Drifter (26 page)

"Air Six to Eight-Ball. Are you awake?"

Sato grinned. "Of course I'm awake. I was sipping some wine and listening to Movari's Fifth."

The pilot made a rude noise. "You might be sipping some wine, especially if it's cheap, but you wouldn't recognize Movari's Fifth if it was memprinted on what's left of your brain. The LZ's coming up. Five to dirt."

"That's a roger, Air Six."

Sato stuck his hands inside the control gauntlets and flexed the middle finger of his right hand just so. His command chair whirred to the left. "Hang on, folks… we're five to ground."

Pal scowled. "It's about time."

Corvo smiled encouragingly. "Thanks for letting us know."

Sato nodded, sent both of them a mental "screw you," and turned back to his controls.

The ground came up fast. The helicopter pilot had chosen the center of an ancient crater as her landing point. It was flat and relatively clear of debris.

Sato experienced the tight-gut feeling that always went with a drop into the equatorial zone. Had the odds piled up against him? Would this be the trip when some nameless chunk of hot metal came screaming out of the sky to take his life? Was it his turn to punch out?

He wanted to stretch, to ease tight muscles, but couldn't remove his hands from the gloves. Instead, he recited the prayer his mother had taught him. His eyes scanned the screens, which gave him twelve different views of the outside world. All of them wobbled and drifted to the right as the pilot made a last-minute correction.

"Ten seconds to dirt." The pilot's voice was flat and unemotional. Sato knew it would stay that way no matter what. He yelled to the others.

"Ten seconds to touchdown… Hang on!"

The landing was gentle by normal standards but worse than Corvo had expected. The crawler hit hard, sending a solid shock up through her slightly flexed knees, and throwing her against a durasteel bulkhead. She swore accordingly.

Pal was a little better off, but not much, and said some unpleasant things about the pilot. He was still at it when Sato popped the top hatch and crawled outside.

The helicopter threw a thick, dark shadow across the crater and blasted the entire area with grit. Pal popped his head out of the hatch, caught a face full of wind-driven dirt, and disappeared.

Sato released the cable hooks one at a time. "Okay… hooks one, two, three, and four are released. Thanks for the ride, Air Six."

The words were barely out of Sato's mouth before the hooks swayed upwards. "That's a roger, Eight-Ball… Have a nice trip. Air Six out."

Sato doubted that was possible, but kept the thought to himself. He dropped through the hatch into the command chair, slipped his hands into the control gauntlets, and pointed with his right index finger. A holo-projected heads-up display appeared in front of his eyes as the crawler jerked into motion. There was a pretty good-sized hill up ahead. He'd head for the top and take a look around.

Pal was peering over the tool pusher's shoulder and asking stupid questions when the transmission came in.

"Air Six to Eight-Ball."

"I read you, Air Six. Go ahead."

"You've got company, Eight-Ball. A truck of some sort. Sod-busters from the look of them. About eight miles due south and closing."

"That's a rog, Air Six. Eight and closing. How bout a look-see?"

"Roger that, Eight-Ball. One look-see comin' up."

Pal stabbed Sato's shoulder with a stiffened finger. "What? What did they say?"

Sato didn't like the feel of Pal's finger. He shifted his weight to escape it. "There's a truck eight miles to the south. Not one of ours. Coming this way."

Pal brought a fist down on his open palm. "It's them! It has to be! But why? What's the truck for? Full speed ahead, Sato… The fun has just begun."

17

Progress was painfully slow. There was no such thing as a straight line. Honey twisted and turned as Schmidt guided her around water-filled impact craters, over miniature mountain ranges, and through a maze of broken rock.

Lando didn't like it. He didn't like the situation, the E-zone, or riding in the back. He was used to being in control, to making his own decisions, to sitting in the driver's seat.

Honey leaned sideways as Schmidt pushed her through a narrow corridor. The passageway had been created hundreds of years before when a good-sized meteorite had hit the top of a ridge, plowed its way through, and sprayed the landscape with chunks of hot metal.

Lando was forced to hang on tight as the corridor narrowed and Schmidt put the right set of wheels up onto the bank. There was a clanking sound as two of the cylinders rolled together. Another couple of degrees and Honey would roll over.

But the gorge opened up, the bank disappeared, and the wheels hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud. That's when Lando saw the flashing red light and heard the buzzer.

Wendy looked at Schmidt. He frowned. "Bad news, I'm afraid. We've got company."

Lando felt emptiness where his stomach should be. "How many?"

Schmidt touched some keys in quick succession. Additional data appeared on the right-hand side of his heads-up display. "One vehicle, a crawler from the looks of it, and…"

A large black shadow flashed across the truck. They heard the roar of the aircraft engines. Honey rocked under the blast of displaced air.

Wendy leaned forward to look up through the windshield. "… and one helicopter."

Lando peered out through a side window. The helicopter was headed north. "It's leaving the area… That seems strange."

"Listen…" Schmidt touched a key and they heard a woman's voice:

"… about does it, Eight-Ball. We're flying on fumes. See you back at the barn."

A male voice came on: "Copy that, Air Six. Eight-Ball out."

"It makes sense," Schmidt said thoughtfully. "It would take a lot of fuel to airlift a crawler."

"What kind of crawler?" Lando asked, half afraid of the answer.

"Huge things with a lot of armor," Wendy replied. "Remember our visit to Security Control? A crawler was parked outside."

Lando remembered all right. A big ugly machine with crablike arms.

"Can we outrun it?"

