Starrigger

by John Dechancie

  … tcn klicks above the road… use the beacon…”

  “Sam, I can’t read you, but stay put and turn on your beacon. Repeat, stop and turn on your beacon. Acknowledge.”

  … on beacon, rodger. I read you loud and…”

  “Jake,” Darla said. She was looking back through the oval rear window. “A cop car crossed the intersection we just passed through, going to our right. Don’t know if he saw us.”

  “Right. Well, they’re up and about. And that kid probably wasted no time reporting his horse-and-buggy stolen.”

  “I should have given you the key right away, but I was groggy as hell.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said. “In order to slip out of town, we need a nondescript vehicle. Trouble is, if we steal another…” At that moment we saw John and company in their Gadabout coming from the opposite direction. Winnie was with them. I rolled down the window and yelled to no avail, then remembered the horn. Where? A button? No, right here, the padded knob at the hub of the wheel. The horn tootled its absurd herald, and in the rearview mirror I saw John leaning out the driver’s port, looking back. I did a fast U-turn, drew up to them and leaned on the horn. They pulled to the curb beside a vacant lot. Darla got out her gun and I looked around. Maxwellville reminded me of the little Jersey resort towns we used to vacation in when times were good-flat, with low white or pastel buildings, but here there were numerous vacant lots and a great deal of open space. I hoped this wouldn’t take long.

  Winnie scrambled out of the Gadabout and ran over to us. I got out of the vehicle and she hugged my legs, then jumped in to embrace Darla. I told Darla to keep a lookout, then went over to the Gaddy.

  “Jake!” John greeted me cheerily. “You’re out!”

  “Not for long, if I don’t get out of town.”

  His smile faded. “Oh. Anything we can do?”

  “Yeah. Lend me your vehicle.”

  “Uhhh…” His expression froze.

  “I know it’s a lot to ask,” I said, filling up the silence in a hurry. “Tell you what. Why don’t you pull into that little diner over there, go in, leave the key in the Gaddy. I’ll steal it. Give me about a half hour, then report it. I’ll leave the car out on the Skyway, and there’ll be no problems.”

  Susan was in the back seat. She leaned forward and spoke into John’s ear, but not so that I couldn’t overhear.

  “John, don’t do it,” she pleaded. “We’re in enough trouble. Colonel Petrovsky said—” She broke off and looked at me guiltily. “Sorry, Jake, but we’d like to stay out of this.”

  “I can understand,” I said, wondering if I had the callous gall to yank John out of his seat, shoo Roland and Susan out … or just pull a gun on them. But, damn it, you just don’t do that sort of thing to friends.

  John looked depressed. “I really don’t know,” he said, shaking his head wearily.

  Nothing like the sight of Reticulans to take your mind off a moral quandary. They came ghosting by, four of them, rolling along in their low-slung, bright blue-green roadster. It was a big machine with a trailer tagging along behind, attached by accordian joint. The trailer was easily big enough for an off-road buggy. The vehicle proper was a rhapsody of arcane aerodynamic surfaces, curving sinuously, set about with clear low bubbles, tiny minarets, spikes, and knobs. The aliens weren’t looking at me—by that I mean their heads weren’t turned—but I knew those camera-eyes were set at extreme wide-angle.

  Had they followed from the station? How? I hadn’t seen them. Uncanny, I heard Petrovsky say. But who can understand aliens? And wherever the Reticulans were, the Militia would be close behind.

  “Jake, we’d really like to help,” John was saying. I don’t think any of them noticed the Rikkis.

  I turned back to him. “It could mean my life, John.”

  “—but I … Oh, dear.” John looked completely lost.

  “Let’s do it,” Roland said forcefully. “We have no choice, morally speaking.”

  “But the authorities,” John wavered. “What exactly is our responsibility…?”

  “I think the moral issues are clear,” Susan said. “Jake helped us, and last night we helped him. At least we tried to.”

  “You’re doing moral bookkeeping?” Roland chided. “Since when was an ethical issue a matter of debits and credits?”

