Mainline

by Deborah Christian

"We've got two, Captain!" called Zay. "Two intact crystals, maybe three." She cradled one in her hands, a translucent emerald-green prism a meter long and two hands wide. "The third is chipped on the focal point, but I think we can refacet that end."

  "Bring them all," said Devin. "Work with the good ones first."

  The spacers carried the fragile crystals out of the risky environment in D2. In Drive One they unsuited, then began work on a jury-rigged power booster that would even out their erratic warp reaction. Devin continued his cyber-attentive examination of the beyond.

  Two-thirds of a search hemisphere had been completed when he heard the distinctive squall of a navigation buoy. It was the 1057 waypoint marker on the Claw-Chwstyoch shipping lane— still in the Tion subsector, but displaced high above the plane of the galactic equator. Once in the lane, they were five days out from R'debh.

  There's no other option, Devin decided. The Fortune can't survive another warp encounter in the wilds between patrolled space.

  They were compelled to take the safer course back to Selmun III.

  He started to relax, until rigger feedback reminded him why he should not. Even if they could stabilize the warp bubble, performance was far from optimal. The engineering computer gave an estimate of six days' travel time, not five.

  One day too late to help anyone.

  Devin fished into the medkit beside the Captain's chair and injected himself with Syntozac. The drug heightened synaptic ae tivity and boosted rigger performance, and he needed every advantage possible, from this moment on, to wring all he could from the Fortune. They were no longer in danger of core failure, or ofl wandering lost. But they had yet to win back home in time to do some good.

  Devin began to tap engineering and technical computers, to find a way to make five days' travel in a ship that could only do it in six.

  XCV

  It was the eve of the trade with Edesz, and Lish prowled like a fenced kria.

  The Fortune had not returned. No one remarked on it; they didn't have to. Something had gone wrong, and there was no word from Devin about what had delayed him. It looked like he was not going to make the meet.

  Kastlin watched the smuggler abandon her third pointless cryocase inventory and round on the service cabinet to search for a drink. At least she won't be ruined out of hand, he told himself. Without the nanotech she isn't in violation of any laws after all. A blessing in disguise, save her from herself....

  He saw the thunderous look in her eyes, and wisely kept out of her way.

  Lish and her companions went to sleep far too late and got up far too early. In the residence quarters of the Lairdome they gathered around breakfast, a meager repast served only to divert them from their joyless vigil.

  Reva rearranged the food on her plate for the third time, then finally shoved it into the center of the table. "Sea Father, let's out with it. Lish, what are you going to do now?"

  She had spoken the unspeakable. The smuggler shrank back in her chair, staring into the murky brown depths of her cup of osk.

  "You can't give up now," Reva prodded. "You're going to tell Edesz you need more time, aren't you?"

  Lish looked up, her eyes grim. "I can't ask for more time."

  The assassin's brows came together. "Are you sun-struck? Of course you can."

  "The Scripman won't wait for his money," she snapped. "It's due tomorrow."

  "Scripman." Reva waved a hand. "If you get a little more time from Edesz, you can pay the loan shark back, with late penalty."

  "His late penalty on two mil is my life, Reva." She hunkered into her chair. "It's not negotiable."

  "Then I'll get you offworld, if it comes to that," the assassin volunteered.

  Lish shook her head. "Then I'm broke and on the run from a Scripman, and my reputation as Holdout is shot, because I couldn't hand the goods to Edesz. What am I supposed to do then?"

  Reva made an exasperated sound, and Vask gave up pretending to eat. "Well, what are you going to do?" the assassin demanded. "Apologize to everyone and put your head on the block tomorrow?"

  Lish shot her an acid look. "I'm going to get what's mine, that's what I'm going to do. We'll trade, as planned."

  The others stared at her as her meaning sunk in. "You mean, a con?" Vask asked incredulously. "Fake the delivery to get your money?"

  "That's right."

  Reva shook her head. "If you think the streetwar was a battle, wait until the Gambru League comes hunting for you."

  "But I'm not going to be here for that, am I?" Lish asked in a saccharine tone. "I'm leaving after payoffs are made, remember?"

