Hammer and Crucible by Cameron Cooper (easy books to read txt) 📗

I had to do was add my chop and indicate which of the holding accounts should be used for dispersal.

It had to be a mistake. Farhan, as the CEO, got to approve the dividend payout. Only, technically, as the majority shareholder, I outranked him. Had some AI failed to take into account the family dynamics, and instead followed formal procedures?

I looked at the amount glowing on the screen. Farhan had been depressed about the miserable financial situation of the family. The dividend payout for each of us was, I admit, a lot smaller than previous years. Only, I was looking at the bottom line. The sum total of all dividends.

The amount made me tremble.

I looked at the screen for a long time, my heart thudding.

Then I pushed the board back under my pillow, as far away from me as possible, thrust on my boots and went out for fresh coffee. Sleeping wasn’t helping me.

Being awake wasn’t fun, either.

6

Juliyana wasn’t wrong about it being the middle of the night. The corridors were deserted and the lights turned down to just enough to see my way.

It was disconcerting. I have rarely been on a station which wasn’t permanently awake. Hell, most of the bars and stores didn’t have doors or locks, for they never shut. They just rotated through staff in endless shifts, while the concourse lights blazed, the noise spiraled, and passengers came and went in tidal waves.

Even the Umb Judeste was alive at all hours on the lower decks, although the higher family levels could reach this level of stillness. Sometimes.

My chances of finding fresh coffee in these ghostly corridors were not good, although I pressed on toward the wider passage where the landing bays were located. That wide lane was as close to a concourse the station had to offer. I could perhaps find a public printer I could coax into handing over a cup.

Hunting for one was something to do, other than sleeping. Or reading messages on my pad.

The main corridor was as empty of people as any other corridor I had already passed through. I didn’t mind being alone, though.

The passage differed from the functional corridors which ran off it, not just because it was wider, but because it was irregularly shaped. Bays carved regular spaces out of the sides. Each bay was a storefront. There was even a bar—with shutters over the windows and zero light showing anywhere. No advertisements pocked the façade, either.

I couldn’t imagine any spacer gravitating toward this bar, except it was the only one I found as I moved up and down the corridor. Most stations had a bar, a more-or-less discreet brothel, a day-hilton, longer term accommodation and at least one food outlet in between landing bays and official services and administration. Unregulated and unofficial merchants plied up and down the concourse, selling goods and services which ranged from unusual to illegal. I was offered a three-humped camel, once. I had to look up what a camel was.

They came for me out of the narrowest of service trenches just as I passed by, my irritation growing, along with my need for caffeine.

I spotted them from the corner of my eye, and my arm came up instinctively. My right hand reached for the shriver, which was no longer on my hip.

They wore reflective masks and muted clothing, which blocked all telling details. I couldn’t base gender upon height, either. The only thing I knew for certain was that they were not friendly. That was all I needed to know.

The arm of the first slapped up against my forearm, making my arm and shoulder creak heavily with the impact. The second and third stepped around him and came for me from the flanks.

Not good.

It occurred to me with the sensation of the last piece of a puzzle dropping into place, that they were utterly silent in their approach. They were not raising their voices with threats or demands.

They wanted this to be soft and invisible.

So I opened my mouth, filled my lungs, and bellowed as hard as I could. “Help! Help me! They’re attacking me!”

“Shut her up, will you?” the leader breathed. Male.

The two on my flanks were trying to get their hands on me. Inevitably they would, for I was outnumbered, but I had no intention of making it easy for them. I kicked and punched and twisted. I kept my feet moving. It had been decades since I had taken on three at a time. Once, it would have barely raised my pulse.

The most shocking aspect of the struggle was how truly weak I had become. Women recruited in the Rangers were taught early in their careers how to offset their gender disadvantages, with moves and blocks and defenses which didn’t require huge amounts of upper body strength or muscle. Yet now, even those tricks, when I applied them, didn’t send my attackers staggering back or drop them to the ground. They grunted. I was handing out pain, certainly, but it didn’t slow them down.

Even though I put my full body weight behind my fist, it landed with the impact of a pillow.

“Duck, Danny,” Juliyana said, from behind me.

I was really glad she had not directed me to leap to the side. I was exhausted. Gratefully, I dropped to the ground, thrusting out my hand so I could stay squatting and not lose my balance. It was not out of the question that I might have to move fast in a moment. I needed to keep my feet under me.

Juliyana leapt over me, using her impetus to drive the heel of her hand against the middle guy’s face. I suspect she was aiming for where she thought his jaw might be, underneath the reflecting mask.

A metallic crunch sounded, as her fist drove through the mask. This time, the man staggered back in an uncontrolled manner I found highly satisfying. Even more comforting was the thud of his landing.

Juliyana swung to tackle the one who had been