  “I am not keeping books,” Susan retorted, a little hurt. “I just don’t think it wise to get involved any more than we are. We’re going to be living on this planet—”

  “Jake, as far as I’m concerned,” Roland told me, leaning past John to look out the port, “you can have the Gaddy.”

  “You didn’t let me finish,” Susan said hotly.

  “I suppose it’s up to me, then,” John lamented, the democratic process weighing heavily on his shoulders.

  “Jake, do you really think it’s fair,” Susan appealed to me, “to ask us to risk being dragged into whatever you’re involved in?”

  “Huh?” I was looking at the Reticulans. They had turned a corner to the left and had stopped, the rear end of the trailer sticking out from behind the corner of an auxiliary building to a farm-equipment stockyard. I wasn’t overly concerned with them at the moment. They were taking a risk cruising around a human city. Darla had her blunderbuss aimed in their general direction. She’d blast first and inquire later if they showed. I kept one eye on the other side of the building. “I’m sorry, what did you say, Susan?”

  “Susan has cast her vote,” Roland said. “John, what’s yours?”

  John started to say something when Susan blurted out, “I am really angry with you two!” Her cheeks glowed and she was on the verge of tears. “I’m being totally ignored here and everytime I say something—”

  “Nobody’s ignoring you,” Roland said sharply.

  Susan was exasperated. “There you go again!”

  “People, people…” John intoned placatingly.

  Darla was looking back at me, as if to say, What gives? A good question. I had my own moral decision to make, and time was running out. I fingered the handle of Petrovsky’s pistol inside my pocket.

  “We must approach this rationally, as always,” John told his congregation. “Now, there’s really no big hurry to get back to the ranch. I suggest we go into the diner… and not leave the key—Jake here being the resourceful sort that he is…” He looked at me for support.

  “That’d be fine,” I said. But it would mean more time wasted, time to hot-chip the antitheft systems. And tools? Where would they come from? “One thing, though,” I said, “Do they give you a handikit with one of these things? Tool kit, for emergencies?”

  Roland opened the storage drawer under his seat and began to rifle through it.

  “That way,” John continued, “we could claim we had no intention of helping Jake get away. Aiding and abetting, and all that noise.” He turned to Susan hopefully. “Is that acceptable?”

  “Lots of debris in here,” Roland said, hunting frantically. “Can’t seem to find … what’s this?” He held up a greasy thingamabob with a stray wire hanging from it.

  “Old engine part,” I told him.

  “No, it’s not acceptable, John, and you know it,” Susan said huffily. “They’ll never believe us. I’m getting out of this car right now.”

  “Now, wait a minute, please,” John said.

  Roland looked up. “Oh, she’s not going anywhere,” he scoffed.

  “Watch me,” Susan retorted frostily, and started sliding toward the curbside door.

  John reached back and grabbed her arm. “Susan, please,” he pleaded.

  And I grabbed John’s arm. “People, I really don’t have time for this.”

  John turned to me, a bit annoyed. “Uh, wait just a moment, will you?”

  Susan tried yanking her arm free but John held fast. “Roland, talk to her!”

  “No tools,” Roland said to me.

  I grunted. Well, no choice, really…

  Susan had the door open and one leg ha
nging out, trying to pry John’s fingers from her arm. “Let me go,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Roland, please, talk to her!”

  “Quit acting like a child,” Roland snapped, glancing up at her while still trying to find something useful in the drawer.

  “Go to hell. John, let go!”

  “Suzie, please,” John said, his voice low and appeasing. “We’ll sort this out. Just wait one more minute. before you—”

  “Oh, let her leave,” Roland told him, disgusted. “Where’s she going to go?”

  “Anywhere! If I can get out of here. I’m warning you, if you don’t—”

  “Susan, sometimes you’re a complete shit. Do you know that?”

  She stopped struggling and glared at Roland. “You bastard! How dare you say that to me!”

  “Well, you tell me how we’re going to make a go of this colony when people bugger off at the first sign of trouble.”

  “The first sign of—?” Susan’s rage turned to disbelief. “As If this expedition hasn’t been a disaster from the day we left Khadija! Three of us are dead, for God’s sake.”

