The Rim Rebels

by Zellmann, William

  The oppressive silence was broken by the appearance of the doctor that had been operating on Bran. Both men's heads swiveled toward the doctor, though Tor's eyes skidded from the man's blood-stained operating gown. Jirik rushed toward the Doctor. "Well?" He demanded, "How is he? Is he all right?"

  The doctor wearily peeled his surgical gloves off before answering. "I think he'll make it. I wasn't too sure for a while there. I'll say one thing, he's tough. I've never seen anyone beaten that badly survive."

  Jirik's breath "huff"ed out in relief. "That's great, Doctor. Are you sure he's going to be all right?"

  The doctor shrugged. "As far as I can tell, he's going to make it. Don't get too excited, though. It's probably going to be a month before he's fully recovered; at least, physically recovered. Actually, I'm as worried about his mental recovery as I am his physical recovery."

  Tor had been paying close attention to the doctor's every word. "Why is that, Doctor? Do you think he suffered brain damage?" he asked.

  "No, son," the doctor replied, "It's not brain damage that worries me. Oh, he's suffering from a concussion among his other injuries, but he should recover from that. No, It's his mental state. When someone undergoes that much agony, and comes that close to death, it changes them. The very toughness that lets them survive begins to evidence itself more in their daily dealings with others."

  Jirik smiled somberly. "'Tough' is not a word that I would normally associate with Valt. I can think of a number of other terms that would better describe him. But doctor," he continued, "You say that it might take a month for him to recover. We're scheduled to lift off tomorrow – er . . . today. I assume that he won't be fit to leave with us."

  The doctor shook his head. "Not a chance. I don't expect him to regain consciousness for at least another day. You'll have to leave him, I'm afraid. I could release him for limited, light duty in two to three weeks, but not before then."

  Jirik nodded. "That's what I thought, but I wanted a medical opinion. Thank you, Doctor. We'll leave sufficient funds with the Spacer's Guild to pay his medical expenses and living expenses for several months. We should be back here in four to six months, local time. Please tell your billing office to contact the Guild to arrange payment."

  The doctor nodded briefly, and then walked off.

  Chapter 7

  An exhausted Jirik trudged wearily back to the Lass with Tor. He checked his ring watch. 0600. He despairingly realized that it would be hours before he could justify even a nap. No doubt about it, he was getting too old for these games. In this gravity, he was dragging around 120 kilos instead of his usual 1G weight of 85 kilos. Long hours in high gravity had further frayed a temper already stretched near the breaking point by worry for his ship and crew. Even Tor's seemingly endless cheerfulness was grating on him..

  Leaving the hospital, he had snapped at the kid. He'd nearly lost control and poured out his anger and frustration on Tor until he saw the stricken, wounded expression on the kid's face. That expression on the kid's normally sunny face had stopped him short. He'd spent the rest of the trip back to the Lass jollying the kid, trying to make it up to him. Before they reached to ship, Tor was back to his normal, cheerful, chattering self.

  Jirik took a quick shower and donned a clean uniform, then hurriedly briefed Bran on the latest developments before going to his office to call the Spacer's Guild, to arrange to deposit their entire remaining capital in an account for Valt, to arrange a replacement for Valt and to await the call from the smuggler. The guild had only one astrogator presently waiting for a berth. They promised to contact her and send her over as soon as possible, since Jirik had emphasized the urgency of his need. In the meantime, they transmitted a copy of the woman's log book to Jirik over his vidphone terminal. Her name was Via Telson, and her record was impressive. She had been a spacer for some nine years. She had begun her career on an Interworld Traders "milkrun" freighter, where she had trained in astrogation for some three years. She had then signed on to an independent trader as full Astrogator. For the past six years she had been a "gypsy"; a crewman who stays only a short while with any particular ship before paying off and looking for another. She had somehow worked her way to the rim, having the poor judgment to sign off her last ship on Boondock some nine standard months ago. She had rapidly discovered that Rim Tramps' crews were clannish and insular, and their captains unwilling to sign on such an obvious innerworlder, no matter how good her credentials.

