Counterweight

by A. G. Claymore

  It was his nose that forced him to confront the fact that he was leaving his home.

  What surprised him was the complete lack of regret. He knew his only chance was to stow away on the smuggler vessel and he was reasonably sure his abilities could get him all the way to their destination without his getting caught. He tried to imagine the downside, but how could another planet be any less welcoming for him than this one?

  He’d spent enough time around these Tauhentan smugglers to know he could pass for one of their kind. Wherever they were headed, he’d simply sneak off after they landed, pose as a Tauhentan, and put his abilities to use, building a new life.

  The tension drained from his body as he heard the distant hum of a boarding ramp closing. The search, if it had begun yet, would not include the shuttle.

  It was time to put the official lies to the test. It was time to see what was really out there.

  The Problem is Obedience

  Tsekoh, Capital of Chaco Benthic

  The slag carrier pulled away from the pedway, nearly knocking Belfric on his ass. He put his knife away and grinned at his erstwhile opponent. He staggered to his spot at the side rail and held on as they began their slow descent to the industrial levels. The carrier took ingots up to the departure levels before stopping to collect workers on its way down.

  Cal looked back at the rail and saw the workers at the collection point were quickly losing interest. They’d stayed off the vehicle to avoid what looked to be a knife fight over money owed. They realized they wouldn’t see any excitement and withdrew back into themselves, waiting sullenly for the next carrier.

  That meant that the only workers on board this particular carrier were the members of C’Al’s inner circle.

  Belfric came straight to the point. “The ‘arms-length’ following is barely growing at all,” he stated flatly. “We all need to lens it up. Who here can tell me he knows even one person who wants to be on this gods-damned ball of water?”

  One of the big Tauhentans spat on the floor of the cargo hold. “Sure they’re all unhappy,” he drawled. “But not enough to risk official notice.”

  “Apathy is our biggest problem,” another growled.

  “No,” Cal interrupted. “Our biggest problem is obedience.” He waited until all faces were turned toward him. “People care,” he insisted. “Nobody wants their children to live on this dung hole. They just don’t realize how powerful they really are. They don’t think they can do anything to change their lives so they just immerse themselves in food, drink or media. Anything to forget their lives for a few hours.

  “They’ve all been conditioned from birth to obey. Obey your parents. Don’t question their authority. But then the government eventually replaces them, and you’d better not question what they tell you or you could end up in detention. That’s supposed to be how you get ahead in the Republic – keep your nose clean, work hard and you’ll be successful.”

  “Except it’s a load of scuttler dung,” Belfric muttered.

  Cal aimed a finger at Belfric. “Bel’s right and most folks on Benthic know it’s true but obedience is still the comfortable choice. Even the Dactari are no different. Look at how many of them obeyed and went off to die at Earth.”

  There were a few stunned faces at this.

  Bel chuckled. “You’ve all heard the rumors about that war. Do you really doubt there’s truth in them?” He scanned the faces as he talked. “You know the old saying – if there’s ozone, there’s a fire in your electricals.”

  One of them looked to Cal. “So, how do we change their minds?”

  Cal grinned. “We show them the benefits of disobedience.” He reached into his coveralls and pulled out a handful of fast-chips. “We’ve been sitting on a pile of credits for a while now,” he explained as he handed them out. “When you find a parent who’s worried about their kid’s future – and believe me, that won’t be hard – you tell him you’ve managed to get your hands on some funds and you want to balance your good fortune by doing a good deed.”

  “Buy that kid a real education,” Belfric told them. “Go with them to the nearest pod center and turn the little darlings into whatever they want to be.”

  One of them looked up from the chip in his hands. “What good does that do?” he demanded. “If I pay to train some NRW brat as an engineer or an advocate, do you really think the company will take him or her onto the payroll?”

  Cal shook his head, not the least put out by this apparent flaw in his scheme. “Not a chance in seven hells. We’re not trying to take away their problems. We’re trying to remind people what the real problem is.

