8
Renfred Tor was a native of Atreus, but it had been many long, standard years since he'd seen the capital of Marik's Free World League. At fourteen, he'd shipped out as cargo handler on a Tristar Lines freighter. By the time he was 20, he had worked his way up through sundry crews to deck officer. Then, he and his four brothers bought equal shares in an aging rustbucket freighter that they'd named the Invidiousby the end of an evening of drunken celebration.
The celebration turned out to be premature. A scheme to transport laser rifles and man-portable inferno launchers to an embattled revolutionary front had ended with the revolution crushed, his partners imprisoned or broke, and himself and an unhapppy fifteen-man crew plotting a jump route series into the Lyran Commonwealth. Their flight had ended in the Commonwealth's Periphery, and Tor had been buying, borrowing, or scamming spare parts and new crewmembers to keep the Invidiousgoing ever since. Five years of short-term contracts and one-way cargo hauls had brought him at last to Drovahchein II in the heart of the Erit Cluster.
There, the Invidiousfaced the end of her career. She needed a complete refit before she'd jump out-system again, and her station keeping drive was threatening to fail at any moment. With no money, no contracts, his crew threatening to scatter if they were not soon paid, and no hope of repairing the faltering hauler on his own, Tor was forced to contemplate an early retirement on Drovahchein II. Not that the trading capital of the Erit Cluster was uninteresting, but future opportunities for a freighter jump pilot with a ship were slim, the open billets on outbound ships few.
That was when he'd met Proctor Sinvalie of House Mailai.
Mailai was more the ruler of the Cluster than the distant court of Katrina Steiner on Tharkad. The Cluster was a tiny island of relative prosperity and technology in a rising sea of barbarism. Proctor Sinvalie was one of the principal House traders who oversaw the fragile web of commerce that bound the Eritese systems to the Commonwealth and to systems out in the Periphery, to worlds like Trellwan, and beyond.
Sinvalie had called on Tor shortly after he'd grounded the Invidious'DropShip at Gharisport, on Drovahchein II's minor southern continent. The offer he'd made Tor seemed the answer to all the freighter captain's problems. Gharisport's Mailai Tech crew would give the Invidiousthe refit she needed, Tor's crew would be signed on for a six-standard-month hitch and receive an advance to spend on Gharisport's nightlife, and Captain Tor would get the long-term contract he so desperately needed. All he had to do was shuttle small numbers of passengers back and forth between Oberon VI and a world beyond the Periphery, undistinguished save for its location. That world was Trell I — Trellwan, as its natives had named it.
"I should've known," Tor said as he led Grayson through the twists and odd angles of Sarghad's back alleys and side streets. "I should've known as soon as I found out old Hendrik the Great was involved."
"Known what?" Grayson asked.
"Known I wasn't going to get out with a whole skin. Old Sinvalie, he's a sharp character. He wasn't about to trust one of his precious ships and crews to the tender mercies of Hendrik's little bandit kingdom, so he hires an independent to take the risks — yours truly. They painted House Mailai's crest on the Invidious'DropShips, but it wasn't Mailai taking the risks!”
“What happened?"
"Hold it!" Tor hissed suddenly, pushing Grayson into the shadows as a platoon of Palace Guards trooped past. The two had come to a place where the alley opened onto one of the city's broad thoroughfares. A number of soldiers were about, standing at intersections or along the avenue, and they seemed to be searching the faces of the crowd. Tor motioned Grayson to sit back, then continued his story.
"Nothing much happened — at first. I shuttled in a Commonwealth representative named... uh..."
"Vogel."
"Yeah, Viscount Vogel. I shuttled him from Tharkad to Oberon, and then from Oberon here. I took his assistant from here to Oberon and back a couple of times. I gather they were setting up a deal that was going to turn Trellwan over to Hendrik's keeping, though the whole thing was supposed to be secret"
"Supposed to be," Grayson said, more to himself than Tor.
"Yeah, well, it didn't take long to leak out. The news was all over Sarghad last time I was here. You folks had riots in town?"
Grayson nodded, but kept his eyes on the street. This was all part and parcel of the betrayal that had killed his father. Someone was going to pay.
"So, anyway, there was supposed to be a last meeting, with Oberon's ministers coming to Trellwan for some kind of official treaty signing. But it didn't turn out the way they'd said." Tor kept his voice low, looking around warily as he spoke. More soldiers were passing on the street, trotting with their weapons at high port. There seemed to be a stir somewhere to the north.
"I came out of jumpspace at a planetless A2 star for a navfix, and found this big bloody JumpShip waiting for me, fighters deployed, weapons charged. Hell, I thought it was some bandit competitor of Hendrik's, but when they came aboard, they were wearing Hendrik's livery. But Hendrik's old boys aboard ship, they went out the airlock, no fuss, no ceremony. Just out they went. I don't mind telling you, I was scared."
"They killed them?"
"Right the first time. Anyway, they transferred a Lance of 'Mechs and I don't know how many men and armored vehicles across to the Invidious'hold. A tech crew came aboard and started drilling holes in the hull of one of the DropShips, mounting heavy weapons, beam turrets, missile batteries, that sort of thing. I hollered about it but the next thing I knew I had a bruised head and a bloody split lip, so I kept my mouth shut after that. I thought they were going to send me, swimming after Hendrik's people.
"When they were finished, that black monster furled sail and jumped, and the leader of the people they'd left aboard the Invidioustold us to be on our way. We came out at Trellwan and parked ourselves. They made me and three of my crewmen pilot the DropShip down. I made the entry to Trellwan with a gun at my head, and once we'd grounded, they put me in an afterhold for safe-keeping."
"And they let you go afterward?"
Tor grinned, and shook his head. "Not bloody likely, lad. I didn't know what was happening, but I did know that lot wasn't about to turn me loose. Not after I'd seen them mucking about swapping cargos at what should've been just a simple nav check and recharge stop."
"Why not?"
"Hey, that was a hell of a big operation. There were at least five 'Mechs working in space to transfer the four 'Mechs in the Lance and all the rest of the gear over to the Invidious.Funny thing about that, too.”
“What?"
"The ‘Mechs that were handling the transfer, they were high-class machines, know what I mean? New paint, clean parts. One of them was a Marauderpainted red and black, like one of those personalized mercenary jobs you run into sometimes on the Inner Worlds. That was the one conned by their leader. Big guy, but quiet, real professional. And deadly, you know? What they were loading aboard the Invidiouswas junk, old, patchwork 'Mechs that were more salvaged parts than anything else. There was a black and gray Marauderand one of those light 20-tonner Locusts.It looked to me like some sort of covert operation, something they wouldn't want outsiders knowing about. I figured I'd last just about until the shooting stopped, and then they were going to retire me permanently. Know what I mean?"