Drifter

by William C. Dietz

  Wendy bit her lip as Lando looked at the tac tank. It was a tossup between Terra and Mars in terms of distance, but while the red planet was still a little bit wild and woolly, Earth was the province of government and the large corporations. Not a place where smugglers spent much time. Lando touched some keys. Mars it would be.

  The freighter was not a warship, so the com officer doubled on weapons. "They have the ship under control, Captain. They're heading for Mars."

  "So what?" Captain Orlow said sourly. "We have a landing bay that can't be pressurized, plus damage to the Number Four power feed. Why did they route the damn thing past the hatch anyway?"

  "Never mind that," Tawson said tersely. "Get this bucket going. I want those people, and I want them now."

  Orlow turned towards the executive and placed her hands on her meaty hips. "Oh, you do, do you? Well, guess what? We're done playing cops and robbers. This ship's damaged and I'm taking her in."

  Tawson's face grew dark with anger. "You forget yourself, Captain! I'm an executive and you'll do what I say!"

  Orlow's mouth turned downwards. "What you say doesn't pull any G's out here, mister. I'm the master of this ship. Besides, it will take about a quarter-million to repair the damage to this ship, and we'll see how the home office likes that."

  Tawson swallowed. Orlow had a point. What had seemed like a sure-fire opportunity to impress his boss had turned into a full-scale disaster.

  It wasn't clear what had transpired aboard the other ship, but it seemed likely that Haas was dead, or being held prisoner.

  Although Tawson didn't really care what happened to the ex-bounty hunter, he did care about his reputation in the company, and couldn't afford to back off. No, he'd have to see the whole thing through. Headquarters would ignore the quarter-million if he succeeded, but Sol help him if he failed.

  Tawson cleared his throat. "I'm sorry about the damage, Captain Orlow, but if they get away it will reflect poorly on both of us, and we should do our best to stop them. Surely you can see that?"

  Orlow was somewhat mollified by the executive's more reasonable tone, and knew that he was right. Right or wrong, the incident would reflect on her as well, and given the shortage of commands, she couldn't afford to ignore politics altogether. Still, Orlow had to think about the safety of the ship, and any further risk was completely unacceptable. A compromise was in order and the Captain had an idea that might work.

  Orlow forced a smile. "You have a point, Executive Tawson. And, although I can't go along with any plan that would place this ship in further peril, I can still offer some assistance."

  Orlow explained her plan to Tawson, and his face lit up with grim excitement. He nodded enthusiastically. "Captain, I like the way you think. We make a good team. We'll find those vermin and stamp them out. The credit will be shared equally."

  13

  The Tink came in low and slow, her nav beacons blinking on and off, sliding into an awkward turn as the smuggler babied the damaged thrusters. Mars had very little atmosphere, so it took lots of power to hold the ship up. Lando had been living in his space armor for the better part of a day. His hands felt clumsy.

  Mars Prime was huge. The city rose before them like a dark blanket of plastic and steel, once home to seventeen million souls, now little more than shattered domes and empty streets.

  Oh, there was life all right, dark forms that scuffled, whirred, and clanked through the city on even darker errands. They were all that was left of a brighter past in which heavily laden colony ships had landed every day of the year to be stripped of useful metal and absorbed into the city. Mars Prime had grown at the rate of one square mile per month back then, absorbing some of Terra's excess population, and functioning as a sort of socioeconomic relief valve.

  But history is fickle, and what might have been one of the empire's great cities had become a monument to technological change instead. Just when Mars Prime had reached its height, and seemed assured of lasting status, a woman named Dortoro Nakula had perfected the Nakula Drive.

  Though slower than the speed of light, the Nakula Drive was a huge improvement over the propulsion systems available at that time, and when combined with recently developed suspended animation techniques, it made travel to other solar systems a real possibility.

  It was only a matter of months before huge colony ships were under construction and thousands of would-be settlers had signed on to fill them. There were paradise planets to be settled, or so the promoters promised, and the land rush was on.

