Mutiny on Outstation Zori

by John Hegenberger

  Jamie wondered why his friend had taken it and if it had anything to do with Cast's disappearance. Could someone else have taken it instead and Cast had followed them during his last freight run? It was the sort of high intrigue that appealed to Jamie's imagination. Once again, he pictured himself charging to the rescue.

  At last, some three thousand meters above the planet, the passenger compartment disconnected from the main vator and switched to a side conveyor that gradually came to rest on the outskirts of Hyperion XI's main trade center, Hy-newn. Jamie took a moment to collect his luggage and catch a skimmer for the headquarters of Turner Werch's corp, PANIC, Inc.

  The streets around him were alive with pedestrians shouting and performing exotic piping music, giving Jamie the impression that every inhabitant of the planet was packed into the city. Humanoid and off-world tentacle figures clogged the walkways, creating a sea of multi-colored masks bobbing just outside the skimmer's windows.

  "Is it always this crowded?" he asked.

  The skimmer driver turned in his seat and complained, "It's the damn carnival. Draws everybody into like the third coming of Dr. R.C. Pepsi."

  It suddenly occurred to Jamie that he'd made no plans for a place to stay while meeting with Werch. He began to think that this whole trip might have been a bad idea. "How much farther?"

  The driver punched at the keys of an ancient comp on the vehicle's dashboard and read aloud, "2.759 blocks. Just around the corner to the right."

  Jamie leaned his head back and looked up, reading the holo sign high overhead through the skimmer's bubble. PANIC, Inc.

  "Let me out here. I'll walk it."

  "What about your bags?"

  Damn. "All right, you win. But try and hurry; I'd like to get there before the third coming of what's-his-name."

  * * *

  Clamber dragged his three bags into the open-air first-floor reception area of PANIC, Inc. A neo-human, like himself, with cobalt-blue skin, not like himself, smiled from inside her glassed cubical. "G' day, sir," she greeted. "Can I help ya?"

  Jamie let go of the luggage and whistled silently in relief. "I'm Clamber." He fished out his Eldeit card. "Here to see Turner Werch."

  "Did you just get in?"

  "Uh, yeah." He passed the card through a slot in the cubicle's front surface. The neo set it on a depression in the console before her and scanned the response.

  "First time in Hy-Newn?"

  "First time on Hyperion."

  "Oh, yes, Mr. Clamber!" she beamed staring at her screen. "It says here that you're to go right up. T.W. is expecting you."

  "Swell. Is there somewhere I could stow my gear?"

  A deep voice from behind Jamie said, "I'll take it, sir."

  Without thinking, Clamber said, "Thanks," and turned to face the business end of a hand-held ident-reader pointed directly at his face.

  "After I've read your pulse and eye grams for security."

  The black, evil-looking device went breep and its handler, an extremely neat and—symmetrical?—man of about forty carefully folded and slipped it into a belt pouch. Then he bent to lift the freighter's luggage.

  "Here," Jamie said, "let me help you with those."

  "No need, sir." The security man stood upright, hefting the bags as if they were full of inert gases. "I'll put them in your quarters."

  "My quarters?"

  "Certainly," the man nodded, leading the way to a bank of vators. "All arrangements have been made. We like to make our operatives comfortable while they're with us."

  "Operative? I'm afraid you're mistaken. I'm just—"

  "No need to explain, sir," the security man smiled. "I won't tell another soul."

  The man seemed to like to elevate the importance of his station by pretending he knew more than he actually did. Any other supposition left Jamie with an uncomfortable feeling he was walking into a trap.

  The vator door opened at the men's approach and then closed behind them. The machine moved upward without an action or word from either passenger.

  "Things run pretty smoothly here...for a company named PANIC Inc."

  "It's an advertising ploy," replied Jamie's companion. "The panic is supposed to indicate the client's state of mind, not ours."

  "I see."

  "You'd be surprised how many corporations get themselves into trouble and need our services."

  The vator stopped and the two men stepped into a richly-carpeted passage.

