SIX

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Chas Goodnight went ship hunting as soon as the schoolgirls had been relocated to a luxurious but defensible hotel, and a dozen armed security types had been laid on.

With him went Friedrich von Baldur. This was one of Freddie's favorite side benefits of being a mercenary—being able to shop for exotic toys with someone else's money.

He still recalled most fondly a brief interval when he'd had his own battleship, until one of Star Risk's accountants took a look at the wallowing warship's operating costs and rather sternly told him that he could either dump the barge or rapidly find a client with a good-sized fleet willing to let him play admiral.

Von Baldur couldn't, and so the battleship vanished into the mists of history.

At the third shipyard they got lucky, finding a recently built research vessel, intended, von Baldur thought, for small expeditions that'd cover its real use as a yacht that was quite operable by a crew of three.

It wouldn't be economical to operate, but it was sleek and very, very fast, its engine spaces fully automated. And besides, von Baldur told Goodnight reasonably, the fuel costs would be the clients' problem. "And no doubt dear, sweet Mrs. Rosewater-Jones can field the ticket, especially since she owns a gambling world."

"True," Goodnight said. "All she has to do is kick the vig up a point, and she'll never ever notice the pain."

One of the biggest virtues of the ship was having crew quarters very separate from those of the "research fellows."

"We can stuff the kids in the suites," Goodnight said, "and not have to worry about what they're plotting."

Friedrich pouted a bit about not being able to occupy the owner's suite, but subsided when Chas glowered at him.

Better yet, from Star Risk's perspective, the partnership that owned the good ship Monkey Business was more than willing to turn it loose on a short-term lease rather than sell it outright, particularly when Goodnight had no objections to an all-inclusive insurance policy.

"I'm betting they can't dump a fuel hog like the Business with a gun at somebody's head, and are hoping like hell that we're going to do something nice and high-risk with it," Goodnight guessed. "Which, of course, we are, since I'm assuming the bastards would like to have another try at us."

Von Baldur wasn't paying any attention. He was trying to figure how he would convince the others that the captain's quarters should rightfully be his.

M'chel Riss, on the other hand, had been brooding.

After a while, her dark thoughts were so productive she roped in Jasmine King, who, in turn, involved Grok in the project.

When Chas and Freddie came back to the hotel, full of technobabble about the performance of the Monkey Business, they were summoned to Riss's suite.

"And what," Goodnight asked jovially, full of testosterone and adrenaline from his test flight, "would Her Supreme Marineness like?"

Then he noticed the pile of odd artifacts on the bed and, in a chair, looking as if she were about to either panic or burst into tears, sat Alice Sims.

He also noticed she was restrained with cable ties around her wrists to the arms of that chair.

"Uh-oh," he said, brilliantly.

"Yes," Riss said. "It is time for us all to have a word with our liaison officer here."

She indicated the objects on the bed.

"I started thinking about Lis suddenly coming up with her chemistry set, then I thought of all the other interesting things our lovely ladies might have squirreled away that might prove to be a discomfort.

"So I decided to shake them.

"Then another thought came—or, rather, a series of thoughts. Such as, how the hell did these baddies find out that we'd taken refuge in that school?

"I guessed that they knew who and how many they were after. So why eight neat little snatch packages? Were they planning on leaving Sims? That was the most logical explanation.

"But then I gave in to my paranoia, and wondered if Sims was expected to leave with them—of her own free will. If Sims was in with them, that would answer my first question.

"At this point, I brought in Jasmine, to tell me I was just thinking weirdly.

"Instead, she came in with a question of her own. If our kidnap team was so well prepared, why did they suddenly go to square zero when they actually hit the grounds?

"Had they been expecting more data?

"Too many questions… so Jasmine and I decided to shake not only the girls, but tender young Alice, as well.

"This is what we got."

She indicated the collection on the bed.

"A couple of nasty little push daggers, some paralyzing gas, rigged dice, three fixed game capsules, two marked decks, those very pretty knuckle-dusters and so on—all just about what we could have expected from the juvenile set.

"Then these two items."

She picked up one.

"A high-powered multiband radio receiver.

"Property, Miss Alice Sims."

Sims squirmed.

"I got it used," she said. "I like to listen to the radio late, and didn't know what was in it."

"What it is," M'chel said, "is also a medium-powered transmitter. Of course she didn't know that.

"The second item here is Sims's private com. A bit strange that she would take along equipment that wouldn't necessarily broadcast on whatever public frequencies are used on Porcellis.

"We asked Grok to disassemble it, and found that not only would it work on Earth, but also on an unassigned frequency.

"An outgoing signal on that frequency would also set off a small homing device in Sims's com."

"And, by the way," Jasmine put in, "I checked with the local library, and found out what com frequencies are used on Porcellis. None that the chips of this com are set for."

"At that point, we thought it was time to bring in our principal. So far, we've gotten nothing but a few sobs and bleats of innocence."

"So you decided it was time to call in the wrecking crew," Goodnight said.

He went to Sims's chair and stroked her hair gently. She flinched.

"Now, Alice," Goodnight said. "I don't suppose you've studied torture at all. It's pretty much a cheap trick, and is only worth considering if you're under the pressure of the moment and need easy information that you know the other party's got.