  "Lish—"

  "Leave it alone, Reva. I don't see another way. Do you?"

  The assassin had no answer for her friend. Neither did Vask.

  "That's what I thought," Lish said. "Then let's get on with it, shall we?"

  Reva watched her come to her feet, move away from the table. "How are you getting offworld, if the Fortune isn't here?"

  The smuggler looked back. "With that much money, finding a ship won't be hard. Now are you two going to help me set up a cryocase, or what?"

  They followed her to the warehouse, and kept their misgivings to themselves.

  XCVI

  Three hours after sunrise, Rinoco Park opened its gates. Toward noon, the trickle had become a flood of bodysuit-and-breather-wearing tourists. Anonymous among their numbers, Internal Security and R'debh Commandos infiltrated the waterland. Park Security ushered them through an unalarmed gateway that would not betray the weapons they carried, then they were directed to the air-filled entrance dome and left to mix with the crowds of vacationers.

  An interlocking chain of drydomes ringed the waterland park, from the first large entry bubble where visitors were welcomed to the farthest observation domes at twenty-five meters depth. Hidden glowspots and diffuse lighting raised the color density at twenty meters depth to a level normally seen only half that far from the surface. Within the air-filled ring were freshers, restaurants, aid stations, wet- and drysuit rentals, and other services. Similar facilities were offered in exterior wetdomes, for the comfort of water-breathing species touring the Park. Airlocks at intervals let tourists pass into or out of the waterland attractions as they pleased.

  Half the offworld tourists and most all R'debh natives found their way outside, and stayed there for the majority of their sojourn. Others viewed the Park from the circuitous Promenade inside the drydome ring. Agents gathered there, too, to stroll near the fire spouts, oxygenated columns of water flash-ignited, then extinguished a second later as ocean overwhelmed the pillar of flame. It was a spectacular if artful creation, a series of jet igniting and dying at intervals, placed between the natural attractions of thermal spas and lava grottos.

  Other IntSec agents and all of the Commandos extended the short webbed struts on their fin shoes and joined the tourists swimming fish-like through the features of the waterland. Each operative carried a laser pistol concealed in belt-bag. Each wore pressure-adapted ear set for communications, and the full-face breather that permitted radio comms. Many tourists favored the masks as well, so the Commandos and IntSec officers blended easily into the crowds.

  Obray joined Captain Survek of the Commandos at a contemplation grotto halfway up a steep lava ridge. The impromptu command post flanked the viewing plaza before the fire geysers. Units reported their readiness, and mingled with tourists in the plaza.

  Now all they had to do was wait.

  XCVII

  Borgbeasts milled in the Baffles, close-packed so they could move in a coordinated wave when called. The Vernoi who handled them drifted at the ridgeline, listening for the signal to advance into the Park.

  The Vernoi did not detect anything amiss with their pack, nothing they had not already learned to suffer with through the long days of a gradual decline. Handlers and life-friends alike rested lethargically, worn to a point that would have taxed the endurance of any creature, large or small. Another one of the beasts was nonresponsive
, showing the same signs of despair that Wee'ska had, shortly before she had gone on the death-swim. That particular life-friend would join the large pair on the Shelfland, lingering in reserve to hinder pursuers, and would not enter the Park, where swift and accurate maneuvering in uncomfortably shallow waters would be required.

  Confined, the borgbeasts' discomfort became a palpable knot of agony, resounding through the Baffles into the echoing valleys and chasms of the seabed. The hurt-filled groan detected by the ghost-ray swelled into an amplified chorus of pain, a soul-felt lament radiated by creatures in subsonics and psychic cries only subconsciously sensed by their handlers.

  The Sea Father heard their complaint clearly, and came to see who it was that called louder and longer than the one he had already taken.

  Wafting through ravines, drifting over silted wastes, the ghost-ray flexed broad wings and sailed through turbid water. He heeded a woeful beacon clamoring through submerged valleys, rebounding off ridges of sea-carved limestone and lava.

  Someone wanted to die, someone who cried long and loud. Or many someones, together. The Sea Father of R'debh heard, and was drawn irresistibly to the call.

