“Good,” Tychus said grimly. “When the hell is Jim getting here?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Kydd replied. “And what about the rest of the squad?”
“I can see Harnack signing on to just about anything,” Zander replied, “and Ward will agree so long as he gets to kill some Kel-Morians.”
“All right, Zander, you be in charge of rounding everyone up. Once Jim arrives we’ll bang out a plan,” Tychus said. “It’ll be fekkin’ beautiful. Vanderspool won’t know what hit him, and your pop’ll be cryin’ into his soup while we make off with his blood money.” He looked back at Doc, who was propped against the headboard with her knees drawn up, her eyes focused on nothing in particular. He turned toward Zander and Kydd. “Now if you’ll excuse us, gentlemen, please get the hell out of my room.”
THE CITY OF DARBY, ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II
It was approximately 0900, and a misty rain was falling, as Doc slipped out of the hotel and into a hovercab. She took a hit of crab to steady her nerves.
The Mondoro Hotel was located at the very top of the terraced hill, where its guests could enjoy sweeping views of the lake below. So it took a while for the cab to make its way to the top, where it settled in under a formal portico, and a uniformed doorman hurried out to greet Cassidy.
A couple of dozen steps took her through a pair of sliding glass doors and into a sumptuous lobby. It was decorated with Talvarian marble and beautifully upholstered furniture, all of which was positioned around a fountain and tiled pool.
House fones were positioned here and there, so Doc chose one next to a comfortable chair, and put the receiver to her ear. Once the operator responded, she asked to be connected with Colonel Vanderspool’s room, and the fone started to ring a few seconds later. Her heart was pounding. It took the officer a long time to answer, and when he finally did, he sounded groggy. “Yes?”
“This is Petty Officer Third Class Cassidy,” Doc said. “I’m down in the lobby.”
A moment of silence passed before Vanderspool spoke again. He was clearly angry. “How the hell did you find me?”
“It wasn’t hard,” Cassidy answered honestly. “I went to the reception desk where I’m staying and asked the clerk for the name of the most expensive hotel in Darby.”
Vanderspool swore. “Okay, damn it … what do you want? If you’re out of crab that’s too bad. Maybe you can steal some money from Findlay.”
“No,” Doc replied levelly, “I’m not out of crab. And I don’t plan to be out of crab ever again. I have some very valuable information, and I expect to be paid for it.”
“Oh, really?” Vanderspool responded sarcastically. “What? You found out where Findlay keeps his cigars?”
“I know who you met with last night,” Doc replied, suddenly breathless. “And I know what you plan to steal—and how you intend to do it.”
There was a long pause before Vanderspool spoke. There was no sign of grogginess now. “I’m in room 804. Come on up.” There was a loud click as the connection was broken.
Doc smiled thinly as she stood, paused to examine herself in a full-length mirror, and straightened her clothes. Then, having shakily applied some lip-gloss, she made her way toward the elevators. Her knees felt weak, but she managed a steady stride.
As she walked, the image she’d been trying to avoid crept into her thoughts. Tychus—dead, disfigured, or worse, resocialized. As she entered the elevator, she shook the image out of her head and took another generous hit of crab. She felt for Tychus, in a primitive, selfish way—it felt good to be close to him at the end of the day. It made her feel less lonely.
But she knew Tychus would eventually dump her for someone else; they always did, and he, more than anyone, wasn’t the kind of guy who would stick around. She had to think of herself this time, and she wanted to be on the winning team. Vanderspool had the military apparatus to secure a victory, and could pay her enough to keep a solid stash of crab for a long time to come.
But the rest of the guys … they were her comrades, and it pained her to think that she was sealing their fate. So she closed her eyes as the drug flooded her brain, and felt thankful that she didn’t have to think at all.
SOMEWHERE OVER KEL-MORIAN–HELD TERRITORY, ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II
The dropship made a droning sound and threw a dark shadow down to caress the land below as it entered Kel-Morian-controlled airspace. It had been three days since Raynor was released from the stockade and had gone down to meet his friends in Darby. The news that Vanderspool planned to use Heaven’s Devils to steal a load of ardeon crystals and resocialize them should have come as a tremendous shock. But after everything he’d been through, and in light of Vanderspool’s efforts to have remote-controlled lockup switches installed in the unit’s suits, Raynor was anything but surprised.
Nor had he offered any objections to the plan that Tychus put forward. Because with the exception of a scattering of officers like Sanchez, it was obvious that the entire command structure was made up of thieves who were working for thieves. And that was true of both sides of the conflict. So if there was a chance to steal from the thieves—then Raynor was happy to take part. And leave the military behind in the process.
All of the dropships were painted to look like Kel-Morian transports, and equipped with transponders and codes supplied by Vanderspool’s Kel-Morian friend. Raynor knew he should be worried, because Tychus claimed the scheme was foolproof, and the other man was better known for impulsive reactions than carefully thought out plans. But Raynor had to admit that the scenario was pretty straightforward, and simple plans usually worked best.
Having used Tychus’s connections to set up a sale of the ardeon crystals, all the Devils had to do was intervene at the right moment and load their ill-gotten loot onto one of the dropships. Then, rather than fly back to Confederate-held territory, they would put down in Free Port, a loosely governed city that sat astride the divide between Confederate and Kel-Morian territory. That was where the final transaction would take place.
Once in Free Port, and flush with money, it would be possible to take on new identities and book passage off planet. Not on a liner, since they didn’t serve Turaxis II anymore, but on a freighter. According to Tychus there were always captains willing to make some extra money carrying passengers the owners weren’t necessarily aware of.
Raynor’s thoughts were interrupted as Tychus came shuffling down the center aisle. The noncom was wearing what appeared to be Kel-Morian armor and a shit-eating grin that was visible through an open visor. “So, soldier,” he said in an attempt to imitate a gung-ho Quigby-type officer. “Are you ready to give your life for the Confederacy?”
“Yes, I am,” Raynor grated. “Right after I give yours.”
That got a laugh from those seated close enough to hear. “That’s the spirit!” Tychus said cheerfully. “Your parents would be proud.”
No they wouldn’t, Raynor thought, as the dropship droned on. They wouldn’t even recognize what their son has become.
The resocialized marines sat facing one another, eyes to the front, and backs to the bulkhead as the second dropship skimmed over the countryside below. Vanderspool sat just aft of the cockpit. It felt good to know that the marines would do whatever they were told without asking a single question. And if that meant they got killed, then so be it. Because they were criminals and sociopaths who had no place in decent society anyway.
As the pilot’s voice sounded in his helmet and the ship began to circle Korsy’s tiny starport, Vanderspool was under no illusions. He and his troops would have to fight in order to take control of both the city and the train station. Fortunately the town wasn’t that large and the opposition was going to consist of Kel-Morian guards who were paid to keep the local workers in line. The inhabitants were citizens of the Confederacy mostly, who had been captured when the KMs took over, and forced to work in factories and food processing plants.