Drifter

by William C. Dietz

  Wendy looked at Schmidt. He frowned. "Bad news, I'm afraid. We've got company."

  Lando felt emptiness where his stomach should be. "How many?"

  Schmidt touched some keys in quick succession. Additional data appeared on the right-hand side of his heads-up display. "One vehicle, a crawler from the looks of it, and…"

  A large black shadow flashed across the truck. They heard the roar of the aircraft engines. Honey rocked under the blast of displaced air.

  Wendy leaned forward to look up through the windshield. "… and one helicopter."

  Lando peered out through a side window. The helicopter was headed north. "It's leaving the area… That seems strange."

  "Listen…" Schmidt touched a key and they heard a woman's voice:

  "… about does it, Eight-Ball. We're flying on fumes. See you back at the barn."

  A male voice came on: "Copy that, Air Six. Eight-Ball out."

  "It makes sense," Schmidt said thoughtfully. "It would take a lot of fuel to airlift a crawler."

  "What kind of crawler?" Lando asked, half afraid of the answer.

  "Huge things with a lot of armor," Wendy replied. "Remember our visit to Security Control? A crawler was parked outside."

  Lando remembered all right. A big ugly machine with crablike arms.

  "Can we outrun it?"

  "We can try," Schmidt answered grimly. "We can try."

  "What about weapons?" Lando asked. "What have you got?"

  Schmidt looked at Wendy, and something passed between them. An unspoken bond that would forever shut Lando out. The smuggler saw it and knew what the scientist would say.

  "Nothing outside of that slug gun you're wearing. But that doesn't matter much, since I wouldn't use them anyway."

  Lando slumped back in his seat. Great, just great. There were killers on the loose and his companions were pacifists.

  But the worst part was his complete and utter helplessness. There was very little he could do but sit down, shut up, and hope Schmidt found a way around the crawler.

  Honey roared loudly as Schmidt guided her down and through a small stream. Then they went up and onto a rocky slope.

  The attack came without warning. The crawler had been waiting, hull down beyond the rise, like a wolf spider in its den. Now it roared straight at them, pincer arms spread, trying to grab some part of the truck and drag it to a halt.

  Schmidt swerved, and Honey shuddered, as the tip of a durasteel pincer pierced her left flank.

  Lando pushed himself away as rusty metal punched through the truck's armor-plated side. It was just the tip of a pincer but large enough to make a hole the size of his head.

  Schmidt swore, the engines roared, and metal screeched as Honey pulled away. The pincer tore a four-foot-long gash in the vehicle's side.

  Lorenzo Pal blasted over the comset. His laughter had a wild, almost demented quality. "That's right sod-busters! Run for your lives! Here we come!"

  Lando looked up at the external monitors. One was packed side to side and top to bottom with the ugly-looking crawler. "Watch out!"

  A pincer lashed forward and hit the trailer. The truck lurched and the entire vehicle rang like a gong. Schmidt applied power and the crawler fell behind. The truck was a little bit faster than the crawler, especially on open ground. There was an unexpected breeze from the gash in Honey's side.

  But Honey had barely reached forty miles an hour when she ran out of open ground. Schmidt stepped on the brakes and swore when the wheels hit a rock. The entire front end of the truck bounced up and off the ground.

  Honey hit hard. Wendy was thrown against her harness, and the tanks hit the front of the trailer.

  Lando looked at the monitors and saw the crawler grow larger. Damn! If there was only something he could do.

  "That way!" Wendy pointed towards the right. It was a narrow passageway, too narrow for the crawler to follow. The geologist nodded and turned the wheel in that direction.

  The crawler was closer now. Lando saw its right-hand pincer flash forward. There was the screech of metal on metal as the crawler sank durasteel fingers into the top right-hand corner of the trailer's frame.

  The engines roared as Schmidt did his best to pull away. Drive wheels spun and threw up fountains of dirt.

  Pal's maniacal laughter filled the cabin. "Go ahead! Run! We have plenty of time."

  Metal groaned, something parted with a loud report, and the truck jerked forward. Unable to follow, the crawler dwindled in size.

