Free Kris Longknife's Bloodhound, a novella by Mike Shepherd

head on Musashi.  Quite literally.”
    “Well, let us not lose our head here.  You be careful.  Both you and I have been threatened by a certain security type from Alex Longknife’s establishment.  Keep your eyes open and your back checked.”
    “”I’ve asked my mother to call me every night,” Leslie said.  Taylor knew what a sacrifice that was for the agent.  “If she can’t get ahold of me, she’s to call you or Mohomet or Rick.  One of you will, no doubt, get the bloodhounds out on my trail.”
    “No doubt.  Now, thanks for the burrito, and the news.  Get back to work, and again, watch out for our new friends.”
    “Yes, boss,” she said, in a tone no doubt she’d mastered as a teenager for her mother.
    He tended to his fishing, but kept a watch on her out of the corner of her eye.  She was a delight to watch . . . and she made it off the pier and into the streets of the city without any problems.
    Taylor tossed his line back in with four bait cubes.  With any luck, the fish would know it for what it was and carefully relieve the hook of its burden without bothering him to reel it in.
    Was Alex actually sending a full technical library out to the aliens?  What did he expect to get for it?  Wine.  Cheese.  Caviar, no doubt.  From what Taylor had picked up about the aliens, they were hardly the type to bother with hors d’oeuvres.  No, Alex Longknife was ignoring all that Kris Longknife had reported back about the aliens.  He was assuming they were just like him and strutting out there, confident that he, and he alone, understood the situation.
    And he’d fall flat on his face, which wasn’t so bad, but it would be the greatest catastrophe in human history.
    Taylor winced.  It would take one of those damn Longknifes to foul up that bad, wouldn’t it?
    Taylor considered interviewing some of the galleries and purveyors of fine foods, but dropped that line of questioning.  They would most likely only know that they had an order and that they were fulfilling it.  No leads there.
    Again the agent considered the list of merchant marine officers that Leslie had given him.  Yep, they’re the most likely source of information.  They would have to know something about where they were going and why.
    Taylor reeled his hook in.  Empty.  He rebaited it, putting six cubes on it, careful to have them loosely affiliated with the hook, and did another cast.  He leaned forward, eyes half on the water beneath him, half on his wrist unit as he flipped through the officers.
    All had salient careers with the Star Lines.  They’d delivered the goods on time and at a profit.  None, Taylor noted, had any experience handling the extraordinary or uncommon.  They’d sailed the established trade routes and done the job.
    If Alex Longknife thought these men could follow in the footsteps of someone like Kris Longknife, he was a fool.
    However, it was very unlikely that anyone that made it to the top of his fortress of insecurity would tell him that.
    Taylor looked over the list again, and found nothing new.  He rebaited his hook.  Eight cubes was all he had, and all the hook would take.  Another cast into the ocean void. 
    Who would I send into the void?
    The large freighter would, no doubt, get experience captains and officers.  But what about the small tender?  Who would take it out?  Who would enjoy cloud dancing and, maybe, doing extra scouting?
    Taylor went down his list again and found no one with command experience in a cruiser during the war.  No one with any experience in the little stuff.
    My list is too short. 
    Taylor reeled in his hook, collected his gear and headed to the wash area.  Clean and done, he returned it to the rental.  None of the retirees there today were from the bureau.  He put five bucks into the tip bucket and headed for the bus stop.
    Half his mind was on where he might find the missing skipper, someone to command the tender.  The other half of his mind, was, as