by Paul Darrow
Avon took a full video scan. Nothing.
Once clear of Gamma 15’s orbit, he took another. This time, he saw four fighter ships in line formation taking up the pursuit.
He changed course, weaving and diving the machine in an attempt to throw off the fighters’ radar trackers.
Although modern and well equipped, the fighters had not been as tenderly cared for as had Gilpin’s ship. Gradually, it drew away, leaving its pursuers floundering in its wake.
Avon sighed and wiped the perspiration from his brow. “Gilpin certainly knew how to look after his spacecraft,” he said. “Of its type, this is one of the best I’ve flown.”
“But will it get us to Earth?” Gerasa asked.
“What makes you think we’re going there?”
She shrugged. “Gilpin and Pruth seemed to think that’s where you wanted to end up. I didn’t believe anyone could be so foolish. Now I’ve met you, I’m not so sure!”
Avon checked the fuel gauge. They were on half tanks. “Damn!” he said. “We’ll be lucky if we get beyond Saturn.” Then an idea struck him. He turned to the girl. “We’ll have to free fall through the Drift,” he said.
She looked bemused.
“The Drift,” he went on, “is a space corridor between Jupiter’s moons. We can switch off all engines and slide through it. It’s a series of simple currents that will allow us literally to drift into the Clouds.”
“Where?”
“The Clouds of Magellan. You can see the World through them.”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“There are man-made satellites in the Clouds. We can reach Earth from one of them.”
“But we still have to get there?” she said.
“Right!”
“What about Saturn Major?”
Avon thought for a moment. “If we assume that Pruth’s death will not put them on to us immediately and if we also assume that the Federation troops on Gamma 15 didn’t feel they had any urgent reason to report our escape, then, and only then, we should be able to swerve round the planet without interference.”
“That’s a big ‘if’!”
“Yes.” He smiled.
“And Saturn’s Rings?” she asked.
“We’ll curve round the edge. That way, we can save fuel by using them as a glide path.”
“You seem to have thought of everything.”
“I’m good at improvisation.”
She smiled back at him.
“Can you improvise an auto pilot for this ship?”
“Later, maybe.”
She stared at him for a long moment, then moved to the back of the ship, undressed and lay naked on a bunk. Like a contented child, she fell asleep almost at once.
Avon instructed the computer to navigate and to activate all alarm systems. He swivelled in his pilot’s chair and studied the woman.
She was nearly perfectly proportioned. He guessed her to be about one and three-quarter meters tall. Her body was deeply tanned, her pretty oval face framed with a mane of jet black hair. Her eyes, when they were open, were piercingly blue. Her breasts were rounded and full, her sex soft and inviting beneath a firm, flat stomach. He thought she could be no more than twenty-five years old.
He felt a stirring in his loins as he gazed upon her, but he turned away and studied the flight console instruments, all the time wondering how she had become involved with Gilpin and Pruth and their pathetic attempts to get rich quickly.
He knew that, once in Earth’s orbit, he would be dealing with professionals. The Federation elite would not be so easily outwitted.
Gerasa slept a long time. The spacecraft had navigated Saturn’s Rings and was well on the way to Jupiter’s Drift before she awakened.
She stretched her body like a luxuriating lioness and looked at him, her long eyelashes hooding her sapphire eyes. “How safe are we?” she asked.
“Safe enough. We’ve by-passed Saturn and there’s no pursuit.”
“As you thought!”
“Yes.” Avon frowned. “It’s easy. Too easy. Almost as if whoever my enemies are, are deliberately holding back. Waiting to kill me on ground of their own choosing.”
“Earth would be your choice too, wouldn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Then all we have to do is pass the time until we get there.” She beckoned to him.
He went to her and climbed into the narrow bunk.
She took him fiercely, as if she were a bird of prey and he was her victim. Her breasts were pliant beneath his hands, her lips moistened his, her legs and arms entwined him. He burst inside her, emitting a long groan of pleasure. But she was not satisfied and forced him to love her again.
When they had finished, she licked the perspiration from his neck.
“If you’re going to die,” she said, “I can think of worse ways to go!”
The alarm system sounded. They were approaching the Drift.
Avon sprang to the flight console and, having set a master course, switched off all power.
The spacecraft shuddered, slowed and fell like a snowflake through space and time. It was as if nothing existed, save the ship and the impenetrable darkness outside.
Anxiously, they waited for the Drift to end, when Avon would reactivate the engines on full thrust and they would charge into the Clouds of Magellan in search of the satellite that would be their last staging post before Earth. The real danger would begin there.
4
The Clouds of Magellan appeared like giant mushrooms on the video and Gerasa’s sharp intake of breath as she saw them confirmed her fear.
Avon spoke to her softly as he guided the spacecraft onto a course that would take them through a narrow gap between the two biggest Clouds.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. We’ve conserved enough fuel to get us through. Once within the Clouds, our radar scanner will select a satellite where we can land.”
“Where we can land in the middle of a Federation Death Squad, you mean?”
“It’s possible, but unlikely. These satellites are sometimes deserted, having outlived their usefulness. Otherwise, they are manned by scientists. Pirates or robbers would find nothing of interest to them. Besides, they would know that, this close to Earth, the Federation would soon get on their track and hunt them down.”
