Drifter's War (4 page)

A reader board was mounted on pilings off to the right. The words slid from left to right: "Thanks for staying at the Rothmonian Lodge. Please come again."

Lando looked around. He saw open water, white-capped waves, and low-scudding gray clouds. Perfect weather to hide in.

A wave broke across the bow, sluiced the length of the deck, and washed over Lando's feet. The cockpit had a high coaming around it but the rest of the deck was clear. The smuggler grimaced, and was just about to go below, when something surfaced off the starboard bow.

Lando's first thought was an animal of some sort, a Pylaxian version of Ithro's sea monsters perhaps, or a bioengineered whale. But whales don't have metal skins or make whining noises when their heads move.

The creature's head came up out of the water, its mouth opened, and a pair of robo-cams flew out. One came in close while the other hung back. The voice was the same one Lando had heard on the beach.

"Hello, Citizen Lando! That was a close call back there. What now?"

Lando pulled the slug gun, took careful aim, and put two slugs through the closest vid cam. It staggered, belched black smoke, and splashed into the water.

Lando smiled as the other camera scuttled into the submersible's open mouth and disappeared. The entire machine was gone a few seconds later. Lando wondered if it would attempt to follow him. Stupid question. Of course it would.

The smuggler took a quick look around, failed to detect any other signs of pursuit, and went below. A section of canopy hissed open to admit him. The air felt warm and dry. His shoes squished down the ladder.

Melissa looked small in oversize shorts and top. She threw her arms around Lando's neck. "It's a good thing you're okay… Della would go bonkers if I let anything happen to you."

Lando gave her a hug, marveled at the little girl's strange logic, and grabbed a towel from the nearest seat. He used it to dry his hair.

"Welcome below, sir," the NAVCOMP said heartily. "We're receiving repeated messages ta heave to. How should I respond?"

It was tempting to make a snappy reply but that would provide the Rothmonian's security people with a radio fix. Lando spoke through the towel.

"No reply… in fact, the less electromechanical activity the better."

"Aye, aye, sir," the computer responded. "And that bein' the case, sir, should I shut down the auxiliary power and deploy the sail?"

Lando considered it. "How would that effect our speed?"

"Given the current weather conditions our speed would increase from twenty knots to more than forty."

Lando threw the towel toward a corner. "Excellent. Deploy the sail and cut auxiliary power."

"Aye, aye, sir. The sail it is."

The
Nadia
wallowed in a trough. Lando fought to keep his balance. "One more thing."

"Sir?" the NAVCOMP responded.

"Can you tell if we're being followed?"

"Would you be referrin' ta the submersible, sir?"

Lando smiled. "Yes, I would."

"They're followin' all right, sir. Would ya care ta lose them?"

"That would be nice, yes."

"Consider it done," the NAVCOMP said confidently.

It took the NAVCOMP about three minutes to position the skimmer's wing, to adjust the slots and flaps, and to turn onto an easterly course.

Lando felt more than a little useless as he sat down before the control console. A whole network of potentiometers provided him with information. The only problem was that he didn't know what to do with it. Thank Sol for the NAVCOMP.

The skimmer shuddered momentarily as the wing cut into the wind, heeled to starboard, and picked up speed. A few moments later the slight vibration caused by the auxiliary power unit disappeared and the
Nadia
started to fly.

The wind not only pushed against the wing but lifted at the same time. Freed from all but minimal drag, the boat did exactly what its name suggested, and skimmed the surface of the water.

Rain spattered against the duraplast canopy and kept Lando from sliding it back, but nothing could separate him from the almost overwhelming sensation of speed. And not just any speed, but dangerous speed, as the NAVCOMP calculated and recalculated the wind speed, air temperature, wave action, and prevailing currents thousands of times a second, made minute adjustments, and pushed the boat to the limit of its performance.

Melissa was fascinated. Her forehead was pressed against the inside of the canopy. The lead-gray sky and sea seemed to fly past the skimmer. There was no noise of an engine, no sound of machinery at work, just the roar of the wind and the patter of rain. The only thing she felt was the bump, bump, bump of wave tops hitting the bottom of the hull.

