Avanti came into sharp focus. He followed the faint port signal straight down, tightened onto the tower, and signaled, Urgent, Urgent, Avanti Port, Tower Control, come in.
Immediately there was a response of total consternation. Then a shout of pain came across the way. Watch Communicator here. Sorry. Spilled coffee in my lap. Who is this?
Urgent, Urgent, Wander replied, almost shouting with the strain. Have message for highest level. Can you record?
There was a moment’s delay, less than a few seconds, but long enough to make Wander want to scream with frustration and fear. Finally, Ready to receive. Repeat, who is this?
Friend of Avanti, Wander replied.
The reply became frantically excited. Is this the Scout—
Hold queries. Urgent, Urgent. Imperial dragoons are being sent to capture the Scout Consuela. Cannot give arrival time, but know they will be underway soon. Do you copy?
Copy. Finally, finally, the reaction he had hoped for, crisp and sharp. How large an invasion?
Can’t say, but rumor is it will be guards from Citadel only. Could be reinforcements from Hegemony, but there is much confusion, so perhaps not. Do you copy?
Message received. We will be ready. Many thanks.
Wait. Message continues. Repeat, these are Citadel guards. It would make my rescue much easier if you can hold the attacking force there. Copy?
We will do our best to tie them up in knots, came the delighted reply. Glad to be of service to Avenger. Speaking of the ship, we have word that—
Not now. Must depart. Message ends. Instantly Wander retreated and circled and powered out. He sensed Digs moving in alongside, and began reaching toward the seventh quadrant. Listening, searching as he did so, detecting no signal of his move having been monitored. Only when he arrived and began the normal routine did Wander take what felt like his first breath in hours, and feel the release of the steel band of fear that had been wrapped about his chest.
Chapter Five
Consuela watched through the front portal as two figures in spacesuits moved toward the transport. Together they dragged a chest-high accordianlike hose over and fastened it onto their airlock. As soon as the seals were in place and the double doors opened, a bandy-legged stranger pulled himself through and exclaimed, “Tuck, you old scoundrel! If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes, I don’t know what is.”
“Likewise, Happy.” At the back of the transport, Tucker straightened from his task of sorting. There was a narrow open space where the seats ended and a wall sectioned off a small ’fresher and a cabin with a half-dozen bunks. The space was now littered with weapons from the Avenger’s aft hold. Tucker’s bulk crowded the area as he waved the port official toward him. “Come have a seat. How you been keeping?”
“Can’t complain, though I do anyway and all the time.” The man was stubby in every respect—short legs, short jerky motions, a jutting chin upon a head that barely came to Consuela’s shoulder. He wore a well-patched suit with port emblems so worn that she could make little out. His face was as seamed as a freshly plowed field, with all the furrows pointed downward, and he had the sourest expression she had ever seen. He made his way down the transport’s crowded aisle with the ease of one long accustomed to the moon’s lower gravity field, taking the stretch in easy leaps. He clasped Tuck’s hand in a fierce grip and declared, “Whatever the ill wind was that brought you here, you’ll live to regret it.”
“Profit, just like I said,” Tucker said briefly, and gave the trooper beside him a single nod. “Looks like everything’s shipshape. You can repack.”
“Right you are, Tucker.”
Happy cast a shrewd gaze over the warrior’s rigid stance and said, “Got yourself a packet full of ex-dragoons?”
“Not on your scrawny neck,” Tucker replied, lifting one of the portable blasters and running his hand idly down the barrel. “But all have seen off-world duty of sorts.”
“Planetary soldiers who wanted to see a bit more of the realm,” Happy interpreted. “I like it. Seasoned soldiers are hard to come by for guard duty.” He ran his gaze over the mass of weaponry set carefully out for his inspection. “Looks like you made off with the better part of somebody’s arsenal.”
“Picked up a bit of this and that, you know how it is,” Tuck replied easily. “What was this you said about guard duty?”