  "I'll get you settled in," the security man said, without letting go of the luggage. "Room twelve. You need to go down to the big double doors at the other end of the hall. Just go right in. T.W. is—"

  "—expecting me, I know."

  "Actually, sir, you're a bit late. Tell him you got held up in traffic. Damned carnival, you know."

  "Good idea. Thanks."

  "My pleasure."

  * * *

  A dark-haired man with a high forehead looked up from the two piles of plastext he'd been comparing at his desk when Jamie entered. "Who the hell are you?"

  Jamie noted the man's penetrating eyes; they caught and held him like a fist. "I'm Jamie Clamber. You wanted to see me?"

  "I did?" the man asked, not of Jamie, but of a tall slim woman who leaned forward in her chair, glancing at the freighter.

  "He's Horescin's lead on Cast Janssen," she said in a cultured voice. "The circuit-jockey from FZ5."

  "Oh yes." The man rose to greet Jamie, warmly. "I'm Turner Werch. Glad to make your acquaintance, Clamber."

  "How do you do?"

  Werch was a couple of inches shorter and at least twenty years older than Jamie.

  "I'm sorry for the confusion." The businessman gestured toward his cluttered desk. "We're extremely active today. The carnival has left us short-handed while increasing the demand for our services."

  Jamie's first impression of Werch was not good; the man seemed as if his mind were on other, more important, matters than meeting a circuit-jockey who'd traveled all the way from FZ5. Maybe he just took some getting used to, or maybe all corporate execs acted a little distracted. Jamie wouldn't know. "What services do you supply?"

  Werch avoided the question by saying, "This is my technical associate, Bright Law."

  The woman got up from her chair and presented a cool hand. Deep red hair cascaded down the right side of her head, hiding one eye; the left side was completely bald and smoothly polished. "I certainly hope you can help us, Mr. Clamber."

  "Jamie will do fine, thanks." Clamber tried not to stare at the top of her head. The baldness was attractive.

  The woman's observable eye blinked. "Do what?"

  Jamie laughed. She certainly had a way of putting you on the defensive. "I'm not quite sure," he hesitated, turning back to address Werch. "Why did you want to see me?"

  The exec went back to his desk, searching for a moment through the piles of plastexts, picking one up, studying it, placing it back, until he located what seemed to please him and held it up. "We understand that you once worked with Cast Janssen."

  The woman stared deeply at Jamie.

  "Yes. You could almost say that he was my partner, before he died."

  "Are you certain he did die?" the red-head asked.

  She gets right to the point, Jamie thought. "No, as a matter of fact, I'm not sure. His body was never found, but that's not unusual when your ship is gutted by raiders."

  Werch shot a glance at Bright Law, who nodded.

  "What the hell's going on here?" Jamie demanded. "Is she scanning my mind?"

  "Take it easy, Mr. Clamber," the woman said. "We want to determine whether or not you're in on the theft."

  "What theft?"

  Werch stretched an open palm at an empty chair. "Would you care to sit down, Mr.—"

  "No thanks. I'll take this standing up. Now what do you know about Cast?"

  "The question is," Werch responded, "and the reason I'm paying triple premiums is to find out what you about him."

  Jamie relaxed, surveying
the other two, curiously. He knew no one was forcing him to be here. He could walk out at any time. But then he'd never learn if Cast was alive, or dead, or what. Perhaps, if he played along, he could find out, and make a few deits at the same time.

  "He was a friend; a little pushy and irritable at times, taken to bouts of depression, but the best freighter jockey in the business. And he was responsible. I mean, you could trust him—"

  "Truthfully?" The woman leaned forward slightly.

  "Well, usually. I worked with him for almost ten years. He helped get me my own ship. What's this all about anyway?"

  "Where was he from?" Bright Law asked.

  "Look, if you want to know all this, why don't just read my mind?

  "I'm afraid," Werch said, "my associate's telepathic powers are limited to impressions of honesty and falsehood, Mr. Clamber. Besides, we are principled people. We have respect for your inner thoughts."

  "So," the half-redhead continued, "we still need to know what you can tell us about Janssen's background, from your perspective."

