Drifter

by William C. Dietz

  "My decision? You mean you're still willing to try?"

  "It'll take them hours to get here. What's your decision?"

  "But they'll detect us when we break away!"

  "Maybe, and maybe not. What's your decision?"

  Wendy killed the buzzer. The sudden silence helped her think. An investigation was out of the question. The timing would be terrible. What if the company found out about… No, she mustn't even think it.

  That left the second alternative. Dumping some of their own supplies. Which would the elders prefer? The concentrate,

  or whatever else was aboard this particular vessel? Short of checking the manifest, and actually asking them, there was no way to be sure. Wendy took a chance.

  "Okay, dump some of our stuff. Anything but medical supplies, replacement parts, or lab equipment."

  "Roger."

  Lando instructed the computer to display all non-company cargoes. A manifest rolled up. He skimmed the list. Tools, clothing, medical supplies, food paks, lab equipment, replacement parts, and a long list of data cubes.

  "How about clothing, food, or data cubes?"

  Wendy bit her lip in frustration. Every one of the things Lando had named was desperately needed. Still, the concentrate was absolutely critical to Angel's future. "Dump the clothing first, food second, and data cubes last."

  "That's a roger," Lando replied and went to work. Here at least he could get some help. The cargo carrier was highly automated and capable of loading and unloading itself. The first problem was to locate the cargo he wanted to dump.

  Lando ran the cursor down the manifest and highlighted the items in question. With that accomplished, the smuggler asked for and received a 3-D schematic showing the location of each item.

  Now Lando saw that the cargo was stowed in vertical stacks under the topmost surface of the ship. The same surface The Tink had landed on. So, unless the cargo he wanted to dump happened to be on top of a stack, other modules would have to be removed and then put back. A time-consuming chore even with automated equipment.

  The clothes were towards the stern, packed under five of the company's cargo modules, making them impossible to access in the time available. They would stay.

  The food was located amidships, not far from the landing zone, second in a stack of twelve.

  The data cubes were in a perfect location, extremely close to the landing zone, and right up front with nothing blocking the way.

  The problem was that the data cubes had an insufficient mass. The concentrate would require almost double the amount of space that the cubes occupied.

  There was no doubt about it. The food would have to go.

  The computer keys were oversized to accommodate space-suited hands, but Lando still found it difficult to type with gloves on. He made mistakes, and ground his teeth as he used precious seconds to correct them. The company's tug got closer and closer with every moment that passed. Lando forced the thought out of his mind.

  "Wendy."

  "Yes?"

  "Go back to the hold. Release the straps that hold the concentrate in place. Then return to the engineering space, seal the hatch, and depressurize the cargo bay. Once that's done, instruct The Tink's computer to open the outer doors. Got it?"

  "Got it."

  "Good. Give me a holler when the doors are open."

  Part of the cargo carrier's automated equipment consisted of specially designed zero-G autoloaders.

  Though built to shift cargo modules weighing thousands of pounds apiece under Earth normal gravity, the autoloaders were extremely light, and looked like eight-legged Terran spiders. Under zero gravity conditions agility and control were much more important than strength.

  And, similar to Earth-type arachnids, these could also spin long safety lines, which allowed them to venture out half a mile or so from the ship whenever necessary.

  But, even with help from two autoloaders, it still took an hour to open the proper stack, remove the company's cargo module, launch the food into space, replace it with the fertilizer, and doctor the cargo manifest to hide the switch.

  The cargo carrier's computer would still rat on them if asked the right questions, but Lando continued to hope that no one would think to do so.

  As he rose from the chair, the console turned itself off and the indicator lights went dark. The smuggler looked around, assured himself that everything looked just as it had when he arrived, then headed for the lock.

  "How close is the tug?"

  Wendy's voice was shaky. "Damned close. Their ETA is eight hours and twenty-six minutes. They'll pick us up the moment we separate from the carrier."

