Profiteer

As he flew over the residential outskirts of Godwin— walked suburban enclaves patrolled by private security armies—the eastern sky beyond the mountains began to lighten. The slight ruddy glow that lit the mountains from behind made him think of what they must have looked like when they were sharp-edged and volcanically active.

 

A northern turn took him abruptly into a forest of warehouses.

 

He landed just as the mountains’ shadow passed him, slicing its way east, abandoning the dull black cubes of the warehouse district to the red dawn light.

 

The warehouse he was renting from Bleek Munitions was typical of its kind—blocky, windowless, over-engineered, and about as subtle as a slap in the face. Unlike GA&A, Bleek wasn’t in a centralized location, so it needed way stations like this at various points in its logistical set up. This place was supposed to be a stop for munitions orders going off-planet via Proudhon, which was why it sat on top of the hypothetical commuter tube. Since the tube was never finished, this warehouse was fairly useless. It was badly placed and spent most of its time empty.

 

Ail reasons that Dom chose it to base his operation.

 

Our operation, he told himself, thinking of Tetsami.

 

The past two days had been the only point during the last dozen when he’d been without Tetsami’s company. There was a numbing realization that in ten days he’d gotten used to Tetsami, perhaps even needed her. It gave Dom a vague feeling of unease. He didn’t want to think of himself as using a colleague as an emotional crutch.

 

It was unprofessional.

 

And emotional involvement in his kind of work was dangerous, possibly crippling.

 

He had to shift mental gears.

 

Our operation.

 

This thing he and Tetsami had started, it was different from GA&A. There were different expectations. Tetsami had pointed out something. These people were not his employees. They were his partners. Whatever he did, Tetsami was part of it just as much as he was, and everyone involved would have a piece.

 

He pushed open one of the gull-wing doors and stepped out on to the roofside landing area.

 

An elevator mounted at the edge of the roof slid open, and two people stepped out. It was Sergeant Zanzibar and a giant white-haired gentleman who looked vaguely familiar.

 

Ivor Jorgenson, Dom remembered from his research. Where have I seen you before?

 

They were both armed with Macmillan-Schmitt wide-aperture plasma rifles. The things were close-combat jobs, scaled-down versions of a vehicle plasma-jet. Confed infantry liked them, even though they sucked power a few magnitudes beyond a similar-sized laser. Unlike a laser, one shot from a plasma rifle could probably clean this roof.

 

The marines nicknamed it “pocket sunshine.”

 

When Zanzibar and her escort saw who he was, they lowered their weapons. Zanzibar walked up to him, and the white-haired man hung back by the elevator. “Welcome back to Godwin, Mr. Magnus. Did you run into any trouble on your way here?”

 

Dom shook his head. “No.”

 

“Security here’s been a nightmare. We’ve been ambushed twice by Confed marines. The last was an attempt on Mosasa and Random Walk when they came into Godwin.”

 

“Mosasa was never a GA&A employee.” Dom didn’t like that.

 

Zanzibar nodded. “Some details of this op seemed to have leaked back to Colonel Dacham.”

 

“Damnation and taxes!” Dom slammed his fist against the shell of his contragrav and only barely noticed Zanzibar’s shocked expression.

 

“I’ve done what containment I can,” Zanzibar said. “Everyone’s locked down here in the warehouse. No communication is going out. I was worried about the commune—”

 

Dom shook his head. “Don’t. The commune is all right.”

 

“If Dacham IDs the commune and where it is—”

 

“Damn it, Zanzibar! What do you think I’ve been doing the last two days?”

 

“Sorry, sir.”

 

Dom took a deep breath. “No. I’m sorry. It’s been a rough few days.” He surprised himself by putting his hand on Zanzibar’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about that. It’s been taken care of. Your job’s here.”

 

“It’s only a matter of time before somebody traces this warehouse.”

 

“All we need is a few days. Is everyone here?”

 

Zanzibar nodded. “Mosasa and Random arrived yesterday.”

 

“Is he all right?”

 

“Yes.” Zanzibar sounded odd. “They tried to take us—me and Ivor were escort—by surprise. They got me and Ivor stunned, but apparently they missed Mosasa entirely.” Zanzibar sounded suspicious.

 

“What happened?”

 

“Apparently Mosasa crisped three marines while we were out.”

 

“He wasn’t hurt?”

 

“Not a scratch.”

 

“I don’t like that.”

 

“Neither do I.”

 

“Any idea where the leak came from?”

 

Zanzibar shook her head and looked irritated. “No. I’d put my money on Shane. If there were any way she could have known who Mosasa was and how he was coming in.”

 

“It could have been Mosasa.”

 

“I know. A stunner miss seems too damn convenient. But the marines were crisped. Seems costly for a cover job.”