Mercenary's Star

It looked as though the man was not willing to help.

"Look, Your Excellency," Tor said. He hefted the briefcase he carried in his right hand. "Doesn't this interest you at all?"

Tor had taken the precaution of withdrawing his own share of the metal deposited with the ComStar factor on Galatea. He believed the sight of all that lustrous gray metal might stir the imagination of the ambassador, and make Verthandi something more than an unfamiliar name.

"Frankly, Captain, no. Vanadium is a common enough element Not here on Galatea, perhaps, but common enough elsewhere. There are hundreds of worlds within the Commonwealth, and most, sir, have adequate reserves of that metal."

"According to my man on Verthandi, Your Excellency, the Dracos have been mining like crazy in the southern desert. The planet was an agricultural backwater...until they came. Now they enslave the people and send them to work in the mines. Why?"

"Not for vanadium, certainly."

"No, sir. Not for vanadium. But possibly...for something else?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, come now, Captain..."

"Please, sir, listen! In his message to me, Captain Carlyle described some of what he learned about Verthandi's history. The world was shaped thousands of years ago by a collision with an asteroid, an asteroid that struck near Verthandi's north pole. The impact created a vast basin that is now filled with jungle and sea. It must have hurled molten chunks of dense matter for thousands of kilometers into secondary impacts in the southern desert."

"So?"

"Your Excellency, vanadium is common there. If vanadium, why not other metals, too? Chromium. Titanium. Niobium. Tungsten. Osmium. Perhaps in abundance. Perhaps in dense masses close to the surface, where MinerMechs can dig them out. Elements needed by industries on worlds clear across the Commonwealth."

"You're asking me to believe that the natives of this world were just sitting on all this...this wealth, and were farming instead?"

"Oh, they were making use of the stuff. Grayson's message told about a local AgroMech plant that was started in a fracture cavern in the floor of that old impact crater. By and large, though, the original colonists were farmers fleeing persecution. They founded industry enough to support their own needs, but never bothered developing the mineral reserves further. They didn't need to."

"An interesting possibility, Captain, but not one that would lead me to support an attack on the Kurita forces there!"

"I'm not saying you need an attack! But fleet maneuvers, possibly. You could arrange it with the Galatean Military Charge d'Affaires."

"You don't know what you’re talking about, sir." Steiner-Reese was becoming progressively more undiplomatic by the moment, and Renfred Tor knew that he'd failed in his mission.

* * * *

The three men following Tor and the Lyran Ambassador were neither close enough to hear the conversation nor to see the despair in Tor's face. They knew only that Arvid would pay them 5,000 CBs apiece to murder the freighter captain, Renfred Tor. The presence of the ambassador was a plus. His death would make the double murder look like the work of political terrorists.

The leader of the three nodded to the others, and each drew a lean, black Calaveri 10 mm automatic pistol from beneath the folds of his cloak. There were three sharp snicks as the assassins chambered their rounds, then they quickened their pace and closed on their unsuspecting targets.

* * * *

"I guess I've wasted your time, then," Tor said.

"Not at all, not at all," the ambassador said. "I appreciate your problem, and I'm sorry I could not be of help. But don't hesitate to call on me some—"

He was interrupted by the sound of ru

"No!" the ambassador shouted, but the first pair of gunshots drowned out the sound. Tor was holding his briefcase in front of him like a shield, but the twin, 10 mm slugs tore easily through the fragile plastic, hurling the freighter captain backward into a whitewashed wall. Three more shots followed as Tor lurched down onto the pavement, the face of his briefcase fragmenting with each ruthless impact.

"What are you doing?" the Ambassador shouted. By that time, three pistols were swinging around and up to point at him. As five shots roared out in rapid succession. Steiner-Reese instinctively felt for his chest, expecting to encounter blood. Instead, he clutched at a body still miraculously whole.

At the same moment, one of the thugs was flailing backwards into the street in a spray of blood. A second slumped to the pavement, his pistol a meter away from stiff fingers, which continued to spasm against the ferrocrete. The third clutched his suddenly bloody arm and shrieked agony. A sixth shot cracked, and his shriek changed to a harsh gargle as the man flopped onto the street between his two comrades.

Captain Tor stood up slowly, still clutching the shattered briefcase, the smoking barrel of a 9 mm automatic pistol protruding from underneath. He had drawn the weapon from some concealed spot in the case.

"Captain Tor! But how...?"

Tor snapped the safety on his pistol and then tucked the weapon away. Picking apart some of the fragments of his briefcase, he exposed the dull gray lining of vanadium. Steiner-Reese could see the deep pits in the soft metal where the attackers' slugs had expended their energy.

"Vanadium's not all that dense," Tor explained, "but it was heavy enough to stop those bullets. Knocked me silly, though. I almost couldn't get my gun clear."

For Steiner-Reese, it had all happened so fast that his heart was still racing. "Good lord, man, they were trying to kill us! I must apologize. They must be terrorists, out to get me..."

Tor looked thoughtful. "I don't think so, sir." He shifted the case under one arm, took the ambassador's arm with his free hand and began steering the man down the street "If they'd been terrorists, they'd have gone after you first, sir. No way they could mistake me for you. No, Your Excellency, they were gu

"But why?"

"Why do you think? It could be someone's afraid the Commonwealth will discover just how valuable Verthandi is. They were afraid I would get help from you." The words had come to Tor unbidden, an inspiration.

The ambassador nodded. "I'm begi

"Certainly, sir." They began hurrying down the street Galatea's constabulary would be along eventually to investigate the gunshots, though such attacks were relatively common in the less civilized parts of Galaport. Tor had no wish to be detained for questioning. "I am going to need a new samples case, though," he said.

* * * *

Grayson studied the screen of the palm-sized electronic instrument in his hand. "No listening devices that I can see," he said. "The 'TronicsTechs can take care of the mines."

Sergeant Ramage nodded and pointed northward. "I've got a small army checking out the caves. Fu

"Maybe they figure to use it themselves sometime."

The Gray Death, with its entourage of rebel soldiers and ‘Mechs, had returned to Fox Island. Most waited at an encampment a few kilometers away in the jungle, but Grayson had detailed Techs and the sharpest of the rebel trainees to check out the old camp. In the meantime, Lori and McCall had taken their ‘Mechs up the Basin Rim Road to search for listening devices or booby traps.