  Why so many of the residents of Mars Prime were willing to fling themselves into space aboard untried ships will never be fully understood. Maybe it was the fact that Mars Prime was packed full of people with nothing to lose; maybe conditions were so bad that a roll of the dice looked better than what they had; or maybe it was a form of mass hysteria.

  Whatever the reason, Lando knew that within a period of ten short years Mars Prime had become little more than a ghost town. Now it was almost empty, populated by the leavings of the great exodus, and the ghosts of those who had died in the blackness of space. Their ships were little more than drifting graveyards, their desiccated bodies sealed inside coffinlike animation chambers, their dreams fallen like dust around them.

  Some of those ships were still being found, distress signals beeping, hundreds, or even thousands, of lights away from their original destinations. The thought made Lando shiver.

  Mars had other cities, of course, bright, well-kept places, built since the early days of space travel, since the time of the great leaving, but they were elsewhere and out of sight.

  Darkness gathered as Lando skimmed the periphery of the city. Phobos was low on the horizon. A speck of white against the backdrop of space. Lights could be seen below, pinpoints of life in the dark warren of broken domes and wreckage-strewn streets, maggots living within the corpse of a long-dead city.

  Wendy wrinkled her nose. The instrument panel threw greenish-gold light up across the lower part of her helmet.

  "It looks pretty ominous down there. Are you sure this is the best place to land?"

  Lando gave a shrug. "No, but the other possibilities would be even worse. This isn't the rim, you know… they have rules around here. Lots of them.

  "If we land at one of the nicer domes, they'll want to know how we got shot up, who did it, and why. We'd give our version, Mega-Metals would provide theirs, and you can imagine the rest. We'd be ass-deep in lawyers, your cargo would end up under a battalion of microscopes, and the entire plan would go belly-up. Mars Prime might be ugly, but it's relatively safe."

  Wendy frowned. "Okay… but how does that square with your call to the navy?"

  "That was different," the smuggler said evenly. "Mega-Metals was busy hauling us in. The navy looked pretty good right about then."

  A diamond-shaped pattern of lights snapped into existence below. No radio procedures, no formalities, just a "come on down."

  Lando killed speed and fired the ship's repellors. Some worked and some didn't. Gloved fingers poked here and there as he tried to balance them out.

  "And now we're doing just fine," Wendy said, watching dark duracrete rush up to meet them.

  "Yeah," Lando said as he glanced her way. "Now we're doing just fine."

  One of the damaged thrusters went belly-up right at the critical moment, and The Tink hit with a spine-jarring thump.

  As usual, the ship gave a groan of protest, slumped to port, and leaked fluid. Only this time the leaks were real and would have to be fixed.

  A figure in shiny black armor appeared in front of the ship, held up a pair of luminescent light batons, and waved them to the right.

  Lando swore, fired The Tink's repellors, and followed the green cones into a dimly lit bay. Then, on a signal from the figure in black, he lowered the ship onto blast-scarred duracrete.

  "Look!" Wendy pointed to the stern monitor. Lando watched as a heavily armored door slid into place. They were in deep trouble if this was a trap. The Tink
might be able to fight her way out, but the outcome was far from certain.

  A cultured voice came over the comset. It sounded neither male nor female. "Welcome to Mars Prime. Your ship is currently located within Bay Four of the Mars Prime Class "C" Maintenance and Repair Facility, a wholly owned subsidiary of Lucky Lou Enterprises. The minimum fee for safeguarding your vessel, and estimating the cost of repairs to your ship,

  will be two thousand Imperials. Please indicate whether you still wish to utilize our services or would like to depart."

  Lando winced. Two thousand Imperials was an outrageous sum, but he'd have to pay it. He'd been to Mars Prime before and knew that a lot of unpleasant things could and would happen to vessels that were left unguarded. Lucky Lou Enterprises had lots of overhead, some of which came in the form of a sizeable security force. He triggered the comset.

  "We accept your terms and wish to stay."

  "Excellent," the voice replied. "A security team will inspect your ship. Please open your lock."

  Wendy looked at Lando as she released her harness. "Security team? What for?"

  "Lucky Lou's been alive for a long time," Lando explained. "Some say for more than a hundred years… and luck had very little to do with it. He's careful, that's all. What if the ship were packed with mercs all set to take over his operation?"