"Or else if you've got weeks and months and want to know everything about the person who you're slowly skinning.

"But desperate people do desperate things.

"I'd like you to think about how desperate we are—and remember that none of us particularly liked getting shot at the night before last, so we may be feeling a trifle barbaric around the edges."

She looked at him, eyes wide in fear.

Goodnight smiled, sweetly, innocently, and his eyes were dead pools.

"I didn't know… I didn't mean…" she blurted, and the story came out.

There'd been this man back at the school who'd met her in a bar one night, and it was very lonely with all of the "friddly farts" at St. Searles, and these "slithery little bitches," and he was very good-looking, and she didn't have any money, and all he said he wanted was to know what was going on, because he had some friends who were interested in investing in Porcellis, and they'd pay well, and—

"And who paid you?"

"Henri did. In cash." By this time, Sims was in tears.

"Did he tell you who he worked for?"

"No. Honestly, he never said a word. Just… friends."

"So she tipped them, which got us our tail and the first attempt on the way down to London," Riss said, her face as hard as Goodnight's.

Another "friend" of Sims's had contacted her aboard the Victory and told her what she should do next.

"All it was was to turn on my com when we reached our next port, no matter where or what it was. I did."

"That let them trail us to the school here on Cygnes," Riss interrupted.

"And then?" Goodnight asked.

"I guess I must have turned it off, or something," Sims said.

"Which is why they didn't zip right inside and grab the girls," Riss added.

"They expected to have a roadmap, which was turned off. I don't think old Handsome Hank is very pleased with you right now, Alice."

Goodnight considered.

"If we had six months, and a nice clean psych lab… or three days and a soundproof room and a good collection of knives," Goodnight said, "we could maybe find out if she's lying or not—"

"I'm not! I swear to you!"

"I happen to believe she is speaking the truth," von Baldur said. "Grok, if you'd take her in the next room, and Chas, if you would keep her from getting into any mischief…"

The two obeyed. Grok came back.

"It is not unlikely," von Baldur said, "that whoever the boyfriend is was working a false flag, or that he in fact told her nothing.

"Those apparati are a bit unusual, however. Grok, can you tell anything about them?"

Grok took an amazing number of tools from a belt pouch and set to work on the com. After a few minutes, he grunted, set it aside, and began autopsying the radio.

"Interesting," he said. "Neither device has any maker's marks on it, nor can I find anything on the components themselves. Interesting to find something… somethings… that sterile."

"Maybe," King said coldly, "but not that unusual. Grok, you and I know a company that works like that."

Grok whuffed air in surprise.

"We do. We do. And I should have Goodnight torture me a little for general stupidity."

"Cerberus Systems," Jasmine said, unaware that she was hissing like a cobra.

Cerberus was one of the largest security firms in the known galaxy, known and feared for their complete amorality and ruthlessness. Cerberus was King's ex-employer who'd tried to get out of paying her by accusing her of being a robot. Grok, too, had worked for Cerberus, leaving their employ both out of boredom and because he disapproved of their unwillingness to back their personnel if anything even vaguely catastrophic happened.

The alien had no particular feelings toward Cerberus now, but King hated them with a bleak passion.

"So what does Cerberus want with these girls?" Riss said. "Or maybe, more likely, with Porcellis, Miss Rosewater-Jones, and these girls."

"We do not know, and I would like to very much," von Baldur said.

"The second question becomes," Riss continued, "whether Cerberus wants the girls as a threat to someone, conceivably Rosewater-Jones, or for blackmail purposes; and whether, worst case, they're willing to physically harm them."

"I find that hard to accept," von Baldur said. "They certainly kill adults…

look at the numbers of times they've tried to kill me … but children?"

"I think they're capable of anything," King said. "But I freely admit to prejudice."

"I suspect," Grok said, "that we have to operate on the assumption that they'll do anything—and guard ourselves accordingly."

"Confusion and more confusion," Goodnight muttered.

"And it is very damned unlikely we'll get anything from Sims." Jasmine said. "It sounds like they ran a nice, clean operation."

"The question now becomes," M'chel said, "how quickly you can get your spitkit ready to lift, Freddie."

Von Baldur nodded, went to a com, began dialing.

"And," she added, "what we're going to do with Sims."

The Monkey Business was fueled and supplied within the day, and the girls were rushed aboard.

Von Baldur had the lifters take circuitous courses from the hotel to the yacht.

As they loaded aboard, Erin asked where Miss Sims was.

"She got a com from Earth," Goodnight answered. "A family emergency, and she was very sorry she didn't have a chance to say good-bye to you."

"Oh," Erin said, looking puzzled. "I thought she once told me she didn't have any family."

Goodnight made no answer.

M'chel waited until the girls were on the ship, then leaned close to Goodnight.

"So what happened to the idiot? Did you leave her facedown in some back alley?"

"I wouldn't dream of such a thing. In fact, I consulted a map, and found a primitive area not an hour's flight from where we were. I left her in the middle of that, making sure she wasn't tied too tightly and would be able to work herself free and walk back to civilization in a day or so."

Riss looked at him skeptically.

"You're generally not that soft-hearted… or happy with loose ends, Chas.

Are you telling me the truth?"

"M'chel, I'm hurt! Would I ever lie to you?" Goodnight said.

He smiled innocently. Riss snorted.