him from harming people? Had his custodians posted a proper bond to provide for any accidents or runnings-amok?
Star Risk ignored them.
But even ignoring further frayed tempers.
"We're being nibbled to death by ducks," Goodnight growled.
The grand finale came next.
It was a very slick deal, everyone at Star Risk agreed.
Three aircraft, most likely small strike ships, attacked just after midnight on a weekend, when Trimalchio IV's business section was almost empty.
Two held, orbiting five hundred, meters over Star Risk's tower, and the third came in hot.
It launched what was probably a five hundred kiloton conventional homing bomb, which hit the Star Risk suite through Chas Goodnight's office window.
The blast utterly destroyed the suite, and the shock sent the tower rocking on its foundations.
The second ship came in, firing a dozen small incendiaries.
If there had been anything left of Star Risk's assets, they were destroyed in the fire. Firemen from a dozen companies responded, and the fire was out by an hour after dawn.
The five Star Risk operatives looked up at the smoke curling from the building's midsection.
M'chel Riss, her voice as empty as her prospects, said, "It's over."
There was no need or energy for argument or discussion.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
TEN � ^ � Does anybody see a way to break it off in Cerberus?" Chas Goodnight demanded harshly.
M'chel Riss shook her head.
"One�or rather five�against a gazillion� that only works in the holos."
After that, there wasn't much to say�or, rather, there was a great deal to say, but the Star Risk operatives, being soldiers, weren't good with words or emotions.
Even Grok had learned human habits in that regard.
Jasmine gave each of them a thick envelope full of high-denomination bills, from her secret emergency fund.
They all made insincere promises to stay in touch.
Jasmine gave M'chel the alloy nameplate for her office, and Riss almost started crying.
Instead, she managed, "So, what now?"
Goodnight had seen the glisten in her eye, and added, hastily, a cheerful "We'll just keep on keeping on."
Then he spoiled it by adding a very tentative "I guess."
With that, Star Risk, Ltd., was done.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ELEVEN � ^ � Of them all, Jasmine King and Grok had the least clear idea of what they wanted to do next.
King was, in spite of laudatory retraining efforts by M'chel Riss, still too much the bureaucrat, so she immediately rented a small suite of offices in a nondescript part of Trimalchio IV's capital.
She privately thought that Freddie had made Cerberus's job much easier with Star Risk's high visibility�the flashy suite in the high-rise and the even flashier name.
Her new offices had a very small sign on the door, saying research associates.
She invited Grok to share them with her.
"And what are we going to do?" he wanted to know.
"Make money," she said.
"How, might I ask?"
Jasmine hesitated for a little, then said, "What's the matter with what we were doing? Except with a much lower profile?"
Grok considered, then nodded his shaggy head.
"That is as good a way as any to pass the time, since I am not yet bored with this odd trade of mercenarying."
Jasmine smiled, a little wanly.
"It won't be as much fun as Star Risk was."
"Perhaps not," Grok said. "But the profit-sharing plan with just two of us is a great deal more favorable."
And so they put the word out, thinking there was no reason the lead Star Risk had pioneered�to have no more than the absolute essentials eating up the normal payroll, and contract hiring as needs and jobs presented themselves�wouldn't still work.
In about a week, Grok came in, beaming.
"I never thought I would have the human satisfaction of a mere job, working for someone else. But my horizons are continually expanding, and I think we have an excellent prospect
Star Risk ignored them.
But even ignoring further frayed tempers.
"We're being nibbled to death by ducks," Goodnight growled.
The grand finale came next.
It was a very slick deal, everyone at Star Risk agreed.
Three aircraft, most likely small strike ships, attacked just after midnight on a weekend, when Trimalchio IV's business section was almost empty.
Two held, orbiting five hundred, meters over Star Risk's tower, and the third came in hot.
It launched what was probably a five hundred kiloton conventional homing bomb, which hit the Star Risk suite through Chas Goodnight's office window.
The blast utterly destroyed the suite, and the shock sent the tower rocking on its foundations.
The second ship came in, firing a dozen small incendiaries.
If there had been anything left of Star Risk's assets, they were destroyed in the fire. Firemen from a dozen companies responded, and the fire was out by an hour after dawn.
The five Star Risk operatives looked up at the smoke curling from the building's midsection.
M'chel Riss, her voice as empty as her prospects, said, "It's over."
There was no need or energy for argument or discussion.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
TEN � ^ � Does anybody see a way to break it off in Cerberus?" Chas Goodnight demanded harshly.
M'chel Riss shook her head.
"One�or rather five�against a gazillion� that only works in the holos."
After that, there wasn't much to say�or, rather, there was a great deal to say, but the Star Risk operatives, being soldiers, weren't good with words or emotions.
Even Grok had learned human habits in that regard.
Jasmine gave each of them a thick envelope full of high-denomination bills, from her secret emergency fund.
They all made insincere promises to stay in touch.
Jasmine gave M'chel the alloy nameplate for her office, and Riss almost started crying.
Instead, she managed, "So, what now?"
Goodnight had seen the glisten in her eye, and added, hastily, a cheerful "We'll just keep on keeping on."
Then he spoiled it by adding a very tentative "I guess."
With that, Star Risk, Ltd., was done.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ELEVEN � ^ � Of them all, Jasmine King and Grok had the least clear idea of what they wanted to do next.
King was, in spite of laudatory retraining efforts by M'chel Riss, still too much the bureaucrat, so she immediately rented a small suite of offices in a nondescript part of Trimalchio IV's capital.
She privately thought that Freddie had made Cerberus's job much easier with Star Risk's high visibility�the flashy suite in the high-rise and the even flashier name.
Her new offices had a very small sign on the door, saying research associates.
She invited Grok to share them with her.
"And what are we going to do?" he wanted to know.
"Make money," she said.
"How, might I ask?"
Jasmine hesitated for a little, then said, "What's the matter with what we were doing? Except with a much lower profile?"
Grok considered, then nodded his shaggy head.
"That is as good a way as any to pass the time, since I am not yet bored with this odd trade of mercenarying."
Jasmine smiled, a little wanly.
"It won't be as much fun as Star Risk was."
"Perhaps not," Grok said. "But the profit-sharing plan with just two of us is a great deal more favorable."
And so they put the word out, thinking there was no reason the lead Star Risk had pioneered�to have no more than the absolute essentials eating up the normal payroll, and contract hiring as needs and jobs presented themselves�wouldn't still work.
In about a week, Grok came in, beaming.
"I never thought I would have the human satisfaction of a mere job, working for someone else. But my horizons are continually expanding, and I think we have an excellent prospect
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