Calculated Risk Read online

  "Gramps thought I should do an internship with Mr. Goldman. I didn't want to, but Mom said I could help her get information she needed. Goldman doesn't like me much."

  Rafe lifted an eyebrow. He wondered if the boy used 'Gramps' to the old man's face. "I meant, what's the message?"

  "Oh, yeah." He handed over the filmie. "Hey, I know you don't probably remember me, but maybe I could do an internship with you? I mean, with you being a CEO of your own company and all, I could work for you? I bet you're a better boss than Goldman any day. And besides, you're family."

  Which is exactly why I'd never hire you. Rafe added Greg's filmie to the pile on the desk. He didn't intend to read it, at least not before he was in his own office on Earth, away from Leon, EcoMech, and his annoying nephew. He took the boy's arm and propelled him toward the door.

  "Now isn't the best time. Let me think on it, and we'll talk later."

  "You mean it? Thanks! But I can't go unless I have a reply for Mom. She said it was urgent."

  Rafe bit back the response he wanted to make, resisted the urge to throw Greg into the corridor, and returned to the filmie:

  Rafe,

  I've found corporate documents crediting Dad with pushing through the purchase of this mining station you're visiting, as though it was all his idea. I've seen the figures. The purchase is a disaster with serious repercussions for EcoMech. When the whole venture fails, Dad will be blamed. He'll have to step down from his position on the board. That'll kill him.

  We both know this is Leon's doing. I need your help.

  Shannon

  He crushed the filmie in his fist and dropped onto the bed, rage spreading like fire through his blood. Couldn't his family understand that he'd disowned them? Why should he rescue a man who hated him, for whom he'd never been good enough?

  "Are you all right, Uncle Rafe? You look kind of pale." Greg shuffled his feet. "What should I tell Mom?"

  "Tell her…"

  He reread the filmie. The CEO's purpose for purchasing the station suddenly became clear: he didn't want to share power with the McTavish family anymore. With Cullen McTavish off the board, only the Goldmans would remain to control EcoMech. Had Aaron Goldman known—or at least suspected—that Leon intended to frame Cullen when he'd coerced Rafe to investigate the purchase? Rafe had questions. Leon had answers.

  He pushed past Greg and strode down the cramped hallway. Anger boiling inside him, he swept the dimly lit lounge looking for his brother-in-law. View screens that emulated windows showed the tiny sparks of distant suns scattered over blackness. A thick green carpet damped the constant throb of the ship's engines. Comfortable armchairs or couches were bolted to the deck.

  He found Leon seated alone in the corner on a wing-back chair, a tall glass of bourbon on a table by his elbow. From the rheumy look in the man's eyes, it wasn't his first drink. He didn't seem surprised to see Rafe.

  "So Shannon's little mole has delivered her message." He smiled at Rafe's astonishment. "What, you thought you were the only one doing any spying?"

  "You know the mining station is a white elephant, and you're using it to destroy my father. You want EcoMech all for yourself, you selfish, greedy bastard."

  Leon reached for his drink and took a noisy sip. "Grow up, McTavish. Your family's influence at EcoMech is nil. Your father's only a figurehead, and a piece of piss to manipulate. Shannon won't speak to me, and you won't come within a light-year of the company. Miguel was the only one with both balls and brains. Too bad he splattered himself on a mountainside."

  "Then why are you framing my father? Buying the station makes no sense in any other context."

  Leon gave him a grim smile. "I'm in a war, and Cullen is collateral damage. I like your old man, I really do, but if I'm to win, he had to be sacrificed."

  Rafe stepped back, perplexed by the easy admission. "What war?"

  "One for family honor and position at EcoMech. But what would you know about that?" Leon drained the rest of the bourbon. "You disgraced your family long ago."

  Before Rafe could drag Leon from the chair and pound the daylights out of him, Captain Benson knocked on the hatch frame and stepped in.

  "Excuse me, gentlemen." Benson looked uncomfortable, his eyes flicking to Rafe before settling on Leon. "We've arrived at the station."

  Leon rose. "I didn't hear the docking collar."

  "There's been a communications snafu, sir. The station's long-range com has been down all night. We've just reached them via ship-to-ship radio."

