A Call to Insurrection Read online

“I know,” Bryce said. “But if I may be so bold, none of those people has been me.”

  “And you are…?”

  “Who I am is of no consequence,” Bryce said. “What matters is that I represent certain parties who would be interested in freeing Tomlinson from Gustav Anderman’s hands.”

  “I hope that doesn’t mean you’re one of McIntyre’s alleged army of freedom-fighters.”

  “Hardly,” Bryce said dryly. “After sixteen T-years I imagine the fires of defiance have dimmed considerably, especially given the relative unpopularity of McIntyre’s rather heavy-handed leadership style. No, my associates aren’t driven by any such high-minded ideals, but by the very practical fact that we have issues with the way Gustav is growing his empire. We feel that a reminder of the uncertainties of life would be in order.”

  “Ethical lessons don’t qualify as high-minded ideals?”

  Bryce gave a small shrug. “There may be some personal aspects, as well,” she conceded. “The point is that we’re offering the means to deliver Tomlinson back to you.”

  “To me,” Tomlinson said, leaning a little on the word.

  Another small shrug. “I think we can agree that McIntyre need not be brought back into the equation. The fact that she launched a reckless and unprovoked attack on an Andermani ship demonstrates a serious lack of fitness to govern.”

  “I thought the details of that incident were unclear.”

  “Not as unclear as McIntyre pretends,” Bryce said. “But her stupidity isn’t the issue. The issue is the people of Tomlinson, and the fact that PFT hasn’t lifted a finger to right the wrong that was done to them a decade and a half ago. This is your chance to become a hero, not just to your namesake world but throughout all of human history.”

  “And you can make all this happen?”

  “We can,” Bryce said firmly. “In partnership with you.”

  “Of course,” Tomlinson said, smiling cynically. There it was. Partnership: a code word that nearly always directly preceded a request for money. “And how much would this partnership cost us?”

  “I have records for the last profits PFT received from Tomlinson before McIntyre surrendered to the Andermani,” Bryce said, pulling a data chip from her pocket and placing it on the desk in front of her. “I also have records for the much higher profits those exports have brought in over the last sixteen T-years. Even adding in the additional shipping costs, I estimate you’ll recover your expenses within three to four years.”

  Silently, Tomlinson reached over and took the chip. Just as silently, she inserted it into her tablet.

  Silently, but with her heart suddenly thudding, she ran her eyes down the pages. She didn’t have those precise numbers memorized, of course, but Bryce’s figures seemed reasonable. Was a four-year recouped investment really all it would take to bring Tomlinson out of its current exile? “And what would these funds buy me?”

  “It’s going to buy you what you need,” Bryce said. “What you’ve never been able to get from the League or any of Gustav’s former mercenary friends. Strategic and tactical skill. A full support and logistics structure. A shipping system in place to begin bringing Tomlinson’s exports to market until you can make your own transport arrangements.” She paused. “And, of course, a battle fleet.”

  Tomlinson jerked her eyes away from her tablet to the other woman’s face. “A battle fleet?”

  “Surely you don’t expect Gustav to release Tomlinson just because we ask nicely,” Bryce said with a small smile. “No, of course you don’t. That’s why you’ve been trying to find a military or paramilitary force willing to take him on.”

  “There are plenty of groups who are willing,” Tomlinson said stiffly.

  “Are there?” Bryce countered. “Fine, let me rephrase. That’s why you’ve been trying to find a force who’s willing to take him on for the money your Board is willing to spend.”

  Tomlinson felt her stomach tighten. That was indeed the sticking point. Even more so than Anderman’s intimidating reputation.

  “Plus the fact that any such group would want overwhelming odds before they even considered such an action, which means you’d need three to five separate forces,” Bryce continued calmly. “All of whom would want to be paid.” She raised her eyebrows. “But really, Director. A paltry couple of billion credits to a corporation of PFT’s wealth and power?”

