Ganz curled his hand into a fist as he stared at the comm display.
“Where is he?”
Kajek, a Nausicaan bounty hunter, shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You said you’d found him.”
“No, I said I found his ship.” Kajek uploaded a series of images to Ganz’s screen via the subspace comm link. “It was on Zeta Aurigae IV two days ago.”
The Orion gangster studied the photographs and paid close attention to their details. The markings on Zett’s vessel were unmistakable, as was the unique bit of battle damage visible on its dorsal hull, just behind the cockpit canopy. “That’s his ship,” Ganz said. Then the image switched to one showing the vessel’s registry. “Those aren’t Nalori markings. Those are human symbols.”
“It says ‘Dulcinea’ in Federation Standard. I have no idea what it means.”
“It means someone stole Zett’s ship. Who has it?”
More images appeared on Ganz’s screen, narrated by Kajek. “Two humans. A man and a woman. I suspect he is the pilot and she a passenger.”
“You’re half right.” Ganz massaged his left temple to stave off a nascent headache induced by the bass-heavy music resounding from the gaming floor outside his office. “The man is Cervantes Quinn, and he’s almost certainly the pilot. But that woman is no mere passenger—she’s a Starfleet agent. I suspect they’ve been working together for some time now.”
It had been over a year since someone—Ganz had never been entirely certain who—had cleared all of Quinn’s debts with Ganz’s operation. All his attempts to trace the money to its source had proved futile. The only fruit of that labor had been a stern warning, delivered through intermediaries, that Quinn was to be left alone unless Ganz wanted to awaken one day with his throat cut.
Since taking that advice to heart, Ganz had suspected Quinn was working with Starfleet Intelligence, but until he had seen evidence of Zett’s stolen starship, he would not have believed Quinn bold enough to risk inviting Ganz’s wrath.
The Nausicaan interrupted Ganz’s somber reflection with a loud grunt. “Am I finished, then? Or do you have a new commission for me?”
“Hang on, I’m thinking.” He put the comm on standby and looked past its display toward his lover, Neera. She reclined in a seductive pose on the sofa, her raven mane spilling wildly over her jade-hued shoulders and concealing the choicest bits of her bare torso. “What do you think?”
She fixed him with a cold stare. “You know what I think.”
“The situation has changed.”
“No, it hasn’t.” She finger-combed a thick fall of hair from her eyes. “Quinn still has powerful friends. The only difference is that now he also has Zett’s ship.”
“Which means he just spat in our eye.”
“Your eye, maybe. I never liked Zett. He was a disaster waiting to happen.” She shot a diabolical smirk at Ganz. “Mister Quinn might have done us a favor.”
Ganz suppressed an angry sigh. Though he played the part of the boss aboard the merchantman Omari-Ekon, he was merely a figurehead for Neera, the organization’s true mistress. At times such as this, he had to remember not to let his role go to his head lest Neera decide to recast it with someone more pliable. “I agree that Zett’s knack for bloodshed was a liability at times, but he was a loyal employee and a good earner.”
“So what?”
“It’ll set a bad example if we let him get killed and do nothing about it.”
Neera regarded him with faint amusement. “You’re afraid our hired guns will start to feel expendable?”
“They aren’t loyal just because we pay them well. They stick with us because they think we’ll back them up when times get tough—and avenge them when things go wrong. Zett was my right-hand man. If we don’t settle this score, nobody worth having will ever be willing to watch our backs again.”
His lithe mistress got up and walked toward him in slow, elegant strides. “And if Starfleet should decide to avenge Mister Quinn’s death in return?”
“That’s why I’m farming it out to the Nausicaan.”
She stopped beside him and traced his jutting chin with one exquisitely manicured fingernail. “If this comes back at us, you’ll take the hit. Understood?”
“Yes, mistress.”
Walking away, she threw a dark look over her shoulder. “Good.”
He waited until she had left the room through her private portal, and then he reactivated the comm channel to Kajek. “Kill Quinn, but don’t hurt the woman.”
“What if she defends him?”
“Not even then, so pick your moment well.”
“As you wish. The price is fifty thousand.”
“Fifty. Half in advance.”
“Thirty-five.”
“Do you want this human dead or not?”
Ganz half sighed, half growled. “Fine. I’ll transfer the retainer now. The Bank of Bolarus should confirm the transaction within the hour.”
Kajek nodded. “A pleasure doing business with you. I will let you know when the human is dead.” He ended the transmission, and the screen went dark.
Sitting alone in the dimly lit office, Ganz wondered whether he’d ordered the assassination of Cervantes Quinn as a substitute for a different murder that he wished for but which Neera had refused to sanction.
He got up and stepped outside to a small balcony that overlooked the gaming floor of the Omari-Ekon. Below him, beautiful escorts of various species and genders mingled with his patrons, most of whom were Federation civilians passing through Starbase 47, also known as Vanguard, on their way to new lives on colony planets throughout the Taurus Reach. Cheers from players with winning hands infrequently rose above the steady beat of synthetic music.
Ganz looked up. Through the transparent-aluminum dome that served as the casino’s roof, he saw the towering majesty of the Federation starbase looming over his ship, simultaneously providing it with protection from Ganz and Neera’s rivals while posing the most immediate threat to its continued free exercise of commerce.
Standing on another balcony at the opposite end of the gaming room was the root of Ganz’s anxiety, the cause of his broken sleep patterns, the irritant he had been forbidden to remove: Diego Reyes, the former commanding officer of Vanguard, now a fugitive from Starfleet justice who resided on the Omari-Ekon thanks to a grant of political asylum and the technicalities of Orion extradition law.
The tall, weathered-looking human flashed an insincere smile at Ganz.
The burly, muscular Orion returned the empty gesture. Keep smiling, you clever bastard, Ganz fumed. Sooner or later, you’ll stop being useful. And when that day comes, I’ll be waiting to toss you out an airlock.