Harbinger

With a bucket of ice-cold water and a spin of the hammock, Zett Nilric rousted Cervantes Qui

“I have a job for you,” Ganz said, reclined on his mountain of rainbow-hued giant pillows.

Acid churned, hot and sour, from Qui

“A delivery,” Ganz said. “To the camp on Kessik IV.”

“The new dilithium mine?”

Ganz nodded, then surveyed his manicured fingernails.

Qui

“Hardware.”

“Hardware?” Qui

“The kind that repays the debt you owe me,” Ganz said.

It’s contraband, huh? Whatever. “Where’s the pickup?”

Zett cut in, “We’re loading your ship now.”

“Whoa,” Qui

Ganz leaned forward. “You have a problem with that?”

Qui

“Good,” Ganz said. “The payment will be raw dilithium crystals, six kilos. Make sure they’re pure.”

“Right,” Qui

“Zett’ll fill in the blanks before you leave. Which would be right about—”

“Now,” Qui

Grateful that he was walking out of Ganz’s place this time instead of being dumped out like garbage, Qui

He grew angrier by the minute. If he was go

If Qui

Conversely, if Qui

In the turbolift, his string of muttered curses bloomed into a shout of frustration. An irrational impulse drove him to kick the wall. Something went pop beneath his left kneecap. Hopping on one foot, he fell sideways as the door opened. He landed facedown in front of two young women, who recoiled with disgust, then stepped over him into the turbolift and shared a laugh at his expense as the doors began to close.

Lying on the ground and clutching his knee, Qui

The crawl to the bar seemed mercifully shorter this time.

He was nursing his second double of tequila when he faced facts. I can’t turn down the job. I can’t do the job. I can’t run. Circumstances had dealt him a losing hand. Recalling his father’s lessons about playing cards for money, he knew what he had to do. If all the rules work for Ganz, it’s time to cheat.

Swallowing his pride, he made the call.

An hour later, Qui

He had entered through the front door. When the back door opened, he knew it must be T’Pry

It confounded him that a woman with a voice so warm could have a heart so cold. “Ganz is setting me up to take a fall.”

She arched one eyebrow. “Details.”

“His boys are loading my boat with enough guns to buy me twenty years in here.”

“So your difficulty is with Vanguard customs?”

“For starters. Knowing Ganz, even if I make the drop, the buyer’s got my number.”

T’Pry

Turning back in his direction, T’Pry

“The dilithium mine on Kessik IV.”

She nodded slightly. “Make the delivery.”

He blinked. “Maybe I haven’t made the situation clear.”

“I understand your predicament perfectly. Make the delivery and bring Mr. Ganz his payment.” She took a few steps toward the rear door, then paused and looked back. “Our meetings must become far less frequent, Mr. Qui

“Don’t call you, you’ll call me.”

“Precisely. Good night, Mr. Qui

She left quickly, without sparing him another word or glance. Just like Denise, he reminisced, recalling his first wife with nostalgic fondness. Yeah, she ditched me with style.

Swaddled in dark clothes of an exotic alien pedigree, and tucked away in an inconspicuous corner of the enlisted men’s club, Tim Pe

As usual, he went u

Surreptitiously adjusting the settings on his recording device, he aimed it slowly from one table to another, eavesdropping, seeking out tidbits of conversation. Most of what he overheard were run-of-the-mill grumblings—double shifts taken, priority work orders with conflicting needs, broken equipment, and the like. Every now and then, however, he caught something interesting.

“No telling what’s even in half those cases,” one stevedore groused to a table full of his comrades. “ ‘Category-one matériel, handle with care.’ That’s about all we ever get.”

“We loaded one on the Bombay last time,” another man said.

“I put a ton of C-1s on the Endeavour last month,” said one woman. “No bills of lading, though.”

“There never are,” said the first stevedore, and the conversation veered away once more into generalized complaints.

Pe