The Chosen's lawyers asked Lando to make taped depositions for use in the legal battle that was sure to follow. Both the colonists and Mega-Metals had violated countless Imperial laws. The case would keep a dozen attorneys busy for years to come.
The company had already lost the first round by requesting a planetary quarantine, a condition that made it impossible for the colonists to import any additional microorganisms but applied to the company as well.
Had Mega-Metals designed bacteria of their own, and brought them in quickly enough, they might have been able to neutralize the invading army before it had time to spread. The corporation's scientists told the executives that, but most of them were lawyers, and refused to listen.
But even though the elders had won the first battle, they were almost sure to lose the war. When the last motion had been filed, and the last appeal had run its course, Mega-Metals would emerge victorious. The company had lots of money, lots of lawyers, and lots of influence.
But as Lando's father liked to say, "There's winning, and then there's winning. Be sure you know which is which."
Time was on the side of the colonists. The legal process could take as long as twenty-five or thirty years. More than enough time for "Dr. Bob's magnificent metal munchers" to colonize the planet, eat the company out of house and home, and block any possibility of commercial mining.
So what if the company won the lawsuit? What good is a judgment against a bankrupt organization? And who would buy half of a worthless planet?
No, the elders looked forward to losing, especially since the Imperial government had agreed to step in. Some rather bored looking marines had landed and were keeping a close eye on both sides. The company wouldn't dare pull anything underhanded with a company of marines looking over its shoulder.
Yes, things had gone pretty well for the settlers, but not for Lando. He felt sorry for himself. It was Wendy's fault. He'd been perfectly happy until she came along. First she'd given him something, then she'd taken it away, and now it hurt.
Lando had considered hanging it up. He could ask Wendy to marry him, he could build a house, he could scrape a living out of the soil.
But it didn't fit. Deep down, the smuggler couldn't stand the thought of living on an increasingly isolated planet, staring at the soil instead of the stars, doing something he didn't enjoy. No, he'd lift and do it soon.
And not just for emotional reasons. Tests had shown that the bacteria were still confined to the E-zone. But for how long? The government would impose a two-way quarantine one of these days, and ground whatever ships were dirtside at that particular moment. The Tink would be stranded on the planet, food for the metal-eating bugs, a monument to the past. It was another reason to lift.
Lando kept the goodbyes as brief as possible. The moment with Wendy was the worst of all. It took place next to The Tink's starboard landing jack. A light breeze swept down off the mountains, rippled through the crops on Elder's Flat, and teased her hair. She looked very solemn.
"Goodbye, Pik. I'll miss you."
Lando nodded. Something caught in his throat. "Goodbye, Wendy. I'll miss you too. Take care of yourself."
A tear ran down Wendy's cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. "Me? Take care of myself? What could happen to me? You're the one who runs around smuggling illicit cargos, fighting for lost causes, and rescuing damsels in distress."
Lando traced the tear with his thumb. "And what happened to 'happily ever after'?"
Wendy shrugged and forced a smile. "'Happy' means different things to different people. Your kind of happy is out there among the stars. My kind is here on the ground."
Lando bent and kissed her lightly on the lips. He smiled. "Goodbye, Wendy."
Her eyes searched his face, as if trying to memorize each nook and cranny, storing it against future need. "Goodbye, Pik."
Lando turned then, waved to a small knot of well-wishers, and walked towards his ship. He didn't look back.
The next few weeks passed quickly. Lando made his way from Angel to New Britain, where he hired an appraiser and asked her to put a value on The Tinker's Damn.
She did, and although the number she quoted was a good deal less than what the smuggler had hoped for, he went to look at Nister Needles anyway.
By selling The Tink, and using almost all of his remaining money, the smuggler might be able to buy one of the sleek little speedsters.
Lando paid off the autocab, climbed out, and made his way through the standard security scanners and onto the apron. It was hot. He could feel the sun on the back of his neck and smell the heady mix of lubricants and fuel that hung just above the ground.