  “Say your daughter is now qualified in experimental physics,” he shouted as they passed an ore crushing facility, “there’s no monastery here, so she needs to be off world if she wants to pledge as an acolyte. She’ll never become a full preistess as long as she’s stuck here.” He jabbed a finger at the man. “How do you feel about that?”

  A troubled expression, then the dawning of understanding became apparent.

  Cal nodded, his expression grim. “She has it in her now to be something really important but not if she’s trapped here. She has to find a monastery and serve her term as an acolyte before she’s ordained. She might change how we see the Universe, but not if you can’t afford a ticket off this planet.

  “Sometimes, we get so deep into our day-to-day lives that we don’t see how bad things are but, if you can step back for just a second, you realize how many boot prints are on your back.”

  “Then, when they come back to you to see if you can buy them a ticket,” Bel added, “you tell them you hacked the funds from a company water machine and you don’t have enough to cover a ride up to the counterweight.”

  “That’s when they realize their hope came from the fruits of disobedience,” Cal jumped in. “And they already know obedience won’t get their kid off world. They’ll probably be scared about receiving stolen funds at first but then they’re going to realize how much they’re willing to risk for their children.”

  Other carriers drew near as they approached the suit lockers. “Give ‘em hope,” Cal told the small group, “and give ‘em time to get angry about it.”

  “One day…” Bel intoned.

  “One day soon…” the rest replied.

  They bent their knees slightly just before the hinged floor dropped open. It was the same method the vehicle employed to drop its cargoes of metal.

  The conspirators landed easily on the platform and walked off to the lockers without another word.

  Following the Scent

  Tsekoh, Capital of Chaco Benthic

  Graadt was impressed with the young Tauhentan at the reception desk. He was clearly afraid of the three approaching stoners, yet he still left his seat in an attempt to impede their progress toward the spicewood doors.

  Still, bravery was the bare minimum, as far as Graadt was concerned, and it didn’t entitle the receptionist to any special treatment. The big stoner reached up and closed his hand over the Tauhentan’s face, shoving him back toward the doors. His second and third finger tips pressed into the young man’s eyes, ensuring rapid progress.

  He slammed his victim into the doors with enough force to overcome their electromagnetic closers and sent him sprawling into the office. A surprised hiss came from the right and he turned to see two young men and a woman standing in the middle of a large holo display.

  “I see G’Min has taken our little chat to heart,” the better-dressed of the two men mused as he walked over to help the receptionist up.

  Graadt had always liked Tauhentans. They were generally a straight-forward people and they could handle themselves in a fight. They were good at assessing tactical situations and tended to favor courage in their responses.

  This one was obviously no stranger to stoners. He knew he’d be given the opportunity to look after his people. “I’m G’Mal,” he said before nodding at the others in the room, “and they aren’t G’Mal.” He raised
his eyebrows at Graadt.

  Graadt nodded at Kaans and Nid by the door. The two stepped apart, letting G’Mal’s employees leave. As the last of them left, they swung the doors shut.

  Graadt wanted to know if the Human had been here but he didn’t want to lead off with that question. If he came back, he might learn that the stoners were on his trail. Better to make it one small question in the shadow of a much more alarming one. He grinned. For a Tauhentan smuggler who’d hit the big time, there was one question that struck fear.

  What was the source of his wealth?

  “We know about the wood.” He made a show of sniffing the air. “You don’t hide your secrets very well, do you? It smells like a plantation timber mill in here.”

  A shrug. “There’s a lot of cheap wood in the city lately.” G’Mal waved at the door. “The old man thought it would convince folks that we’re the source.”

  A lie. Graadt was certain of that but it was a pretty good one, as lies went. What kind of fool would have such doors if he really was the source? They were trying to hide in plain sight. He decided to give the smuggler one more thing to distract him from the true object of this visit.

