* * *
Rafa gazed at his captor with desperate vigilance. He felt like he was clinging to consciousness by fingernails only. His head was pounding, and if it hadn’t been for molded seats, he could not have remained upright. The skin of his arms and torso felt like one giant mottle of blisters.
The cabin of the skimmer was a trap, but it had been the only refuge his befuddled mind could come up with. As soon as Heward got brave enough to try one of the lockless doors, he’d discover that Rafa had no weapon and was too weak to use one anyway, and then it would all be over.
The lights were his only hope. If he could wake up some witnesses, maybe Heward would be forced to back off. Too bad there was no horn or siren to blow, and no key to power the craft up. Just a discarded biosuit and a pair of muddy boots.
His lips formed a whispered prayer.
Then stillness fell as an idea began to form.
* * *
It had been a couple minutes without a move inside the cabin. Heward continued to inch forward. His eyes were mostly adjusted to the brilliance, and he could now see that the jungleward hatch was slightly ajar.
Sloppy, Orosco. Never give the enemy an easy way in.
Without warning the lights died, leaving ghostly after-images that made his eyes completely useless. The door he’d been watching creaked open—that much he could tell by sound alone—and he had the vaguest impression of a bulky form hurtling outward toward the tree line. He sprang after, fear forgotten now that the quarry was on the run, confident that his vision would recover before Orosco was halfway to cover. Then it would be a quick flick of the wrist and a hilt buried in a dead man’s ribs. He hadn’t exaggerated that skill.
After a dozen steps the purple flash receded, and he skidded to a stop, confused. Orosco had pulled a vanishing act again.
Even as he whirled back to the skimmer and spied the crumpled biosuit, he heard a click from the far door. There was no time to go around the bulky vehicle; Heward vaulted onto the deck and angled across in three running strides, once again cursing his stupidity. After Orosco was dead, he would make Chen pay for sure. He would make the whole crew pay, even if they didn’t snicker behind his back at the broken nose.
He dropped to his feet outside the far cabin door, knife ready for a quick throw, scanning expectantly seaward for Orosco’s hobbling silhouette. But again the beach was empty.
Once more he whirled. Or attempted the motion, at any rate. The unyielding heel of a heavy boot smashed behind his ear as effectively as any blackjack. He crumpled without a sound.
* * *
Rafa was shuffling unsteadily forward on hands and knees when a square, bulky toe, crusted with sand, swam into view.
It had taken him almost ten minutes to summon the strength to attempt the crawl. Now, only halfway to the distant forms that he surmised were tents of his crewmates, the apparition kindled a spark of surprise.
He squinted up into a flashlight.
Jerry Whemper’s voice, thin and gravelly, laughed in foul amusement.
“Going somewhere, Rover?”
Orosco closed his eyes gratefully, oblivious to sarcasm, and worked to keep the tremble out of his elbows. “Attacked...” he panted. “Heward.”
“Now why would you do a thing like that?”
Orosco waited dumbly, not comprehending the insinuation. Then a steel-plated toe caught him cruelly in the ribs. He collapsed with a grunt, too feeble to spit the sand out of his mouth.
Whemper snorted. “I’m surprised. Why confess? If you’re that weak, you could have reversed the story and fooled everyone.”
Rafa attempted to shake his head in negation, but Whemper went on.
“Oh well, I suppose nobody really understands the criminal mind. Good thing I happened along to deal out some justice. I’ve been babysitting Heward, you know, sort of watching in the shadows. I knew he was up to something. Well, imagine my surprise when I discovered he was moonlighting for the boss!”
A chuckle rasped softly. “Or partly for the boss, anyway. And partly for himself, same as me. Thanks for taking him out, by the way—I wasn’t happy about tackling him on my own. It sure opens the door of opportunity. First I finish you off, to show that I’m a man of action.” For a dozen heartbeats, an explosion of spasmodic coughing filled the darkness behind the flashlight. “Then if I tell earthside where Heward’s private stash of goodies is, they’ll be doubly grateful.”