  The CEO straightened his jacket, ignoring Rafe. "Typical. Well, get on with the docking. We don't have all day."

  "They won't allow us to dock, sir. They say they weren't expecting us." Benson fell back in Leon's wake as the pudgy man steamrolled through the hatch into the companionway, cussing out everyone and vowing to take care of the matter himself.

  Rafe remained behind, sucking in deep breaths to regain his composure. Mind racing, he drew the ball from his pocket and bounced it against the deck. None of what Leon said made sense, nor did it give him any ideas for how to extricate his father from the mess he'd gotten himself into. Shannon wanted his help, but what could he do?

  He needed to get inside his brother-in-law's thick skull to find out more about this war. Short of kidnapping and torture, the only way he could see to do that was to chain himself to the vile man until he got answers.

  Rafe pocketed the ball and went after the CEO, who stormed around screaming at everyone. Benson ducked into the com room, presumably to convince the station to let them dock. Leon ordered Greg and his assistant, Bob, to wait for him at the airlock, then he disappeared into the executive suite.

  When Leon emerged, he was the sharp, self-confident CEO ready to do business. He wore a fresh suit, and he'd rinsed his mouth with some minty product that masked the smell of the bourbon. As he headed for the airlock, Rafe grabbed his arm and kept his voice low.

  "A good general knows not to fight a war on two fronts, Leon. Tell me what's going on. Or shut me out and have me on your flank. It's your choice."

  Leon's eyes flashed. "What's this? The runt of the litter challenging the big dog? You're all bark and no bite, same as you always were."

  The docking collar clanged against the ship, and the CEO pulled away. Rafe followed him to the airlock, seething from his rebuke. Leon bounced on the balls of his feet. Bob stood placidly behind his boss, and Greg fidgeted next to Rafe. The hatch opened with a squeal of metal.

  The docking bay was just a metal cube with a bench along one wall, a rack of spacesuits, and a tool locker. Rows of indicator lights punctuated a non-slip floor, the bay number scrawled in yellow paint on each wall. Two men and a woman waited for them. No one smiled.

  "Leon Goldman, CEO, EcoMech Corporation." Leon extended his hand to the one he'd somehow determined must be in charge, a short, black man with broad shoulders and a challenging gaze. He didn't bother introducing Rafe, Bob, or Greg.

  The miner eyed Leon before extending a beefy hand of his own. "Edgar Browning, smelter supervisor. This is Miss Patty Hertzog, assistant to our manager, Donald Levine, and Yuri Roshal, shipping manager."

  An unlikely team, Rafe thought. About sixty, blonde, and heavily made-up, Hertzog wore an old-fashioned, ankle-length dress and heels. Roshal reminded him of a scarecrow stirred by a breeze, in his garish yellow shirt splattered with a huge red stain and dirty black trousers bagging on a stick-figure frame. Distrust oozed from their tense faces and rigid postures. Rafe glanced around the docking bay, automatically evaluating its defensibility.

  "And where is Mr. Levine?" asked Leon.

  "He's not available," Roshal said, his gaze sliding to the entrance of the docking bay. Rafe followed his lead and spotted a security camera above the door.

  "Before we continue, can you give us any proof of who you are or your claims to ownership of this facility?" Browning stood, hands on hips, blocking their passage. His belligerent, bull-necked posture reminded Rafe of the troll under the brid
ge in the children's story.

  Leon stared at Browning as though he were a naked madman spouting Shakespeare. "The Galaxy Mining home office has informed Mr. Levine of the transfer of ownership."

  "And that's a problem, Mr. Goldman, because we believe that we own this station, not Galaxy. Or you," Browning said, huffing up. His biceps strained against the material of his shirt. Rafe's unease ratcheted up.

  Leon shifted to a more aggressive stance, while Greg wandered over to peer up at the security camera. Boots drummed on the deck outside the docking bay.

  A gruff voice shouted, "In here. Get em, boys!"

  A rough-looking man dressed in an old work shirt, worn-out jeans, and heavy boots stepped through the door. He carried an enormous wrench. Behind him, another lout swung a length of pipe against the door frame, testing its strength. More men crowded behind the first two. Browning's dark face morphed from a scowl to naked aggression.

