by Jake Elwood
Cassie sprang up and ran toward the cockpit without a word. Lark stayed on the floor for a bit, waiting for the tremors in her arms and legs to subside. She wanted to jump, to cry, to shriek from sheer joy and terror. She settled for grinning like an idiot while tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.
When she stood, the stun pistol tumbled from her harness and landed on the deck. She picked it up and pushed it into the holster. All of Cassie's gunbelts were far too big for Lark's hips, so she'd run the wire of her harness through the loop at the top of the holster. Now she set to work untying the harness. Half way through she thought to unclip the flimsy-looking cable. Roger promptly retracted it until it was flush with the pulley on the ceiling.
Carefully, methodically, Lark wound up the electrical wire that had formed her harness. Then she put away the wire, the stunner, and the camera headband in the various closets and boxes where she'd found them. She forgot about her connection to Roger until he said, "Thank you, Lark."
"Oh, you're welcome." She smiled. "I'm glad somebody appreciates me."
"Brace yourself," Roger said. "We're making a brief stop, and then we'll be climbing rapidly out of the atmosphere."
As Lark reached for a handle jutting from the bulkhead beside her, Cassie came bustling down the corridor. Lark heard the whine of the ramp as it lowered, and the rush of wind outside. She craned her neck, stretching as far as she could without letting go of her handle, and caught a glimpse of Cassie braced in the hatchway, taking a package from a little flying delivery robot. She pocketed something, the little robot flew out, and the ramp swung up and sealed. Cassie passed Lark as if she was invisible and returned to the cockpit.
"What was that about?" Lark asked, trying not to sound petulant. When Roger didn't reply she clicked her teeth together to break the connection and headed for the cockpit.
"Strap yourself in," Cassie snapped as soon as Lark appeared. "We're not out of this yet."
Lark sighed as she lowered herself into the co-pilot's seat. It wasn't that she'd expected some great outpouring of gratitude, but still…
Her eyes widened as she looked out through the cockpit windows. They were in space, Blix looming to the right like a vast blue ball wreathed in grey cloud. Distant flashes of light showed ship traffic going back and forth from the surface.
Much closer, so close in fact that it loomed, was a black and gold behemoth of a ship. The colors were so familiar to Lark that at first she didn't recognize the significance. It hit her in a rush, and she said, "That's a Stellar Amalgamated ship!"
"That's right," Cassie said, sounding tense. "Your daddy seems to be a sore loser."
"What will you—"
"Strap in," Cassie interrupted, her eyes on the console in front of her. She brought the nose of the Raffles around, and the black and gold ship vanished, replaced by a field of stars. Acceleration pressed Lark back in her seat. A moment later her head flopped forward as the ship lost velocity.
"I guess they recognized the ship," Cassie said.
"What's happening?" Lark demanded.
"Tractor beam," Cassie replied, her fingers flying across the console in front of her. "Quiet. I need to concentrate."
Lark watched her work, with no idea what Cassie was trying to do. The star field lurched and wobbled, and Lark tried to figure out if they were moving forward or back. She held her silence as long as she could, but finally the words came pouring out. "Cassie! You have to turn me over to him. Then he'll let you go."
For the first time, Cassie looked straight at her. It was a disconcerting look, as if the woman's eyes were burrowing deep and seeing every hidden part of Lark's soul. Then Cassie grinned. "You've got backbone, kid," she said. "But you're not the only thing I stole from your father. Handing you over won't help. Now sit still while I figure something out."
Lark sat back in her seat, surprised by the warm glow that had sprung to life in her stomach and was spreading slowly through her whole body. They were still in desperate trouble, but Lark realized she was smiling so hard her face hurt.
"It could work," Roger said from the speaker on the dash. "The ship is well-armed, but it's not a proper military vessel."
It was very difficult not to ask any questions. Lark managed it, but barely.
"May as well try it," Cassie said. "Not much to lose." She pressed a button on her console and said, "Any time you're ready."
