Rogue(48)

“Do it when we hit the orbitals, and do it fast.”

“What are we looking for?”

“Anything high tech or sexy.”

“I’ll try to set some protocols. We won’t have long. Will you try to intercept?”

“No, but I’d like to know what to expect, and any official destinations.”

“Understood.”

There were no professional escorts on this ship.

However, I did get to shoot the reproduction Colt. I knew their function, but we covered it in a couple of segs in training. It was unlikely we’d ever encounter one in operations. They handle differently from regular pistols, and require a lot of hand fitting, but they do have nice lines and decent accuracy. I’d never want one as an actual arm, but it would make a lovely recreational piece. Shooting one in emgee aboard a starship was anachronistic and amusing. Echoes came back from the spaces between cargo pods, tinny and phasing in texture. Those cans were a taunt, so close, but utterly unreachable. I fired three rounds.

The recoil was surprisingly mild considering there was no recoil mechanism. The old guns don’t pack the power of modern workhorses. This one barely pushed three hundred joules. I was used to pistols with four times that power.

“Classy gun,” I said. “I can see why you like it.”

“It does have good lines.”

“Thanks for letting me shoot it.”

“No problem. I enjoy showing the old stuff.”

I went back to our cabin, and found that Silver had acquired a signal.

“It’s still slow at the moment,” she said. “I’ve started the search, though.”

We closed into orbit in a fast pass, but “fast” still meant another full day at G. I’ve always enjoyed watching a planet appear as a spark and grow to an orb. It was even more fun in that our small port let me watch it directly, if at a very acute angle.

After dinner, Silver suddenly said, “Mining explosive, which would normally be produced locally under license,” she said.

“Mtali is so screwed up that doesn’t surprise me.”

She scrolled more files while I leaned over her shoulder. She said, “Some isotope clocks.”

“Go on.” I could feel her breath, her hair, the warmth of her skin . . . dammit.

“Nano-tolerance bearings for several applications.”

“Anything else?”

“Security cameras and sensors.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“I have stock numbers but they’re for assemblies and kits.”

“Yeah, I know how that works.” Each “assembly” would consist of several components. The numbers might or might not match the actual components. The kits were put together by packagers. Researching those would take time and require either personal inquiry, or a transmission.

I said, “Well, keep track of it and we’ll see if anything suggests itself.”





We docked at the only orbital station. It was overly modern for a backwater, and was administered by the UN, since the locals couldn’t decide who had authority over what. Our papers were in order, though I got the impression it was largely a formality. They were more concerned that we not be transporting any weapons, because one more knife or gun on a planet of a half-billion population just might break the balance of power between factions.

There are laws against segregation and “profiling” in the UN. I can only assume it was pure coincidence that the robed Shia wound up in one section, the Sunni in another, the two Amala at the rear with the off-worlders separating them, and the Christian sects on the other side of the aisle, with the missionaries as a buffer. I thought it a good and useful coincidence, though. The whole planet is like that.

We landed, rolled out and then debarked down steps to the surface, rather than through an umbilicus. It was hot and bright despite the dim star—GRN 86 is a Ko; we were closer, and the higher ratio of land mass made it drier. We headed for cover, and waited for our baggage. It was brought on a cart and left for us to sort through, under the eyes of two stunner-armed guards. I felt sorry for them. They were the least armed combatants on the planet.

Mtali was still the chaotic, bizarre nightmare it had been a decade and more past. In fact, trouble started there within a decade of settlement, and never ended. It had an African name from discovery, then was sold to an African Muslim national confederation. From there, various power groups within Islam licensed plots and transport. Some peripheral groups like the Sufi and Baha’i came along, and some Christian groups believing the story of a cheap paradise with religious tolerance. Then a few nontolerant ones moved in to “secure a virgin planet against the rape of Islam.” Then the Muslim nutjobs made themselves known, and it turned into something like the Balkans on Earth had been for a millennia.