Broken Glass (Glass Complex Book 1) (25 page)

Steg could not identify a trail and he had moved off course to circle around an exceptionally large jumble of decaying rocks, carefully avoiding nests of desert adders and predatory fire lizards. He could sense distant electronic activity that marked his destination and he altered his course by an almost imperceptible measure.

He plodded on. He placed each step carefully, not only to avoid the dangerous desert life but also to ensure he did not brush against a sharp edge of rock. His survival depended on the integrity of his suit and sharp rock outcrops could easily cut and penetrate the fabric. Then,
exposed to the full brunt of the desert conditions, he would not survive for long
. He peered ahead in a futile attempt to pierce the heat haze. Nothing. Not even a breeze.

Steg,
realistically,
doubted his ability to achieve the desert crossing. The bike had carried him for only forty or so of the two hundred kays separating the spaceport from his destination before its ignominious failure. Now he lacked supplies and water for a prolonged hike across the red sand. He lifted his head, ignoring the sting of perspiration in his eyes and searched the horizon. He had a feeling that he was under observation although a diligent search had disclosed no one nearby. The heat was intense.

Again he checked his bearings and made another small correction to his course. The overwhelming heat bore down on him from above, radiated from the nearby rocks and rose up from the ground. Unprotected, he would die in hours. Protected by his desert suit, he barely had a chance of surviving the day. He continued steadily along his unmarked trail.

A flicker of motion caught his eye as he moved around another outcrop of savagely spiked rocks. Suddenly, he was standing in the center of a cool and green oasis with water flowing gently over smooth rocks and across golden sand, whispering and murmuring as it sank out of sight. Green palm fronds arched over him, providing a brief and welcome respite from the harsh sun. He turned slowly, attempting to absorb the reality of the impossible. He knelt and touched the cool flowing water. He cupped his hand and let the water tumble over it. Then he tried to lift a handful of the cool liquid to ease the dryness of his parched throat. Nothing reached his mouth. A mirage, Steg thought with disgust, a very real conjuring of what he needed most. He smiled wryly and stepped on through the flowing water. The mirage shifted and re-established itself with Steg at the center. He moved again, and again the mirage shifted. He reached slowly for his stunner, to be stopped by the sound of dry, cackling laughter.

“Now, now young fellow,” the voice followed the laughter. “Pete has had his little joke and y’ have no need to get all anxious.”

Steg experienced a strange and illogical sense of loss when the mirage disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. He was almost reassured to see that he was still standing in the dry and merciless desert. In front of him stood a stranger, desert-suited, leaning lightly on a long barreled firearm.

“Did y’ like that?” the man cackled. “Come on, don’t tarry in this heat. We have to get aboard my wagon before the heat worsens. Come on.” He gestured impatiently.

Bemused, Steg followed as the stranger led him through the jumble of rock outcroppings. As he left the rocks, the man stopped at what appeared to be a long rusty shed, its sides and roof roughly patched with sheets of acrylsteel and other materials in a completely haphazard design.

The old man beckoned. “Come on, it’s far too hot to stay out here.” He climbed up a short rickety ladder and disappeared inside the strange building. Steg was close behind him. The sudden coolness was overwhelmingly welcome. He stood inside the door, almost shivering as the lower temperature replaced scorching heat. The old man hung up his firearm and removed his nondescript desert suit. He was thin and slightly stooped, his skin heavily tanned, his eyes twinkling a brilliant blue with the humor of a private joke.

“Now don’t just stand there. Here, give me y’ pack and sword, they’ll be safe in here. Now get out of that suit and enjoy the cooling system in my wagon. Would y’ like a drink, some cold water, perhaps? Now do y’ have any sun blisters? They need treating straight away otherwise they’ll get infected. I have some lotion somewhere.” The old man disappeared further into the dimly lit interior.

Steg struggled out of his desert suit, thankful for the cool shelter. He hung up the protective clothing and followed the direction taken by his rescuer.

“So y’ are the one they marooned on Hellfire?” cackled the stranger. “Must’ve upset someone, eh?”