A panel between the seats lit up with an image of the Stellar Amalgamated ship. A red circle appeared, some sort of computer-generated icon, and flew toward the big ship. Cassie said, "Tractor beam's pulling it right in. I don't think they can—"
A small explosion blossomed just behind the nose of the ship, the flames vanishing in an instant, extinguished by the vacuum of space. And the ship began to shrink. Lark looked up, saw the star field streaming toward her, and said, "What happened?"
She regretted the question as soon as she asked it, but there was a smile in Cassie's voice as she replied. "We lobbed a small torpedo into the path of their tractor beam. The beam pulled it right in, and by the looks of it, it blew up the force field generator. We're free and clear."
Lark twisted around in her seat, trying to see behind the Raffles. "Won't they chase us?"
"They can try," Cassie replied. "But we're almost out of the gravity well, and we can accelerate faster than they can. In fact, I'd say we're free and clear right about…"
The star field turned milky as the Raffles slid into N-Space. They were moving faster than light now, and the first course correction would make them impossible to trace.
"Take over from here, would you, Roger?" Cassie said, leaning back in her seat.
"Got it," Roger replied.
Cassie stretched, then looked at Lark. Her smile changed to a frown that somehow didn't look too stern. "And now, young lady," she said, "would you like to explain what you're doing several thousand kilometers from Child Services?"
Episode Three
Thief Takers
CHAPTER 8
Bruma hung in the sky like a dusty sickle, far enough away that you couldn't smell the fear, the desperation, the dirt. Cassie stared at the planet through the cockpit windows, feeling tired. "I never thought I'd come back to this miserable planet," she said.
"And you shouldn't," Roger said. "You're being hunted, Cassandra. Visiting a known contact is foolish. It's the only way they can find you. They have to track down every person in your past and hope you're imprudent enough to show up."
"Did I ever tell you you're a bit of a nag, Roger?"
"Yes."
They lapsed into silence. He was right, of course. Cassie knew it. The problem was, she had no idea what else to do. Gavriel, her one-time mentor, was one of the most connected men in the galaxy, at least in terms of crime and the underworld. If anyone could help her get to the bottom of the conspiracy that had ensnared her, it was him.
"It'll be fine," she told the AI. "Keep the engines warm and lift off at the first sign of trouble."
"I do remember the plan," Roger said.
"Like you never repeat yourself." She sighed. "Don't let Lark off the ship."
She'd already told him that, too, but all he said was, "Very well."
"Bruma's no place for a kid." She stared at the slowly growing planet and brooded. She hadn't been much older than Lark when she'd arrived on Bruma. She hadn't seen the planet looming larger and larger in front of her, not on that trip. She hadn't even known what planet it was.
"The past is gone," she said aloud. "No point in dwelling on it."
"Thank you for that advice," Roger said blandly. "I'll do my best to remember it."
"Smartass." She scrolled through a list of surface transponders on the console in front of her. "Here's a likely-looking one. Sandalwood Seven. That'll be a nomad camp. Looks like they're about forty K from Sandport."
"Would you like to bring us in?" Roger asked.
"No, you go ahead." Cassie heaved herself out of the pilo
t's seat. "I'm going to go get ready."
By the time the ramp slid down, Cassie had covered her snug ship suit with a long, loose-fitting robe of the sort favored by rural Brumans. It obscured the pistol on her hip, and the hood helped hide her distinctive red hair. As disguises went it wasn't much, but the simplest tactics often worked best.
She walked down the ramp, feeling heat and dry air washing against her legs, then rising higher as she descended. It was going to be hell on her skin, she knew. Her hair would be brittle and lifeless within a couple of hours. Bruma had a way of making a person ugly and worn.
The ship was on the outskirts of the nomad camp. She noticed the smells first, dust and sweat and dung, and the dry spicy smell of desert plants. The desert could be a tranquil place, but not in a nomad camp. She heard the groan of packers, the low growl of an engine, and dozens of voices, all of them pitched loud to compete with the background racket. Cassie grimaced. She had forgotten how shrill the nomad language could be.
"I never should have come back," she muttered.