  Wendy was amazed. "That could happen?"

  Lando nodded grimly. "You bet. Anything can happen and usually does. It pays to be careful."

  The next few hours were very busy. First, a squad of tough-looking security types came aboard and searched the ship from bow to stern. They were extremely thorough, spoke in monosyllabic grunts, and wore an impressive array of weapons.

  The moment the security team left, Lando and Wendy stripped off their rather ripe pressure suits and took showers. They had to put the armor on again before they left the ship, however. The repair bay was pressurized, but there was the ever-present possibility of a blowout, so suits were a must. They left their visors open for the sake of convenience.

  The air inside the hanger was cold and smelled of ozone. The lights were brighter now, and Lando could see a variety of maintenance bots, racks of shiny power tools, coils of black power cable, and banks of computerized diagnostic equipment. Lucky Lou Enterprises could do the job all right… but at what price?

  Wendy had difficulty walking in the lighter gravity. Everything was easy, too easy, and she had an unsettling tendency to bounce up and down. Not only that, her armor had been made for someone a full size larger, and lagged behind her movements.

  Lando seemed completely unaffected. And, although the smuggler's face was completely blank whenever Wendy looked his way, she couldn't escape the feeling that he was laughing behind her back.

  Wendy heard a whirring sound and turned around. The cyborg had been there all the time, hidden in the darkness up towards the ceiling, waiting until now to make his entrance. And a dramatic entrance it was.

  Wendy had been exposed to a lot of cyborgs, and even studied their biomechanical support systems while in medical school, but had never seen one exactly like this. Unlike Troon, who had opted for a somewhat humanoid appearance, this individual had allowed form to follow function.

  The cyborg had two parts. The first part consisted of a boxy-looking support unit that floated on a cushion of air, its extendable arm reaching cranelike towards the ceiling, where the rest of the creature hung like fruit at the end of a branch.

  The second part of the cyborg was shaped like a globe, with four articulated tool arms, each one capable of interfacing with a wide variety of power tools.

  Most of the cyborg's vid-cam eyes were located where they'd do the most good, out towards the ends of its tool arms, but two were mounted on stalks that protruded from the upper surface of the creature's metal torso. One of these swiveled towards Lando while the other scanned the ship.

  "My, my. What have we here? Damaged thrusters, a hole in the drive compartment, and sundry other problems. Don't tell me, let me guess. Someone dislikes you!"

  Lando laughed. "Right the first time."

  The cyborg dipped lower, whirred its way under a stubby wing, and looked at the port hydraulics.

  "What gives? You've got some damage here… but not enough to cause this degree of list."

  Lando revised his level of respect upwards. The borg was sharp.

  "The list is window-dressing. It pays to let people underestimate your capabilities."

  The cyborg bobbed his agreement and continued to examine The Tink's hull. The ensuing inspection took another hour or so. During that time a battery of diagnostic computers ran tests on all of the ship's command and control systems; a squad of vid cam-equipped mini-bots scurried through the hull and documented the interior damage, while the cyborg whirred hither and yon humming to itself.

  Finally, after consulting a computer console, the cyborg whirred its way over to where Lando and Wendy waited. Both of its general-purpose vid cams swiveled in their direction. "You won't like this."

  Lando shrugged philosophically. It didn't show through his suit. "So what else is new? What's the tab?"

  The cyborg tilted a couple of degrees to the right. "To repair the hyperdrive, replace the damaged thrusters, plug the holes, and fix various subsystems will cost you two hundred and thirty-seven big ones. Half in advance."

  Wendy looked concerned, and Lando swallowed hard. There went a big chunk of his remaining profit. "All right, I want her in tiptop shape. How long will it take?"

  The cyborg waved one of its tool arms. "Two days, maybe less if things go especially well."

  Lando nodded. "Two days it is. I'll thumbprint a fund transfer, grab a toothbrush, and we'll clear out."

  Wendy raised an eyebrow. "Clear out? What for?"