“Do you think the Federation will be monitoring us?” she asked.
“Undoubtedly. But they don’t know anything about us. We’re not flying a warship, so they are unlikely to intercept unless someone on the satellites reports our presence. They’ll be curious, little else.”
“All right, do what you have to do.”
“Strap yourself in,” he commanded. “We could be in for a bumpy ride.”
Gerasa obeyed and Avon gunned the engines.
The spacecraft shook and rattled as the Clouds clutched at it.
One moment, they thought the vibration would cause the machine to break up, the next, they were floating free in the area of calm between the stormclouds.
They floated for a long time while the computer scanned for satellites.
Occasionally, Avon would gun the engines so that they could move into a different computer waveband. This caused them to use up more fuel than he would have liked.
At length, a blip appeared on the screen and Avon instructed the computer to home in on it and prepare to land on the satellite it undoubtedly represented. As always, the computer obeyed, but warned that fuel was dangerously low.
Slowly, almost gingerly, the spacecraft maneuvered itself between the huge, scudding Clouds and soon it was possible to make out the satellite on the video screen.
Avon studied the computer facts. They revealed no sign of life and indicated that the surface below was sand and rock.
“I think we’re about to land in a desert,” he said.
Gerasa shrugged. “Wonderful! A pity you’re not as good a navigator as Magellan was.”
“Who?”
<
br /> “The Clouds are named after him.”
Avon looked at her sharply. “How do you know?”
“I haven’t spent all my life on Raphael,” she said innocently, but she turned away from his steely glance.
The spaceship altered course. Its rockets, stuttering through lack of fuel injection, backfired and the machine belly flopped into an enormous dune, its impact throwing up great clouds of sand. Particles rattled on the hull like rain.
Avon switched off all power. The silence that ensued was like death.
Once the sand had settled, there appeared to be no movement outside the ship.
Gerasa coughed drily. “What do you have in mind?” she asked.
Avon looked at her steadily. “I have in mind that there is more to you than meets the eye.”
She blushed.
Avon extracted the plastic digital card from the computer.
“It was pre-programmed, wasn’t it?” It wasn’t really a question. “No wonder it was so easy to slip away from Gamma 15 and Saturn. I was meant to come here.”
Gerasa clapped her hands like an excited little girl. “At last, you’ve caught on!” she exclaimed. “You’re like a tortoise who has tried to convince everyone he’s a hare!”
Avon smiled a deadly smile. “I would remind you that the tortoise won the race,” he said.
“This race is over,” she replied as she switched on the video scanner.
As the camera slowly turned, Avon could see that the spacecraft was surrounded by Federation troops. In the midst of them, smiling benignly, stood the Martian, Pruth.
Avon turned back to the girl. She pointed a gun at him.
“Unlock the hatch and let them in,” she said harshly.
Avon did not move.
“If you shoot me,” he said, “all your efforts will have been for nothing. Pruth wants me alive.”
Gerasa scowled at him. “Do as I say!”
“Tell me why?” he asked.
“I’ll let Pruth do that.”
Avon sighed. A sigh that seemed to suggest he had given up the ghost.
Gerasa relaxed somewhat, but the gun was steady in her hand.
“Pruth wanted Gilpin out of the way,” she said, “but you knew that. I’m sure he’ll thank you for killing him and for furnishing proof of his death.” She extracted the pilot’s green eyes from her pocket and tossed them on the console. “With Gilpin dead,” she continued, “there is nothing to link Pruth with any illegal activities on Saturn Major or the satellites.” She smiled. “Pruth knew you were a resourceful man. Knew you would find your way, if not to Earth itself, then as far as here. With a little help from me and a piece of plastic, you’ve proved him right.”
“Why not kill me on Saturn and be done with it?” Avon asked quietly.
“And allow the Lords of Saturn and some obscure Death Squad officer to milk the credit?” She laughed. “Of those who survived the wars for Uranus, you were the biggest prize. By delivering you to the Federation in such a spectacular fashion, here in the heart of its power, Pruth has proved his genius. There will be nothing to stop him securing more and greater power to himself.”
“And you intend to ride his coattails?”
“Well, I’ve not done badly so far, have I?”
“What will they do to me?”
She shrugged. “There’ll be a show trial. The business corporations, your former employers, will approve of that. Then they’ll blind and imprison you so that you can be brought out from time to time to illustrate the futility of resistance. You’ll be a constant reminder of Pruth’s strength and cunning.”
“I would never have guessed I was so important,” Avon said.
“You’re too modest.” Gerasa fluttered her eyelashes as if she was flirting with him. “You were the last to escape from Uranus. With the Federation Empire expanding, your capture will cause anyone intending to fight it to hesitate. And he who hesitates is lost!”
“You still haven’t persuaded me to open the hatch.”
Gerasa moved closer to him, the gun still unwavering in her grasp. She leaned over to throw the hatch switch herself and, in the split second that her attention was diverted from him, Avon smashed his elbow into the master power control. At the same time, he chopped down onto the woman’s gun arm with the hard edge of his hand.