Lando remembered the skimmer races that he'd seen and felt a new sense of respect. The racers had some help from an on-board NAVCOMP but were required to provide most of the control themselves. Lando couldn't imagine how they did it. The NAVCOMP interrupted his thoughts.

"We outran the submersible, sir."

"Excellent. Let me know if you detect pursuit of any kind."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Melissa clapped her hands. "We're free!"

Lando forced a smile. "Yes, we are. For the moment anyway."

4

Dee blinked in the bright sunlight. Cap started to slide off her shoulder. She heaved him back into place. If the denizens of Blast Town thought her burden strange they gave no sign of it.

Blast Town was the name the local residents had given to the run-down mishmash of bars, strip joints, and seedy hotels that bordered the south side of Brisco City's spaceport. The people who lived there saw stranger sights every night.

Like the time she had bailed Pik out of the local jail with every intention of turning him in. Her car had been ambushed by a psychopath named Jord Willer, she'd been wounded, and Lando had saved her life. It was strange the way things circled around to kick you right in the butt.

An ancient auto cab sat idling up the street. The words "For Hi e" slid over and around the vehicle's beat-up electro-finish. They wobbled through the dents and blipped over the scratches.

Dee waved and the cab jerked into motion. The brakes made a scraping sound as they brought the vehicle to a halt in front of her.

A door popped open and Dee dumped Sorenson inside. He slumped sideways and a leg slid over the edge of the seat. The bounty hunter grabbed the front of his ship-suit, jerked him into a sitting position, and turned him toward the front of the cab. Cap started to topple forward but Dee slid in to prop him up. The cab's interior smelled of smoke, vomit, and chemical disinfectant.

The cab jerked into motion. "Destination, please," the machine asked pleasantly.

Dee started to answer but the bleat of a siren caused her to turn and look out the back window. A boxy-looking combat car with the word "Police" stenciled across its bow was headed down the street. There were two, maybe three news vans right behind it, and a gaggle of robo-cams overhead. Vultures headed for the kill. Someone had identified Sorenson, her, or both. The heat was closing in. Dee turned toward the front of the cab.

"The spaceport and step on it."

"Right-o," the auto cab replied cheerfully. "Would you like the entire history of the spaceport? It's only two credits more."

"Shut up and drive."

The auto cab did as it was told.

Dee watched the bars and nightclubs give way to warehouses, hangars, and a full-spectrum security fence. It consisted of high-test metal mesh interwoven with a force field. Light shimmered across its surface.

Just beyond the fence Dee could see acres of blast-scarred duracrete, rows of parked ships, and a terminal building. A ship rose on repellors, skittered into a launch zone, and lifted for space. Thunder rolled across the land.

The bounty hunter ignored it. Her interest lay with one ship in particular. The tender that Sorenson used as a shuttle. Lando would head straight for it. Once aboard they could lift, rejoin Cy aboard the drifter, and decide what to do. But what if the tender was a trap? What if the police were watching it? Things could go south in a real hurry, that's what.

The gate was just ahead. The guard shack was built like a pillbox and was equipped with the latest in automatic defenses. Dee swallowed something hard and dry. Was airport security on the lookout for them? If so, it was all over.

There was a delivery truck right in front of them. It came to a full stop. A beefy guard stepped up to the window and waved a scanner toward the back. A routine precaution or a sign of heightened security? There was no way to tell.

The truck rolled on. The cab jerked into motion and ground to a halt seconds later. The guard stepped forward. Dee heard a comset buzz. The guard turned away.

"Corporal Prescott. Rudy? Damn it, Rudy, how many times do I have to tell you? Don't call me here at work."

The guard waved toward the auto cab and it jerked forward.

Dee gave a sigh of relief and leaned back in her seat.

The ships were parked in orderly rows, each one sitting on its assigned number. Cap's tender was parked in row F number 47. Dee tried to look in every direction at once as she directed the auto cab down row E.

Things looked normal enough. Ground jitneys dashed here and there, repair techs strode about on their shiny exoskeletons, and robots rolled, crawled, walked, or flew in various directions.

Dee pointed toward a reentry-scarred freighter. Stacks of cargo modules surrounded it. "Pull up over there."

A gang of auto loaders were hard at work placing cargo in the main hold but there was no sign of any sentients. Good.