  Rafe shoved Leon toward the spaceship hatch. "Run!"

  Leon sprinted across the decking, followed by Bob. Greg froze. Rafe grabbed him by the collar and half threw him toward the airlock before turning to meet the attack of the man wielding the wrench. The manager's assistant, Miss Hertzog, screamed.

  Rafe sidestepped a crunching overhead swing and paid the over-eager miner with an uppercut under the ribs. The man had a stomach like a steel plate, but the blow still doubled him over. A knee to the miner's face finished the job.

  He stepped inside a swing from the lout with the pipe, locked the man’s arm, and rammed a thumb into his Adam's apple. The miner went down, choking, and the pipe was Rafe’s.

  The mob fought their way through the doorway, but it was too tight for them to rush him en masse. A fist swung at Rafe, then the owner howled as knuckles landed full-force on the unyielding pipe. Two miners dashed past him, lunging for Greg who lay terrified a few yards from the hatch. Rafe landed a boot on one’s kneecap, then jabbed the end of the pipe into the other’s groin and sent him tumbling with a shove.

  Someone picked up the fallen wrench, and Rafe was driven to his knees as he parried a massive swing with the pipe braced above his head. His counterblow with an elbow to another rock-solid gut didn’t cause so much as an eyebrow twitch. He lowered his weapon to invite a horizontal swing at his skull, wormed his way under it, and used the pipe as a lever to send the miner tumbling under the feet of his fellows, scattering them.

  Rafe grabbed Greg’s belt and hauled him across the deck, slinging him through the yawning hatchway as something cannoned into the back of his legs. The deck rushed up to meet him. He landed hard, smacking his head against the unyielding surface. Fear sent fresh energy coursing through him, and he scrambled to rise.

  The metal hatchway sang as Rafe’s escape route slammed closed. Dazed and terrified, he rolled into a ball while the group of men kicked and punched him. He wondered briefly how long it would take them to beat him to death and what he'd done to deserve it. Then something heavy and unforgiving connected with his skull, and the world went black.

  Chapter 4

  Kama ran the diagnostic program again, hoping it would be the last time. She'd finished the mass spec work hours ago and had been crawling around the scanner arrays on this rust bucket ever since, tightening bolts and measuring tolerances, for lack of anything better to do. Management should be up by now, and she wanted to be back on the station, but strolling through vacuum in a spacesuit wasn't her idea of a good time. Her fingers drummed a rapid tattoo on the console, out of sync with the music playing in her ear bud. Roshal better come back for her soon.

  Down the corridor, feet clattered on the deck. Probably the ship's pilot, Davy Todd, headed her way again. She turned toward the sound; leaving her backside unguarded wasn't advisable with this guy. He wore a loud, Hawaiian-print shirt unbuttoned halfway to his navel, and the reek of his cologne filled the little ship. He'd deliberately bumped against her once already, pretending he'd tripped. His first mate, Juan Rodriguez, was no better. Being alone on the ship with the two of them creeped her out.

  To her relief, it wasn't Todd or Rodriguez, but Roshal.

  "About time," she said. "Give me half a sec to finish this up."

  "All hell's broke loose on the station," the shipping manager said. "Bunch of corporate tossers think they can bully us off our turf. Browning wants everyone on station now."

  He put her in mind of a cheap video recording set at Pause; all shivers and squirms and jiggles. He had a nervous energy that crackled like static, putting her on edge.

  "Browning? What's Mr. Levine doing?" She wanted to get her confrontation with the manager over. The last thing she needed was for him to be distracted by some crisis.

  Roshal shrugged. "Browning's running the show. Todd and Rodriguez are waiting. Hustle up."

  Kama picked up an adjustable spanner to close the valve she'd been working on. Her hand slipped, and blood-red hydraulic fluid sprayed out onto her coveralls. She swore, recovered the spanner, and closed the valve. A huge oily stain spread over her heart, and speckles of scarlet fluid reached up her arms. She wiped at it uselessly.

  "Sorry," she said, seeing splashes of red on Roshal's t-shirt as well.