Two things happened. The last dregs of fuel in the spaceship’s tanks ignited a jet stream that blasted the Federation guards standing in its path. Their screams of surprise and agony penetrated even the thick metal covering of the machine.
Simultaneously, Gerasa’s gun fired, but its projectile thudded uselessly into the roof of the cockpit.
She fell to the floor, Avon on top of her. For a while, she struggled like a maiden trying to protect her most precious possession. Then she relaxed as Avon took her in his arms as if he were embracing her, even loving her. His arm folded around her neck and, with one clean jerk, he snapped it like a reed.
Gerasa’s head lolled to one side; her tongue was jammed between her teeth, her features formed a hideous smile of death.
Avon laid her body on the floor and quickly glanced at the video screen.
Apart from incinerating any number of guards, the jet stream had stirred an angry cloud of sand that swirled around the spacecraft.
Avon seized the moment. If he couldn’t see any guards because of the miniature sand storm, they couldn’t see him.
Clutching his weapons bag, he forced open the cockpit hatch and sprang from the spaceship. Soft sand broke his fall, but fierce, gritty particles lashed his face. He stumbled away from the machine, ready to eliminate any guards who might stand in his path.
He remembered from the video scan that there would be a group of high sandstone rocks to his left. It was most likely that the Federation Death Squad had been concealed among them and that their heliplane transports would be grounded there.
He knew that the spacecraft was between him and Pruth and any surviving guards and hoped that, with the element of surprise, he could kill the pilots before they knew what or who was hitting them.
Battling the twisting sand, he staggered and crawled his way until, as the sandstorm began to subside, he reached the rocks.
He was right, there were six heliplanes standing in line with only their pilots to protect them.
One of them saw him immediately, but Avon’s black garb caused him to resemble a Death Squad officer and, while the pilot hesitated, he shot him with a full pump action blast.
Other pilots, confused by the melee at the spaceship and surprised to find themselves under attack, milled around the planes. Coolly, Avon shot them all. They fell like ducks in a gallery. Then, there was a further silence of death.
Avon reloaded and walked among the bodies, kicking them to see if anyone was left with a spark of life. No one was.
He looked back towards Gilpin’s spaceship. Ten or a dozen guards were moving around it. Clearly, they had not heard the gunshots above the receding noise of the jetstream and sandstorm. He had a few minutes to spare.
Avon ran from heliplane to heliplane and tossed a delayed action phosphorous grenade into each of them save one. This last, he climbed aboard and, after swift refamiliarization with the controls, he started it up and the powerful rotors began to turn.
He knew that, as he lifted off, another sand cloud would form and the guards on the ground would fire at him in vain.
The plane jumped vertically like a flea and Avon guided it towards the spaceship. The guards, hidden by the agitated sand, were somewhere beneath him.
He flew over the machine that had brought him to this satellite of death and, as the sand cleared once more, he saw Pruth standing on a dune, staring up at him in a kind of wonderment, as if he were a visiting god.
Avon unleashed a god’s wrath. He fired a fragmentation rocket at point blank range. It struck the Martian in the chest and blew him to pieces.
Just then, the phosphorous grenades exploded in the other heliplanes and a
ball of fire swept over the sand towards the prostrate Federation guards.
Avon turned his machine towards the spaceship, its open cockpit hatch clearly in his sights. With great precision, he launched another rocket and smiled with satisfaction as it plunged through the hatch and blew the ship apart.
Then, he wheeled away and, the satellite possessing no gravitational pull to delay him, sped from the scene.
5
The heliplane handled smoothly and was well fueled. It was larger than those he had destroyed on Phax, because it was designed to carry troops.
But Avon knew it had a limited range and that, consequently, there would be a mother ship. The heliplane’s radar would be homed in on her.
He threw a switch and a blue light flashed at him. He swiftly calculated that the larger ship was positioned some two hundred spacials to his right. Avon turned the heliplane to the left.
He flicked through the radar channels until another flashing light indicated the position of a man-made satellite within range. He set a course, safe in the knowledge that no one would pursue him. For the moment.
Soon, he approached the satellite. Quite different from the one he had just left, it was small and compact and seemed to consist of granite mountains. Lakes glistened amongst them.
The heliplane was mounted on wide skis. He would set it down on water, certain he would find a quay at the lakeside.
He banked the aircraft, reduced speed and glided it between two massive rocks. Then he straightened it and its rotors hovered it and it lowered, like a bird, to the still surface beneath.
As he had anticipated, Avon saw a quay and motored towards it. A solitary figure stood upon it, waiting to greet him. There did not appear to be any armed guards in the vicinity.
He steadied the controls and slowly docked the aircraft before bringing it to a halt.
Through the glass dome of the cockpit that resembled the eye of a huge insect, he studied his reception committee of one.
The man was tall and dark-skinned, dressed simply in gray coveralls that matched the color of his crinkly hair. He did not appear very old, but he was not young.
Avon suspected he was a satellite Guardian. A specialist who had volunteered to live alone on the manmade sphere to nurture and protect whatever it was the Federation required from it. In other words, the satellite would be a huge storehouse of material and Avon was about to confront the storekeeper.