Rafa made an attempt to rise, but the swirling disorientation was worsening, and his arms felt like lead. He heard Whemper’s feet step back a pace in the sand, and wondered what was coming. A blow to the head? A bolt of plasma?
Abbott’s voice, soft with Jamaican overtones, floated out of the blackness.
“Put down the axe, Whemper.”
There was a long silence.
“Do it. Or I’ll burn you like a bug in a fry lamp.”
A soft thud in the sand near his ear was the last sound Rafa heard as he slipped back into intangible nether.
50
Oristano had been thinking furiously for the past twelve hours, when she wasn’t vomiting. Her stomach did not take well to weightlessness.
Things were not as bad as she’d first imagined. In fact, she could come out of this smelling like roses, if she played her cards right, and got a little help from lady luck.
The search warrant she’d requested for MEEGO headquarters came through soon after the pilot made their first jump; she’d dispatched a team at once with orders to seize and hold anything remotely related to the Erisa mission.
Score one.
Geire was still clueless, though by now he was no doubt fidgety about her overdue end-of-the-day report. Let him growl; when she made the bust of the century right under his nose, he’d look like the out-of-touch old fool he was, and she’d be promoted out from under him. She’d deliberately left no clue of her whereabouts.
Score two.
Just after their last jump, the pilot reported blinker field residue on an orbiting asteroid, and Oristano’s spirits rose again. She and Bezovnik really did think alike; he’d been smuggling, just as she predicted, but he hadn’t taken things to Earth yet. Pour the champagne and double the headlines.
Score three.
Maybe she could look over the booty and relocate a few choice items. If she let a suitable interval elapse, scientists would no doubt prove the items safe, and then she could nip out here unobtrusively to finish what Bezovnik began, with nobody the wiser.
Score four.
Now her long wait was finally over. The pilot had pinpointed the vikings’ surface location and picked a convenient landing spot on the beach; planetfall and a welcome return of gravity was seconds away. Behind her, the two junior agents she’d drafted as backup were already fastening their harnesses.
* * *
He should have been resting. The narcotics in his bloodstream were mostly gone, and his heel and arm and head each ached abominably. Scabs were beginning to form all over his skin, the aftermath of boils from his beetle bite. Packs of pufferbellies seemed to be hovering everywhere, filling his mind with dread. But Heward was back at the tents, looking and sounding murderous despite heavy doping; Rafa wasn’t about to convalesce with him around.
Chen’s hands were shaky and ill-controlled; she had done a terrible job with Heward’s nose. The crew thought it was on purpose, and laughed silently when they thought their commander wasn’t looking.
Rafa knew better.
He pulled her aside during their five-minute lunch break and demanded to know where the morphine was.
“You can’t get it,” she said.
“Don’t be a hero.”
“You can’t. Earth changes the combination every time the drug box is opened. Nobody gets in without asking them.”
“How long do you have?”
Chen shrugged. “It’s been building all day. I can feel it. Probably I’ll be raving in an hour or two if I don’t get some medication. After that, who knows? I think
I’ve seen my last sunrise, though.”
“They’ll give you something if you’re sicklisted.”
“Maybe. Unless they figure I’m a lost cause and it’s better to save supplies for the rest of you.”
“They’re not that cruel.”
“No?”
Rafa couldn’t bear to hold her steady gaze.
* * *
Heward crouched in the shadowy green at the edge of the forest. His nose and cheek and lips were swollen and purple, and scab and suture zigzagged through the mess—but it was his eyes that were most ugly. They burned with hatred and anger.
He would make Orosco pay for this public humiliation.
Then he would make Chen pay for her Frankenstein surgery.
Then he would make Whemper pay for his insolence.
Then he’d make the rest of the crew pay for laughing about it.
And then he didn’t care what they did with him.
