Free Sidney's Comet by Brian Herbert Page B

Malloy, and I’m damn sure not going against its wishes. Hell, Dick—maybe that was God himself. Speaking to ME!”
    “Okay, okay. This Malloy—can he be trained?”
    “Anyone can be trained,” Munoz said. “You know that. And Malloy knows a pilot—one of the three-hundred on whom we have files.”
    “Oh?”
    “Javik,” Colonel Peebles said. “He’s a ruffian.”
    “Funny thing though,” Munoz said. ‘This Javik is sharp, maybe the best we can find. He knows the Akron class space cruiser and has exceptional reaction times.” Munoz lifted a manila folder from the coffee table, handed it to Hudson.
    Hudson thumbed through Javik’s dossier file. “He’s had mass-driver mechanics training, too. Odd that he’d know Malloy. They went to high school together. . . . ”
    “Javik is bull-headed and quick-tempered!” Peebles said.
    Hudson nodded. “Poor attitude quotient,” he said, reading from the report. “Gets in fights all the time.”
    Munoz shook his head in exasperation, spoke tersely to Peebles: “His bull-headedness . . . as you call it . . . was actually independent decision-making. He took out an entire enemy fighter squadron with one star class cruiser—”
    “And a Major’s jaw with one punch,” Peebles said. “I saw him knock Neil Smalley down. In fact, it was my testimony that got Javik tossed out of the service.”
    “The decisions he made were absolutely correct,” Munoz insisted. “His only error was in striking an officer. Major Smalley shouldn’t have pressed him about procedures.”
    “It won’t matter anyway,” Peebles said, raising his blond eyebrows. “He’s on a six-day pass and is nowhere to be found . . . I’ll bet he’s shacked up.”
    “You’re going to send Javik and Malloy on this mission together?’ Hudson asked, looking at Munoz.
    Munoz nodded, then glanced at Peebles. “You’ll find Javik, Allen,” Munoz said, smiling knowingly, “ . . . when you hear what I have in store for him.”
    Peebles did not reply, stared at the General impertinently.
    “The ejection pods on his ship will be disconnected, and the rocket engines will have a certain . . .” Munoz paused, glanced at Hudson with a mischievous smile.
    Hudson returned the smile. “I believe planned obsolescence is the term for which you were searching, General,” he said. “The radio has been prepared similarly.”
    Peebles brightened. “That sounds pretty good. . . . ”
    “And no rescue craft anywhere in the vicinity,” Munoz said. ‘The world will never know that a comet really threatened us, or that he stopped it.”
    “What about an enforcer?” Peebles asked.
    The General raised an eyebrow. “An enforcer?”
    “Yessss,” Peebles said, his voice a cruel purr. “Conceivably, Javik could repair anything you disconnect. And we don’t want any chance of him getting off a distress call.”
    “True.”
    “Let’s send along Madame Bernet.” An evil, purse-lipped smile danced along Peebles’s mouth.
    “Ahh!” Munoz caressed his mustache. “The Montreal Slasher!” He turned to Hudson. “The meckie is available?’
    “Yes,” Hudson said. “Just back from a mission. Madame Bernet silenced eight guys on that one . . . permanently.”
    “This will be delicious,” Peebles said, smiling like a death’s head. “But alas,” he added sadly, “it will be the last mission for our finest killer meckie.”
    Munoz rubbed his temple. “Bring Malloy and Javik to me,” he said.

    Four hours later, inside the Black Box of Democracy . . .
    With his ankles crossed beneath his body, the tall fat man known as Onesayer Edward sat naked on a blue and gold prayer rug with one hand resting on each knee. Soft morning rays of sunlight from an overhead skylight warmed his bare shoulders and the back of his shaved head. Flicking a downward glance at his pendulous stomach and at the great folds of flesh which cascaded to the rug from every part of his body, he imagined that he must resemble a