Part 20 (1/2)

Sadler sighed.

Long way.

She looked over at Lambert. He was running some checks on the shuttle's fuel reserves - a pointless job that he was only doing to keep himself occupied.

Petty-minded simpleton. A fool. A weakling.

As he made another calculation on his pad, his eye caught hers and he grinned. 'You okay?'

'Yeah. Sure. Fine. Just anxious to get to Peladon.'

Lambert nodded. 'Bit of action at last. Get this baby to the paymaster,' he waved towards the vacuum case securely inside the safe-seal, and shoot off. Take the money and run.'

Andrew?'

Lambert gave her a strange look. 'Yeah?'

Oh. Nothing. Forget it.' Sadler turned away. She busied herself pointlessly studying some holographics of their locality. She told the computer to do a couple of routine checks - anything that made her look busy. After a few moments she stole another glance in Lambert's direction, and was relieved that he had his back to her.

She'd known Andi Lambert for the last four years they'd been selected by Townsend together at one of the irregular selection gatherings. Every few years it got hooked down the nets that mercenary gangs were looking for recruits. Hopefuls, usually those who'd dropped out of their families or society in general, hunted around until they got enough information to tell them where to meet. She'd seen somebig names' in the Federation underworld at her one and only gathering. In a s.p.a.ceport bar on one of the Rho frontier worlds they'd sat around drinking, sniffing and generally getting smashed for a weekend. Basically it was generally considered that after a few, unspecified, days the wannabe killers, smugglers and general social dregs who could still stand, think and fire a gun straight were more likely to be offered contracts and profit-shares.

Looking back, it all seemed so silly - more like some caricatured boys' club than a seriously professional, if generally illegal trade fair.

She'd met Andrew Lambert on the first night. He was with a Felinetta; her russet fur had bristled at Sadler's approach, she remembered. The Felinetta had hissed an insult, looked at Lambert and stalked off. Lambert had grinned, saying he was allergic to cats anyway and would Sadler like to have a drink. The rest had been history. They'd also made an agreement - try to work together and therefore stay off the narcs and drink as much as possible.

Sadler hadn't intended to start the fight, but after three days of waiting for the mercenary leaders, tempers and egos were getting frayed. It had been the Felinetta that started it - accusing Sadler of being some kind of social wh.o.r.e. At least, that's how Sadler chose to remember it. She'd certainly convinced everyone else it was the catwoman's fault, but for herself, she wasn't too sure. Not that it mattered: yes, the Felinetta had rakish claws, but Sadler had been blessed with a strong grip. As with the Pakhar, the Felinetta's throat had ripped easily and Sadler could still remember the absolute, almost o.r.g.a.s.mic pleasure of killing with her bare hands. Using a gun or knife was easy, but to actually use part of your body to destroy a life - that fascinated her.

It also interested two human males, Townsend and Moscatelli. She knew their reputations: they weren't exactly top of the chain, but they were reliable second-stringers. The back-up. If someone needed a private army for a back-route deal or diversionary attacks, Moscatelli and Townsend would supply.

I've not lost anyone yet,' Moscatelli said. Unless one of us has decided to kill them. And we only do that to weak links and traitors. You a weak link, Sadler?'

'No,' she'd answered.

Townsend had nodded and introduced the only other current member of their team - Cooper. 'Moscatelli's s.h.a.g.' he'd explained. If Sadler expected hostility from the female, she was disappointed in so much as Cooper evidently didn't care who was on the team. She carried herself with an a.s.suredness and confidence that, as Sadler learned, came from ten years with both men in 'the field'.

Anything you want to ask before we sign the contract?' Sadler had pointed straight at Andrew Lambert.

'Yours?' Moscatelli asked.

'Yes,' she'd replied without really thinking. Since then, both she and Lambert had been an equal part of the team. Moscatelli had been killed about three years ago by running a smuggling blockade too early and Cooper, to no one's surprise, had turned her s.e.x drive if not really her affections to Townsend.

Weakness. Emotional ties. Useless. Dangerous.

She didn't love Lambert - not in what she understood to be a traditional meaning of love. None of the heartache, misery or emptiness she'd seen in holovids as a kid ever hit her when he was not around her. The s.e.x was good very good - and she'd long ago decided that was all she needed. A vent for her physical rather than mental emotions.

Unnecessary. A block to total power. I. . . we will have that power.

Something was wrong, but she couldn't say what. There was something at the back of her mind, gnawing away that she ought to tell Lambert about.

Warn him, even. But what? Strength. Power through strength. Take me!

Sadler turned back to her holograms. If it was that important, she'd soon remember.

Inside the safe-seal, the vacuum box vibrated almost imperceptibly. Few human eyes would have noticed it. Sadler certainly didn't.

Not yet, anyway.

'Computer. How far behind the shuttle are we?'

'Real time?'

Ace sighed. 'Yeah. Real time. To the second.'

'Fifteen minutes, thirty seven seconds. That gap could close or open to a variant of three minutes if the other shuttle changes velocity and this shuttle does not match it.'

Ace looked at the holograms swirling round in front of her. Planets, moons and distant suns. In the middle, images of her shuttle and the mercenaries'

one. 'Computer, projected trajectory?'

'The planet Peladon in the system of -'

'I know about Peladon. Are we still screened?'

'We are hidden within their ion trail. Their sensors cannot accurately observe us as long as we do not deviate from our present course.'

Okay. Under no circ.u.mstances deviate. Taking in that parameter, is there any way we can safely close up the lag?'

'Negative. A seven-minute increase could be achieved but at a forty-three point six per cut possibility of detection.'

'Forget it.'

'Clarify.'

Ignore.' Ace relaxed slightly and operated her personal wrist computer. Six hours to Peladon, give or take fifteen minutes.

Ace never heard a thing, but her shuttle suddenly lurched, violently tipping her on to the floor. As the console spluttered into shards of hit plastic and flame, the hologram pixeled into millions of tiny iridescent cubes, each tumbling over each other and cras.h.i.+ng into the sides of the shuttle, where they vanished like soap bubbles on concrete.

'Computer? Frag it, what's going on?' The computer's voice took on a staccato tone, occasionally clipping or totally muting syllables as it answered.

'The My'n'ad has b'n fired up'n. Drive sys severely dam'ged.'

'Who by?'

'The shu'le we are currently pursing, Inst'ions?'

'Throw something back, for G.o.d's sake!'

'This sh'tle does not posses suf'cient weaponry.'

'Chuck an electro-plasma pulse back, scramble their systems. Give us a breather!'