  Lando waited for the lock to cycle him through. Wendy was right. The tug's crew would be sure to notice if he fired up The Tink's drives and took off in the normal manner. The combination of heat, radiation, and electromagnetic activity would light up half their control panel.

  But what if he took another approach? What if he simply released The Tink and drifted away? Yes, the ship's life-support systems would generate some heat, but not enough to trigger the tug's sensors. Or so Lando hoped.

  The lock irised open and closed automatically. The smuggler found the safety line, clipped it to his armor, and was halfway to The Tink when he remembered the transceiver. There was nothing he could do but go back and get it.

  A full minute passed while Lando grabbed the transceiver and his other tools, stuffed them in the self-sealing bag, and headed for The Tink's lock. He nearly went crazy waiting for it to cycle him through.

  Once inside, he went straight to the cockpit, clumsy in his space armor, but reluctant to take it off. Every second was precious.

  As a tight-lipped Wendy looked on, Lando secured the ship for takeoff, and cut power to the electromagnets. The ships drifted apart. They were traveling at nearly the same speed and in almost the same direction.

  Now came the tricky part. Lando used tiny bursts of power to push the ships apart and send them on two divergent courses. With each passing minute, they'd get farther and farther apart until they were separated by hundreds, then thousands, of miles.

  Far enough so that Lando's NAVCOMP could take The Tink in and out of hyperspace so fast that only a computer analysis would reveal the truth of what had just occurred. To those on the tug, and those in orbit around Angel, it would appear that a ship had dropped in-system and was coming their way.

  The next few hours passed slowly, but the tug showed no signs of heading their way and made no attempt to hail them. The plan had worked. The tug would escort the carrier into Angel orbit, shuttles would bring the cargo modules dirtside, and the company would deliver the fertilizer into the settlers' hands.

  In spite of the heat, and in spite of ship's thick atmosphere, they found an enjoyable way to celebrate. What they did wasn't especially new, but it sure was fun.

  7

  The ring surrounded Angel like a shining halo. It was one of the most beautiful sights Lando had ever seen. Angel looked like a blue gem streaked with brown and partially obscured by wisps of white cotton.

  Time passed and the planet grew to fill Lando's viewscreens. It became more spectacular with each passing moment.

  But if Angel was beautiful, the halo that surrounded it was utterly magnificent. Five to six thousand miles wide, the ring glittered with reflected sunlight, and looked as if it were made of pure silver.

  As the asteroid glanced off the planet some 100,000 years before, it pushed lots of debris in front of it. Some of this material escaped the planet's gravity-well and kept on going, but most of it remained in orbit.

  During the period immediately after the collision, most of the debris had passed through a bath of vaporized material. Some of the stuff had condensed around the chunks of iron and nickel and hardened into a shiny coat. The effect was absolutely amazing. The halo seemed to glow as if invested with an inner light.

  "So what do you think?" Wendy asked, her eyes on the main viewscreen.

  "It's the most beautiful
planet that I've ever seen," Lando answered. "Bar none."

  Wendy nodded. "It doesn't take much imagination to see why the original survey team named the planet 'Angel,' or why it appealed to our elders. From space it looks like the Promised Land."

  Lando looked her way. "And from the ground?"

  Wendy smiled wryly. "That's another story. Life isn't easy on the surface, but it can be quite beautiful."

  "Like you."

  The smile Lando had expected failed to appear. The look Wendy gave him was serious, intent. "You're under no obligation to stay, Pik. I enjoyed our time together, but I don't expect anything more. You can drop me dirtside and lift."

  "It isn't that easy, Wendy…. What about Weller's World? We left three of their people dead. Mega-Metals may be lying in wait for us down on the surface."

  Wendy shook her head. "Not yet… You said so yourself. It will take some time before they figure out what happened and try to do something about it. You'll be gone by then."

  "And you?"

  "That's my problem."

  "You could come with me."

  Wendy's eyes held his. "We're very different people, Pik. More different than you may realize. You'll see that when we get dirtside."