  "And again, I ask, why? What's this all about?"

  Werch sighed from behind his desk. "Tell him, Bright."

  She cast eyes to the ceiling and began to recite. "Our company has been contracted by the Calaban Corp to locate and retrieve twelve single-passenger FTL ships stolen last month while they were being transported to Cavon Province."

  She paused, and Jamie questioned. "I take it these were not your normal pleasure crafts?"

  Bright nodded reluctantly. "They were a new design, rated at over thirty max FTL displacement. The manufacturers of the Esper Shadows are not happy about the loss; they can and will build more, but they want the dozen missing ships back, and with no questions asked."

  Jamie caught on. "So, they're in a panic. What's that got to do with me or Cast?"

  Werch rubbed the back of his neck. "Your friend's gene-type was discovered in the cargo hold of the ship used to transport the Esper Shadows."

  "What?" Jamie breathed. "You mean he's alive?"

  "We think so," Bright answered. "We can't be sure; the genetic impression was contaminated. But if he is, you can help us learn more about him and maybe lead us to...the missing ships."

  Jamie thought it through. Supposing Cast was alive: why would he be involved with corporate crime, instead of returning to FZ5 and his transport operations? Had he been tricked into stealing the Esper ships? Or did he live some sort of secret life, operating so clandestinely that even Jamie had never suspected?

  Clamber knew he was not getting the complete story here, but…. He shook his head slowly and sat down. "I'm afraid I don't—"

  "Surely, he must have told you something about his past," the businessman said evenly.

  "There's nothing in the Imperial data banks except Janssen's place of birth and his pilot's registration out in FZ5. We need get a better handle on him. What is he like?"

  Jamie felt his right eyebrow rise. "He is… was… a quiet, determined, hard-working Paethor. I don't know. I can't believe he'd be involved in stealing a dozen FTL ships."

  "That's not true," Bright charged. "You know Janssen is capable of committing a theft; experienced it, yourself. Tell us where he is."

  "That… I don't know."

  "Then tell us where think he might be," Werch said, "and I'll pay to send you there to find out if you're correct. I'm forming several search teams to follow up leads on this case. I want you to be part of one."

  Jamie concentrated. The idea that Cast might still be alive was still new. Before his "death", his old partner had once mentioned wanting to go somewhere special, if he ever had enough money. Where was it that the little yellow pilot had wanted to retire to? Someplace out..."I don't know," Jamie said. "You might try FZ13, but if you want anything more specific, I'll have to think it through."

  Both Werch and Bright Law looked glum, but resigned. The businessman stabbed a button on his desk and spoke into the air. "Come in, Zaxt."

  Jamie stood up, not knowing what to expect, but not expecting what came through the double doors.

  A silver male humanoid bot stepped into the room. Its smiling, vid-star features looked out from beneath a full head of flowing golden polyhair. The data screen on its chest glowed a crisp blue, but presented no image or data.

  "Zaxt," Werch said, "meet Clamber."

  The bot put out its right hand—more like a three-fingered glove—and bowed slightly from mid-waist. "We were expecting you, sir.

  Jamie shook the hand and stifled a laugh. "Well, I certainly wasn't expecting you." He turned back to Werch. "What is this? My bodyguard?"

  Bright stepped forward and patted affectionately one the slim pouches that lined the bot's shoulders. "He's more of a trainer and teacher than a spy, Mr. Clamber."

  Zaxt raised his right, mitten-like hand. "I never spy."

  Jamie turned back to Werch. "I'm afraid I don't…. Why do I need it… him?"

  Werch laced his fingers on his desktop. "I'm assuming, of course, that you'll accept my proposal to join one of the teams I'm assembling."

  "Perhaps..."

  "Zaxt here will introduce you to the other members of your group and instruct you through a brief training operation designed to get your team working together at max efficiency. Does that bother you?"

  Jamie looked askance at the silver bot. "No. I guess not…

  Bright began moving Jamie toward the doors. "Good. Zaxt, take Mr. Clamber down to the training area and introduce him to his teammates. See that he—"

  "Wait a minute," Jamie interrupted. "We haven't discussed my fee. I don't intend to go off searching the backnet without some sort of compensation."