  The scientist pushed forward as quickly as he dared, unable to see beyond the next curve, praying there was a way out. What if the passageway led them into a dead end?

  The walls were tight and stained with rust. A jagged piece of rusty iron stuck straight out from the right-hand wall. Schmidt swerved but there wasn't enough room to clear the obstruction. Metal grated on metal as Honey slid by.

  Lando felt his heart sink. The ancient Chinese had a name for this. They called it "the death of a thousand cuts."

  They needed to seize the initiative, find a way to fight back, but his companions weren't likely to take that course. No, he'd have to wait for an opportunity and act on his own.

  Wendy gave a sigh of relief as the rocky defile opened up onto a shallow basin.

  Lando saw movement to the left and yelled "Over to the left, Lars! Here they come!"

  Schmidt opened the throttles. The truck labored at first, fought the weight of the cylinders, and jerked forward.

  Lando held his breath as they raced for the other side of the basin. The corpos had been forced into a different canyon, but had made pretty good time and stood a good chance of intercepting them towards the middle of the flat.

  Closer, closer, damn! The entire vehicle shook as the crawler sideswiped them. Schmidt fought for control. Something felt different, but he wasn't sure what it was. A tire? Something mechanical? Whatever it was made Honey hard to steer.

  Lando leaned forward to tap him on the shoulder. "Slow down when we reach the other side. I want to bail out."

  Wendy started to frown but forced the expression away. This wasn't his fight… and besides… who could blame him? The smuggler had kept his side of the bargain and then some.

  The geologist must have felt the same way, because he hit the brakes as they bounced off the pan and into the broken area beyond.

  Lando released his seat belt, opened the rear passenger door, and jumped. The truck was still in motion. The ground came up hard and fast. He stumbled, fell, and rolled over. Dust swirled up and around him. The ground shook as the crawler approached.

  Sato moved his finger a hair to the right and felt the crawler do likewise. His voice was flat and emotionless. "One of them bailed out. Shall I stop for him or chase the truck?"

  "Stay with the truck," Pal replied. "We'll take care of him a little bit later."

  Lando had just gotten to his feet when the crawler roared past. He caught a glimpse of the huge eight-ball painted on its side and something else as well. Something that might work in his favor. The top hatch was slightly ajar. Not much, inches at most, but just enough. Enough to stick his arm inside and empty the slug gun.

  If he could catch up, if he could climb aboard, if the hatch remained open. Lando started to run.

  Schmidt found it increasingly hard to steer. Given that, and given the crawler's other advantages, there was only one chance left.

  Maybe, just maybe, they could circle around and find a place to hide the trailer. Then, lighter and faster, they could lead the crawler away and hope for the best. It was a chance at least, and some chance was better than none.

  Sato had grown weary of the chase. Pal enjoyed this cat and mouse stuff, but he didn't. The more time they spent in the zone, the better the chances of winding up dead. Sato balled both his fists and the Eight-Ball skidded to a halt.

  Pal screamed in his ear. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Go after them!"

  Sato didn't look around. His eyes were on the screens. "I'm get
ting tired of your bullshit, Pal. Shut up and sit down. If your brain ran half as fast as your mouth, you'd see something very interesting."

  Pal was completely speechless. His jaw worked but nothing came out. He was just about to fire Sato on the spot, when Corvo pointed towards the screens.

  "Look, boss! Look at the dust! Sato's right!"

  Pal looked. The truck had disappeared off the flat, but a cone of dust was pointed down behind the rim of the ancient crater. The dust was like a finger pointing at its prey.

  Pal smiled. "Thank you, Sato. When you're right, you're right. Let's wrap this thing up."

  Sato nodded, directed a silent "up yours" in Pal's direction, and performed a routine sweep of the screens. Movement caught his eye. His eyes went to the stern vid camera and stopped. What the hell was that? It looked as if someone was chasing the crawler.

  Lando's lungs felt as if they'd burst. His heart was pounding like mad. Dust spurted up where his boots hit the ground. Just a little bit further, just a little bit further, just a little bit further.

  Who knew why the crawler stopped? Who cared? Just a little bit further… twelve feet… eight… the crawler loomed in front of him… heat rising in waves off its rear deck, engine rumbling softly.