  “It’s not just the money,” Tomlinson gritted out, all the memories of all the arguments flooding back over her. “We’ve got the money, and we’re a planetary government. We could buy the ships and crew them without raising a single eyebrow. But certain Board members are ridiculously skittish about the whole idea. They think PFT should be above such things.”

  “Even at the cost of your one out-system possession?”

  “Even there.” Tomlinson swallowed a curse. “They don’t understand. Or they don’t care.”

  “Not surprising, really,” Bryce said. “None of them is the granddaughter of the man who founded the colony. They don’t have the same roots you do.”

  Tomlinson felt her eyes narrow. Was this stranger actually sympathizing with her? “It’s not a question of roots,” she said stiffly. “It’s a question of right and wrong.”

  “Or, to put it another way, a question of ways and means,” Bryce said. “Tell me, how far are you willing to go to regain the Tomlinson System?”

  The alarm bells in the back of Tomlinson’s mind, which had been doing a slow cadence ever since this woman walked into her office, picked up their pace. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning something far less dark and sinister than you’re undoubtedly visualizing,” Bryce assured her with a small smile. “It will take less money than you think, but that money will have to be quiet and completely off the books.” She raised her eyebrows. “Is that an area you’re willing to discuss?”

  Tomlinson eyed her, the familiar mental image of blind Justice and her scales floating in front of her eyes. PFT had a reputation among the business community and the League for straight dealing. Tomlinson herself had a similar reputation among her own people.

  But on the other scale was freedom for the people of their long lost colony. Justice for the wrong that had been done. A return to the days when PFT truly could claim the status of a major transstellar corporation.

  “Tell me more,” she invited.

  “We know of a fleet that’s available,” Bryce said. If she was at all surprised that Tomlinson was flirting with the edge, it didn’t show in her face. “All we need is the cash to buy it from its current owners—untraceable cash, of course—and we’ll be in business.”

  “Those owners are…?”

  Bryce shook her head. “Sorry, but for the moment that’s confidential. Once you’re aboard—officially or perhaps a bit less so—I’ll be able to give you more details.”

  “Before any money changes hands?”

  “Of course,” Bryce said. “If you agree, you’ll be paying the owners directly. None of it will touch my hands.”

  Tomlinson chewed the inside of her cheek. Which still didn’t mean this wasn’t a con, of course. But the odds of that were steadily decreasing. “What kind of fleet are we talking about? I trust you’re not talking about some hand-cobbled corvettes some third-rate dictator is trying to unload.”

  “Hardly,” Bryce assured her. “What would you say to a few surplused League naval ships?”

  Deep in her gut, Tomlinson felt a twinge of disappointment. “I would say we’ve already looked into that, and they were way pricier than anything the Board was willing to spend. Also way pricier than anything I could cover from our accounts without it being instantly flagged.”

  “Well, yes,” Bryce agreed. “If you buy them from the League. If you buy instead from a private party—” She shrugged. “You see, not all League ships get resold once the SLN’s done with them. A fair percentage get sent to the breakers.”

  “And some of them get lost along the way?”

  “It happens,” Bryce said with another shrug. “It also happens that my associates know of one such graveyard. All we need is the money to buy the ships, and Tomlinson is as good as back in your fold.”

  “What about crews?”

  “As I said, the support system is already in place. All we need are the ships. For that, we just need a relatively miniscule amount of PFT’s money.”

  Tomlinson looked back at her tablet. Not because she needed to see the numbers again, but because she was afraid that if she looked at Bryce the other woman would read straight down into her soul.

  Tomlinson, back in the PFT fold. Lucretia Tomlinson, the savior of a whole world.

  And, perhaps, the chance to be the first person in recent history who’d ever made Gustav Anderman blink.

  And all for just a couple of billion credits.

  It sounded too good to be true. The question was, was it too good to be true? “And what do your associates get out of it?”

  “I already told you,” Bryce said. “They don’t like the way the Andermani Empire has been expanding of late. They’d like to cool things down a little out there.”