Out beyond the apron, row upon row of neatly parked ships marched away towards New Britain's rather imposing passenger terminal. It had multiple layers and looked a lot like a wedding cake. It shimmered in the distance like some sort of high-tech mirage.
Lando rounded the corner of a hangar and stopped to admire the ships arrayed before him. They were beautiful vessels, as slim and sharp as their name implied, and built for speed. Nothing could touch them, either in a planetary atmosphere or out in space. Even the navy used Nister Needles as couriers and fast patrol boats.
A heavily laden freighter roared as powerful repellors lifted it up and off its stumpy landing jacks. Lando turned to watch as the ship lumbered past, performed a slow-motion pirouette, and headed out towards a lift zone.
He turned back towards the speedsters just in time to see a spiffy-looking sales rep exit one of the ships, turn on a thousand-gigawatt smile, and march forward with hand extended. The sales rep's initial words were lost in the sound of the freighter's takeoff, but Lando could guess what they were.
"Hello, glad to meet you, blah, blah, blah." Lando sighed. He wanted to buy a ship, or at least discuss the possibility of buying a ship, but didn't look forward to the process.
It took more than two days of on and off bargaining to cut the deal. By the time it was over, Lando had little more than a brand new Nister Needle, some money for fuel, and the shirt on his back.
It was hard to part with The Tink. She was the first ship he'd ever owned, and had seen him through some tight scrapes. She looked old and forlorn sitting between a couple of clapped-out shuttles.
Lando knew it was silly, knew she was little more than steel and plastic, but couldn't resist walking over to say goodbye. He patted her port landing jack.
"Goodbye, old girl. I'm going to miss you. Take care of yourself."
The ship made no answer, of course, but Lando felt a slight lump in his throat as he walked away. For the second time in as many weeks the smuggler had parted company with something or somebody he loved.
The moment caused Lando to think of Ithro and home. It would be nice to see his father, show off the new ship, and recharge his emotional batteries. He couldn't really afford to make the trip, but what the hell, he'd keep the visit short.
Lando and the ship that he called Wendy lifted four hours later.
It took a small hyperspace jump and the better part of a week to reach Lando's home system. Ithro was the fourth planet in from the sun, and rather close to the nav beacon, but the smuggler angled in and away from it.
Jethro, the system's third planet, was wild, woolly, and close to lawless. The perfect place for smugglers, bounty hunters, mercenaries, and other members of the underworld to relax, spend their money, and figure out how to make some more.
As such, Jethro qualified as one of Zack Lando's favorite haunts. The old man didn't spend much time on Ithro anymore, not since the death of his wife, and his son's coming of age.
It had been eight years since the Imperial navy had raided Jethro, cleaned the place up, and left. Eight years during which things had quickly slipped back into the same old patterns. But the citizens of Jethro remembered the raid, and knew that another could come at any time, so they kept a close eye on incoming ships.
But while there were none of the formalities common to more civilized plane
ts, Lando knew he was under surveillance, and was careful to follow certain unwritten rules of conduct.
He identified himself on a certain frequency. Then he deactivated the ship's weapons systems, killed the force field, and made one orbit of the planet. Plenty of time for Jethro's spy sats and sensor stations to check him out.
The com call was loud and abrupt. A male voice said, "Come on, Pik, and get your butt down here. The ole man's waitin' ta buy ya a beer."
Lando smiled. "That's a roger, Jethro. I'm on my way."
Jethro rose to greet him, a big brown ball, striated with wisps of white. Though blessed with close to Earth normal gravity, the planet had a poisonous atmosphere, and lots of volcanic activity.
The ship bucked a bit as it came down through different layers of Jethro's atmosphere, then smoothed out just above the surface. Lando kept the ship at about fifteen thousand feet. There was no point in crowding the volcanic mountains that dotted the planet's surface.
The ship's NAVCOMP recognized the settlement long before Lando did, beeped softly, and flooded his control screen with data.
