The Warlock Wandering (8 page)

but it's still just plain torture. They clip electrodes on to them, instead of thumbscrews, but agony is agony. I didn't have to stay and watch it, but I felt soiled and debased anyway, as though I'd been turned into something less than human. They told me I could go back to quarters, but I went straight to the Boss, and told him, I quit.

"He sat back in that plastic-walled office behind his stainless steel desk, and just laughed at me. Then he said, 'You can't quit the Secret Security, Shershay. The only way you go out, is feet-first.' 'It's a deal,' I said, and I slammed out of his office. But I headed for the portal as fast as I could walk. I didn't run—that would have been advertising—but I walked very fast. He was as good as his word, though; I saw a gunman running to intercept me as I came in sight of the main portal. I just kept going while he pulled up and aimed at me, then I jerked to the side at the last second. 58

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He wasted time trying to track me with the gun, then he squeezed off a shot, but the bolt didn't come anywhere near me. I lashed out with a kick, and caught him right under the chin with my heel. His head snapped back, and something made a cracking sound, but I landed on the other side of his body, and I landed running. Right out the door." She paused for breath, trembling, and Yorick said softly,

"How far did you get?"

"About a kilometer. Because there was a courier in a floater, just coming in. 1 kicked him out at gunpoint and took off—but 1 just went over the parapet, and down into the city, before they could get an intercepter after me. I was in the Old Town—the part where the streets go this way and that—organic, yo0 know? I ducked in there, and was gone."

"You knew better than to stay there, though," Rod said softly.

"Of course." Chornoi shrugged. "Not that it made much difference. They had the cordon out by dawn, and a SecSec force behind me, tracking. I stepped up to a food-counter, to put down a bowl of soy-meal—and when 1 came out, they jumped me."

"Hard?" Yorick asked.

Chomoi glared at him. "Very."

She turned to Rod. "But 1 healed. Oh, I was still bleeding here and there when they hauled me up in front of the judge—that was only a couple of hours later. And, of course, SecSec had six witnesses who swore they'd seen me kill that gunman; they'd never been anywhere near him, of course. I think one of them had watched it on a security monitor, though. Which didn't matter, 'cause they played the recording—and the judge said, 'Re-form her.'" Gwen frowned, not understanding; but Rod paled. "They were going to wipe your brain and install a new personality?" Chomoi nodded. "And if I didn't live, what difference did it make? But I didn't even get that far. They slammed me into the floater, to go to the re-form center—but we never even lifted. There was a courier there, with a document. Seems the whole time I'd been in front of the judge, SecSec had been going to the Secretary -General, convincing him that secret police were military personnel—so they didn't bother re-forming; they just loaded me into a convict barge, and shipped us all out to Wolmar." Her mouth tightened. "It wasn't a pleasant trip. It lasted two weeks, and only three of us convicts were women. The rest of the soldiers tried to take turns on us." She glared at Rod. "But three is just enough to guard each other's backs. After we killed a couple, they held off. They tried to get the ship's brass to tie us down, but they told us they just steered the damn thing and made it go; we convicts were each other's problems." She shivered. "We had to take turns sleeping, but we got here intact."

"And here?" Gwen's eyes were huge.

Chomoi shrugged. "It's a little easier now. Oh, the other two—when they found out how much they could make, once the convicts were getting paychecks again—they set up shop. They own their own houses now, and each of them is richer than any man on the planet."

Gwen was pale now, and her hand trembled as she lifted her glass, then put it down. "Yet thou didst not—how didst thou say it..."

"Go into business." Chomoi nodded, eyes glittering. "But I had to fight 'em off every day, at first—two or three in any twenty-four hours, till I got a reputation. Now it's just two or three a week. The ones who survive out here are smart, though—they back off when it starts getting dangerous, so I've never had to kill one."

"Yet do they not come at thee in company?"^Gwen whispered.

"That's why I was sitting back there." Chomoi jerked her head toward a table in a back comer. "I can see the 60 Christopher Stasheff

door, and the whole room, but nobody can come at me from behind. They haven't tried, though." She took a sip of her ale, but grimaced as though it were bitter. "Gotta say that much for male chauvinism—when there're so few of us, each one is pretty precious. Any one of them might come at me by himself, but he doesn't want any of his mates to see him trying."

