The Chronicles of Pern: First Fall

by Anne McCaffrey

  At the exact second calculated by Lieutenant Zane, the Erica lifted from the plateau, blasting her way skyward, tail rockets blazing.

  A fisherman, standing the dogwatch on his trawler off the coast of Fort Hold, saw the fiery trail, vivid against the gray eastern sky, and wondered at it. He followed the blazing lance of light until it was no longer visible. He wondered what it was, but his more immediate concern was keeping warm and wondering if the cook had made klah by now and could he get a cup.

  “The roll rate’s too low!” Benden cried over the roar of the engines, exerting all his strength to keep the right attitude. “She’s a slug!” Suddenly Benden realized that the Erica’s reluctance could be caused by only one thing. “We’ve got too much weight on board. She’s too bloody heavy through the yoke,” he said through gritted teeth. He forced his head to look to his right at Nev, strapped in the copilot’s seat. Ni Morgana was in the next row with Greene beside her, while the other marines stoically endured acceleration g-forces in makeshift couches. “I’ve got to increase thrust. And that’s going to take one helluva lot of fuel.”

  Benden made the adjustments, swearing bitterly to himself over the expenditure of so much fuel. His calculations could not have been wrong. The gig was too far gone in its path to abort, and if they did, there was no way to contact the Amherst and arrange a new rendezvous. How in hell could she be so heavy?

  “Nev, give me some figures on what this is costing us in fuel and the estimated weight we’re lugging up.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Nev said, slowly moving his hand in the g-force to activate the armrest pad.

  Benden forced his head to the side so he could see the bright green numbers leap to the small screen.

  “Twenty-one minutes five seconds of blast, sir, was what we should have needed,” Nev replied, his voice genuinely strained. “We’re bloody twenty-nine point twenty into flight and still not free! We’re, uh, four-nine-five-point-five-six kilograms overweight! Free-fall in ten seconds!”

  Ten seconds seemed half a year until they were suddenly weightless. Benden swore as he read the ominous position of the fuel gauge. Still cursing, he adjusted her yaw with a burst of the port jets, swinging her nose toward the sun. He already knew that they hadn’t enough fuel to make their scheduled rendezvous with the Amherst. And the cruiser would currently be in a communications shadow as it made its parabolic turn about Rukbat.

  He called up Rukbat’s system on the console monitor. There was no way they could use the second planet as a slingshot. But . . . He pulled at his lower lip. There was a chance they could make it to the first little burnt-out cinder of a planet. They would come awfully close to Rukbat, and even closer to the surface of Number One, in order to use its gravity well. That would save fuel. But they’d need a different rendezvous point—if they could get to the same point at the same time, at the same speed and heading in the same direction as the cruiser at some point earlier in her outbound hyperbolic orbit of Rukbat.

  “Nev, figure me a slingshot course around the first planet.” There was only the one option left to Benden.

  “Aye, aye, sir.” The ensign’s voice was full of relief.

  Then, in a taut hard voice, Ross shot out a second order. “Greene, bring me Kimmer. Tell the others to stay put.”

  He flipped open the harness release and let himself drift up out of the pilot’s seat, trying to figure out just how Kimmer had managed to sneak 495.56 kilograms of whatever it was on board his ship. And when? Especially as the man had been under Bender’s own watchful eye for over three days.

  “Lieutenant,” Nev said in an apologetic voice, “we can’t make a slingshot around the first planet—not with the weight on board.”

  “Oh, we’ll be lighter very soon, Nev,” Benden replied with a malicious grin. “Four hundred ninety-five point fifty-six kilograms lighter. Figure a course with that weight loss.”

  “What I can’t understand,” Ni Morgana said in a flat voice, “is what they could have smuggled aboard. Or how?”

  “What about your headaches, Saraidh?” Benden asked, seething with anger at Kimmer’s duplicity. “And those catnaps no one else’s had the guts to report to me.”

  “What could they possibly have done in ten or twenty minutes, Ross?” Ni Morgana demanded. “Nev and I searched for any possibly smuggled goods or tampering.”

