can’t talk about it here.”
Let this lot of degenerates find out he had a Marine armory on board, and the fukking losers would be fighting over who got to try for it first.
Big Bill made a noncommittal noise that still managed to sound like a threat.
Dragging his tongue over dry lips, Cho added, “Let me show it to you.”
Big Bill maneuvered the eye deftly around the armory in absolute silence, fingers ghosting over the surface of his slate. When he reached the CSO seal, he snorted. “Given what you told me of your captive’s unfortunate death, I see why you were looking for Tyra. Not the sort of lock you can plug your slate into and have it run down the combination; salvage operators write in some bugfuk crazy layers. That said, you do realize Tyra’s codes would have been too old to open this?”
“Her codes would have been a starting point for hacking the lock.”
“Tricky.” Big Bill nodded slowly. “But possible if you have someone sufficiently skilled.”
“I have someone.” Depending, of course, Cho qualified silently, on how much his thytrins had exaggerated young Nadayki’s talents.
“Good.” With the eye at full magnification, Big Bill examined every millimeter of the lock, then—after snapping his slate back onto his belt—turned and swept a critical gaze over Cho and his two companions. “If you actually manage to get that open, do you know what you have?”
“A cargo we can sell for one fuck of a lot of money,” Nat told him.
“No.”
“No?” she repeated, eyes wide.
“What you have,” Big Bill said quietly before she could continue her protest, “is a means to an end. With those weapons in the hands of free merchants ...”
Doc turned a snicker into a cough.
Big Bill ignored him. “. . . you, we could take what we wanted.”
“We take what we want now,” Nat pointed out, wiping bloody fingertips on her overalls.
“No.” Cho answered before Big Bill could. “We take what we can. There’s a difference.”
The big man nodded again. “That’s what I like about you, Mackenzie Cho. You see the whole picture. The information about how the little gray aliens played puppet master across known space and beyond has the Confederation teetering on the edge,” he continued. “We apply pressure at the right point and we can keep everything we can take.” Reaching back, he pressed one hand against the cargo bay hatch. “With what’s in here, we can take enough to make a difference.”
“The Navy will try and stop us,” Doc said slowly. Folding his arms over his chest, he frowned and added, “Advantage always goes to the side that doesn’t play by the rules.”
It was like both halves of his personality had made their own point.
“With this ...” Big Bill smacked his palm against the hatch, the sudden impact loud enough Nat jumped and swore. “. . . we can make our own rules. Now then . . .” His smile was genial as he leaned back and folded his arms, smile broadening when Doc scowled and unfolded his. “. . . let’s go over our options. I could purchase this from you, as is. You’d make less than you would if you sold the contents piece by piece, but opening the armory would be my concern. You would, of course, no longer have first choice of the weapons for your own personal use, nor would you be at the forefront of the revolution.”
Cho could feel Doc and Nat staring at the back of his head. “No deal.” This was his chance. The way Vrijheid had been William Ponner’s
“I thought that would be your answer.” He nodded his approval. “The second option involves you returning with a new and preferably less broken CSO and, once you have the codes, I do the hack myself.”
And Cho remembered how Big Bill had acquired the station.
“There’s two reasons I don’t like that plan,” Big Bill continued. “First, the Corps objects to outsiders getting their hands on their toys, and they make that objection with extreme prejudice.”
“I thought
Let this lot of degenerates find out he had a Marine armory on board, and the fukking losers would be fighting over who got to try for it first.
Big Bill made a noncommittal noise that still managed to sound like a threat.
Dragging his tongue over dry lips, Cho added, “Let me show it to you.”
Big Bill maneuvered the eye deftly around the armory in absolute silence, fingers ghosting over the surface of his slate. When he reached the CSO seal, he snorted. “Given what you told me of your captive’s unfortunate death, I see why you were looking for Tyra. Not the sort of lock you can plug your slate into and have it run down the combination; salvage operators write in some bugfuk crazy layers. That said, you do realize Tyra’s codes would have been too old to open this?”
“Her codes would have been a starting point for hacking the lock.”
“Tricky.” Big Bill nodded slowly. “But possible if you have someone sufficiently skilled.”
“I have someone.” Depending, of course, Cho qualified silently, on how much his thytrins had exaggerated young Nadayki’s talents.
“Good.” With the eye at full magnification, Big Bill examined every millimeter of the lock, then—after snapping his slate back onto his belt—turned and swept a critical gaze over Cho and his two companions. “If you actually manage to get that open, do you know what you have?”
“A cargo we can sell for one fuck of a lot of money,” Nat told him.
“No.”
“No?” she repeated, eyes wide.
“What you have,” Big Bill said quietly before she could continue her protest, “is a means to an end. With those weapons in the hands of free merchants ...”
Doc turned a snicker into a cough.
Big Bill ignored him. “. . . you, we could take what we wanted.”
“We take what we want now,” Nat pointed out, wiping bloody fingertips on her overalls.
“No.” Cho answered before Big Bill could. “We take what we can. There’s a difference.”
The big man nodded again. “That’s what I like about you, Mackenzie Cho. You see the whole picture. The information about how the little gray aliens played puppet master across known space and beyond has the Confederation teetering on the edge,” he continued. “We apply pressure at the right point and we can keep everything we can take.” Reaching back, he pressed one hand against the cargo bay hatch. “With what’s in here, we can take enough to make a difference.”
“The Navy will try and stop us,” Doc said slowly. Folding his arms over his chest, he frowned and added, “Advantage always goes to the side that doesn’t play by the rules.”
It was like both halves of his personality had made their own point.
“With this ...” Big Bill smacked his palm against the hatch, the sudden impact loud enough Nat jumped and swore. “. . . we can make our own rules. Now then . . .” His smile was genial as he leaned back and folded his arms, smile broadening when Doc scowled and unfolded his. “. . . let’s go over our options. I could purchase this from you, as is. You’d make less than you would if you sold the contents piece by piece, but opening the armory would be my concern. You would, of course, no longer have first choice of the weapons for your own personal use, nor would you be at the forefront of the revolution.”
Cho could feel Doc and Nat staring at the back of his head. “No deal.” This was his chance. The way Vrijheid had been William Ponner’s
“I thought that would be your answer.” He nodded his approval. “The second option involves you returning with a new and preferably less broken CSO and, once you have the codes, I do the hack myself.”
And Cho remembered how Big Bill had acquired the station.
“There’s two reasons I don’t like that plan,” Big Bill continued. “First, the Corps objects to outsiders getting their hands on their toys, and they make that objection with extreme prejudice.”
“I thought
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