  Performance ratings from her previous captains were largely positive; highly complimentary about her abilities as an astrogator, though several mentioned her reserved manner and inability to integrate smoothly into their crews. Telson was obviously a "loner," unable or unwilling to enter into close relationships with her shipmates.

  Her record made Jirik somewhat uncomfortable. A good crew needed a closeness approaching that of a family, especially on an independent trader. With only four crew aboard, one member who isolated himself could seriously affect morale on a long passage; and they were going on a long passage. Having written many himself, Jirik was well aware that performance evaluations typically understated shortcomings. Like anyone else, Captains tried to avoid confrontations with their crewmen. One learned to read meaning into cautious phrases. Terms like "reserved," "private" and "standoffish" frequently meant "surly," "argumentative," or "hermitlike." This Telson sounded like she could be a serious crew problem on the run to Alpha and back.

  Not to mention, he reminded himself, that the woman might be a fanatic terrorist. Then, of course, there was the inevitable sexual tension associated with a female crewman. On the other hand, She was an experienced and apparently skilled astrogator, and moreover the only one available. Even if Boondock would let him lift off without an Astrogator, only a fool would attempt a high-risk run like this one without one; and Jirik was no fool. He sighed deeply. If this Telson was the only qualified applicant, it was definitely going to be a long passage.

  Struck by another idea, he called one of the rim tramp captains that he had met in town, and asked him to spread the word of his need. With luck, perhaps another and more suitable applicant would show up.

  Lost in thought, Jirik jumped reflexively as the vidphone sounded an incoming call. It was the smuggler. Careful to say nothing that could identify his business, the man asked Jirik's decision. Carefully, Jirik told the man that he still had his doubts, whereupon the man replied that he would come to Jirik's office to discuss the matter. Jirik grudgingly assented, and the man signed off abruptly. A worried Jirik stared at the darkened screen for some minutes, unleashing a litany of curses in a low, but impassioned, monotone. Oh, well, he comforted himself, at least this time he would have the Alliance's, and maybe the Empire's blessing on his smuggling. He could leave Customs to Tomys to handle.

  In theory, all he would have to do is find a decent hiding place for the contraband, and Tomys would ensure that the Customs inspectors didn't find it. Twenty years ago, he would have reveled in such a luxury. He was getting too old for these games, he decided for about the fiftieth time since meeting Tomys.

  He turned back to the Astrogator's logbook. The woman might be a bitch, but she seemed to be one hell of an astrogator. Jirik was interested to note that Telson had spent two years running cargoes on a route that included Jermain's World. Jermain's World was an anomaly; a system whose star had gone nova millennia ago, and which had a surviving planet.

  A permanent scientific outpost had been established there, in an attempt to explain this curiosity. True, Jermaine's was very far from it's primary, and one theory held that it had been the outermost planet of the system, and had perhaps been in the shadow of a larger, closer planet when the star went nova. Another theory was that Jermaine's had been a wanderer, captured by the resulting red dwarf after the cataclysm.

  Most spacers subscribed to the former theory, based on the fact that the planet was a virtual treasure trove of heavy elements, all on or near the surface. The richness of these surface deposits ha
d lured mankind to the uninhabitable planet, undeterred by the horrific 2G gravity field, and the total lack of an atmosphere.

  The point was that Jermaine's system was an astrogator's nightmare. Debris from the shattered inner planets made every trip to Jermaine's a run through a virtual minefield. An astrogator who could conn his ship to Jermaine's on a regular basis for two years without mishap was an impressive woman, loner or not! Jirik decided to defer judgment on Telson until he could talk to her.

  It was nearly local noon, and Jirik was debating locking the office and going to lunch, when Telson arrived. Jirik was shocked when she entered the office. A Metrangan elf! He was amazed. It was very rare for a Metrangan to be found off their planet. It was simply too dangerous for them. Matrangans were in danger anytime they left their protected planet.

  For some reason that no one but perhaps a few scientists understood, the people of Metrango, though Earth-descended, had developed distinctive physical characteristics that seemed to breed true.

  For one thing, they were physically small; Even the men rarely reached 175 centimeters tall. For another, some evolutionary quirk had caused them to develop a fine layer of downy, barely visible golden fur over most of their bodies.