  “Yes, I know,” Roland said, “but we’ve lost others. A new planet, new dangers—”

  “Ever hear of trying to prepare for those things? First that silly breakdown … and whose idea was it to disturb those nests of whatever the hell they were? Isn’t the first rule you should follow on an unknown planet?”

  “Yes, the first rule is ‘never assume,’ ” John said, “and I broke it. I take complete responsibility.”

  “And that makes it all right?”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Let her go.” Roland was fed up. John sighed.

  Susan took advantage of the slack and jerked her arm free. Roland immediately reached back and gripped her wrist. Darla was saying with her eyes: What are the morons doing now? I shrugged helplessly.

  “Look, damn it, I want everyone to stop grabbing me … this instant!” Susan slapped at Roland’s fist.

  This was getting out of hand. On top of it, I was coming down with the creepy itches again. I brushed off both shoulders. What was it? Nerves? Bugs?

  “Susan, please, please calm down,” John was saying.

  “Let go of me.”

  “Roland, let her go.”

  “Where exactly do you think you’re going?” Roland asked her.

  “To the motel where Roger and Shari are staying.”

  “We’ll drive you there. All right?”

  “No, thank you. I prefer to walk.”

  “Susan, be reasonable. Let her go, Roland.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Roland told her.

  “Take your bloody hands off me.”

  “No, I won’t take my hands off you until you listen to reason for one goddamn minute.”

  “I said take your hands off me!”

  “JAKE!” It was Darla, standing beside the car with the door open, pointing with urgency to something behind me. I whirled and saw the front end of a squad car peeking from behind a pile of junk in the vacant lot across the street.

  “Everybody down!” I dove over the engine housing of the Gaddy, glided over the slippery finish, went end over end to hit ground with a turned shoulder, and rolled to a crouch. The Teelies looked at me as if I were insane. I crawled over, opened Roland’s door. “Get down! DOWN!” Roland got the idea first, grabbed the collar of John’s funny-looking gray cassock and pulled him over down to the seat. I was reaching for Susan when the first salvo hit. The aeroglass windscreen of the Gaddy erupted into crushed ice. Susan still sat there—miraculously unhurt—shaking her head, baffled.

  “Why … why are they shooting at us? We’re not—”

  I yanked her out of the car and down to the pavement just as the next salvo slammed into the Gaddy. The air was alive with high-density slugs, their hypersonic cracking louder than the report that sent them on their way. The Gaddy shook like green jello as slugs chunked into it from at least three directions. John and Roland tumbled out of the front door in a pile.

  “Stay low!” I told them. Looking around, I saw no cover. The lot on this side had nothing to offer but dry scrub brush and a few Wurlitzer trees.

  I heard Darla gun the automobile’s engine. The tires wailed as she popped the clutch pedal and jumped the curb. She came toward us swerving crazily. A steering wheel’s hard to get used to. She crossed the paved sidewalk and ran the car into the loose sandy soil of the lot, sideswiped a Wurlitzer, then straightened out and came at us, the tires shooting streamers of dirt behind. She pulled up alongside the Gaddy and slid to a halt, racing the engine noisily. Then she accidentally let up on the clutch while in gear and nearly stalled the engine, but managed to keep it going. As she opened the driver’s door an HD slug whanged off the Chevy, screaming away in ricochet. I didn’t have time to be surprised at that. The door now effectively blocked the cops’ angle of fire from one vantage point. I helped John get past me, then Roland.

  “Everybody in!” I said. “Stay low!” I shoved Susan through the door, Darla helping inside. The antique vehicle was now attracting most of the fire, but it was partially blocked by the Gaddy, which was flying apart in frayed pieces. Roland crawled through, then John hauled his lean frame up and over the seat. Right then another shot hit the door, spanging off as well, but the impact nearly knocked me aside. I pushed and shoved John’s skinny butt up and into what I now knew to be an HD proof vehicle, miracle of miracles. A high-density slug is hard to stop.