  Lando was almost there, leaning forward, waiting for his fingers to touch hot metal, when the crawler's engines roared to life. Black smoke engulfed him as the machine rolled away. It was gone seconds later.

  The smuggler stopped, put his hands on his knees, and sucked oxygen into his lungs. It was minute, maybe two, before he looked up. He saw it instantly. The spiral of dust, the crawler heading off to intercept, and the certainty of the outcome. Lando wiped the dust off his face with the back of his sleeve and started to jog.

  Wendy looked up at the screens. "I think we lost them."

  Schmidt shrugged. "I hope you're right… but it's too early to be sure. Let's find a box canyon or something similar. We'll stash the trailer and use the tractor to lead them away.

  Wendy nodded her agreement and searched the monitors for some sign of what they were looking for. The problem was that there were so many passageways, corridors, and canyons, it was difficult to choose.

  Schmidt skirted the edge of the very same crater that they'd been forced to flee a few minutes earlier. Was that good or bad? He wasn't sure. If only…

  The crawler came out of a side passage at ten or fifteen miles an hour. There was a terrible crash as it hit Honey's right flank. The truck was lifted up off the ground and held there while both of the pincers went to work. Metal screeched and groaned as durasteel fingers cut their way through Honey's armor plate.

  Schmidt gunned the engines but nothing happened. A metal claw smashed its way through Wendy's door, missed her arm by a fraction of an inch, and opened wide. Wendy hit her harness release and the geologist jerked her towards him just as the pincer snapped closed.

  The rest was instinct. Schmidt tried to open the door, swore when it refused to budge, and hit the window switch. The reinforced duraplast made a whining noise as it disappeared into the door frame.

  Pal's voice came over the comset. "Wendy? Are you there? Would you like this to stop?"

  The pincers opened, closed on a section of the control panel, and pulled. There was a horrible crunching sound as a fifty-pound chunk of metal and plastic was ripped away. Wendy could see into the engine compartment and feel the heat that flooded out.

  "Wendy, you could stop this. You liked what I did to you. I know that you did. Tell me you liked it and I'll make them stop."

  The pincers took another bite of dashboard, and Honey's engines went silent as if cut with a switch.

  Schmidt wriggled out through the window, desperately afraid that the truck would fall on him, but determined to drag Wendy clear. He grabbed her wrists. Wendy looked up at him and started to speak.

  Schmidt saw Janice, saw her head start to turn, and knew the bullet was coming. He screamed "No!" and pulled with all his might.

  Pal's voice was calm, almost conversational. "I like your body. What a waste it would be if the pincer cut it in half. But business before pleasure…"

  Lando slipped, fell, and hit his knee on a rock. It hurt like hell. Damn, damn, damn! A battle raged just beyond the edge of this crater on the perimeter of the next. He could see the dust and hear the noise. The smuggler got up and limped forward.

  Wendy popped loose and Schmidt fell backwards, pulling her with him. She was barely clear when the truck teetered and came crashing down. The cylinders made a loud clanging sound as they broke free of their tie-downs and rolled around inside the trailer.

  Schmidt helped Wendy to her feet and they backed away as the crawler tore Honey apart. The crawler peeled the truck like a Terran orange. It ripped the armor off first, cut the frame into sections, and laid the interior bare.

  The cylinders shone in the sunlight. They were naked and completely vulnerable. Tears ran down Wendy's cheeks as a pincer gave one of the cylinders an experimental nudge.

  Engines roared as the crawler backed away.

  Schmidt grabbed Wendy by the arm, jerked her towards a slab of rock, and pulled her behind it. It stood only waist-high, but some protection was better than none.

  Metal clanged as Sato brought the pincers together. They formed a wall of steel. The crawler belched black smoke as it lurched forward. There was a clang and Wendy winced as pincers collided with metal cylinders. The tanks rolled away from the impact, banged off of each other, and came to a stop. The crawler hit them again.

  Schmidt touched Wendy's arm and pointed towards the left. There was a pit in the middle of the crater, like the circle at the center of a bull's-eye, and that's where the cylinders were headed. Wendy scrambled up onto the top surface of the rock to get a better look.