  Lando shrugged. "Maybe, but my father gave me some advice regarding situations like this."

  Wendy smiled. "I'm not surprised. I'd like to meet your father someday. So, what did he say?"

  "Never throw something away until you know what it is."

  Wendy nodded soberly. "That sounds like pretty good advice, Pik. We should follow it."

  Their conversation was interrupted by a burst of static. The voice was female and had an obvious edge to it. "Mega-Metals orbital control to incoming ship. Who the hell are you? And what do you want?"

  They wanted him to smart off. Provide them with a reason to turn on the heat. Lando forced himself to remain calm. There was no sign of video, so the smuggler decided to respond in kind. He touched a key.

  "This is the freighter Tinker's Damn in-bound with a passenger. Our ultimate destination is the planetary surface at…"

  Lando accepted a piece of paper from Wendy and read it out loud. "… at a point known as Elder's Flat."

  The radio was silent for a moment, as if the operator was consulting with someone else. Then she returned.

  "And the passenger is?"

  Lando looked at Wendy. She nodded grimly. Lando cleared his throat. "The passenger is Dr. Wendy Wendeen."

  The reply came quickly. "That's a negative, Tinker's Damn. You will not, repeat will not, put down at Elder's Flat. By authority of Imperial Charter Number IC-890214, the corporation known as Mega-Metals, along with its duly authorized employees, has the right and obligation to search all incoming and outgoing vessels for contraband materials.

  "You will land your vessel at the location known as PROS-PLANT 2, where it will be searched. The coordinates are being fed to your NAVCOMP on Channel Two."

  Lando started to sweat. "That's a roger, Orbital Control. Out."

  Lando turned to Wendy. "It's like I said. They're waiting for us."

  Wendy shook her head. "No, I don't think so. They do this sort of thing all the time."

  "They knew your name."

  Wendy's face was pale. She crossed her arms on her chest. "Blopar Wendeen is my father. He's president of the council and a major thorn in the company's side. I come in for special treatment as a result."

  "What sort of special treatment?"

  Wendy refused to meet Lando's eyes. "Annoying stuff. Nothing I can't handle."

  Lando wasn't so sure, and wanted to ask some more questions, but Wendy's expression made it clear that she wouldn't answer them.

  The NAVCOMP took the little ship down well north of Angel's halo. There was no reason to risk collision with thousands of orbiting rocks.

  Some interesting facts were included in the information that Mega-Metals had sent.

  There were other things in orbit around Angel besides pieces of rock. There was one small moon, a space station, two company-owned cargo carriers waiting to take on ore, a tramp freighter, and a variety of tugs and shuttles.

  Lando saw that the planet's gravity was 0.95 G, the days were 27 hours, 46 minutes, and 40 seconds long, and it was winter in the northern hemisphere.

  A winter made more severe by the fact that the northern land mass was currently shadowed by Angel's halo.

  A halo that also dumped about 250 million tons of debris into the planet's atmosphere each year, making the equatorial zone look like a battlefield, and shortening the life expectancy of anyone who ventured into it.

  As The Tink made its way down towards the surface, Lando saw that the planet had a relatively small north polar cap and some extremely large oceans. And, because large bodies of water are notoriously difficult to either heat or cool, the entire planet had a relatively mild climate.

  The ring interfered with the natural progression of seasons, but the oceans tempered the effects and kept Angel habitable, if not exactly ideal.

  Lando took over from the NAVCOMP as The Tink entered Angel's atmosphere. He enjoyed the feel of air under the ship's stubby wings.

  "So, tell me about this PROS-PLANT 2 place."

  Wendy grimaced. "Watch the screens. I think the view speaks for itself."

  The approach vector had brought them in over the ocean. Wind-tossed waves, each topped with a whitecap, raced in to crash against vertical cliffs. Wherever the waves hit, enormous plumes of white spray exploded upwards, paused, and fell back into the maelstrom below.

  Just before the ship passed over the cliff Lando glimpsed multiple layers of rock that had pushed their way up in response to the volcanic activity of 100,000 years before.

