"I said down."
She'd unslung some type of rifle. Kyler let himself stumble midstride and hit the sand. Heavy gravity made the impact hurt more than it should have. He heard a sharp snap and felt something molten pass over his back. Keeping flat, he scrabbled around to get a look. Several more snaps, several bolts of crimson plasma, and the velocipedes were reduced to swirling ash.
The woman jumped down from the derrick and waddled over. "You alright?"
"Nothing broken." Kyler got to his feet.
"They were gonna kill you. You saw that, right? You'd vouch for that?"
She wore a pair of bubble-shaped goggles over her eyes, and a tiny respirator covering her nose and mouth. But for that and the reflective clothing, her burnt-bronze skin was exposed to the elements of Caliban Four. "There's a fine," she said, "for every velocipede you kill. It's in the charter. Part of that bullshit 'Indigene Protection Act.' But it's justified, if they're fixing to kill you."
The voder clipped to Kyler's ear translated her Anglic speech, right down to the accent. And it translated his words back. "Thanks. I'll make whatever kind of statement you need."
"What're you doing out here, anyway?"
"I'm, ah, a free trader from House Dorr …"
"Where the hell's your ship?" She looked up first at the sky, then the surrounding hills. "Or your landing boat?"
"I was dropped off."
Beneath the goggles, her eyes narrowed. "Alright. Be mysterious, even though I just saved your life." She held out a thick hand. "Name's Emma."
"Kyler." He couldn't think of anything else. Her grip felt like a hydraulic press.
"If you're the free trader everyone's been talking about, the CFO will want to meet you, stat."
He looked glumly at the black pyramid, still a ways off. "Don't tell me you hoofed it here."
"Nah, nah. Not with dangerous indigenes about." She waved toward a six-wheeled buggy parked just behind the derrick. "We'll take you back on that."
Kyler's heart lifted at the prospect of motorized transport. Emma closed a panel at the derrick's base, picked up a toolbox, and shuffled toward the buggy. More tools jangled from her belt. Walking behind her, Kyler eyed the still-hot barrel of the plasma rifle nestled between her shoulder blades. Back in 2223 A.D., the technology to accelerate plasma would require at least five feet of magnetic coils.
"I noticed you had trouble running," she said, when they reached the vehicle. "Something wrong with your exo?"
She meant the G-boots. "Yeah, a short, I think. I've been afraid to turn it on."
"I'll take a look when we get back. Real uncomfortable, a skinny-legger like you trying to move around without one."
"I appreciate that. You've been more than helpful."
"Us frontier types usually are." She started the buggy's engine. "Give my boss a fair price on that fuel, and we'll call it even."
* * *
The "boss" of Caliban Extraction and Refining, Ltd., turned out to be Hyram Gose, an older man built like Emma, but with a near-spherical belly and legs thick as tree trunks. He wore a black cape to distinguish himself from the rest of the mining stiffs. They were all built like Emma, adapted to the gravity of Caliban's fourth moon by aggressive gene engineering. Kyler felt self-conscious of his narrow limbs when he removed the pressure suit.
"So you're the buyer from House Dorr, eh?" Hyram said, after he and Kyler had retired to a private office, lit on three sides by holo-displays of a lush, forested landscape. "It's a little strange they sent someone out here directly, instead of dickering over a commo laser."
Kyler tried to answer, but found his voice gasping.
"Something wrong?"
"The air's a little thin."
Hyram nodded, none too concerned. "The pressure's several millibars less than what you're used to. We'll prepare quarters in the off-worlder's section of the complex."
"Quarters? I thought we'd negotiate the deal now."
Hyram's bass laughter seemed to echo through the surrounding forest. "Just like a merchant. Right to business, eh? Well, it's not that simple. I have to get a market report, then confer with the proxy AI's for the board of directors … it'll take a day or so. That quick enough?"
"No hurry," Kyler lied.
"Good. In the meantime, I'll have Emma show you around. Give you the nickel tour of the place. Just keep in mind, a frontier mining colony's not the same as a trading floor. Things can get rough. One of these guys throws a punch, it's likely to snap your neck."
