Wing Commander #07 False Color William Forstchen (top 10 books to read .txt) 📖

have you ever known me to turn away the chance to make a credit or two, Frank? Send the gentleman up, by all means."

Springweather managed to finish going over the Customs Manifest, appending her retinal print to the computer file just as the visitor arrived at her door.

He was a tall, gaunt man with dark hair and a down-turning mustache that made him look like a pirate right out of a historical holo-vid romance. His eyes, studying her, burned with the intensity of a man with a mission.

She stood and rounded the desk, extending a hand. "I'm Wenona Springweather. Captain, for what it's worth, of the Vision Quest. My Mate tells me you've some business for us. How can I be of service?"

"My name is Zachary Banfeld," he said, taking the hand.

Springweather's eyes narrowed. That was a name she'd heard before. But she had never expected to meet one of the most notorious men on the frontier.

Banfeld was the organizer and leader of a group that called itself "The Guild," a loose association of ship-captains and businessmen from a dozen worlds along the frontier, and not just within the Landreich's sphere of influence. Ostensibly they were civilians who had banded together for mutual protection and support during the war, but in fact rumor had it that they were much more than harmless merchants. Pooling their funds, they had bought weapons to arm their merchant ships, and even managed to acquire a small, antiquated escort carrier and some Confederation fighters. All this was supposed to be used to convoy merchant traffic along the dangerous frontier trade routes, but there were stories that suggested Banfeld's Guild operated as privateers—some said outright pirates—raiding shipping and remote planetary outposts and selling the proceeds at a substantial profit.

He seemed to sense her reaction to his name, and gave her a thin-lipped smile. "My reputation no doubt precedes me, Captain, but I assure you I'm not at all the way I'm portrayed on the holo-casts. Neither Robin Hood nor Blackbeard . . . just Zack Banfeld, trying to do my job."

"And that job is?" She let a hint of ice creep into her tone. Wenona Springweather was as mercenary as an frontier scout, but her motto had always been to steer clear of the war and everything it represented. Banfeld on the other hand, took entirely too much interest in conflict.

His smile turned wolfish. "Why, simply turning a profit Captain," he said. "And, if I can, helping out the small ship-owner from time to time."

"Such as now?" she asked. 'What sort of help did you have in mind for me?"

"Just a chance to make a large sum of money in return for a few small bits of information," he said blandly. "About the work you've been doing the past several weeks."

"My last two trips have been classified by the Landreich government," she told him. "They've been employing me as a consultant, and you must understand that I couldn't go around selling secrets."

He shrugged. "It's fairly well known by now that you found a Kilrathi derelict. That news has been circulating around the bars for weeks. I'm . . . interested in learning the details, though. If the government is no longer interested in this ship, it might be an excellent source for parts, equipment, that sort of thing."

"And if the government is still interested?"

"Then I may still be able to turn a profit. Providing supply transport, for example, to and from the hulk. That sort of thing. I can't really say how The Guild might get involved until I know more details. But if I could obtain a little inside information, I'd not only know what to offer, but maybe I could get an inside track on the bidding."

"As far as I know, the government's not using civilian contractors out there," she said. "I was there because I found the thing in the first place. But the rest seems to be entirely a Navy operation. I'm sorry, but I don't really think I can help." His eyes flashed for an instant. Then the smile was back. "Come, come, Captain. You haven't even heard my offer. Fifty thousand for your information, and a ten percent share of any profits I might turn from it." "Fifty thousand . . ." That was substantially more than Max Kruger had paid her for the original information about the Karga. Tempted, she turned and walked to the far side of the office, gazing out the small transplast porthole over her desk at the busy starport outside. Finally she turned back, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I can't help you." "You're afraid I might misuse the information?" He was frowning now. "Look, from what you say the government is already there, and from the size of the battle group that went out and didn't come back with you and Independence I'd say they were protecting this derelict pretty damned well. What am I going to do? Sell the story to the Cats? Even if they were interested, they couldn't do much without mounting a damned big raid, and by the time they did anything the Navy would be ready for them. Anyway, dealing with Cats is hardly ever profitable. And I swear all I'm trying to do is make a good business move ahead of the pack."

She studied him for a long moment, her thoughts prey to conflicting emotions. Despite his reputation Banfeld had generally played the part of a patriot during the war, though he'd also turned a handsome profit at the same time. She didn't really think he'd betray anything she told him to the Kilrathi. And fifty thousand credits . . .

Her eyes came to rest on the computer terminal where she'd been poring over the Landreich's forms and endless bureaucratic garbage. What did she really owe the government now, anyway? She'd done the job they'd hired her to do, led Richards and his men to the Karga and then wasted months hanging around waiting for them to decide