Roger's silence over the com link was deafening.
"Shut up," she told him, and walked around the ship.
There were no port facilities, just plenty of flat, packed dirt. To her left the desert rolled away in an endless succession of scruffy ridges, each one dotted with low, silver-leafed plants. The dun-colored land faded away in the distance until it blended with the pink-tinged sky. To her right she saw the nomad camp. It was a forest of tents, each mounted on a silver trailer. The tents made a chaotic jumble, devoid of any order that Cassie could see. There were fifty or sixty tents, and a hundred or so people milling around. On the far side of the camp she could see the animal pens, simple corrals full of packers and trotters.
A contingent from the camp stood at a polite distance from the ship, half a dozen figures in loose-fitting jackets and baggy pants. A couple of the women had trays around their necks, and a man held an oversize data pad in his hand. They would be hoping to sell her something.
She bobbed her head to each of the vendors in turn, a hand over her heart, and saw pleased surprise on their faces as they returned the gesture. Of course, if she knew enough about nomad life to use the traditional courtesies, she knew enough not to buy the mass-produced trinkets they tried to pass off as handicrafts. They let her pass with rueful smiles.
Half a dozen steps in the direction of the distant city was enough to bring a crowd of children swarming around her. They all shouted at once, trying to drown each other out, a shrill cacophony in thickly-accented Galactic Standard. They offered sand speeders, wagons pulled by packers, or saddled trotters to take her to the city gates. Cassie let their words wash over her while she fought conflicting impulses to either clap her hands over her ears or draw her pistol and stun the whole lot of them. Her hand was inching toward the butt of the gun when a name caught her attention.
"You, there." She pointed at a skinny boy with the faintest hint of peach fuzz on his cheeks. "Who do you work for?"
The boy's chest swelled with importance. He started to speak, but the others, sensing a lost sale, raised their voices and drowned him out. Cassie picked the loudest child and brought her knee up, not too hard, into his stomach. The boy doubled over, and the rest of them fell into a shocked silence.
Cassie turned back to the skinny boy. "Now," she said, "you were saying?"
He tore his eyes from the doubled-over boy. "Erm, I work for Rufalo." Some of his swagger returned as he spoke. "He's the best carter in the whole camp. Not like the half-wits and beggars these ones represent." He made a derisive gesture at the other children, who responded with subdued jeers.
"He has a rickshaw," the boy continued. "Get you to Sandport in five minutes. Real fast. Nice smooth ride."
"Five minutes?" Cassie said. A good speeder might make the trip in ten. Whatever a rickshaw was, she was sure it would be even slower. "I'll be very angry with you if it takes longer."
The boy paled, glancing at the kid Cassie had hit. That one was just straightening up, hands clasped over his stomach.
"Never mind," Cassie said. "Take me to this Rufalo."
The others dispersed as the thin boy led her on a roundabout path through the camp. The nomads had been here for a few weeks, she guessed. The footpaths were well packed down, but not all the vegetation had been gathered for fodder. In four or five more weeks they would pack up and move on.
The smell of the corrals grew stronger as they walked, a mix of manure and the dark musk of the animals themselves. Cassie didn't know if the big, stolid packers and the jumpy little trotters were native to Bruma, but they were well-suited to the harsh desert environment and the unceasing demands of human handlers.
Rufalo was loafing in the shade of a tent, and he uncoiled himself as they approached. He was as lean as the skinny boy who was guiding Cassie, and she could see a family resemblance in his sun-bleached hair and the long face with its inconsequential nub of a nose. She recognized him right away, despite the twelve long years she'd been away. The lines in his face were a shock. She thought of him as a boy only a few years older than herself. Of course, she was no kid anymore, either.
There was no recognition in his eyes when he looked at her.
"Good day! Welcome." He bobbed his head, and smiled when she bobbed back. "Are you looking for a ride into the city? I have the finest rickshaw in the camp. I'll have you there in ten minutes."
"I doubt it," Cassie said.
His eyes widened, and he leaned closer, staring at her.