  XCVIII

  Devin's long-range vision flickered and died as burned out sen sors dropped offline. The spacer cursed, and reset his rigged vision to midrange, instead.

  It had started with the refaceting of the chipped third crystal The idea had seemed like a good one at the time, the only thi: that could boost their speed the critical percentage points they needed to reach Selmun III on time. Zay had added the thir crystal to their power booster configuration, then she and Devin had spent their waking hours in shifts, juggling performance parameters ever since in the jury-rigged overdrive system.

  Zay bitched about half-assed homemade ion exciters and undeterminable flow rates. Devin could feel the ragged edge to their power, and accepted the calculated risk. Yet constant extreme power fluctuations throughout the system were taking their toll. First the faulty frequency head in the sonic shower had blown. Then onboard sensors, the controllers for the cargo bay doors, scattered link modules. Now long-range sensors.

  I should be glad it's nothing more serious, Devin thought. No telling what might go next. Whatever's a weak link, whatever's stressed by power surges . ..

  He didn't want to think about critical systems like environmental control or engine functions. Not now, less than an hour from their goal.

  Lish traveled to Rinoco Park in an air car, lost in the general exodus of Skiffjammers heading that way for the meet, on magtube, shuttle, and air vehicles. Numbers helped conceal her movement. Reva sat beside her, a watchful guard on hopper-fed energy, while armed 'Jammer escorts flanked their vehicle on either side.

  The cryocases and the ruse they contained were in the boot of the car.

  Convincing? Maybe so. Convincing enough to pass by Edesz?

  Lish was uncertain, though she dared share those doubts with no one.

  The com link buzzed at her belt. She reached for it distractedly, not realizing until it was in her hand that this call signal was on her personal and private frequency. The people who knew that code were all with her in the car, except for— "Devin!" she shouted into the link. The vehicle gave a slight bump as Vask reacted to her outcry. The others looked on with sudden anticipation.

  "Where are you?" her words came out in a rush. "Do you have it?"

  His end of the conversation was heard by Lish on her privacy implant. Her excitement was tangible and the spoken exchange brief. After a few words, she replaced the com link at her belt and leaned forward to talk over Kastlin's shoulder.

  "Head for Avelar Field," she announced. She grinned ecstatically at the others and said what they could already guess. "He's got the goods." "Deadheading, were you?" the Customs inspector drawled, looking around the empty expanse of Cargo One.

  "That's right," Devin said, keeping his tone neutral. This inspector had been poking here and there, making random scan with a hand-held sounder, a sensor tuned to recognize wall and sub-floor cavities that might be used as smuggling hidey-holes. His partner was in D2, suited up and walking the drive unit's slagged ruins, in case the freighter's Captain had planned on hiding something in vacuum that they might overlook.

  "I'll take a look at your flight log now, if you don't mind."

  Devin led him back to the flight deck. The officer made himself at home in the Captain's chair while looking over the flight records. He paused while his partner spoke over com link. "Seems like you've got a slag heap where a maneuver engine's supposed to be."

  "That's about right." Shiran shrugged.

  "We're confirming damage to Traffic Control. You won't be cited for your reckless approach. You better head straight to the yards with this ship, though. She's barely atmosphere-worthy with that hull damage to catch the wind."

  Devin nodded agreeably as if taking the inspector's sage advice to heart.

  The man applied his thumbprint to the landing permit on the Captain's datapad. "I guess you're clear," he said. "Be careful heading dirtside."

  "I will," Devin agreed. Eklun saw the inspector to the airlock and cleared the boarding umbilical before returning to the flight deck.

  "Grinds," snorted the Skiffjammer.

  "Yeah." Devin sat once more, began keying sequences on the control panel. He looked up when Eklun stifled what sounded like a giggle.

  "Does it always work that slick?" the 'Jammer asked. "He was sitting right on top of the nanotech the whole time, and didn't catch on even with that sounder."

  Devin allowed himself a half-smile. Another trick of the Shiran Traders, well learned and well used. "It doesn't work at all unless you modified the chair mount ahead of time," he said. "I did that myself during our refit, replacing staylocks with screw-bolt so the floor pillar comes out."