Steg nodded. He looked around the long narrow room, set up as living quarters. The remnants of a meal were strewn across a small table. Everything was makeshift and in various stages of disrepair. Lumps of rock and unfamiliar items of machinery cluttered temporary shelving and overflowed onto the floor. The old man indicated a small stool.

“Come on, set down there while I get us a drink of water.”

Steg obeyed the instruction, first moving a heavy lump of ore onto an already overloaded shelf.

“Who are you?”

“Old Pete they call me, but Pete is best,” came the reply followed by another cackle of laughter. “Almost forget the rest and no one else remembers. Here y’ are, drink this, slow like, otherwise it won’t do y’ any good at all.”

The mug contained cool and apparently clean water and small beads of condensation had formed on the outside. Steg’s fingers smeared the small droplets as they aggregated and dropped off the bottom of the battered metal container. He drank slowly, restraining the urge to gulp the water quickly.

“What do they call y’ ?”

Steg paused and looked over the rim of the mug at Pete. “Steg de Coeur. Thank you for your water. I was hot out there and walking’s a dry sport.”

“Walking y’ call it? Not very fast. I was watching. Now, Steg de Coeur, who wants y’ and why?”

Steg was brief in his explanation. “
I’m from Homeworld, Rimwards.
House of Aluta is trying to take over my home planet. I escaped their invasion and that’s attracted company attention. I obtained a commission in the Imperial Fleet and the company retaliated by setting up a court-martial. The Fleet star ship I was on dropped me here, on Hellfire.”

“So they abandoned y’ here, did they? On an Alutan mining planet. Well, y’ have Pete’s help. Mind, I’m so old that may be more of a hindrance.” A cackle followed. Steg no longer winced at the aural onslaught. “Now two of ‘em was tracking y’. I thought to stick my nose in, to see what was getting them all riled. Y’ will be safe with Pete, at least for a while.”

“Two of them?”

“Yes, two of the mining muscle. The ones they use when they want to put the clamps on a troublemaker. More muscle than wit. Mind, anyone with wit makes sure he don’t end up on Hellfire.” Cackling laughter signaled the joke. “Y’ can stay on board, out of the heat. We’ll stay here until nightfall and then I’ll take you to Shantytown.”

“Shantytown?”

“The company only accommodates miners and their women. The throwouts, men and women, end up in Shantytown. Not safe, that place. Although a young fellow like y’ should be able to survive for a while. Watch y’ back all the time, remember.” Pete fell silent and Steg hesitated to disturb his reverie.

“What did y’ think of that oasis, young fellow?”

The question was unexpected. “Oasis—so you did cause that? At first I thought I was being fooled by a mirage.”

“Nope. I was enjoying a little bit of showing off. Wanted to get y’ attention and it seemed a sure way.”

“Well, the result was effective. The way it moved when I did, made me suspect it might be more than a mirage.”

“See this?” Pete held out a small device. “Picked it up almost a thousand kays from here, back where the surface is still original, not like the magna exposed here.” He caught the unspoken question in Steg’s expression. “Yes, the miners call me a crackpot. But I’ve spent more years on Hellfire than all of ‘em put together.” He cackled. “Many more years. I know the secret, y’ see.” He fell silent for a while. “Must have been one helluva impact. Ripped a slice right off.” He made a cutting motion with the edge of his hand. “The slice broke up and that’s why we see so many small moons caught in the planet’s gravitational field. And here, we’re right in the middle of the dish left by the slice, see.” He again demonstrated with his hand. “That’s partly why the horizon appears to be always above where y’ expect it to be. The gravity helps the illusion, too. Now see this—” Again he fell silent. Steg did not move or speak, as Pete seemed to assemble the words he needed. “See.” Pete picked up another small object and turned it over and over, fingers fumbling and pushing at depressions in its surface. “This is a piece of equipment. Machinery. Functions unknown. I found it—lemme think—way over there,” he indicated vaguely with a wave of his hand. “That’s not all. No, there’s more, lots more. Artifacts of an ancient race. They made that image generator. Took me a year to figure it out. I can find only two scenes. One is the oasis, the second’s a sandy beach. They must’ve had others but they’re lost.” He paused again. “Perhaps they had different brains, and we can only see those two scenes. I’ll never know. They left the planet hundreds—maybe thousands—of years ago. Or maybe they died out.” The last was said without conviction.

