He’d barely taken two steps before something slammed into him from the side, knocking him to the ground. His breath went out of him in a rush as the attacker landed on top of him, and the gleam of a blade in the other man’s hand put a stop to any idea of fighting back. “What’s the hurry, sonny boy?” said a voice in his ear. “We ain’t done talkin’ to ya.”
“You really should have given me the money,” said the big man, kneeling down next to Gears. His voice sounded genuinely sad. “Now you’ve got my friend involved, and he’s a lot nastier than I am.”
“That ain’t no way to talk, Chuckie,” said the second assailant. “You’re likely to make sonny boy think we don’t like his kind hereabouts. Truth is, we likes ’em fine.”
“Long as they aren’t stingy with their money, that is,” said Chuckie. “OK, tourist, my friend’s going to let you get to your money so you can hand it over, and then we’ll all go our separate ways. Now, don’t make any tricky moves. I don’t think you want to find out what he likes to do with that vibroblade.”
The second man sat up; this took his weight off Gears’s chest and arms, but kept his legs pinioned. The blade hovered over his unprotected belly. “You heard Chuckie,” he said. “Give us the money and nobody gets hurt.”
Gears had won a lot of money that night-nearly enough to pay off his debt. But the blade was hard to argue with. “All right, take it easy,” he said. “Just let me get to my pocket.”
Gears reached for the pocket where his wallet was, but as his hand approached it, the man pinioning his legs brandished the knife and grabbed his wrist. “Hold still,” the man said. “Let’s see what’s in there.” He reached down and removed the wallet. “Well, sonny boy’s a good boy after all,” he said, handing it to his partner.
“You’d be surprised how many people my friend has had to cut because they thought they could outdraw him,” said Chuckie. He opened the wallet and whistled. “Sonny boy’s been lucky tonight.”
The other man looked up at the money, and Gears saw his chance. A quick chop to the wrist sent the vibroblade flying, and Gears followed with a punch to the throat, throwing the man to one side. He pushed his way free of the choking assailant, and made a leap for Chuckie, who’d fallen back.
Chuckie held him off with a straight arm, long enough for the other man to recover first his breath and then his knife. He threw a crushing forearm around Gears’s throat, and a moment later, the legionnaire felt the blade throbbing next to his rib cage. He went limp.
“Tsk, tsk. That wasn’t very smart,” said Chuckie, in a mock sympathetic voice. “Now we’ll have to hurt you-it’s bad business to let people think they can fight back without getting hurt, you know.”
Gears saw motion off to one side, and then a mechanical-sounding voice said, “Great Gazma, what a curious sight! Is this a common economic transaction?”
“This isn’t your business,” said Chuckie, moving ominously toward the speaker, whom Gears now recognized as Flight Leftenant Qual, the Zenobian. “Walk on by before something happens to you, too.”
“Oh, no, this appears to be one of my comrades,” said Qual, moving forward. “It would not be soldierly not to assist him.”
“One step closer and I cut his liver out,” snarled the man with an arm around Gears’s throat. “Stand off and nobody gets hurt.”
“I take exception,” said Qual. “You are now the ones in danger of a hurt. Let the human go, if you would.”
“We wouldn’t,” said Chuckie. “Now, we’re going to back away real slow. You stay right where you are if you want your friend safe. My partner’s dangerous when he gets nervous, and I’m afraid you’ve put him right on the edge.”
“How unfortunate,” said Qual, stopping and touching something on his belt. “Perhaps he needs a period of inactivity.” He held out his hand and did…something. Gears felt a sudden lethargic feeling overcome him, and he slumped to the ground. He was vaguely aware of the arm around his throat coming loose, and as he fell, the other man’s body dropped to the ground next to him. Idly, he wondered what had happened.
Then Qual was standing over him. “Rest, friend, and have no concern,” said the Zenobian. “I have communicated to Mother to send us help-all the trouble is complete now.”
I don’t know what he did, but I think he saved my life, thought Gears, and then unconsciousness overcame him.
“Am I making a mistake to trust him, Beeker?” Phule pushed aside the sheaf of printouts he’d been reading during breakfast and leaned back in his chair.
“I take it you are referring to Sushi, sir?” said Beeker. He set down his coffee cup.
“Right,” said Phule. “Do I continue to trust a man who can take control of my Dilithium Express account, or do I safeguard the money-and show him I don’t trust him? When the lives of everybody in this unit could depend on that trust some day?”
“One always needs to strike a balance between trust and security, sir,” said Beeker. “There are things that every member of your company needs to know-daily pass words, for example. But only a few are cleared to receive top secret information-and yet nobody takes that as a matter of distrust. The fewer people who know some things, the more secure we all are. It would seem axiomatic that access to your money needs to be restricted.”
Phule took a sip of juice and rubbed his chin. “That’s great advice, Beeker-except, what is there that’s more secure than Dilithium Express? If he can hack that account, is there anything he can’t hack?”
“Perhaps not,” said Beeker. “But if Dilithium Express is vulnerable, obviously some alternative is necessary.”
“I guess you’re right,” said Phule. “Too bad there’s no way to keep the information quiet-but even if we captured that Yakuza agent, there’s no way of knowing he hasn’t already reported to his bosses. Or that any of several people have not figured out what happened.”
“Yes, the genie is out of the bottle,” said Beeker, his face impassive as always. “Now our goal should be to minimize the damage it can do. Or better yet, to turn it to our advantage.”
“I don’t see how I’m going to get any advantage from having people know my credit account is vulnerable,” said Phule. He stood up from the table and began to pace. “As far as I can tell, the only person who comes out of this with any advantage is Sushi, if you get right down to it.”
“Oh, I believe there may be a way to profit from Sushi’s skills,” said Beeker. “Sometimes, letting everyone know you can do something is as good as actually doing it. Word that one of your men can meddle with a Dilithium Express account should make its way through the criminal underworld quite rapidly. This will undoubtedly prompt many of them to turn all their efforts toward duplicating the feat-but of course, you will have protected your assets against any such attempt.”
“I see,” said Phule. “And while they’re doing that, they’re not trying to attack us in other ways. Well, it’s not much of a silver lining, but I’ll take what I can get. But we still need a way to protect my assets without losing easy access to them.”
“As to that, sir, I have a suggestion I believe you will find of interest,” said Beeker, a faint smile on his lips.
“Do you, now?” said Phule. “What do you have in mind?”
Beeker was about to reply when Phule’s wrist communicator buzzed. “Yes, Mother?” he said, wondering what new crisis had occurred.
“Get yourself prettied up and don’t drag your feet, sweetie,” came the familiar voice from the communicator. “Your favorite brass hat wants to see you on the holophone.”
“General Blitzkrieg?” Phule’s jaw fell.
“Well, it sure sounded like him to me, silly boy. If I were you, I’d hurry up and talk to him. I can stall the old lizard-face as long as you need me to, but I doubt it’ll improve his not-so-sunny disposition.”
“Give me three minutes,” said Phule. “Did he say what it was about?”
“You must be out of your ever-lovin’ mind,” said Mother. “Now, get your tail movin’, toots-that three minutes is already started, and as much as I’d enjoy giving the general the run-around, I’m worried about what he’d have done to me if he found out I was wastin’ his time.” She broke the connection.
“General Blitzkrieg,” said Phule, looking at Beeker. “He certainly picked an interesting time to call.”
“Yes, sir,” said Beeker, looking at Phule critically. “You’ve enough time to comb your hair before you talk to him. It would be exactly in character for the general to waste the first five minutes of a trans-space holophone call reprimanding you for your appearance.”