  "Of course not," Bright answered. "The manufacturer will pay you half a million Eldeits if you are successful in locating the missing ships. We'll pay three times that, if you can retrieve them."

  "And what if I can't find them at all?"

  From behind them, Werch grumbled, "Then you will have had an interesting vacation courtesy of PANIC, Inc."

  "Can I have that in writing and filed with the trade association?"

  Werch tapped a series of keys on his desk and a printout issued from beneath the screen on Zaxt's chest. Smiling, the bot tore it off and handed it to Jamie. The print was tiny and there was plenty of it.

  Jamie folded the document and slipped it into a pocket in his jacket. "I'll get back to you on this."

  "Fine," Bright nodded. "Now, please go with Zaxt. And try to see if you can pinpoint where Janssen might be; it'll make a difference regarding where your team is sent."

  "I said I'd think about it."

  "Good," the woman said, as Jamie and the bot walked back into the hall. "There's a lot riding on your memory, Mr. Clamber."

  * * *

  Jamie was pretty sure he remembered where Cast wanted to go.

  The two pilots had been lounging in a pleasure bar on Thomastation, soaking up too much good leisure and bad wine. Cast had sat hunched over, elbows on the checkered table, chewing a straw down to a glob of mangled plastic, and recounting adventures from his misspent youth.

  "You see my point, right?" Cast had asked earnestly. "A person can't begin to know what they want out of life until they're at least forty." He held up four pale, webbed fingers. "Everything before that age is influenced what other people want you to be. Sooner or later, you realize that there's more to life than they'd have you believe, and you start looking around for what's in it for you."

  Jamie had stretched his legs out across an empty chair and tilted his head back to stare at the paddle-fan rotating far above their heads. He asked casually, "Are you speaking from experience, or is that just the wine talking?"

  "I'm serious, you lout," Cast claimed indignantly. He kicked at the chair that held Jamie's legs. "When you get to be my age, you'll start trying to get some importance in your life. You'll see all the empty promises and decide that you'll do almost anything—any old thing—to satisfy your yearning for happiness."

&
nbsp; "I'm happy right here," Jamie said dreamily, and gestured for another round of whatever they were drinking.

  "I can see that," Cast shrugged. "And I'd expect that sort of comment from a third-rate circuit-jockey like you. But I know a place that would be far better than this dive."

  "Great. Let's go."

  Cast laughed. "Not so fast, partner. I'm talking about an Outstation in FZ13; you'd be sober by the time got there."

  "Then to hell with that!" Jamie received his drink from the serving droid. He had downed it without a breath, and the room began to tilt, as if he were seated on a long sliding ramp.

  "But I'm going there someday," Cast had continued to speak through Jamie's mellow haze. "I owe it to myself."

  "Fine. Fine. Just help me get a firm hold on the table before you go."

  The rest of the evening had been a blur. The conversation hadn't seemed important at the time, but now Jamie thought there might have been more significance to it than just bold bar talk.

  The only problem now was that Jamie felt unsure about telling any of this to employees of PANIC, Inc. There was something about the organization that bothered him. For that matter, he mused while walking along the seemingly endless corridors, there's something about all big organizations and corps that bothers me. Must be why I like working alone so much out in the frontier zones.

  He followed the bot through a maze of hallways, arriving at last before a small vator which they rode to a sub-basement. When the doors slid open, Jamie thought they were entering a large gymnasium, the kind he'd viewed on tactical adventure vids.

  The room was paneled with hundreds of hatches and access doors, several of which were in operation above, under and around the two combatants who were confronting each other with electro-staffs. Beneath the bright lights, one of the hatches thrust forward a series of buzz-saw tentacles, while another belched a stream of cloying red smoke.

  To the right of the two battling figures, a panel fired randomly spaced and timed thermal pulses that ricocheted off the floor. Both combatants bounded and dodged, making only occasional but forceful contact with each other.