Happy caught the interest and turned cool. “Oh, nothing much. Couple of caravans making for border worlds.”
Tucker’s tone matched Happy’s pretended nonchalance. “What would a bunch of second-rate ore vessels need with guards, especially if they’re staying within Hegemony boundaries?”
Happy tossed him an ancient gaze. “Where you been hiding, Tucker?”
“Here and there. Why do you ask?”
“There’s changes on the wind, matey. None of them good. Solarus garrison is growing all the time. You know as well as I how cargo convoys would just as soon stay out of the way of dragoons and their commissars. Whatever is bought by the Imperium these days is paid for in Hegemony scrip, which is fine if all you’re wanting is wallpaper. A lot of the upper-grade caravans have been forced to use us for their staging point.”
“So that’s why you needed the second landing station,” Tucker mused. “Been wondering about that.”
“Second and third and before too much longer, a fourth in the planning stages as well.”
Tucker stretched his bulk in an easy yawn and said, “Caught some traffic about Hegemony vessels landing down on Solarus as we were pulling in.”
“Don’t know anything about that, and don’t want to.” Yellowed eyes turned shrewd. “You and the boys on the run?”
“Clean slates, the lot of us,” Tucker replied, holding to the easy tone. “One of the requirements for signing on.”
“Well, if that’s the case, then you’ll be having caravans crawling over each other to hire you on as guards.”
Tucker turned to the listening crew and said, “That’s the sound of profit if ever I heard it.”
“You’ll be remembering your mateys when it comes time to seal the bargain,” Happy cautioned.
“If pickings are as good as you say,” Tucker replied, “we’ll be heading back this way again. We’ll need to keep you on as permanent eyes and ears.”
Happy showed as close to a pleased expression as he could manage, then leaned forward and said conspiratorially, “Something’s got their wind up.”
“Who?”
“The dragoons, the dark couriers, all the Hegemony parasites.”
Tucker could not fully mask his surprise. “Dark couriers? Here?”
“Not here, no. On Solarus, or at least so go the rumors.” Happy pretended to spit in disgust. “Rumors, you wouldn’t believe how they’re spreading. Word is, something’s hit the Imperium and hit them hard. They’re swarming about like crazy. Got everybody worried, especially the outbound caravans. You’ll be in prime demand, especially if you can be ready to depart soon.”
“Got nothing to keep us here, if the price is right.”
“I’ll see to that,” Happy assured him.
“Of course you will,” Tucker said. “Oh, by the way, as you were speaking of borderlands, keep your ears open. We’ve heard rumors of rich pickings out around Vector Nine. Any caravan headed toward that quadrant would be our first choice.”
“Can’t hurt to check,” Happy said doubtfully.
Suddenly a voice came crackling over the intercom, “You plan on jawing all through the lunar day?”
“Guns,” Tucker explained to Happy’s startled expression. “Our number one outrider.”
Happy squinted through the front window, then widened his eyes. “Those ugly suckers are guard pods?”
“I’m liking this man less and less,” Guns said sourly over the intercom.
Happy shook his head in amazement. “I thought you mateys were towing some likely looking rocks, wanted to play at ore-hounds in your spare time.”
“Why don’t you
string out a passageway,” Guns barked, “so I can tell you personally what I think of your jokes.”
“If they caught you unawares,” Tucker said, “think of what they’ll do to any incoming attackers.”
Happy glanced back at the massed weaponry. “They well armed?”
“To the teeth,” Guns snapped over the intercom. “Now hows about letting my boys and I out for a stretch?”
Happy turned back to Tucker and displayed the worst set of teeth Consuela had ever seen. “You’re right, matey. There’s the smell of profit in the air.”
“Vector Nine,” Tucker repeated, his tone as easy as his heavy-lidded eyes. “And a planet out there called Yalla. That was the world on everybody’s lips. Just something for you to keep in mind.”