  "And beneath it is just enough room for a box of select cargo." "In a space lined with venloy, which slews sensor readings. When the cubbyhole is full, the sounder reads it like regular flooring When it's empty, sensors read the mass of the chair's support pillar as extending that far into the floor. Not unusual in some ship designs."

  Eklun smiled. "Congratulations, Captain. You pulled it off." "Almost," Devin said, resuming course calculations. "Wait until we're dirtside, and then we'll celebrate."

  XCIX

  The smuggler and her escort met the Fortune as she touched down on the pad. Lish was first up the crew elevator, first to run into a sweaty, rumpled Devin as he walked wearily out of the flight deck.

  She didn't mean to hug him, but somehow it happened. Her embrace was hard and quick. His lingered, stopping only when she pulled away. While Skiffjammers retrieved the cargo, Devin brought Lish up-to-date on the extent of their damage, and the condition of himself and the crew. "I had planned to come with you," he said, "but now ..." "After five days on Syntozac and hoppers? I don't need someone falling asleep in the middle of this meet. You stay here, Devin, see to your ship."

  He looked around ruefully. "See to it. Yeah. I can't take you offworld in this like we planned, Lish. The Fortune's not warpcapable again until she's been in the yards."

  The Holdout put a hand on his arm. "I'm paying for it. The damage was in the line of duty, wouldn't you say? And this time no cutting corners. You're getting new guns along with everything else."

  Devin wasn't about to argue. He patted the bulkhead with a loving hand. "She's a tough one, worked hard to get us through. I'd like that."

  "It's settled, then." Lish started to pull away.

  "Not exactly. How are you getting offworld? I want to come with you."

  "I'll rent a ship. Come if you want."

  "The repairs here—"

  "Or stay if you want. Don't worry, I'll be back." She smiled warmly. "Walking out on my business is one thing, but i'm not leaving you without a word. You're part of my team, aren't you?"

  "I thought so."

  "Good. Then I'll be back. Now let me go collect my money."

  Her ton
e was gentle, and he let her go, letting her hand slip through his fingers with a trailing touch. He held off on the kiss he wanted to give her—not yet; don't push her—waiting for a sign from her that invited closeness.

  There was none, just her last wistful look as the crew elevato dropped her out of sight through the hull of the ship.

  c

  "Commander, Station Four. We've got her in sight at the silt river, now. She and her escort have joined up with a sea-spider. They're heading your way."

  "Acknowledged," Obray told the checkpoint, registering the dismissing report of the vehicle. Tourists could rent spiders or bring their own vehicles into the park. It shouldn't affect the plan of action significantly.

  Right now Obray was more concerned about clearing innocent civilians out of the meeting place, the viewing plaza by the geysers.

  Carefully, discreetly, Park Security IDs were flashed and clusters of tourists who had wanted to take a lengthy break here suddenly decided the fioatweed ponds were more interesting. Commandos trickled out of reserve positions and swam into attraction area in pairs and clusters, a good simulation of natural crowd movement.

  Obray watched the tour trail leading from the thermal spas, his patience was soon rewarded. Skiffjammers came through first, their attempts at incognito failing in the uniformity and precision of their appearance. All had buzzed hair or wore a snug-fitting cowl; all wore full-face masks that permitted them, like the Commander's forces, the use of com links to talk in privacy. Th bearing was alert and trouble-ready, and they moved in coordinated pairs, taking up posts around the viewing plaza, intimidating the supposed-civilians they encountered until they had cleared the plaza area.

  Lish entered behind the lead group of 'Jammers, recognizable in the garb described in Station One's first sighting of the smuggler. She wore a green bodysuit with white flash-lines down arms and legs; her short blond hair flowed loose above a full-face mask. She swam a little awkwardly, not at ease in the ocean; then as Obray watched she dropped back to snag a handhold on the airlock of the spider that stalked beside her. A 'Jammer drove the vehicle, picking its way over the ground trail on the angular jointed legs that gave the vehicle its name.