Brakes rasped and the auto cab came to a halt. "Ten-fifty, please."

Dee opened the door. "Wait here. I'll be back."

"Yes, mam," the machine said cheerfully. "That'll be one credit per minute while on standby."

"That'll be fine."

Dee stepped out of the cab onto hot pavement. The air reeked of ozone, fuel, and lubricants. She marched toward row F. Dee had learned a long time ago: If you're not supposed to be there… then look like you are.

She had to wait for an auto tractor to pass. A long train of power pallets followed obediently behind, each one bobbing up and down on its own cushion of air, soon to be loaded with incoming cargo.

Once the pallets had passed Dee ducked around the side of a large cargo module and found the hatch was ajar. She pushed it open. It was dark and relatively cool inside. The air had a metallic smell. "Anyone home?"

Nothing. She looked around. The module had been converted into a portable workshop. She saw racks of electronics, a variety of power tools, and an industrial-strength laser cutter. Satisfied that she was alone Dee stood just inside the door and took a look.

The tender sat right where they'd left it. It had the boxy appearance of a vessel meant more for space than atmospheric use. Hot air shimmered all around it.

Dee squinted against the glare. The ship was completely undisturbed from all appearances. But was it? The tender could be sitting there ready to lift, or packed with police, just waiting for them to return.

And there was another problem as well. Dee couldn't fly anything more complicated than a light plane and Cap was out of commission. Once aboard they'd be trapped. Unable to lift and unable to run.

Dee decided to do what successful bounty hunters do best. Wait. Wait and watch. If the tender was a trap something would happen to give it away. Patience was the key.

The first thing to do was get rid of the cab. A short wait was one thing, but an hour or more might trigger the cab company's central computer, and bring someone to investigate. Besides, at the rate of a credit a minute, she'd be out of money in no time flat. She made her way back to the cab.

A puff of cool air hit Dee's face as she opened the door. Cap mumbled something unintelligible and waved a hand in her general direction. He was coming to. Good. Dee addressed herself to the auto cab.

"What do I owe you?"

"Twenty-one fifty."

Dee fumbled around in a pocket, found some local currency, and fed some of it into the cab's cash comp. A bell dinged when the total reached twenty-one fifty.

Dee turned her attention to Sorenson. "Cap… Cap, can you hear me?"

Cap mumbled something, swallowed, and said, "Wha?"

"Come on. It's time to get out of the cab."

"Out of the cab?"

"Right. Give me your hand, yes, there. Are you okay?"

Sorenson nodded, but from the way he swayed back and forth and stared blankly at his surroundings, she knew it wasn't true.

Dee took his arm, but tried to avoid the appearance of supporting him, since that might attract attention. The cargo module looked as if it was miles away. Cap stumbled once or twice, but Dee caught him, and they kept on going.

Dee had a story prepared in case the module was occupied, but was happy when it wasn't. She led Sorenson over to a beat-up chair. It squeaked as he sat down. His voice cracked when he spoke.

"What the hell are we doing in here? I saw the tender outside. Let's go aboard."

Dee shook her head. "We can't."

Cap frowned. "Why the hell not?"

Dee felt an overwhelming sense of frustration. "Because of you, Cap. Because
you
got drunk,
you
spilled your guts to the media, and
you
put us all in danger."

Sorenson's eyes grew larger. His face seemed ghostly white. "Got drunk? Spilled my guts?"

"Everything but the drifter's coordinates."

Cap looked around as if seeing the inside of the cargo module for the first time. "Wait a minute… where's Melissa? Where's Pik?"

Dee leaned against a cold metal wall. Her voice was weary.

"Now there's an interesting question. Well, assuming that they haven't been captured or killed, they're on the run. Headed this way would be my guess."

Sorenson was silent for a minute. The lines in his face seemed to grow even deeper. "I need a drink."

Dee felt pity mixed with disgust. "No, Cap. What you need is a good deal more complicated than that."

The next hour passed with agonizing slowness. The heat grew until the inside of the cargo module was like an oven. Dee's clothes were soaked with perspiration and her mouth was very dry. She picked up a washer and popped it in her mouth. The saliva tasted good. She peeked outside.