  “The place we just came from is bringing in a lot of wood,” he allowed, “but we saw nothing large enough to make these doors.” There was no such place – Graadt had invented it on the spot – but sometimes you needed to throw another carnivore in the ring to get things moving.

  He fought to keep his amusement from showing at the surprise on the Tauhentan’s face. Hearing they may not be the only source of cheap spicewood was obviously a shock but he recovered quickly.

  “They do special orders,” G’Mal offered, “for people who don’t mind paying in advance.”

  Graadt nodded, smiling. He was certain, now, that they had the right place. He liked this smuggler well enough but he didn’t want to spend all day fencing with words.

  He took a quick step forward rotating his torso to add force to the punch as he drove his fist into the smuggler’s belly. The scent of tea and liquor reaqched his nostrils as the man doubled over.

  Kaans and Nid grabbed G’Mal by the arms and pulled him upright.

  Graadt turned toward the only other door in the room. “Let’s take a tour.” He moved to the left side of the door and gestured politely to the hand scanner in the middle.

  G’Mal was shoved over and his hand placed on the pad. A light chime sounded as the door slid open.

  The space beyond was more than just a warehouse. It was a honeycomb of glazed enclosures, each containing a craftsman. Above the enclosures, huge slabs of wood were fed into molecular cutters, producing custom-shaped blanks with a minimum of waste. The blanks were conveyed to each cubicle where the Tauhentan workers incised bracelets with custom scrollwork, installed hinges on boxes and rubbed a false patina of age onto most of the pieces.

  The enclosures contained the smell of the work and the workers all wore masks with hoses that provided fresh, breathable air. It saved them the trouble of figuring out what to do about a constant flow of scented air. Simply exchanging the air of the work spaces would have filled the city with the heady scent within days.

  Graadt was stunned. He had expected to see a fortune in wood, but this was staggering. This facility was processing more than the output of every plantation in the Republic. “What’s your source?”

  “Secret,” G’Mal wheezed, still holding his midriff.

  “So you want us to beat it out of you?” Kaans offered in a helpful tone.

  “Did the Empire get the secret out of Qel’Kun?” The Tauhentan glared back at them.

  Graadt nodded at Nid, who moved to grab the smuggler’s arms, but stopped as a door, just ten feet away, slid open and a youngster – perhaps five years old – trotted out.

  Nid automatically halted and looked to his leader.

  Graadt gave him a barely perceptible wave off before turning a pleasant smile on G’Mal. “Your boy?”

  A nervous nod. The Tauhentan put a protective hand on the youngster’s head, drawing him in close.

  “Well, I’m sure you’re busy,” Graadt went on, “and we need to be going.” He saw the mingled surprise and relief and decided that the time was right to beat the bushes.

  He swept a gaze around the facility. “I bet few people have ever seen this place…”

  G’Mal’s eyes darted to the side, telling Graadt he’d struck a nerve. He stepped toward the two, smiling down at the Tauhentan child.

  “Someone was here yesterday,” G’Mal blurted. “Said his name was Yoyeco and he acted as though he’d been in here with the old man.”

  “Another Tauhentan?” Graadt raised an amused eyebrow. “And a stranger, from the way you talk about him. How do you know he isn’t a competitor?”

  A guarded nod. “Didn’t even think we had one till you showed up.” He scratched idly at the back of his head. “Gonna need to do some sniffing around.”

  “Maybe we can help you run him down,” Nid suggested.

  Graadt nodded non-commitally. “We can keep our eyes open for you, in return for a little support to our local operations…”

  G’Mal looked relieved to hear the request for money. Bribes were a standard part of life in the Republic but the preliminaries were often extremely unpleasant. “Thirty thousand?”

  “Better make it fifty,” Graadt stated his counter-proposal as a decision, rather than a suggestion. These people could afford a half million without breaking a sweat. “What does this Yoyeco character look like?”

  G’Mal’s eyes darted to the floor and a grimace formed. “Dammit,” he muttered. “I try to picture his face and all I can see is that damned hat.”