One hand gripped his knife. The other worked neurotically at the commander patch on his shoulder, caressing and re-caressing its outline like a blind person savoring braile poetry.
Sloppy. They’d all been so sloppy, so careless, so sure that he’d sleep off the pain killers like a soft, cringing moron. It hadn’t been hard to retrieve the weapon, especially since Earth didn’t watch vike feeds from those on the sick list.
Lunch break was almost over. Orosco was getting closer.
* * *
Without warning, a ring of lilac fire began to coalesce above the beach, directly in front of the tallest cluster of alien buildings.
A murmur of astonishment went up from the crew. Rafa and Chen both turned and saw it at the same time, and for an instant their minds filled with images of bizarre aliens returning home to discover unexpected trespassers. Would they be angry?
Then the squat, familiar lines of a battle-scarred, military-style cruiser dropped out of nowhere as wind whipped wildly and kicked sand into their eyes.
Rafa’s ears popped. Incoming waves from the sea whipped to a froth. The blink point vanished.
In the ensuing silence, the hydraulic whine of servos on the ship’s hatch sounded loudly. Two fully-suited figures marched down the gang plank. They were carrying heavy-duty automatic plasma weapons, and the muzzles were pointed in the direction of the vikings.
The lead figure advanced up the beach to within a dozen paces of the nearest viking. Her face was visible through helmet glass. She looked cool and self-possessed. Then her lips moved, but no sound came out. She frowned, turned around and gestured incomprehensibly toward an unseen watcher in the ship. After a minute, she tried again.
This time, her voice came through loud and clear.
I’m Agent Oristano from the FBI. You’re all being taken into custody pending the outcome of an investigation into criminal practices by MEEGO.
* * *
Heward struck.
Whether it was intuition or a subconscious disquiet that heightened her reflexes, Chen seemed to sense the flash of movement behind them in the trees. She lunged into Rafa, throwing them both off balance. The knife, long and deadly, thudded into the sand half a dozen paces beyond.
Rafa staggered, regained his balance, and looked down to see Chen, twitching weakly on the ground. He sank to his knees, not understanding what had happened, then whirled at the sound of a wild shout. Heward was rushing forward, brandishing a stick.
A bolt of green fire licked out from one of the suited figures, and the scream cut off.
Rafa turned back to Chen, whose face and hands were now shuddering spasmodically. Her skin had gone white as a sheet, and her eyelids fluttered. “Help!” he screamed. “Tell Earthside to unlock the pharmacy. Now!”
Chen arched her back and groaned, her heels digging furrows in the beach, her back forming a bridge that cleared the ground by half a meter. Her jaw was clenched tight, and there was no sign of respiration on her rigid diaphragm. Rafa and Abbott, who’d come running up, gazed at one another helplessly.
After what felt like forever, she suddenly went limp. Rafa felt her neck for a pulse. She flinched at the touch of his fingers and opened her eyes.
“Implants kicked in,” she whispered weakly.
Abbott looked blank, but Rafa’s eyes darkened. “She crossed the pain threshold that triggers the self destruct,” he murmured.
Abbott swore, but Chen smiled feebly. “It’s why I enlisted. No guts for suicide, no guts to take the pain. Only way out.”
Rafa’s eyes blurred, and then he felt the trembling touch of Chen’s fingers on his cheek.
“Pray for me, Rafa. I need a friend.”
Suddenly her eyes went wide, and her hand dropped.
“You have one,” Rafa whispered.
Abbott kicked morosely at the sand and turned away.
51
1291 could tell that the supervisors of her exploratory party were restless. It was not in the nature of their kind to fret overmuch when the sun shined and chlorophyll drove greenly through their outer skin. Having received the mandate to investigate, they patiently obeyed.
But from 97 and 293’s perspective, they’d accomplished nothing substantive since they arrived, except to get a nice close-up view of the chattering phenomenon. It looked no different from the other creatures—the ones that squeaked a mindless monotone and showed no signs of intelligence.
Were they the same kind of animal?