  Lando gestured towards the nearest bulkhead. "Lucky Lou runs a hotel but it's two miles away. The cost is included in the overall bill. They won't allow us to stay here."

  Wendy followed Lando towards the ship. "Another security measure?"

  "Exactly. Get enough people inside the place and they could take over. It's like I said before, Lou's longevity is due more to common sense than to luck."

  Thirty minutes later a pair of heavily armed security types escorted them to a utilitarian lock, handed Lando a map, and grunted their goodbyes.

  Wendy looked around. There was graffiti all over the inside of the lock. None of it was especially enlightening.

  Lando sealed his suit and gestured for Wendy to do likewise. He chinned the radio. "Can you read me?"

  "Loud and clear," Wendy replied. "I wish this suit was smaller, though."

  Lando nodded sympathetically. "Sorry, The Tink isn't large enough to carry a full selection of passenger suits."

  The smuggler held out one of two blast rifles he'd taken from The Tink's arms locker. "Here, take one of these."

  Wendy made no move to accept it. She could still feel the weight of the blaster in her hand, smell the odor of burned hair, and taste the bile that had forced its way up from her stomach. She searched for and found Lando's eyes behind his visor. "No, Pik. I won't do it again. I can't."

  Lando nodded understandingly. "Okay… but carry it anyway. Unarmed people attract trouble."

  There was no denying the truth of what Lando said, so Wendy accepted the rifle, and slung it over her shoulder. She'd carry the damned thing, but that was all.

  The hatch cycled open and they stepped out into a trash-strewn street. It was cold, and Wendy turned her heater up. The dark metal walls of high-rise buildings boxed them in, multicolored lights strobed the night, and a dozen people dressed in space armor turned in their direction. Wendy couldn't see their faces through the reflective visors but got the impression that they were extremely bored.

  One of them wore an electro-sign over his suit. It urged them to "Eat at Sam's." Another stood beside a full-sized holo. It showed a man and woman having sex. The words "come with me" flashed on and off.

  Wendy heard Lando's voic
e in her helmet. "Well, here it is… Mars Prime at night. Kind of pathetic, isn't it?"

  Wendy had to agree. It was pathetic. The signs that announced this or that bar, the brightly lit gaudiness, and the eerie silence that went with wearing a suit. The entire area wasn't more than a block long.

  "You wanta ride?" The voice was male and slightly hoarse. Wendy flinched and then felt stupid. Anyone could use the standard suit-to-suit frequency.

  An unlikely-looking vehicle came to a halt in front of them. It was actually little more than a platform on wheels, open to the atmosphere, and equipped with rudimentary seats. The single concession to safety was a full roll cage with a pair of sensor-targeted energy projectors mounted on top. The cab had four headlights, all of which had been taped to reduce the amount of light they put out.

  The word "taxi" had been scrawled along the side of the vehicle with spray paint. The driver was invisible behind his

  visor, and the armor he wore was old and worn. The suit had been spray-painted pink at one time, but only islands of color had survived.

  Lando chinned his radio. "We're headed for Lucky Lou's hotel. How much?"

  "Forty Imperials."

  "Twenty."

  'Thirty."

  "Done," Lando agreed, and motioned for Wendy to get in.

  The onlookers seemed to lose interest in Lando and Wendy at the moment they climbed aboard the taxi. Wendy figured they were talking to each other on some other channel. She thought about scanning for it, but decided to let it go.

  The cab jerked into motion and so did the computer-controlled energy projectors mounted over Lando's head. They swiveled this way and that, their infrared and motion-sensitive scanners searching for targets, ready to fire the moment the on-board computer gave them permission.

  The energy projectors should've made Lando feel secure, but they didn't. The fact that they were necessary, and a part of the cab's standard equipment, said something about the conditions in and around Mars Prime.

  The taxi was forced to take an indirect route in spite of the relatively short distance it was going. Piles of rubble loomed up out of the darkness, burned-out vehicles blocked some of the side streets, storefronts gaped open, and at one point a thrown-together wall blocked the way. It had been there a long time, and their driver had little difficulty pulling around the far end of it, but the wall made Wendy shiver. Who had built it and why?