  “So that your associates can move into the region with their own agenda?”

  “They may have interests out there,” Bryce conceded. “But that’s not something either of us need to know. All you need to know is that they have no interest in Tomlinson itself other than returning it to you. All they need to know is whether you’re interested in the same thing.”

  “And if we did this, that would be it?” Tomlinson asked. She’d seen this hidden hook gambit many times before. “PFT would be under no further obligation to them?”

  “Exactly the opposite,” Bryce said. “Once you’ve regained Tomlinson, my associates hope you and they can work further
on other mutual projects. There’s one in particular that they’re expecting will pay high economic dividends in the near future. A partnership with PFT could be advantageous to both parties.”

  Tomlinson took a deep breath. “All right, then,” she said. “I’ll obviously need more information on this ghost fleet of yours before I can release any funds. But I can get things started here while you move on that part.”

  “Of course,” Bryce said. “There are some specifications on that data chip. Nothing that could possibly identify individual ships or mark their location, of course, so don’t bother trying. There’ll be more data later; this is just something to whet your appetite and give you an idea of the ship classes you’ll be getting.”

  “If I agree, what sort of time frame are we looking at?”

  “Once I have your commitment, we can probably pull everything together in a year, possibly two.”

  “That long?”

  Bryce smiled. “Patience, Director. Some of that will be travel time, but most will be the straightforward but somewhat tedious tasks of bringing the ships out of mothballs, rearming them, and training the crews on the new hardware and systems. Charging into combat against Gustav Anderman without proper preparation would be utter folly. As Trudy McIntyre has already proved.”

  Tomlinson hissed out a sigh. She knew better than to let impatience override her brain. But that didn’t mean it didn’t sometimes happen. “Understood,” she said.

  “Don’t worry, that year will fly by,” Bryce said. “Now that I have your assurances, I can start making the other arrangements.”

  “Yes,” Tomlinson murmured, the image of Justice and her scales disappearing and the faces of the Board taking its place. If they found out what she was doing…

  She shook the last lingering shadow of doubt away. A couple of billion credits was indeed miniscule in comparison to the company’s assets, easily hidden until Tomlinson herself decided when to reveal the truth.

  And really, a small deception in the service of justice and freedom could hardly be faulted.

  “I presume you’ll allow my representatives to come along for the purchase?” she asked.

  “We wouldn’t do it without them,” Bryce assured her. “As I say, my associates and I won’t be dealing in that aspect at all. The ships will be PFT’s, free and clear, to do with as you see fit.”

  She rose to her feet as gracefully as she’d seated herself. “The data chip also has my contact information. Most of the numbers are off-planet, so plan your timing accordingly. Message me when you’ve made your decision. I’ll be contacting you with more details in a few months. With luck, we’ll be ready to make the purchase and start the training at that time.”

  “Good,” Tomlinson said. “One other thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “You said you’d talked to McIntyre,” Tomlinson said, eyeing her closely. “So why didn’t she mention you in her message?”

  “Because she had no idea I was coming to see you,” Bryce said. “I went to her solely to learn her interpretation of the incident sixteen years ago, and to see if she might be a useful ally in our recapture of her former world.”

  “And?”

  Bryce’s mouth tightened, just noticeably. “As I said earlier, I don’t believe she needs to be involved. Good day, Director Tomlinson. We’ll be in touch.”

  * * *

  The support system is already in place, Bryce had told Tomlinson. All we need are the ships.

  As usually happened in the real world, it wasn’t quite that easy.

  Commodore Catt Quint and her Quintessence Mercenaries weren’t where Bryce’s information had said they would be. It took Bryce another two weeks of poking around Kenichi until she got another tip, and then it was five weeks’ more travel before she could finally track down the commodore.

  And when Bryce did finally catch up with her, it wasn’t in a nice spacers’ lounge or corporate office. It was, instead, in a marginally sleazy bar on Dzung, seated at a table with a half dozen less marginally sleazy types.