"They'd string him up by his toes," Yorick said quietly.

"Probably for target practice." Chomoi shrugged. "Better him than me."

She lifted her mug for a long swallow, then slammed it down. "So, there you have it. I can't walk through this burg without getting razzed, so anybody who's getting hassled, I'm on their side. Especially women." She nodded to Gwen.

"And I think I can trust your man, because he's with you—

so why would he want me?" Her mouth twisted in selfcontempt. "Oh, don't give me that sympathetic look! I know I'm a hot enough item." She turned and glowered at Rod.

"Maybe too hot. I want to get off this planet, so badly that I can't think of anything else—and you folks haven't been here before, which means you haven't been sentenced; so you might get to leave. You might be able to spring me." Rod frowned. "I thought this was a military prison. Shacklar's just the warden. How can he have the authority to let you go?"

"He can do anything he wants—now," Chomoi said, with a mirthless smile. "PEST cut us off four years ago—

right after I got here, in fact. They claimed trade to the outlying planets was a losing proposition—real losing, trillions of therms' worth. And a prison planet was all loss—

it was much cheaper to kill the criminals. So they just stopped trade. The next freighter in brought us the news." Rod frowned. "How come there was a 'next' freighter?

I thought they stopped trade."

"We had a little trade going on our own, with some of the other outlying planets—but we had no more supplies

coming in from Terra, no new machinery or spare parts. The good General-Governor made peace with the natives just in time."

"Thou canst sustain thy selves?"

Chomoi nodded. "The Wolmen bring in the food and fiber, and our men do the mining and manufacturing. But the end result is, we're not a prison planet anymore—we're a colony. And Shacklar's the Governor as well as the General, so he can do anything he damn well pleases with us. If he wants to let us go, we can go—but where to?" She waved an arm. "There's nothing out beyond that Wall but grass—and Wolmen."

"He won't let you leave the planet?"

"Oh, sure, if he thinks one of us should be allowed to—

and if we can afford it." She shrugged. "He can't give away free spaceships, you know."

Rod exchanged glances with Yorick. "Well, when the time comes, we'll find some way to get the cash." Yorick nodded. "I think the lady could be useful, Major. Real useful."

"Vacuum your brain," Chornoi snapped. "I offered to help you, not service you."

"Wasn't even thinking of it," Yorick said virtuously. "I meant knowledge-help. I know the basics about this planet, and about PEST..."

Chornoi"s mouth twisted. "Who doesn't?"

"Yeah, but, well, uh—about Wolmar. You've been here a few years, you know the lay of the land. It always helps to have a local on your side."

Chomoi shrugged. "I'm as local as they come around here. At least I know who's who, and where the bodies are buried—some of them, anyway. And I've spent time with the Wolmen."

Gwen frowned. "How didst thou come to that?"

"They looked safer than the soldiers—and they were, while I was on probation. But probation with each tribe 62 Christopher Stasheff

gave me a year to get my feet under me, and tuck my emotions into place." Chomoi shrugged. "What can I tell you? It worked."

"So," Rod mused, "you're willing to help—if we help you."

"Yeah, if you'll help me get off the planet."

"If we can."

"Well, sure—if you can." Chomoi tossed her head impatiently.

"Of course," Rod mused, "if we do manage to get off this planet, you'll make us a marked crew. I mean, PEST

has to have at least one agent here and if you leave, he'll blow the whistle. Then you'll have an assassin hot on your trail before you get past the first light-year."

"I understand that." Chomoi's tone was brittle. "I couldn't blame you if you didn't want to take the chance." Rod shrugged. "I'm not too worried about it." Especially since we're planning to leave via time machine. "After all, there's no danger from assassins as long as we're on Wolmar—and without your help, we might not live to get off the planet."

Chomoi nodded. "I'd say that's true. You said it yourself—that Wolman's murder was too nicely timed. It had to be designed to put you and your wife behind bars—or into an early grave."

"We do have enemies," Rod admitted, "and I think they would be more interested in the 'early grave' option."

"We will rejoice in thine assistance," Gwen assured. Chomoi gave her a peculiar look, but said, "Thanks, lady." And to Rod, "So what've we got?" Rod shrugged. "A Purple corpse." He added a bleak smile. "Even though all Purples are present and accounted for."