It was a compelling question for 1291, but the adults were no longer content to ponder. Bad weather was imminent, and they’d never planned to hover near the speaking earthbound so long.
It was past time to go.
The problem was, the younger members of the group had become convinced that 1291’s assertions actually had merit. This was a creature trying desperately to communicate. Normally skyfriends gave little thought to the mindless, short-lived creatures that crawled the world’s surface; they were good for little other than the occasional nibble or diversion. But this was a special case. It needed help. They’d all taken a turn beaming its babbling up to the strange, indifferent siren in The Cold.
No response.
1291 could feel the cloud cover building overhead. If they didn’t leave soon, they’d have to ride out a storm almost at ground level. None of them were small enough for this to pose a danger, but still...
293’s summons reached her receptors. We’re going. I want to get back before the storm.
Can I... 1291 began.
Stay a little longer? 97 interrupted, sounding amused. I suppose it’s up to you. Maybe the earthbound will do something interesting during the storm. But nobody’s going to wait for you when we cross the mountains, so you can’t stay forever.
1291 beeped gratefully as the rest of her group skied away.
52
Julie looked up from her computer screen, tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t really know or even like the woman who lay dying, but she’d saved her husband’s life.
“It’s the pufferbellies!” Satler repeated, a note of awe in his voice.
“What?”
“Not one intelligent species, but two! Why did it take me so long? It was right under my nose!” He resumed his restless pacing with renewed energy, looking like he was ready to burst with excitement.
“What about the pufferbellies?” Julie struggled to shift mental gears. What did this have to do with Rafa’s brush with death that was still replaying in her brain?
Satler finally made eye contact. A silly grin was plastered over his blunt features. “The broadcasts are coming from the pufferbellies, Julie. Have you noticed how every clip we get has pufferbellies in it?”
Julie stared wordlessly.
Satler opened his mouth, then closed it again as he became more aware of her expression. “I’m sorry,” he said contritely. “This isn’t the time for a eureka moment.”
The call button on the phone by the bed lit up. Satler looked over. “That’ll be your page.”
For a moment Julie’s mind sear
ched vainly for an explanation. Then she remembered. “Oh! I can’t go now. Can you bring him up?”
“I think he’s looking for a cute redhead, not a big gorilla.”
“Well, I’m not going in the middle of a broadcast...” she began, but just then the feed died and the screen went black. It had been up more and more consistently since yesterday, but there were still periods of frustrating silence.
“Go now,” Satler urged. “I’ll feel a lot safer when you’ve got a bodyguard, and it’s always down for two or three minutes when it goes out like this.”
Julie hesitated, gazing longingly at the screen, but when it remained unlit she jumped up.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, running to the door.
* * *
Ray Gregory gunned the engine of his skimmer and shot around a corner. He would have been hard pressed to give an approvable reason for the speeding, had any bureau busybody or traffic cop questioned him—but he didn’t care. In the old days, his tires would have squealed; as it was, the groaning engines sent a pulsing curtain of air pounding against a nearby building; its glass windows quivered slightly as he rocketed by.
Ever since Julie’s call, he’d been in a hurry.
It had been a maddening search.
He’d stumbled onto Satler’s aunt by sheer persistence and dumb luck, after a talk with Julie’s parents. Then it took an hour of careful groundwork before she opened up, and another thirty minutes before he learned that the two fugitives were banking on the elderly woman’s account.
After that it was easy.
He just hoped he was in time.
* * *
The man looked bored and just a shade sleepy to Julie, slumping behind sunglasses in the hotel lobby. He wore a well tailored suit and immaculate white shirt, shiny Italian shoes, and an expensive-looking wrist watch. He had the apple and the novel, but he looked too tanned and fashionable to fit her idea of the FBI.
For some reason a prickly dread raised the hairs on Julie’s neck. Was someone else there, watching the meeting? Would she be spied the minute she walked out from the hallway where the elevator was?
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