Cassie sighed. "Let's go, Lo," she said, and he grinned.
"Sand!" he cried. "Little, skinny Sand." He looked her up and down. "You've grown up." He looked at the kid and said, "Last time I saw this outlander, she was as bony and underfed as you. You could hardly tell she was a girl." He looked at Cassie again and smirked. "Quite a bit has changed, I see."
"I also hit harder than I used to, so cut the crap." She glared at him, fighting the urge to cover herself with the flimsy robe she wore. She was no blushing schoolgirl, and she was damned if she was going to let him embarrass her.
"That's my Sand," he said, and laughed. "Prickly as sandhog and just as friendly." He made a shooing gesture at the kid. "Run along, Bil. I've got it from here." When the boy hesitated he said, "You'll get your commission. Now scram." He put his hands on his hips, looked Cassie up and down one more time, and shook his head. "Little Sand," he murmured. "Who would have thought? Anyway, come with me."
The rickshaw turned out to be a contraption much like a chariot, pulled by a pair of trotters. The lizard-like creatures, each about twice the size of a large man, grumbled and snapped at Rufalo while he put their harnesses on. He led them to the rickshaw, and gestured Cassie to the bench seat while he fastened the harnesses to long yokes on either side. When the trotters were secure, Rufalo climbed up beside Cassie and tapped each creature with a long crop. The trotters pulled, slowly at first, then broke into the ground-eating trot they were named after.
Rufalo kept up a running commentary as they went, shouting over his shoulder, telling her about mutual acquaintances from the past. Most of the news was bad, of course. She'd met Rufalo under ugly circumstances, both of them living on the fringes of Bruma society, scrounging and stealing and running two-bit cons to stay alive.
Rufalo had swallowed his pride and gone back to the nomads, apologizing for whatever sin had driven him away and accepting whatever punishment they had handed out. A few months later, Cassie, by then an accomplished thief, had read the writing on the wall and caught a ship to the stars. She'd been a well-known pest with a growing list of enemies by then.
Those who'd stayed in Sandport hadn't done so well for the most part. A few people had gotten out of the life. Some had died. Some were in prison. Jimi and Suk had become successful criminals in the local scene. Cassie knew what kind of ruthlessness it took to thrive in that particular shark tank, and shivered to herself. She counted those two among the lost.
"Sala has th
ree kids now, can you believe it? She was a data splicer for Sandport Intercon until she got pregnant. Now her husband has her old job and she takes care of the babies." Rufalo looked back long enough to give her a grin. "I was so relieved when she went back to her dad."
Sala had fled an abusive stepmother and spent three years on the streets, snatching purses and acting as a lookout for bigger thieves. She'd been dabbling in muggings when her father tracked her down. The stepmother was history, and he begged her to come back home. He'd saved her from a bad fate that day.
"Some of us did all right, at least," said Rufalo. "You look like you're doing good."
Cassie glanced down at the outline of the pistol under her robe and wondered. She was a better class of thief, it was true. And it wasn't as if she wanted to be driving trotters across the desert or raising babies in Sandport. But still, it was hard to be sure that she'd made the right choice.
"Here comes the gate," Rufalo said. "You'll need ID. Things are a little more tense now than they used to be."
Cassie looked past him at the city wall. It was made from glass blocks fused from the local sand. The wall glittered and shone. They sandblasted it, she knew, to keep the reflection from completely blinding people when the sun was low in the sky. Still, it was almost painfully bright. It stood a good ten meters high, punctured by a vast gate that let in a steady dribble of traffic.
Rufalo stopped the rickshaw at the base of the wall a little way over from the gate. A dozen other nomads were clustered there, with vehicles that included a heavy wagon drawn by four packers and a couple of sand speeders. "This is as far as I go," he said. "They don't let many nomads into their precious city these days."
She climbed down and handed him a credit crystal, which he waved over a panel set in the front of the rickshaw. "Thanks," he said. "I'll wait here for you."
"That's not necessary." She gestured around. "There's lots of rides, and I don't know how long I'll be."