  Benden pointedly said nothing and then scrubbed at his face in frustration. “Oh, it’s no blame to you, Saraidh. Kimmer just outsmarted me, that’s all. I thought removing him from Honshu would solve the problem.” He raised his voice. “Vartry, you, Scag, and Hemlet will conduct a search of the most unlikely places on this ship: the missile bins, the head, the inner hull, the airlock. Somehow they’ve overloaded us, and we have got to know with what and dump it!” He turned to Nev. “Try reaching the Amherst. I think it’s too soon to make contact, but get on the blower anyhow.”

  Kimmer overhanded himself into the cabin then, a smile on his face for the fierce expressions on the three marines as they passed by.

  “Kimmer, what did you get on board this ship and where is it, because we’ve got less than an hour to make a course correction, and thanks to you, we’ve lost too much fuel lifting the bird off Pern.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Lieutenant.” Kimmer looked him squarely in the eye. “I was with you for three days. How could I have put something on board this vessel?”

  “Stop stalling, man. It’s your life you’ll lose, as well.”

  “I’m flattered that you’ve asked my opinion, Lieutenant, but I’m sure you know better than I what equipment can be jettisoned to lighten her.”

  Benden stared him down, wondering at the malevolence in the gaze Kimmer returned. “You know what weight I’m referring to, and it was all put on at Honshu. If I don’t know what that was, Kimmer, you’ll be the first thing that lightens this gig’s load.”

  Suddenly they all heard hysterical weeping from the stern, and Vartry propelled himself back into the cabin.

  “Lieutenant, they started the minute I said we were going to search because the ship was overweight. They know something!”

  As Benden hand-pushed himself deftly down the short companionway to the marines’ quarters, the wailing rose to an eerie ululation that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

  “Stow it!” Benden roared, but Chio’s volume only increased. The others were not as loud, but they seemed just as distraught, plainly terrified and far too hysterical to reply to his demands for an explanation.

  Ni Morgana arrived with the medical kit and injected Chio with a sedative that reduced the hysterics but had no effect when Benden questioned her, trying to keep his voice level and reasonable.

  “They will not tell you what they have done,” Shensu said, careering into the marines’ quarters. Absently rubbing the arm he had bruised, he looked down at Chio. “She has always been dominated by him, and so have the others. If Kimmer can be made”—Shensu’s voice was hard-edged with hatred—”to give them the necessary orders.”

  “I think Kimmer will explain, or take a long step out of a short airlock,” Benden said, pushing past Shensu. There was no time for finesse or bluff with the Erica currently on an abortive course for the second planet. They had to make a correction soon—and do it without the excess weight, or they’d be beyond rescue. He’d have the truth if he had to space Kimmer and enough of the women to get one of them to tell him what he had to know.

  “Lieutenant!” Greene’s booming voice was urgent, and Benden propelled himself as fast as he could back to the cabin where Greene was searching Kimmer roughly. “Sir, he’s wearing metal. I felt it when I frisked him.” And as the sergeant peeled back the shipsuit, a vest was exposed—a vest made up of panels of gold. “Shit!”

  “Hardly!” Kimmer remarked, smiling smugly.

  “Strip him!” Benden ordered. Shortly it became clear that Kimmer was wearing not only a gold vest but a thick belt of gold cast in lozenge shapes. Even his underpant
s had pockets filled with thin gold sheets. Greene was nothing if not thorough: the boots on Kimmer’s feet produced smaller gold plates worked into the soles and ankle leather.

  “Saraidh!” Benden roared. “Search those women. Greene, you search the kids, but gently, get me? Shensu, Jiro, Kimo, in here on the double.” Benden took some comfort when the three men proved to be wearing no more than their shipsuits.

  Ni Morgana’s yell confirmed Benden’s guess about the women. It took both her and Vartry to carry into the cabin the concealed sheets and gold plates the women had secreted. All the while, Kimmer’s slight, amused smile did not waver.

  “I’d estimate that’s about ten to fifteen kilos per woman and five per kid,” Saraidh said as they looked down at the pile of gold.

  Benden shook his head. “Forty-five kilos is a drop! Nowhere near four hundred ninety-five point fifty-six Ks.” He turned on the naked Kimmer, who smiled back, all innocence. “Kimmer, we’re running out of time. Now, where is the rest of it? Or had you intended becoming an integral part of Rukbat?”