Lando noted the wind direction, the recommended approach vector, and pushed the speedster down into a bowl-shaped depression. The long curve of a razor-sharp ridge passed beneath the ship as walls of volcanic rock rose to surround him.
Below, filling the bottom of the valley from side to side, there was a large greenish lake. It seethed and bubbled as noxious gases worked their way up to the surface to become part of the already poisoned atmosphere.
On the far side of the lake, halfway up a mountainside and growing larger with each passing second, was the habitat known as Forbo's Flat. It sat on a ledge carved from the side of a dormant volcano and wasn't much to look at. There were some scabrous-looking domes, a cluster of globular fuel tanks, and a sturdy-looking com mast. A ship took off, rocked its stubby wings, and blasted upwards.
The settlement was surrounded by piles of its own garbage. Lando watched a beetle-shaped crawler push a wave of refuse along in front of it. The machine stopped at the edge of the cliff and garbage fell like a skirt towards the lake below.
Wendy came in low, flared gracefully, and settled towards blast-scarred rock.
Lando saw a glint of reflected light from the other side of the valley and knew that a weapons emplacement was tracking his progress. Although the locals might be somewhat casual about matters of protocol, they weren't stupid. Just because someone says he's Pik Lando doesn't mean it's so.
A globe-shaped drone appeared in front of the ship. The words "Follow me" flashed on and off across the front of the device, slightly distorted by the curvature of its hull. There was a gust of wind and the drone bobbed slightly before it floated away.
Lando fed power to the speedster's repellors and followed. The little ship was incredibly maneuverable, and what might have been a chore in some other ship was transformed into pure pleasure.
The surface of the dome shimmered behind the protective force field. A pair of doors parted, and Lando guided Wendy into a rather spacious airlock.
The lock was capable of handling much larger ships and represented something of a luxury on a planet like Jethro. But, as Lando knew from previous experience, the landing fees would more than cover the cost involved.
The word "Wait" circled around the drone's middle and the smuggler obeyed. A glance at his stern monitor showed the doors had started to close.
Minutes passed while an assortment of noxious gases were pumped out of the lock and a breathable atmosphere was pumped in.
Then, when the drone again flashed "Follow me," and the inner doors slid open, Lando danced the ship forward.
The hangar was a large, well-lit place, already three-quarters full, and bustling with activity. A wild variety of people, maintenance bots, and automated equipment crisscrossed the lube-stained floor, coming, going, or just milling around.
A few of the humans, pilots mostly, turned to watch the speedster pass. A somewhat different reaction from the one that The Tink had elicited.
Lando smiled. It felt good to have something other people wanted.
He scanned the other ships. There were reentry-scarred shuttles, boxy-looking freighters, converted military craft, and some beat-up tugs. There was even a yacht or two, the property of successful smugglers or wealthy types looking for a good time.
Lando watched for his father's ship as the drone led him towards a distant parking space. There was no sign of her. The smuggler frowned. That seemed strange. Where was Queenie, anyway? His father rarely went anywhere without her. Lando shrugged. He'd know the answer soon enough.
He set the ship down with a barely felt thump. As he autosequenced the shutdown procedure the drone flashed "Have a nice day" across its midsection and floated off towards a new assignment.
Lando took a quick shower, slipped into a fresh set of clothes, and emerged from the ship feeling pretty good. It would be good to see his father again, and even better to show off his new ship, a tangible sign of his recent success.
So there was a spring in Lando's step as he made his way across the hangar towards the huge supergraphic that read FORBO'S FLAT and pointed towards a pair of double doors. He whistled as he walked, nodded pleasantly to passersby, and savored the moment.
The world beyond the hangar was a dimly lit place, circular like the dome itself, and organized along rather basic lines. There were establishments that catered to basic biological needs like food, sleep, and sex, as well as other places that offered a wide variety of other products and services, such as cyber clinics, weapons boutiques, surgi-centers, and more.