  The front seat was a tangle of bodies. I pulled myself in, wedging myself into position, trying to force my foot through a snake pit of arms and legs to the accelerator pedal. I got to it and pressed down. The engine howled, but the buggy didn’t move. I had to shift into first but couldn’t reach the clutch pedal. My left foot was lodged between the door and the front seat. I bent over and ducked my head under the wheel, painfully contorting myself down to where I could push the pedals with my hands. Someone drove an elbow into my ear.

  “Darla, shift! Put the thing to number one!”

  I felt the shaft move against my neck. I let the clutch pedal slide out from my hand and flattened the accelerator with my forearm. The motor howled and the G-force pinned my neck against the gearshift. We were moving.

  “Steer!” I shouted. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her leaning over the back of the seat with her hands on the wheel. A sudden flash and an explosion. They had brought up exciter cannon. The Gaddy was no more. It also meant we didn’t have a chance. Seconds later a white-hot cloud of brilliance enveloped us—and just as quickly we were out of it. An exciter bolt had hit us dead center and we were unharmed.

  The vehicle shook with impact after impact, shots bouncing off like stones from steel plate. Darla wheeled to the left and we hit something, but it didn’t stop us. The engine was shouting for second gear, but I didn’t want to chance it.

  Then I suddenly realized we had time. We had taken the worst they could throw at us. “Everybody off!” I hollered, stupidly, because I was the one on top. I let up on the accelerator and untangled myself.

  “Ouch!” came Roland’s voice. A hand clawed at my face. Darla took her hands from the wheel and helped pull me off the pile of Teelies. Susan got free and crawled into the back seat, leaving Roland, John, and me to sort ourselves out. We finally did and I came up for air, cracked the door to get my foot free, slammed it closed again. We were coasting through the brush on the other side of the lot. We reached the sidewalk, bounced over the curb, and by that time I had the transmission rammed into second. I floored the pedal and we roared out into the street, the tires yipping like hounds at bay.

  “Which way to the highway?” I asked, but didn’t get an answer. Two squad cars angled out into the street presented a more pressing question. My answer was straightforward. With all the confidence in the world, I blithely aimed our anachronistic vehicle for the apex of the triangle the blocking cars formed.

  “Hang on, people.”

  Shots
caromed off the glass—which wasn’t glass at all—and coherent beams played over the curving, glossy hull. Impervious. We hit the squad cars with a loud bang but a mild jolt, shoved them carelessly aside, and raced on down the street. We passed other cop cars, an armored personnel carrier, then broke through the perimeter the Militia had secured. Their second line of defense was negligible: wooden barriers. I made toothpicks of a few of them, screeched around a corner to the right, hung a left, then a right again, then debouched onto a wide boulevard that seemed to lead away from town.

  Frightening power throbbed beneath my foot. I’d never driven anything with comparable performance. And it was still in third gear. The “speedometer” read ninety somethings per hour. Miles? Sure. Appropriate to the period.

  For the next twenty minutes I drove with nothing in my way but air. Maxwellville thinned to suburbs, then to development tracts, then to nothing but open road with bare land on either side. No roadblocks; they hadn’t had time. Everyone sat in dazed silence. The Teelies were stunned, blank faces staring at the mesa rolling by.

  Flashing barriers ahead, a new section of Colonial highway, and a sign:

  TO SKYWAY AND SEVEN SUNS INTERCHANGE—

  ROUTES 85, 14 AND POINTS SPINWARD.

  I managed to avoid hitting the barriers. We shot over the entry ramp and out onto new Maklite surface six lanes wide. I called Sam.

  “I got a fix on you now, boy.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “Where are you?”

  “Out in the bush by the starslab. But don’t worry, I’ll pick you up. What are you driving?”

  “You won’t believe it, but you’ll know it the moment you see it. Old Terran automobile. A replica, of course. But, Sam, I’ll need to know where you are. We have to make the switch off the road somewhere, out of sight. Everybody in the galaxy’s hot on my trail.”

  “Really? Hold on.” A pause. “Yeah, I’m painting them now. Too far away, can’t tell exactly how many… Hey! What’re you trying to do, burn up the road?”

  “That’s the general idea.”

  “What’s your speed?”

  “Two hundred miles per hour.”