“Have you collected many of these artifacts?”

“Why, sure. Some I can work out, like the hunting laser. That’s one of theirs. Wonderful weapon, wonderful.” He shook his head, unable to express the admiration he felt. “It’ll knock out an armored transporter at two kays. Or a tank. The miners leave me alone, now. Learned ’em good, last time.” The cackling exploded. “Of course, they realize they aren’t mining, just raiding old storage silos. Built’em underground, didn’t they? But when the slice went, all those storage silos were exposed. One of these days they’ll come back, looking for their ores. Then, all hell’ll be let loose. Hellfire.” The burst of cackling merged into a paroxysm of coughing and spluttering.

Steg waited until he recovered. “So the company’s mining here, illegally?” He did not wait for an answer. “If these are artifacts, it means that all commercial development is forbidden by Imperial law, at least until the xenos give their clearance.”

“Illegal?” exploded Pete. “Y’ expect the company to worry about a little thing like that? Of course, their mining’s illegal. But they won’t let me talk to anyone, will they? They know y’ won’t be leaving this planet—their muscle will take y’. Or try to. Double jeopardy, now y’ have associated with me. Double jeopardy.”

“What about you, Pete? How will you survive? How will you escape from those two out there?”

“Pete’s a survivor, don’t y’ worry. Found a cache of water where no one goes. Too much surface radiation, y’ see. That’s why this little beauty has all the insulation—it’ll take me anywhere on this continent, this will.” He patted the side wall.

“This is mobile? I thought it was a shed of some kind.”

“A shed,” cackled Pete. “Why, this is the best tracked vehicle on Hellfire. Made her from bits and pieces I liberated from here and there. Go anywhere, she will. I know where to find high-density fuel. They were good refiners, whoever they were.”

Pete fell silent again and Steg did not speak. Now he understood the old prospector’s speech pattern, Steg realized Pete needed time to assemble the words he wanted to present to his new audience. The old prospector obviously had very little opportunity to converse with anyone.

“She probably radiates like hell, too. But this little buggy takes me wherever I need to go. Food’s my main problem and for that I trade with the Shantytowners. The company don’t like ‘em doing that of course and try to stop ‘em. But Shantytowners just can’t resist. Come up here, I’ll show you.” He signaled for Steg to follow him into the next narrow room.

A glass-fronted display case was fitted along the wall and Steg stopped short at the unexpected sight. The case was full of gemstones, mostly cut, sparkling and glittering in the soft light. Steg moved closer to the display, only to be halted by a soft warning from Pete.

“Be careful. Look, but don’t touch. See.” Steg followed the pointed finger and he shuddered as he made out the folded shape of a fire lizard inside the display case. Their venom, on contact, would kill a grown man in seconds.

“I’ve three of those little beasts in there. Don’t like strangers, they don’t. Also, I‘ve set a little booby trap, if ever someone else opens the case. Triggers a radiation bath over the stones and over whoever opens the case. Doesn’t harm the stones and takes only a hundred years or so to decay to a relatively harmless level. Makes ‘em deadly, though, to anyone who handles ‘em. No one robs Pete.”

Steg examined the contents more carefully. “You must have a small fortune here. Enough to buy your way off Hellfire, and to keep you in luxury for the rest of your life.”

“Luxury! Luxury! Why the last thing the company would permit is my departure from Hellfire. Besides,” his voice grew confidentially soft. “Besides, I’m waiting here for the—owners—maybe they’re the Ancients—to return. They left in their ships and they’ll come back.” He was suddenly silent, as though he had disclosed far too much. He shuffled away, leaving Steg in the dark as he switched off the display lights. Pete returned to his living quarters, spluttering with his cackling style of laughter. “Now I’d better set my up defenses and then we need to bunk down for a while. We’ll travel when the sun sets, it’s far cooler then.”