  She saw a cliff, a fifty-foot drop, and a pool of stagnant water. She bit a knuckle as she watched the cylinders near the edge.

  The crawler stopped. Pal stuck his head out of the hatch. He waved. His voice boomed over the external loudspeaker. "Hey, Wendy! Watch this!"

  The crawler roared, metal clanged, and the cylinders rolled off the edge. They fell, hit the jagged rocks below, and fell again. There were three almost simultaneous splashes. Vapor misted the air. The tanks bobbed, floated for a moment, and disappeared. A series of bubbles floated up from below, burst, and gave off clouds of gas. Languid waves rolled out to lap against the sides of the crater.

  Wendy gave a long, shuddering sigh. The cylinders were gone. The dream was over. She jumped down off the rock. Schmidt did likewise.

  The crawler backed away from the edge. It turned their way and stopped. Pal stood on top of the machine. About forty feet separated him from Wendy. He looked down at her.

  "Well, I don't know what you had in the cylinders… but it's history now."

  A blaster materialized in the corpo's hands. He aimed it at Schmidt. "Wendy and I want to be alone… so take a hike."

  Schmidt's hands opened and closed. They were powerful hands, used to hard physical labor. To hell with nonviolence. The geologist had a sudden desire to wrap his fingers around Pal's neck. He started forward.

  "Lars, no!"

  The beam of bright blue light and the crack of a slug gun came almost together. A puddle of rock appeared next to Schmidt's right foot. It started to cool.

  Pal looked surprised, staggered, and looked around. Lando fired again and the corpo flew backwards off the crawler. He hit the ground with a distinct thump.

  Engines roared as the crawler turned. Smoke puffed away from Lando's arm as a pair of mini-missiles raced down to hit the right-hand track. The explosion was surprisingly loud. A link parted and the crawler came to a stop.

  A scrap of white cloth appeared, followed by Corvo's arm.

  Sato cut the engines and pulled his hands out of the gauntlets.

  Metal made a pinging sound as it started to cool.

  Wendy looked at Lando. She knew that it was wrong, but she was grateful for what he'd done. A me
teor, a big one, chose that particular moment to cross the sky and explode somewhere in the distance.

  Lando took charge of Sato and Corvo while Wendy walked over to the cliff. There wasn't so much as a ripple to show where the cylinders had gone in. It was over. In spite of all their planning, all their work, the whole thing was over. The company had won.

  Schmidt appeared by her side. The geologist stood there for a full minute. Then he started to laugh. It began as a chuckle, segued into a full-fledged laugh, and exploded into gales of uncontrolled mirth. The geologist clutched his sides as tears rolled down his cheeks and into his beard.

  Wendy wanted to smile, but did her best to resist. It didn't seem appropriate. "What's so funny?"

  Schmidt pointed down towards the pit. "The cylinders… they broke open as they fell…. Look around you. Metal everywhere. Food. Leaching down into the water. Soup. The tanks fell into a big bowl of soup!"

  Unable to say more, the scientist laughed again.

  Wendy looked from Schmidt to the pit. Metal? Soup? What did Lars mean?

  Then it hit her. Of course! The bacteria ate metal! They would thrive in the metal-rich water below! The microorganisms would flourish and multiply. They would follow the equatorial zone around the planet. Then, bit by bit, the bacteria would move north and south along the veins of rich ore until they had spread far and wide.

  It was perfect! Much better than any delivery system that the scientists could have devised! Schmidt and Wendy were still laughing when Lando made his way down to stand beside them.

  They told him the joke and he laughed too. He looked down into the sludge. The army had landed and the war had begun.

  18

  The next few weeks passed quickly.

  Annette Corvo proved to be a good deal more reasonable than Lorenzo Pal had ever been. Rather than punish the colonists, she wrote a report that blamed everything on her boss, and sent it to Terra. The suits started to arrive a week and a half later. They were on the same ship that brought The Chosen's legal team.

  Lando spent most of his time ducking "thank you" dinners and finalizing the arrangements by which The Chosen were supposed to pay him. A rather unlikely possibility, but what the heck, a guy could hope.