  “And you have no cameras in your office, do you?” Kaans rolled his eyes.

  “Not a healthy idea in our line of work,” the smuggler replied. “If clients or partners find out you have them, you’re finished.”

  “We’ll see what we can turn up,” Graadt said in a tone that indicated his low opinion of their chances. “We’ll stop by your front desk for the funds.”

  They collected their ‘retainer fee’ and left the building. Graadt stopped them by the railing and turned to Nid. “Their ship gets back any day now. Get over to the tether station and let us know the instant word comes down about them. Yoyeco’s our target and he’ll want to talk to the ‘old man’ when he comes back down here.”

  As Nid moved off, he turned to Kaans, handing him the chip with the fifty thousand credits. “Get us a midsize vehicle, fully enclosed but with good tactical specs. Meet me up on seventy-three near the entertainment zone and we’ll go get our weapons.” He grinned.

  They were about to flush the prey.

  A Change of Management

  The Foxlight II, En route to Chaco Benthic

  Rick woke with a start. A young man, half naked, was backing away from him; edging back into the cargo space of the small shuttle. Movement in the cargo bay caught Rick’s eye and he realized there was a woman, trying to cover her nude body with a tattered old sweater. He jumped a second time as his helmet, reading his elevated vital signs, snapped shut. He sub-vocalized a command in Dheema and it retracted.

  He suddenly understood the cause of the torrid dream he’d just been jarred out of. The young couple had obviously been using the shuttle for a romantic encounter. Either Rick had made a noise in his sleep or they had decided to move the festivities into the cockpit of the small vessel. Either way, he’d been discovered.

  Ordinarily, he would be awakened by the risk of discovery, but the dream had distracted him. He remembered a mild feeling of alarm, but he was dreaming of Nell and she had almost always managed to scramble his abilities.

  Now, however, he was back to full awareness and he gazed at the young man, probing him with unasked questions. The result was almost as ridiculous as the conditions of his discovery.

  Their situation was almost as perilous as Rick’s. That their tryst was forbidden fruit was obvious, even without pre-cog abili
ty. Otherwise, they would be in their quarters right now, not scrambling to find their clothing in the back of a darkened shuttle.

  But Rick also knew that their parents would be enraged by their lack of self-control. The Tauhentan criminal class, it seemed, was jealously protective of family honor and both of these young lovers were terrified of their secret getting out. He probed again and discovered they risked being demoted in their family precessions.

  Not only would they inherit less, they would have to wait for their younger siblings to wed before them.

  They clearly didn’t want to bring him before the captain for fear of what he might say and he didn’t want to let this drag out long enough for them to think of just killing him. He looked at the young man, the first to finish dressing. “Let’s go see the captain.”

  Without waiting for an answer, he strolled past the young woman and out the side hatch. He knew where he was going, having left the shuttle on occasion to forage for food and water. With his fourteen second advantage, it was child’s play to wander the ship during the dog watches. The hangar bay was partially filled with spicewood trunks and it gave him a measure of comfort, a scent of home. The vast majority of the cargo was in the hold, but they had filled every available space with the wood and the shuttle bay had a prince’s ransom sitting between the two shuttles used to bring the wood up to the ship.

  “Ummm, listen,” the young man called, racing to catch up with Rick “about…” He stopped talking as Rick turned to face him.

  “You’d like me to forget what I saw,” Rick suggested. “Is that it?”

  An eager nod.

  “Well, I’d like a little support when we talk to your captain.” Rick shrugged carelessly. “A voice of reason, an offer to keep an eye on the stowaway, that kind of thing.” He took a step forward and put a calming hand on the young man’s shoulder, already knowing what his next words were but trying to reinforce their interdependence before dealing with the new tangent. “Let’s try to help each other out.”

  The crewman’s eyes widened. “You’re that guy they were looking for when we lifted off!” His eyes darted to the side as he considered whether this realization might offer him some additional leverage over Rick.