  Telson's fur began just beneath her chin; her bare face was heart-shaped, with delicate features. Her complexion was definitely a distinctive gold, not just a shade of brown, and her face was surrounded by a mass of 'normal' hair of light red color. The hair disappeared into her collar; Jirik had read that it grew down her neck and partway down her back, which must cause discomfort when wearing almost any kind of top. Even in Boondock's 1.4G, she moved with impressive grace.

  Instead of the usual tunic, she wore a top that appeared to wrap itself around her, displaying her smallish breasts to advantage. The top's bright red color enhanced her golden skin, as did the blackness of her nearly skin tight slacks. The overall effect was one of spectacular elegance in a small package; Jirik estimated that she was just under 160 centimeters tall.

  Universally called "Elves," Matrangans were in great demand among slavers and those perverted 'normals' willing to pay premium prices to 'own' an elf. Every time Telson stepped out into public, she was risking kidnap and slavery, often sexual slavery. She must be very good at unarmed combat, or at concealing weapons! The Empire Fleet had established a large space station in the Metrango system to protect the Metrangans from pirates and slavers.

  Jirik tried to avoid staring, but his spectacular visitor made that difficult. Of course, he was sure she was used to the stares of "normal" humans by now. Jirik reflected that for someone accused of being a hermit, she certainly smiled a lot. A wide smile seemed a permanent part of her face.

  Jirik greeted her politely, and ushered her to a seat. "We're very short of time," he said, tearing his eyes from her golden-furred figure. "Let's get down to business. You've served on independent traders before, so I'm sure that you're aware of my concerns."

  The white grin widened even more. "Am I a good astrogator, why I'm such a 'gypsy', and why my captains keep calling me a loner? Right?"

  Jirik returned the smile. "Right. Your record tells me that you're a good astrogator. On this trip, you'd have to be better than good. A very good chance exists that we'll be the target of half the pirates in the Alliance and the Empire. I need an astrogator who can run us an unusual course to Alpha; who can find us out-of-the-way recal points. We can't fight pirates; we're unarmed. That means we'll have to avoid them. I need an astrogator that can help me do that."

  The smile had disappeared. Jirik was beginning to think that the smile was an effective barometer of the woman's feelings.

  "What's the cargo, Captain?" Telson asked "Why would pirates be chasing you?"

  "I'll tell you that in space, if I take you on." Jirik replied gruffly. "The point is, could you navigate us an erratic course to Alpha, and find us recal points that no one ever uses?"

  Telson's smile reappeared. "Captain, one advantage of being a 'gypsy' is that you become familiar with a lot of out-of-the-way systems. I'm probably much better qualified to do what you ask than your original astrogator was. I assume he was the spacer that I heard got beaten half to death in town last night?"

  Jirik's face clouded. "Yeah. Now, since you've mentioned it, we might as well just get right to it. What's wrong with you, Telson? Why do you gypsy from ship to ship, and why do your captains keep using words like 'private' and 'standoffish' to describe you? Do you have a problem getting along with other crewmen?"

  The white teeth gleamed. "You're not very subtle, are you, Captain? I like that. To answer your question," she continued, "I'm a Matrangan Elf, Captain. We can't help the fact that some quirk of evolution made us into something that resembles a popular fairy-tale creature. Unfortunately, normals consider us 'cute' and 'cuddly', and even 'sexy'. That means there are a lot of normals who want to make pets or sex slaves of us. And spacers are no exception. I've become something of a loner in self defense.

  "You probably figure that I'm a troublemaker, who can't get along with anybody. I would figure that way, from what's in my performance evaluations. For once, though, the eval comments mean just what they say. Captain, more than half of my kit consists of bookchips. On jumps, I'm just not a socializer. I prefer to stay in my cabin and read.

  "If you're looking for a crewman who'll spend the jumps yarning over coffee with you, I'm not your woman. If you're looking for someone who'll go raise hell on liberty with you, I'm not your woman. And if you're looking for a 'cute' elf to adopt or seduce, I'm not your woman. All I want is to be left in peace. Some captains and crews can't handle that. They think I must be stuck up, or not like them."