  It was just as well, Bryce reflected as she worked her way through the crowd, that she’d left that ten-thousand-credit business suit back on her ship.

  Still, it was clear from the start that Quint was exactly the person Bryce was looking for. There was a toughness and steel in her face and body language that none of her pictures had managed to capture, along with a confidence that allowed her to sit among rough-looking men without a hint of nervousness. On top of that was a keen sense of global awareness: Bryce could tell the commodore had spotted her before she was even halfway across the room.

  She would be ideal for what Bryce had in mind. The question now was whether she could be roped in as easily as Tomlinson had been.

  Bryce was pretty sure she could. After all, the files had revealed the big fat red button plastered across Quint’s psyche.

  And Bryce knew exactly how to push it.

  She was still five meters from Quint’s circle when the two men closest to her pushed back their chairs and stood up. “Yeah?” one of them challenged as they turned to face her.

  Mentally, Bryce offered them a salute. With their backs to her, the men must have been given a warning of the approaching stranger, but Bryce hadn’t seen even a hint of a signal. The group was good, all right. “I’m here to see your chief,” she said, nodding past them in Quint’s direction. “I have a proposition for her.”

  “I’ll bet,” the first man growled. He let her get another two steps, then held out his hand in silent order. The second man, a smarmy grin of expectation on his face, stepped forward, hands raised for a good, solid, intrusive frisking.

  Normally, Bryce was of the same mind as some of her other colleagues: the less attention one drew to oneself the better. But in this case, she was pretty sure that the commodore watching silently from the other side of the table would be more responsive to a different approach.

  The big man’s hand entered Bryce’s personal space, his fingers aiming for her upper rib cage. Bryce let him get another few centimeters, then reached over and intercepted the hand, putting on a fingerlock that brought him to a jerking halt. His other hand darted under his jacket, and Bryce caught a glimpse of a pistol at his belt.

  Unfortunately for him, his gun hand was the one currently locked in her grip, and before he could get his other hand to the gun Bryce had relieved him of the weapon. Still maintaining the fingerlock she flipped the gun in midair, caught it by the barrel, and sent it arcing smoothly toward a landing on the table directly in front of Quint.

  Or rather, that was where Bryce had aimed it. Instead of the crunching rattle of metal on wood, there was merely the subdued slap of metal on flesh as Quint’s hand darted out and caught the weapon in midair. “I think you dropped something,” Quint said mildly, lifting the gun a couple of centimeters.

  “Just trying to cut through the small talk,” Bryce said. “In the future, you might want to instruct your men to start a frisking with their off hand.”

  “Or to hand off their weapon beforehand?” Quint suggested.

  “Even better,” Bryce said, releasing her grip. He gave her a look that was half glower and half speculation, but made no move to pick up the frisking where he’d left off. “Sorry about the theatrics,” Bryce continued. “But I spent a lot of time hunting you down, and I wanted you to take me seriously.”

  “Consider yourself serious,” Quint said. “Taylor: the lady needs your chair. Grimling, get her a drink. Scotch?”

  “Scotch is fine,” Bryce said as the slightly less bulky man seated next to Quint stood up and stepped away from the table. “And for the moment I’d prefer to keep this just between the two of us. Can I buy your people a round?”

  Quint gave her a measuring look, shrugged, and gestured. “Everyone to the bar,” she said. “Tell Georgio the lady will pick up the tab on her way out.”

  Silently, the other men and women at the table got up and made their way through the crowd. “Let’s make this quick,” Quint said as Bryce settled into the vacant chair beside her. “You’re either looking for a job or you’re looking to hire me. Either way, you’re out of luck. The Quintessence Mercs are out of business.”

  “So I heard,” Bryce said. “Temporarily, I hope.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Quint said, a bitter edge to her voice. “Sometimes you’re the windshield, sometimes you’re the bug. This time, we were definitely the bug.”