  “You don’t panic me, Lieutenant Benden.” Kimmer’s eyes glittered with a vengeance that shocked Ross. “This ship’s in no danger. Your cruiser’ll rescue you.”

  Benden stared at the man in utter amazement. “The cruiser is behind Rukbat, in com shadow. We can’t arrange a different rendezvous. Unless we can lighten this ship, we can’t even make a course change for the one chance we have of staying alive!” Benden hauled Kimmer by the arm to the console and showed him the diagram on the screen, and the little blip that was the Erica, serenely heading for her original, now nonviable, destination. “We certainly don’t have enough fuel to make the arranged rendezvous.” He tapped out the sequence to show the original flight plan. Then, with his finger, Benden indicated, the inexorable path the Erica was taking. “Tell us what and where the excess weight is hidden, Kimmer!”

  Kimmer contented himself with a wry chuckle, and Benden wanted to smash the smile off the man’s face. “If that’s the way you want to play it, Kimmer. Sergeant, get the stuff and bring it with you.” Benden hustled the naked, barefooted colonist down the companionway to the airlock and, palming the control for the inner hatch, shoved him inside, motioned for Greene to throw in the gold, and closed the hatch again.

  “I mean it, Kimmer, either tell me what else is on board and where, or you go out the airlock.”

  Kimmer turned, a contemptuous expression on his face, and he folded his arms across his chest, a gaunt old man with only defiance to clothe him.

  “You’ve more than enough fuel, Benden. Chio checked the gauge. The Erica’s tanks were full. Since you had to have used at least a third of a tank to get here, I’m of the opinion that Shensu knew”—his eyes traveled to Benden’s left, where Shensu was standing by the window—”as I always suspected, where Kenjo had stored his pilferings.” Kimmer drew himself up. “No, Lieutenant, I will call your bluff.”

  “It’s no bluff, Kimmer, and if you had any training as a space jockey, you’d’ve felt how sluggish the gig was. She’s heavy, too heavy. We burned too much in the liftoff. The gold on you and the women isn’t enough to cause that. Damn it, Kimmer, it’s your life, too.”

  “I’ll have taken a Benden down with me,” the man snarled, his face contorted with hatred and sheer malevolence.

  “But Chio, and your daughters, your grandchildren—” Benden began.

  “They were none of them worth the effort I put into them,” Kimmer replied arrogantly. “I have to share my wealth with them, but I’m certainly not sharing it with you.”

  “Sharing?” Benden stared at him, not quite comprehending the man’s words. “You think I’m blackmailing you? For a share of your wealth?” The disgust in his voice momentarily rattled the old man, but Benden hardly noticed. “There are many people in my world, Kimmer, who are not motivated by greed.” He gestured with contemptuous anger at the sheets and lozenges at Kimmer’s feet. “None of that is worth the risk you want us to take. What have you hidden on the Erica—and where?”

  Just then, Ni Morgana beckoned urgently to Benden. Gratefully, he moved away from the window. His hand hovered briefly over the evac button. Kimmer could stay where he was, just a thin sheet away from space, and contemplate his situation.

  “When I was looking for tranks,” Saraidh said quietly, for Benden’s ears only, “I came across a vial of scopalamine in the medical chest. It may be an anesthetic, but the right dosage provides the truth, so Chio spilled it out. It’s platinum and germanium, sheets of it, stuffed wherever they could when they came aboard on legitimate errands, and when they drugged whoever was on the dogwatch. That’s why we all had headaches.”

  Benden was astounded. “Platinum? Germanium?” he exclaimed loudly enough for the others to hear.

  “Kimmer was a mining engineer. He found ores, and we’ve all had to work in them,” Shensu said, pushing over to them. “I wondered why the workroom smelled of hot metal. He must have had the girls melt the ingots down at night, extruding sheets. No wonder they’ve looked so worn out. I never thought to check on the metals, because they’d be too heavy to bring.”

  “Where is it?” Benden demanded, looking up and down the aisle, momentarily bewildered when he thought of all the places sheets of thin metal could be unobtrusively attached within the Erica. “We’ve got to search the ship! Everywhere! Sergeant, take your marines to the stern. Shensu, you and your brothers start on the lockers.”