  Telson shrugged. "I won't lie to you, Captain. I have had problems in the past with crews like that. They simply can't believe that I wouldn't want to share their sparkling company unless there was something wrong with me. Sometimes, I have to fight off some clod's sexual advances; and sometimes that clod is a Captain, who assumes that his position implies sexual rights. If your crew is like that, then you'd be better off without me. But, if you and your crew can handle it, I'm a hell of a good astrogator."

  Jirik grunted. "I think my crew could handle it. I have an engineer who's pretty much the same way. As far as the sex thing goes, aside from a teenager we recently signed on as Comm Officer, we're too well-traveled to not know that a crewman's sexual activities, or lack of them, are their own concern. The worst that you're likely to have to deal with is a bad case of puppy love. Our Comm Officer is 17 standard, and this is his first voyage."

  She frowned. "In that case, Captain, I will have to reserve the right to handle sexual advances as I see fit. Sometimes politeness and courtesy are insufficient. Other than that, all I ask is that my privacy be respected."

  Jirik shrugged. "That sounds reasonable." He mentally thanked any Gods that happened by that Tor was not Valt.

  The smile flared again. "Does that mean you'll sign me on?"

  Jirik was troubled. "I'm not sure, yet. I want to think about this, and maybe consult my crew." Telson began to reply, and Jirik held up a hand to forestall her. "I know, It's my decision, and it's a command decision. But I don't work that way. I'll make the decision, all right, but after I've gotten input from my crew. Their shares make up sixty percent of the ownership of the old bitch, and I won't disregard their wishes, particularly on a crew matter. Besides, I've got some feelers out, and I may get another applicant or two. I'll let you know by 1500 local, one way or the other. All right?"

  The woman nodded and rose gracefully from her chair. "Thank you, Captain. That will be quite all right." She started toward the door.

  "Hold it," Jirik called. "How soon could you be ready to lift? We have to get off this mudball as quickly as possible. We've got delivery deadlines, and taking a roundabout course is going to make a long trip even longer."

  Telson turned back, grin firmly in place. "I'll be ready at 1500. Suppose I come back here at that time. That way, if you sign me on
, we can go right aboard, and I can begin liftoff computations."

  Jirik nodded, and a smile appeared on his face. "Don't you even want to know what I'll pay? How do you know I won't cheat you?"

  White teeth shone. "You won't cheat me, Captain. You'll pay me fairly because you're an honorable man. Besides, we can discuss that at 1500." She started out the door, and then paused. "Captain, I want to thank you. You've given me a chance of getting off this heavy hell of a planet. That alone made this visit worthwhile."

  Telson was barely gone when there was a quiet knock on the office door. Thinking that Telson had forgotten something, Jirik opened the door to find the smuggler from the night before, his face pulled down into his coat collar, a heavy hat jammed far down onto his head. Jirik's estimate of the quality of the terrorists was falling rapidly. The man looked like the villain in a low-budget holovid. He was beginning to be sure that he was dealing with amateurs. If he had really been interested in a smuggling deal, this guy alone would have been enough to make him back off.

  This time, however, he had no real choice. He followed Tomy's suggestions, and continued the negotiations. After nearly an hour, they had agreed upon the terms of the smuggling operation. Jirik would be given a hundred thousand credits, in cash, with which to buy the battle comp software and weapon design specs that the man wanted. He was to deliver the material on Wayoff. He was given no specific black market contact on Alpha, but was expected to use his own. He would be contacted upon his arrival on Wayoff regarding delivery. On Wayoff, he would surrender the materials and the remainder from the purchase credits, and would be paid another hundred thousand, in Alliance banknotes.

  Their business completed, the man used Jirik's vidphone to place a call. The screen remained blank, and a scrambler was evidently used on the other end, whose counterpart Jirik's visitor had screwed into his ear. After a few seconds of hushed conversation, the man signed off, and resumed his seat. Some ten local minutes later, a quiet coded knock brought Jirik's visitor to his feet. He went to the door, where he received a case from the unseen knocker. Returning to Jirik's desk, the man opened the case, and watched carefully as Jirik counted the hundred thousand. As soon as Jirik pronounced himself satisfied with the money count, the man silently jammed his absurd hat back onto his head, pulled up his collar, and hurried out the door.