"Noted," Kyler said, and gulped air.
* * *
Caliban Extraction and Refining boasted only one bar, but the lounge attached was cavernous, paneled in dozens of different metals, from burnished gallium to soft gold, with slightly-oxidized iron predominating. Emma found a secluded table and hustled over two beers in copper steins. Kyler took a grateful sip; rich-tasting ale, full of hops. He guzzled, averting his eyes from the floor show some twenty feet away. A pair of Caliban natives, male and female, removed their clothing to heavily syncopated music.
"You some kind of prude?" Emma asked.
"Ah, no, it's just that …"
"We think you off-worlders are pretty ugly, too." She smiled when she said it. "Let me ask you another question: you got any enemies, back at that merchant establishment you're from?"
"What do you mean?"
"I had a look at your exo-legs. Aside from the fact the servos are Stone Age primitive, someone rigged them to overload as soon as the battery draw went to ten mega-amps. Which, coincidentally, is the power requirement for walking around on Caliban Four."
"You're talking sabotage."
"Exactly."
Kyler hid his reaction behind a long pull of ale.
"Other interesting thing," Emma went on. "Two days before you arrived, a bunch of automated tractors went nuts and plowed through the southern section of monowire fence. Near where I found you. We had enough time to put up a sign, but not fix anything."
"That ever happen before?"
"Never. C.E.R.'s got the highest safety rating in this system."
"So you're saying …"
"Someone's trying to kill you."
Or Damon Cole, Kyler thought. He drained his stein and set it down with a clank. "Have you heard of a man named Huxley? He'd be an off-worlder like me, a newcomer."
"The surveyor?" Emma rolled her eyes. "He showed up about a week ago. Wants to map out the northern pole caverns, 'stead of just letting the probes do it."
"Why'd you make that face?"
"I don't have nothing against cyborgs, personally, but he could be a little more subtle about his appearance, you know what I mean?"
Kyler recalled that Huxley had suffered a terrible injury during a jaunt to the Middle Ages. The Continuity physicians had done what they could. "You know where I can find him?"
Emma's mouth twitched at the corners. "How do you know Huxley? It's a big galaxy, mister. I'm beginning to—"
An open palm smacked against the table, startling both of them. Kyler hadn't heard the big miner-type's approach over the music. His coveralls were unbuttoned to the waist, revealing a large 'V' of hirsute muscle. Chrome beads hung from his mustachios.
"You partial to skinny guys now, Emma?" The man waved thick knuckles at Kyler.
"Oh, hell, Kal. I didn't know you were the jealous kind."
"As soon as a new swingin' dick hits the planet, you're all over it."
Kyler started to say something conciliatory, but Emma's chair was already scraping back. She stood and faced the man. Without warning, her booted foot shot forward and struck him in the shin. He bent, his dark skin flushing darker. As he straightened, he swung out with the back of his fist, catching Emma across the nose. She staggered back.
Maybe it was the beer, or the general lack of oxygen feeding his brain, but Kyler got up so quickly bright stars trailed at the corners of his eyes. He grabbed his empty stein and slammed it against Kal's head. The metal cylinder flattened on impact, thoug
h Kal didn't do more than grunt. He kept his attention fixed on Emma as she regained her balance.
Kyler snatched up a metal chair and hauled it over his head. He groaned with effort; the chair weighed more than it should, and there was a shooting pain in his back like he'd pulled something. But he managed to bring it down across Kal's shoulders. Shock traveled through the metal and stung his wrists. For his part, Kal grunted louder this time, and turned to face the panting off-worlder. His eyes showed a mixture of amusement and menace.
"You got a gun or a knife, son?" he asked. "'Cause otherwise, you're not—"
Emma's punch cut him off. She landed a short one to Kal's ribs, stepped back, and threw a hook to the groin. Kal's eyes crossed. He tottered in a little circle before sitting down, hard, on a nearby stool.
"Serves you right, you goddamn bull moose," she said. "This fella I'm entertaining here is going to close a big deal with the company."
"I think you cracked his ribs," Kyler said.
"Nothing that won't heal in a day or two. Ain't that right, Kal?"