Chapter Six
Rick crawled from the claustrophobic tunnel, rose to his feet, and gave an enormous sigh of relief. It had felt more than strange, creeping along the flexible tube, nothing but the thin walls between him and utter vacuum. The tunnel was so narrow it had squeezed him from every side. The low gravity had not helped, for each scramble had pushed him up against the top, making handholds hard to keep and leaving his reflexes feeling out of sync.
“Rick.” Consuela moved over in little airy steps, hands searching for the overhead holds. She stopped in front of him and began bouncing up and down, quick thrusts of her toes enough to send her several inches into the air. Her brown hair was caught back in a dark ponytail, which rose and fell in slow motion. “Can you believe this?”
He was about to say how good it was to see her smile, when a hand clasped his shoulder and Guns said, “That tunnel was something to remember.”
“I felt like I couldn’t breathe,” Rick agreed.
“These middling trade moons are all alike, skimping on the basics.” Tucker moved forward and stopped before them. “The upside is, the only way to the pods is first through the big passage here and then our transport.”
“All it would take is one person in the know to clamber through the plasteel shell, look up, and see what the pod’s belly is made of,” Guns agreed. He glanced back at the small tunnel’s branching and shuddered. “Though I can’t say I’m looking forward to the return journey.”
Tucker asked, “Ready to set up watches?”
Guns looked up at the burly man. “I’d say you can handle that as well as I.”
“Arnol put you in charge.”
“Aye, but the skipper’s a good ways off just now.” Guns kept a steady gaze. “My suggestion is we hold to equal status for the time being. Especially here, where you know the lay of the land. Then, if there’s trouble, we go with the captain’s orders.”
Tucker held the wiry weapons officer’s gaze for a long moment. “Nary another man I’d have to guard my back in a battle, Guns.”
“Likewise.”
Tucker turned to the transport, cramped now with the Blade flyers perched alongside the troopers. “Three watch shifts. We’re all weary from the preparations and the journey. Still, we need volunteers for first watch. Whoever stays will have to keep on their toes. Nobody but nobody gets through the transport to the pods.”
Consuela raised a small hand. “I just sat around before we left. The others should get a rest.”
To Rick’s surprise, Tucker did not turn her down. “It may be best for you to hold back until we’ve got the lay of the land. Mining towns can be rough places. Plus you’d be earning our thanks.” He raised his voice. “Six more. No flyers, you boys have already done double duty. Who else?”
Rick stood isolated by his fatigue and the disappointment of not being able to stay with Consuela. He started when she touched his shoulder, leaned forward, and said quietly, “I went back to Earth again.”
“What?”
“At least I think I did. It was a dream. But it seemed vivid enough, just the same.” Swiftly she described the red-brick church with its great pillars and tall steeple. “Does that sound familiar?”
Rick’s attention was half-held by the bustle which surrounded them. “Maybe, I’m not sure.”
“I felt like I knew it, but while I was there . . . I don’t understand it.” She seemed genuinely disturbed.
Tucker’s voice brought them both around. “All right, those not assigned first watch, let’s be moving out. Draw hand blasters from stores, but keep them strapped down; they’re for show and not for use. Stay close, watch your mates, keep a sharp eye for trouble.”
“Perhaps we can find a quiet moment later,” Consuela said.
Rick nodded, grabbed his small pack, and allowed the crush to push him toward the transport’s main exit. As he passed through the portal, he turned back, caught sight of Consuela’s face, and saw her mouth the word, Friends.
Chapter Seven
Rick stepped through the moonbase’s massive airlock, looked around, and declared, “Party time at the OK Corral.”
“I don’t understand what you said, lad,” Tucker responded. “But I agree with the sentiment.”
The airlock door was as large as a bank vault. They gathered to one side in order to gain their bearings and allow the crush to pass them by. Rick glanced up, astonished at the cavern’s size.
The only way to grasp its dimensions was to count the levels ringing the central open space, which itself was the length of five football fields. Rick started at the distant floor and counted up, was around halfway and at the number twenty-three when his sleeve was pulled and a voice said, “Got a berth, mate?”