  The ship flew low, not more than a hundred feet off the ground, rising and falling with the lay of the land. Twin crags appeared and flashed by to either side. Wendy's fingers were white where they gripped the armrests.

  Lando's eyes were up ahead. Now he saw what Wendy meant. The picture was worth a thousand words. Millions of tons of earth had been stripped away, leaving a multitude of terraces, each one stair-stepping down towards the pit below.

  A whole army of orange robo-scrapers, each one the size of a good-sized apartment complex, moved inexorably along the terraces and scooped ore into their metal bellies.

  And there were other, smaller vehicles as well, some robotic, and some operated by men and women. They looked like mechanical maggots, swarming through the flesh of a recently dead corpse, eating their fill.

  Then the scene was gone, lost in the semipermanent murk of dust and smoke, with only the vehicles' headlights to mark them from above.

  Lando touched a key and a heads-up landing grid appeared before his eyes. The Tink was represented by a green delta against an amber grid. Various numbers flickered across the bottom of the screen.

  Lando moved the joy stick a hair to the left, saw the delta center itself on the grid, and glanced over at a viewscreen. The murk parted for a moment and he caught a glimpse of the ground. There were some prefab domes, a cluster of storage tanks, and a conventional air strip, all of which were coming up fast. The murk closed in and he switched back to the heads-up display.

  The smuggler moved the joy stick a little to the right and cut power. Then, just as The Tink shuddered on the edge of a stall, Lando touched a key and felt the repellors kick in. The ship popped upwards slightly, then sank towards the ground and the landing area below.

  The freighter touched down with the usual groan of protest, slumped to the left, and started to leak Number 3 lube. If Mega-Metals personnel were inclined to underestimate The Tink and her capabilities, then so much the better.

  A male voice came in over the comset. "Mega-Metals Security Control to The Tinker's Damn. All crew and passengers will report to the main terminal building. You will leave your main lock unsecured to facilitate a contraband search."

  Lando looked at Wendy. She nodded grimly. He touched a key. "That's a roger,
Security Control. We're on the way."

  Wendy was extremely subdued as they waited for the lock to cycle open. Her head was down and her entire body signaled defeat.

  Lando couldn't figure it out. Why was Wendy so depressed? It wasn't like her. Besides, Mega-Metals could search the ship all day without finding anything more than some dirty laundry. No, it had to be something else. He tried to make small talk, draw it out of her, but Wendy's replies were short and nonresponsive.

  The lock cycled open and a gust of thick dust-laden air blasted its way inside, peppered them with grit, and rushed back out.

  It bothered Lando to leave The Tink unsecured, but those were the orders, so he forced himself to walk away. At least there was no reception party, no phalanx of corporate police, just waiting to avenge the deaths on Weller's World.

  The main terminal was a large dome-shaped affair which predated the surrounding structures by ten or fifteen years. Originally intended as only temporary while other more durable buildings were erected, the dome had proved too useful to tear down.

  And now, after countless patches and re-patches, its duraplast surface had a strange mottled appearance, as if the dome were dying of some strange skin disease.

  There were two orange all-terrain vehicles parked out front, along with something that looked like a main battle tank, except that it had big crablike arms instead of energy cannon and slug throwers. It sat on a huge trailer, towering at least three stories off the ground, looking for all the world like an armored beetle.

  Lando wanted to ask about the vehicle but Wendy's face was even darker than before, so he let the opportunity pass.

  Once off the duracrete airstrip, Lando felt gravel crunch under his boots. Repeated gusts of wind raced down the valley and tried to push him off his feet. He pulled up his collar and stuck his hands in his pockets. The air wasn't especially cold, maybe thirty-five or forty degrees Fahrenheit, but the wind-chill factor made it seem much worse.

  As they approached the terminal building, Lando saw that someone had taken the trouble to mount an electro-sign over the main entrance. The flashing letters spelled out SECURITY CO TROL with boring regularity.