"Sure thing, honey. And that was a nice combination, there."
"Kal's my husband," Emma said. "He's the insecure type, on account of his substandard pecker. Though in truth, I'd kick his ass if he didn't start a fight over me once in a while."
"Just showing I care."
"Damn straight." Emma slapped Kal's broad shoulder. "And you, Kyler, you hadn't stepped in like you're supposed to, I'd be kicking your ass right now, too. I did save your life, after all."
"Absolutely."
She planted her hands on her broad hips and gave a satisfied nod. "That's what I like to see. Two level-headed males who know their place. Now let's all have us another round."
* * *
Still reeling from Caliban ale, Kyler followed Emma back to her shop and tried on the newly repaired G-boots. Several careful paces convinced him they were no longer treacherous. He begged off the rest of the tour and set out on his own, looking for Huxley among the cramped metal corridors of the C.E.R. pyramid. Even with the boots' assistance he had to stop periodically and catch his breath.
After an hour he found him, bent over a surface rover in one of the vehicle bays. Even without the brushed titanium covering one side of his head he stood out; tall and long-limbed, like Kyler, and wearing a full-body exoskeleton for convenience. He was fiddling with the rover's engine, holding a live fusion welder in his left hand.
Kyler cleared his throat. When the cyborg didn't look up, he said: "Huxley?"
A half-fleshed face turned to his. Huxley's left eye was a ruby-iris lens, humming as it twisted into focus. "Who're you?"
"I'm from Continuity. The heavy fuels mission—"
"Keep your voice down." Huxley switched off his voder and motioned for Kyler to do the same. "You're not Damon Cole."
"I was a last minute replacement."
The ruby lens swept over Kyler from head to toe. "You're Kyler Knightly, Level Two Dreamer. You haven't been cleared for field work."
"There was an emergency. They had no choice but to send me in."
"Not likely." The flesh part of Huxley's face frowned. "The mission's scrubbed."
"It's still viable. I've got a meeting scheduled with Hyram Gose to negotiate the buy."
Huxley set the welder down. The normal part of his face seemed to lose concentration, and when he spoke his voice had a flat, metallic edge. "The mission's been compromised. Activate your recall beacon, now."
"Can't do that. We've spent too much time preparing for this jaunt, and I've already introduced myself to the C.E.R. staff. If I leave now, without the fuel, Continuity might not be able to jaunt again."
Another pause. Kyler could've sworn the processors from Huxley's mechanical side were debating with his brain cells. No wonder Emma had been unnerved.
"I'm ranking officer," Huxley said at last. "I recommend we scrub the mission."
"Huh-uh." No matter what trouble waited when he got back, Kyler owed his uncle to at least try.
"I see you're committed."
"Aren't you going to help me? That's why they sent you here, isn't it?"
"I was tasked to aid Damon Cole, covertly. You're not Damon Cole."
Kyler nodded toward the rover. "What the hell are you doing, anyway?"
"Maintaining my cover."
"And what good is that if the mission's already compromised?"
"Likely, Continuity will send another, more competent, operative."
Kyler took a step backward. "Great. I'll be sure to let management know what a stand-up guy you are."
The ruby-iris watched impassively as Kyler left the bay.
* * *
The off-worlder's "suite" was a ten by ten cubicle, but it could be pressurized to Earth-standard, and had a tub in one corner. Once submerged in warm water, Kyler's body felt freed from the shackles of extra weight. That, and the convenience of breathing easily, gave him an opportunity to think.
Someone had sabotaged Damon's G-boots prior to the jaunt. Someone had also sabotaged the fences surrounding the area where Damon was likely to appear. Anyone from Continuity could've done the former; only one person here would have had the advance knowledge for the latter.
The vents to his room hissed as the pressurization cycled on again. He considered several ways of confronting Huxley, and dismissed them all. Too risky. He needed to complete the buy and get out of here as quickly as possible. His recall beacon housed one of a pair of entangled quantum particles; activating it would send a signal down the timestream. Zygma energy could bring him back to 2223 A.D. within minutes—hopefully with heavy fissionables clenched in his hands.
