Starfishers Volume 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