  He shrugged, making it seem like four movements instead of one, and brushed at his own stained shirt front. "Missed me. Got these repairing a thruster control on my tug last night. Occupational hazard. Come on, let's go."

  Kama put away her tools and followed him to the docking bay. She gripped the edge of her seat, convinced they'd overshoot the docking point and crash into the station as Roshal made record time for the return trip. Once the vehicle settled, Todd, Rodriguez, and Roshal leaped out and vanished, leaving her to fend for herself.

  Miners milled everywhere. She approached one standing post outside the bay.

  "What's going on?"

  "Buncha pirates docked, trying to take the station by force."

  Another miner interrupted them. "Not pirates. Some big corp claiming they own the place. I hear they have an army of mercs standing by to throw us off. They'll space us if we don't surrender."

  "Let 'em try." The first miner smacked a hammer against the palm of his hand. "We kicked their butts in the first assault."

  Kama didn't like what she heard. Forcible boarding, questionable ownership? Oasis' plans for the Sharma Network relied on this station's output of wassonite. Damn Browning and his 'high priority' repairs. She should have stayed here and spoken with the station manager first thing.

  "Where's Mr. Levine?"

  "Don't know. Whole place has gone to hell in a black hole this morning. Long range com's down, and there's a search on for Levine. I was going with Roshal to check hydroponics when Browning stationed me here."

  "Anyone try Levine's quarters? Maybe he's sick or injured."

  "We ain't stupid, lady. Somebody musta. Probably he's hiding under the covers with the door locked. Anyway, repelling pirates is more important than finding that wimp, so who cares where he is?"

  An airlock clanged open down the corridor. The miner looked past her and grinned. "Hey, Swede, about time. How long you been gone?"

  "Not long enough, I guess," said a tall blond.

  Kama left them to it, heading for the executive quarters at a jog. She had a window of opportunity and wouldn't waste it. No wolf whistles this time. Every miner she passed showed a grim face and hurried by her without so much as a glance. Tension filled the air like a build-up of static before a lightning strike, and it scared her.

  When she got to Levine's door, it stood open. Frowning, she stepped inside an empty living room. Regulation company-issue furniture filled the space—padded plastic couch and lounge chair, well-worn plasteel coffee table. A scratched and dented vid screen took up a big chunk of one wall, with a paltry rack of entertainment disks next to it.

  Everything looked scrupulously clean and neat, like Levine was a compulsive tidier: pictures on the walls right-angle straight, ornaments perfectly spaced and facing forward, video disks organized
alphabetically. Spartan and orderly; her kind of place. She spent a moment drinking in the look and feel of the room. She'd need to leave it in exactly the state she'd found it, and she didn't have much time.

  She started her search with the rack of videos, connecting the first one into her nanocom. It contained what the label claimed—Levine, it seemed, liked twentieth century romantic comedies. Behind her, soft footsteps approached from the bedroom. She spun to face an elderly woman dressed in dowdy clothes and wearing make-up from the previous century. They'd seen one another when Kama arrived on the mail ship the night before, but Browning hadn't introduced them.

  "What are you doing in here?" the woman asked.

  "I'm Kamala Bhatia, the tech upgrading your computer systems," she replied, side-stepping the question. "Where's Mr. Levine?"

  "There's nothing for you to upgrade in here. Now get out before I report you for pilfering."

  Kama raised her brows. "And you would be…?"

  "Miss Patty, Mr. Levine's assistant." She frowned at Kama, snatched the video back, and replaced it in the rack.

  "Did you find Levine?"

  The woman's frown deepened. "He's a very busy man. What do you want with him?"

  "I need his thumbprint on my work order," Kama lied. "Mr. Levine must think very highly of you to give you override permissions for his quarters."

  Pink crawled up Miss Patty's checks. "Someone has to have override permissions… in case of emergencies. You need to go. I have to get back to the admin offices."

  Frustrated, Kama let Miss Patty usher her out the door. She paused in the hallway and unzipped her duffel to dig out a ration bar while she waited for the old bat to leave. Unfortunately, the nosy old lady stopped with her, making sure to lock Levine's door behind them.