Book 2 - Starfishers Read Free Page A

bloodily as the Starduster did.
    Even his motives were obscure. The narcotic he stole did not
always find its way back into trade channels. Greed had no obvious
hold on him.
    The yachtsmen rented a groundcar and vanished into Angel
City’s warehouse district. Gundaker Niven was a chunky man of
medium height. He had hard, dark eyes of the sort that intimidated
civilians. He had thick, heavy hands. He jabbed with forefingers
for emphasis whenever he spoke. A wide scar poured from his right
ear down over his cheekbone to the corner of his mouth.
    “Take it out with a kilo of D-14,” he growled,
punching a finger at a dilapidated warehouse. His words came out
slurred. The right side of his mouth did not move. “Burn them
and run.”
    His driver was a small man with Fu Manchu mustaches. He had the
same cold eyes. “But this ain’t no shatter run. All
that would do is show us how good they die.”
    “Working for Beckhart is getting a meter too tall for me,
Mouse. This underworld stuff isn’t my specialty. It’s
too rough. Too complicated. Suppose the real Starduster has people
here?”
    The smaller man laughed. “He does. You can count on
it.”
    “Oh, Christ!”
    “Hey! Working for the Old Man is an honor. When he asks
for you, it means you’ve made it. Didn’t you get sick
of that military attaché dodge?”
    “No. I was drafted into this.”
    “Come on! Engineering coups in the outbacks. How dull can
you get? There’s no rise to give it spice. When things go
broomstick you go hide in the embassy.”
    “You think it’s all champagne and ballroom
conspiracy? I got my spleen burned out on Shakedowns. Inside the
embassy.”
    “Still ain’t the same. Yeah. The Starduster has
people here. But by the time the word floats up and the shit comes
down we’ll be long gone.”
    “That’s what you told me on Gorki. And New Earth was
supposed to be a piece of cake.”
    This was their third mission teamed. Admiral Beckhart’s
specialized, secretive division of the Bureau of Naval Intelligence
had found that they complemented one another well.
    “So you should be used to it.”
    “Maybe. Gundaker Niven. What the hell kind of name is
that?”
    “You take what they give you. This ain’t the
diplomatic service. You’re in the big time now.”
    “You keep telling me. But they don’t job you. You
stay Mouse every go. They never crank you through the Medical mill.
They don’t have the Psychs scramble your brain.”
    “They don’t need to. I’m not the front man.
I’m just around to drag your ass out of the fire when it gets
hot.”
    “I don’t like the feel of this one, Mouse.
Something’s wrong. There’s going to be
trouble.”
    “Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly
upward.”
    “Holy shit! I’m looking for toilet paper and he
throws the Bible at me. It’s sour, Mouse.”
    “Because we got no backup? Hang tight, Doc. We don’t
need it. The Sangaree outfit here wouldn’t make a pimple on
the ass of a Family like the Norbon. They’ve only got five or
six people on the whole damned planet. They get the work done with
local talent.”
    “Stickers can burn you just as dead as any Homeworld
shooter. Beyond-the-resurrection. What’s out here,
anyway?”
    “Got to go with you there, Doc. Not a million people on
this rat hole. Three lousy domes, and enough swamp to supply the
rest of Confederation.”
    “It even stinks in here.”
    “It’s in your head. Going to circle the
block.”
    They idled on, learning the warehouse district’s tight,
twisty out-of-the-ways first hand. Street maps and eidetic
holo-memories had been given them, but only exploration made a
place real. Every city had its feel, its color, its smell, its
style. Psych’s familiarization tapes could not capture the
intangibles of reality.
    Knowledge and preparation were the corner- and keystones of
their trade.
    “I need a bath,” Niven complained. “I can
smell swamp muck on me.”
    “Let’s head back to the Marcos. My