo we can sell for one fuck of a lot of money,” Nat told him.

“No.”

“No?” she repeated, eyes wide.

“What you have,” Big Bill said quietly before she could continue her protest, “is a means to an end. With those weapons in the hands of free merchants ...”

Doc turned a snicker into a cough.

Big Bill ignored him. “. . . you,
we
could take what we wanted.”

“We take what we want now,” Nat pointed out, wiping bloody fingertips on her overalls.

“No.” Cho answered before Big Bill could. “We take what we can. There’s a difference.”

The big man nodded again. “That’s what I like about you, Mackenzie Cho. You see the whole picture. The information about how the little gray aliens played puppet master across known space and beyond has the Confederation teetering on the edge,” he continued. “We apply pressure at the right point and we can keep everything we can take.” Reaching back, he pressed one hand against the cargo bay hatch. “With what’s in here, we can take enough to make a difference.”

“The Navy will try and stop us,” Doc said slowly. Folding his arms over his chest, he frowned and added, “Advantage always goes to the side that doesn’t play by the rules.”

It was like both halves of his personality had made their own point.

“With this ...” Big Bill smacked his palm against the hatch, the sudden impact loud enough Nat jumped and swore. “. . . we can make our own rules. Now then . . .” His smile was genial as he leaned back and folded his arms, smile broadening when Doc scowled and unfolded his. “. . . let’s go over our options. I could purchase this from you, as is. You’d make less than you would if you sold the contents piece by piece, but opening the armory would be my concern. You would, of course, no longer have first choice of the weapons for your own personal use, nor would you be at the forefront of the revolution.”

Cho could feel Doc and Nat staring at the back of his head. “No deal.” This was his chance. The way Vrijheid had been William Ponner’s

“I thought that would be your answer.” He nodded his approval. “The second option involves you returning with a new and preferably less broken CSO and, once you have the codes, I do the hack myself.”

And Cho remembered how Big Bill had acquired the station.

“There’s two reasons I don’t like that plan,” Big Bill continued. “First, the Corps objects to outsiders getting their hands on their toys, and they make that objection with extreme prejudice.”

“I thought it’d just blow up,” Nat muttered.

“Exactly.” Big Bill beamed at her. “And I do not risk blowing myself up for anything less than one hundred percent of the profits. Second, I can’t be associated with something that might not work. Bad for business. Option three begins the same way as option two, but you hook up to the old ore docks—there’s an old explosives storage pod there that should protect the station should things go wrong. Once that lock is off, I get fifteen percent of the contents for the use of my secure space, and you can sell whatever you don’t personally want after you and I discuss distribution.”

“You and I?” Cho asked, his voice level even as he fought the urge to sneer. “You’ll get your fifteen percent off the top, sure.” He didn’t want the
Heart
blown to shit any more than Big Bill wanted his station damaged. “But I have a Marine armory full of weapons. Why will I need your to help get rid of them?”

One of the Grr brothers growled.

Big Bill, however, seemed pleased to have been asked. “Weapons change everything. I know where they should go to both get you top price and have the most advantageous effect. But, more importantly, before it even comes to that, you’re going to want my help because I can see that you capture a working salvage operator.”

“How?”

“Captain Firrg has a small outstanding debt she’ll be happy to clear.”

Two ships would make it a lot easier, turning the nearly impossible to even odds. Cho nodded. “She follows my orders.” Mackenzie Cho, Captain of the
Heart of Stone
, took orders from no one.

“Of course. I’ll set up the meeting. Say, 1600 at the
Golden Griose
?”

Cho glanced over at Nat, who shrugged. “Schedule’s clear, Cap.”

“Good. We’ve got some lovely potential for change building here, Captain Cho.” Big Bill’s expression suggested he was moments away from rubbing his hands together. “Get me some
actual
and we’ll talk again. Try to grab a Human,” he threw back over his shoulder, heading for the air lock. “I’ve always felt we have the strongest, not to mention least ethical attachment to self-preservation.”

Falling into step behind him, the Grr brothers laughed.

Cho took Huirre with him to the meeting at the
Griose
. Firrg’s crew was completely Krai, and he had no idea how good her Federate was. Good enough to function, definitely, but he wanted no confusion on either side.

“I hear she’s out here because of lost love,” Huirre said as they made their way across the Hub to the
Griose
. “The one she wanted, wanted another, and it blackened her heart.” He ducked a shoe thrown out of the pushing match over by the falafel cart, paused, and frowned. “Or that might’ve been on a vid I picked up at Cully’s when I was in for those gloves.”

“Keep up,” Cho growled. “And I don’t give a H’san’s ass why she’s out here,” he added as Huirre fell back in beside him. “She follows my orders, no questions asked. And she doesn’t fukking need to know what we’re carrying, understood?”

“Aye, Captain. But if she asks?”

“I do the talking.”

“Aye, aye Capt . . .
gunin yer chrick
!”

Edible was the highest compliment in the Krai language. As far as Cho could see, Captain Firrg didn’t look significantly different from Huirre—a bit bigger maybe, about a meter high, greenish-gray mottled scalp, lightly bristled, three sets of paired nose ridges—currently expanded as though she were smelling something nasty as they made their way toward her.

“I don’t like this,” she growled before Cho could actually sit. “And when I say this, I mean Humans. Don’t like them, never have. Only reason I’m in on this is because Big Bill says you’re taking down a Human.”

“And because you’re into him for a new set of air scrubbers,” Cho reminded her, sitting down. Anything could be bought on Vrijheid, including information. Firrg’s Federate was better than he’d expected—fluent and without so much as an accent. He could have brought Nat instead of Huirre, who sat staring at the other captain with hunger. With the Krai, hunger covered a number of options.

“
Serley
son of a bitch wants his pound of flesh,” Firrg snarled. Smart people didn’t assume they could tell what another species was thinking but the hatred in her eyes was unmistakable. Cho wondered if Big Bill knew. Or cared if he did. “I have no choice,” she continued, “the
Dargonar
is by your side . . .”

“And under my command.”

“And under your
serley
command,” she agreed through clenched teeth, shifting a little of that hatred toward him. “But that’s it. Everything goes through me. I don’t want your kind having any contact with my crew, and I don’t want any part in what you and Big Bill are up to.”