The main passageway was packed with a multiplicity of humans, aliens, auto hawkers, beggars, pickpockets, and whores. Lando nodded, shook his head, or dodged them as the occasion demanded. He could remember walking this same corridor as a child, staring in open-eyed amazement at the color and activity, tripping over his own feet as he tried to take it all in.
Then, as now, his father had made a bar called the Smuggler's Rest, his unofficial headquarters. Lando saw the familiar sign up ahead, a blue holo proj that hovered in midair and colored the smoke that floated around it. Lando smiled in anticipation.
The front door was little more than a chain curtain. It rattled as he pushed it aside. The place was half full and many of those present were friends or cronies of his father's. Lando had known some of them since boyhood.
There was Trig Holman, one-time pilot and full-time stim junkie; Liza Santho, cargomaster and friend; Bido Balazar, mean as hell and twice as ugly; and plenty more. The razzing started right away.
"Hey! Look what the cat dragged in, it's Pik Lando!"
"Pik! Where'd you get that ship? Did some pimp leave it to you in his will?"
"Hey, Piko! Where's the ten you owe me? Bartender, set 'em up! Pik's buying the next round!"
Lando threw a hundred-credit note on the bar, wished he didn't have to, and gave a wave of acknowledgment. There was a roar of approval and the chrome-plated bartender started to pour the drinks.
Then Lando walked back towards the corner table, the same table where his father had cut a hundred deals, and he'd waited through endless hours of adult talk. He was there all right, a little older, a little grayer, but basically the same.
Zack Lando was somewhat shorter than his son, but built like a brick wall, and just as solid. Middle age had been good to him. Gray frosted his hair, wrinkles added character, and his teeth were bone-white. They showed through his smile. He stood and moved forward.
The two men hugged and hugged again. Zack put his hands on Lando's shoulders. "Here, let me take a look at you, son. Damn but you look good! Sit down. I'll buy you a beer."
Lando grinned. "Good. The C-note I threw on the bar was the last one I had."
Zack laughed and slapped his son's shoulder. "A little tight, eh? Well, no problem. The old man's got plenty. But what about that ship? Nisters don't come cheap."
Lando nodded soberly. "You can say that again. Wendy
took The Tink and everything else besides."
Zack nodded understandingly. "I'll bet. Still, I know what The Tink was worth, and you must have run a pretty good scam to make up the difference."
Lando felt a flush of pride. That was about as close as his father ever came to giving a compliment. Lando was careful to downplay his reaction. He shrugged.
"I had some pretty strange clients and lost as much as I made."
Zack raised an eyebrow. "I sense a story worth telling. Here comes the beer. Wet your whistle and then tell me about it."
Lando did, starting on HiHo, and taking it all the way through the battle in Angel's E-zone.
"So," his father finished for him, "you took the profit, put it together with The Tink, and bought a Nister Needle."
He nodded approvingly. "Speed is a smuggler's best friend. You can forget all the fancy weapons systems and leather upholstery. It's speed that'll save your ass every time."
Lando had heard it all a thousand times before, but nodded dutifully. "That's right, Dad, and there's nothing faster than a Nister Needle."
Zack took a sip of beer and leaned back in his chair. "So, you've got a new ship but no spending money."
Lando nodded. "That's about the size of it. I thought I'd drop in, say hello, and look for a cargo."
Zack looked thoughtful. "Well, son, it just so happens that I'm right in the middle of a major scam and could use a little help. Interested?"
Lando frowned. "I don't need a handout, Dad. Thanks, but no thanks."
Zack laughed. "Handout? Did I say anything about a handout? Who taught you to be so pigheaded, anyway?"
Lando smiled. "It wasn't Mom, that's for sure."
The smile disappeared from Zack's face when he thought about his wife. "No, I guess it wasn't. Well, cut the crap and listen up. I need some help, and better you than a freelance gunner."
"Gunner? What for? How about 'speed is a smuggler's best friend,' and all that?"
Zack shrugged. "Every rule has its exception. This scam's different. Speed doesn't matter much. I don't expect trouble, but I don't trust the people involved, and it would be nice to have a backup."
Drifter Page 20