  “He knew one helluva lot about the interior of gigs,” Nev remarked almost admiringly when the marines found that the missile tubes had been stuffed with metal plaques. These were immediately flushed into space.

  “And I watched her, Lieutenant,” Vartry said, aggrieved, when they found that the locker where the medicines had been stowed was also lined with thin slabs of silvery metal. “I stood here and watched her, heard her tell me she wanted to be sure the medicines were safe, as she slapped sheets top, bottom, and side.”

  The lockers in which the 23.5-kilo personal allowances had been stowed also proved to be lined with platinum.

  “You know,” Ni Morgana remarked, bending one of the thin sheets she had found under Benden’s bunk, “individually these don’t weight much, but they damned near coated the gig with ’em. Ingenious.”

  There were sheets everywhere, and still more were found and piled at the airlock hatch.

  Nev, remembering how he’d entertained Hope and Charity by showing them the cabin, found metal glued to the bottom of the blast couches, lining the inside of the control panel, and thin rolls of metal tacked to the baseboards, looking for all the worlds like innocuous decorations. Inspection of viewports revealed platinum-decorated seals, which sent Nev and Scag searching all the ports.

  When the pile at the inner airlock door reached the window, abruptly Benden realized the airlock was empty.

  “Kimmer? Where’s Kimmer?” he cried. “Who let him out? Where is he?”

  But Kimmer was nowhere in the ship. A gesture from Benden had the marines on his heels as they propelled themselves to the galley, where the brothers were still searching.

  “Which of you depressed the evac button?” Benden demanded, seething with impotent anger.

  “Depressed—” Shensu’s look of astonishment was, Benden felt, genuine. There was no regret, however, on his face or his brothers’.

  “I’m not sure I blame you, Shensu, but it constitutes murder. You had opportunities enough while we were searching the ship.”

  “We were searching the ship, too,” Shensu said with dignity. “We were as busy as you, trying to save our lives.”

  “Perhaps,” Jiro said softly, “he committed suicide rather than face the failure of that brainstorm of his.”

  “That is a possibility,” Ni Morgana said composedly, but Benden knew she believed that no more than he did.

  “This will be investigated more fully when we have time,” Ross Benden promised them fervently, pinning each of the three brothers with his angry
glare. “I won’t condone murder!” Though at just that moment, Benden had several he would have liked to commit himself.

  Returning to the airlock, he found Nev busy with a chisel: the ensign let out a hoot of triumph as he peeled off a paper-thin sheet of platinum.

  “I’m sure Captain Fargoe wouldn’t mind having a platinum-plated gig . . .” His voice trailed off when he caught sight of Benden’s expression. He gulped. “There’d be another twenty kilos right in here.” And he applied himself to the task of removing it.

  Benden signaled for two of the marines to assist Nev while he and the others piled the accumulated sheets, pipings, strips, and lozenges into the lock.

  “Amazing!” Ni Morgana said, shaking her head wearily. “That ought to make up the rest of the four-hundred-ninety-five-point-five-six kilos.”

  She stepped out of the lock and gestured to Benden, who was at the controls. With a feeling of intense relief, he pressed the evac button and saw the metal slide slowly out into space, a glittering cascade left behind the Erica. It was still visible as the outer door cycled shut.

  “I’ve half a mind to add their personal allowances,” Benden began, feeling more vicious and vengeful than he would have thought possible, “which would give us another hundred kilos’ leeway.”

  “More than that,” said the literal-minded Nev, and then gawped at the lieutenant. “Oh, you mean just the women’s stuff.”

  “No,” Ni Morgana said on a gusty sigh. “They’ve suffered enough from Kimmer. I don’t see the point in further retribution.”

  “If it hadn’t been for the extra fuel, we wouldn’t have lifted off the planet,” Nev suddenly remarked.

  “If it hadn’t been for the extra fuel, I don’t think we’d’ve had this trouble with Kimmer,” Ni Morgana said sardonically.

  “He’d’ve tried something else,” Benden said. “He’d planned the contingency of rescue a long, long time. Those vests and pants weren’t whipped up overnight. Not with everything else those women were doing.”