Rick found himself staring down at an undersized man of leathery skin and ancient eyes. “What?”
“Frankie’s is the place. Guaranteed clean, airtight, and secure as—”
“We’re fresh caught, but not first-timers,” Tucker rumbled easily, stepping forth. Then to Rick, “Check and make sure your pouch is still intact, lad.”
“Hey, what kind of . . .” The man’s backward progress was halted by Guns sidling up behind him. The voice became more plaintive. “This is a legit hustle, mateys.”
Tucker’s eyes remained on Rick. “Lad?”
“Everything seems intact.”
“Best sling it under your poncho until you’re used to the ways around here.” Tucker’s stubby fingers dug out a coin. He held it up so that it caught the light. “Dusty still running his hall?”
“You been gone awhile,” the weasel replied, his eyes held by the coin. “Dusty don’t do much but sit by the fire and spin his tales. His daughter’s handling the trade. Good lass, name of Stella. Take you there, if you like.”
“I know the way.” Tucker flipped him the coin. “For your troubles.”
They started off, Tucker at point and Guns holding the rear. All the group were tense, all eyes nervously scouting every shadow. Rick had trouble holding to the brisk pace. The moon’s low gravity made walking a genuine effort. Plus he was as tired as he had ever been in his life.
Guns noticed his discomfort and moved forward to ask, “Your first time at low-g, lad?”
“Yes.” Rick stumbled and kept himself upright by grabbing hold of Guns’ shoulder. “This is a lot harder than it looks.”
“Don’t think of it as natural walking, that will help. Push yourself forward, then hold and wait for the ground to reach you.” Guns repeated the instructions slowly, pacing him through the gait. “You’re doing fine. Not long now.”
Their walk took them along the same level as the airlock, perhaps a third of the way up the cavern. Below was a full-scale market, selling everything from foodstuffs to mining equipment. There were drills three times the height of a man and ending in an stubby black muzzle; Rick did not need to ask how he knew it was a drill and not some giant weapon. The flow of information remained available whenever he required something. It had been the same since their coming.
Rick flinched as they passed a great doorway. The noise from within the bar’s shady depths was deafening. Once past, he slipped up to Tucker and asked, “Was that music?”
“Of course.” Tucker show
ed mock surprise. “It wasn’t to your liking?”
“It sounded like a dozen chain saws chewing on nails.”
“That was fairly tame for these parts,” Tucker replied.
“Whatever you do,” Guns added, moving up from behind them, “don’t enter any such place alone.”
Tucker directed them down a tunnel, five times Rick’s height and as crowded as everywhere else. Men and women pushed along, the crowds thick and boisterous. Clothing was beyond weird—animal skins and chains and heavy boots, or shiny robes that billowed with each step, or tattered space suits minus helmets, or ancient uniforms with faded medals—a hodgepodge of colors and forms. The noise was continual and overloud, battering at him.
As though a switch were abruptly thrown, a wave of stillness passed through the throng. With the suddenness of an involuntary shudder, people pressed themselves up tight against the walls. Rick felt arms grasp his shoulders and ease him back, just as a figure came into view. It was an old woman, dressed in a robe so black it drank in the light. She was followed by men obviously matched for size and girth, so large she scarcely came up to their waists. The men wore golden uniforms that shimmered like a liquid field with each step.
“A dark courier,” murmured the trooper next to him.
“What is a—”
Guns hissed a command for silence. The woman’s gaze flitted over them. Rick felt the air freeze in his chest. He had never seen a gaze so cold. The soldiers wore gold helmets with blaster shields pulled down over their eyes. Their massive weapons were carried at parade rest, across their chests, and their gaze was constantly on the move.
Only when the woman and her entourage passed did the tunnel gradually come back to life. “Okay, let’s move on,” Tucker said, his voice subdued. “Not far now.”
Rick moved back to where Guns watched their rear, and asked quietly, “What was that?”
The Dream Voyagers Page 29