He felt a headache starting. The pressure vents should've shut off by now, but they were still blowing strong. He got out of the tub, dripping, and went over to adjust the environmental controls. They didn't respond.
Annoyed, he hit the intercom button to report the problem. It too, failed to respond.
The hiss of incoming air became a roar.
He had a sinking feeling about the door, but he tried it anyway. Frozen shut. Now it felt like someone was squeezing his head in a vice. He could only take shuddering breaths.
His G-boots lay atop the narrow bed. He struggled into them, snapping shut the catches around his naked thighs and calves. With the power at one hundred percent, he strode toward the door and kicked with his heel. The metal shook, but didn't give.
He doubled the power draw. Servos whined protest as he kicked again. The door dented in the middle. Still intact.
Blackness came crowding at the edge of his vision. The two kicks had left him starved for oxygen, but taking a full breath in high pressure could burst his lungs. He swayed; the little room spun. Enough time for one more try.
He trebled the power.
Fat blue sparks leapt from the boots' muscle-strands. There was a screeching sound as the desperate kick burst a seam along one edge of the door, followed by a whoosh as air rushed out into the hallway.
Slowly, the pressure equalized. Blackness fled from Kyler's temples. When he could breathe again, he called out through the seam for help. Minutes later, several voices echoed from the hall. The door wrenched back. Hyram Gose stood just outside, his eyes puffy with sleep.
"What the hell happened?"
"Someone messed with the pressure controls for my room." And I have good idea who it was.
Hyram grimaced. "Emma said something funny was going on."
"Look, whoever's doing this really doesn't want our business deal to happen. Can we just speed things up, make the buy, so I can get out of here safely?"
Hyram stroked his chin. "This could all be some elaborate scam, to get me to lower the price …"
"By risking my life?"
"You are a trader, after all."
"How about this: I won't wheedle you. I'll pay a flat fee, plus an expediting bonus."
That seemed to convince him. "Get dressed and I'll meet you in the boardroom in ten minutes. I'll leave a gu
ard outside."
* * *
Ten minutes later, his hair combed and wearing the House Dorr badge clipped to his chest, Kyler sat down at an imitation rosewood table in a large room. One of the walls sloped at a forty-five degree angle. Made of transparent densiplast, it permitted a panoramic view of the ever-blazing landscape.
Across from Kyler sat Hyram Gose, Emma, and four flickering holo-busts of distinguished people.
"Proxy AIs," Hyram explained, lighting a fat cigar. "They represent C.E.R.'s Board of Directors. Personality constructs, accurate down to the eye-twitch. Can't make a move without 'em."
The busts nodded in unison, stiffly.
Kyler cleared his throat. "I'm a little unclear of the protocols out here on the frontier. Where I'm from it's customary for you to make the opening offer."
Hyram glanced at Emma. "Alright." He puffed while he entered a number onto a data-slate, then slid the device across the table.
Kyler blinked. The figure exceeded his one trillion credit rating. "It seems a little steep."
"Emma," Hyram said, "bring in the fuel. I want to show our friend here what he's bargaining for."
Emma left and returned moments later holding an object that looked like a lunch box. She set it down on the table with a heavy thump.
Hyram pointed the cigar. "At total-conversion rates, there's enough refined Palladium 23 in there to power a core world for a year."
Or a Zygma projector for the foreseeable future. "Impressive." Not knowing what else to do, Kyler entered a counter-proposal exactly half of Hyram's figure and slid it over.
"What's this? I thought you said you wouldn't wheedle. And where's the expediting bonus?"
They went back and forth like that until sweat began to drip from Kyler's brow. Hyram's face was stone-like, unreadable as he conferred in whispers with the chorus of AIs. Emma only frowned. After an interminable period, Hyram shocked Kyler by agreeing at a price seventy-five percent of his maximum credit rating.
"You do your House proud," the CFO said at last.
Emma's face cracked into a smile. Kyler got the impression he'd been taken, but not outright fleeced. "The fuel's mine?"
"We'll send you the bill."
Carnosaur Weekend (Kyler Knightly and Damon Cole Book 1) Page 4