Yorick spread his hands. "That's about all the information we have. Not exactly what you'd call a lot."

"Nowhere near enough," Chomoi agreed. "We've got to

learn more before we can make any guesses about who really did it."

Yorick leaned back, fingers laced across his belly, thumbs twiddling. "Well, you're the local expert. Tell us—where do we get more information?"

"At the scene of the crime," Chomoi answered.

"Certes, 'tis no great need," Gwen protested. "Thou hast affairs of thine own to be about."

Maybe it was the word "affairs" that made the young private redouble his efforts. "Aw, come on, Ma'am! I'm from Braxa! We used to make our own brooms there, all the time." He gave her a quick grin over his shoulder. "How else'd our mamas keep the houses clean?" He turned back to Gwen's broomstick. "See, it's just this little rope here that's come untied. All it needs is a proper square knot. Now, you just put your finger on it, right there..." Gwen did. Of course, that necessitated bending over, and swaying closer to the young man. He swallowed hard, and gave the knot a jerk that almost broke the cord. Behind his back. Rod was tossing a loop of rope up to catch around one of the inch-thick spikes that studded the top of the Wall, and beckoning. Chornoi clambered up it, hand over hand, with Yorick right behind her. Rod came last, and tossed the rope over the far side of the Wall. Yorick slipped down first, then Chornoi. Rod glowered down at the young sentry's back, then turned to leap, catch the rope, and glide down. He landed lightly, and Chornoi stared.

"How did you do that? Without breaking your arches, I mean."

"Practice," Yorick grunted. "Come on, let's get out of here." He bolted across the open stretch of brightly-lit land, into the shadow of a copse fifty feet away. No alarms went off; the sentry was looking at something else at the-moment. Rod held his breath, feeling the jealousy climb up to consume him. Then a whisper and a rustle, and he whirled 64 Christopher Stasheff

about to see Gwen gliding in for a landing on her broomstick. Chomoi turned around, did a double take. "How did you get here?"

"I trust that young man will count himself amply repaid for his kindness." Rod snapped.

"Husband, I prithee." Gwen laid a gentle hand on his forearm. "What choice was there? He'd ne'er ha' trusted Demoiselle Chomoi."

"True enough." Rod clipped off the words. "May I congratulate you on a successful flirtation—I mean, diversion. And I'll cut out that kid's liver and lights if I ever bump into him again."

"Truly, husband, 'tis unworthy of thee." Gwen's eyes were large with reproach. "Be mindful that the lad spoke to a Gramarye witch, and, moreover, one who can cast thoughts and feelings. Truly, the lad had no chance."

"In more ways than one," Rod sighed, "and you don't need to mention your powers to explain it. I suppose I don't have any right to be angry with him, do I?"

"Nay, certes," Gwen breathed, swaying close to him.

"But we tarry."

"How the hell does she know where to go?" Rod muttered to Yorick. "Okay, so the planet has a moon or two, so we've had light almost all the way, and when the big moon set, she just had us wait twenty minutes till the other one rose. But even with it, I can scarcely see twenty feet in front of me!"

"Well, / can see fine." Yorick grinned. "You Sapiens have just gone soft, that's all. Too many millennia of lighted streets."

"What's she?" Rod grumbled. "A Neanderthalette?" Yorick shook his head. "Not a good enough build. Kinda scrawny, y' know? And the face is kinda flat and angular. But I think she's a nice kid underneath it all." Actually, Rod had been thinking that Chomoi was a clasTHE WARLOCK WANDERING

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sical beauty—or would have been, if her face hadn't been constantly pinched with hostility. And her body was anything but "scrawny." However, he could understand why she wouldn't measure up to the Neanderthal ideal of femininity. The comment on her interior self, though, he doubted.

"You must be seeing deeper than I am." Yorick shrugged. "You Saps must be damn near blind." Rod wondered if he meant that to be interpreted both ways.

"Come on." Yorick stepped up the pace. "We've got some serious catching up to do."

Chomoi strode ahead of them, as briskly as though she hadn't realized she was climbing a thirty-degree slope. Finally she came to a stop, and the men huffed and puffed up beside her, with Gwen silent at Rod's shoulder.