"We can try," Schmidt answered grimly. "We can try."

"What about weapons?" Lando asked. "What have you got?"

Schmidt looked at Wendy, and something passed between them. An unspoken bond that would forever shut Lando out. The smuggler saw it and knew what the scientist would say.

"Nothing outside of that slug gun you're wearing. But that doesn't matter much, since I wouldn't use them anyway."

Lando slumped back in his seat. Great, just great. There were killers on the loose and his companions were pacifists.

But the worst part was his complete and utter helplessness. There was very little he could do but sit down, shut up, and hope Schmidt found a way around the crawler.

Honey roared loudly as Schmidt guided her down and through a small stream. Then they went up and onto a rocky slope.

The attack came without warning. The crawler had been waiting, hull down beyond the rise, like a wolf spider in its den. Now it roared straight at them, pincer arms spread, trying to grab some part of the truck and drag it to a halt.

Schmidt swerved, and Honey shuddered, as the tip of a durasteel pincer pierced her left flank.

Lando pushed himself away as rusty metal punched through the truck's armor-plated side. It was just the tip of a pincer but large enough to make a hole the size of his head.

Schmidt swore, the engines roared, and metal screeched as Honey pulled away. The pincer tore a four-foot-long gash in the vehicle's side.

Lorenzo Pal blasted over the comset. His laughter had a wild, almost demented quality. "That's right sod-busters! Run for your lives! Here we come!"

Lando looked up at the external monitors. One was packed side to side and top to bottom with the ugly-looking crawler. "Watch out!"

A pincer lashed forward and hit the trailer. The truck lurched and the entire vehicle rang like a gong. Schmidt applied power and the crawler fell behind. The truck was a little bit faster than the crawler, especially on open ground. There was an unexpected breeze from the gash in Honey's side.

But Honey had barely reached forty miles an hour when she ran out of open ground. Schmidt stepped on the brakes and swore when the wheels hit a rock. The entire front end of the truck bounced up and off the ground.

Honey hit hard. Wendy was thrown against her harness, and the tanks hit the front of the trailer.

Lando looked at the monitors and saw the crawler grow larger. Damn! If there was only something he could do.

"That way!" Wendy pointed towards the right. It was a narrow passageway, too narrow for the crawler to follow. The geologist nodded and turned the wheel in that direction.

The crawler was closer now. Lando saw its right-hand pincer flash forward. There was the screech of metal on metal as the crawler sank durasteel fingers into the top right-hand corner of the trailer's frame.

The engines roared as Schmidt did his best to pull away. Drive wheels spun and threw up fountains of dirt.

Pal's maniacal laughter filled the cabin. "Go ahead! Run! We have plenty of time."

Metal groaned, something parted with a loud report, and the truck jerked forward. Unable to follow, the crawler dwindled in size.

The scientist pushed forward as quickly as he dared, unable to see beyond the next curve, praying there was a way out. What if the passageway led them into a dead end?

The walls were tight and stained with rust. A jagged piece of rusty iron stuck straight out from the right-hand wall. Schmidt swerved but there wasn't enough room to clear the obstruction. Metal grated on metal as Honey slid by.

Lando felt his heart sink. The ancient Chinese had a name for this. They called it "the death of a thousand cuts."

They needed to seize the initiative, find a way to fight back, but his companions weren't likely to take that course. No, he'd have to wait for an opportunity and act on his own.

Wendy gave a sigh of relief as the rocky defile opened up onto a shallow basin.

Lando saw movement to the left and yelled "Over to the left, Lars! Here they come!"

Schmidt opened the throttles. The truck labored at first, fought the weight of the cylinders, and jerked forward.

Lando held his breath as they raced for the other side of the basin. The corpos had been forced into a different canyon, but had made pretty good time and stood a good chance of intercepting them towards the middle of the flat.

Closer, closer, damn! The entire vehicle shook as the crawler sideswiped them. Schmidt fought for control. Something felt different, but he wasn't sure what it was. A tire? Something mechanical? Whatever it was made Honey hard to steer.

Lando leaned forward to tap him on the shoulder. "Slow down when we reach the other side. I want to bail out."

Wendy started to frown but forced the expression away. This wasn't his fight… and besides… who could blame him? The smuggler had kept his side of the bargain and then some.

The geologist must have felt the same way, because he hit the brakes as they bounced off the pan and into the broken area beyond.

Lando released his seat belt, opened the rear passenger door, and jumped. The truck was still in motion. The ground came up hard and fast. He stumbled, fell, and rolled over. Dust swirled up and around him. The ground shook as the crawler approached.

Sato moved his finger a hair to the right and felt the crawler do likewise. His voice was flat and emotionless. "One of them bailed out. Shall I stop for him or chase the truck?"

"Stay with the truck," Pal replied. "We'll take care of him a little bit later."

Lando had just gotten to his feet when the crawler roared past. He caught a glimpse of the huge eight-ball painted on its side and something else as well. Something that might work in his favor. The top hatch was slightly ajar. Not much, inches at most, but just enough. Enough to stick his arm inside and empty the slug gun.

If
he could catch up,
if
he could climb aboard,
if
the hatch remained open. Lando started to run.

Schmidt found it increasingly hard to steer. Given that, and given the crawler's other advantages, there was only one chance left.

Maybe, just maybe, they could circle around and find a place to hide the trailer. Then, lighter and faster, they could lead the crawler away and hope for the best. It was a chance at least, and some chance was better than none.

Sato had grown weary of the chase. Pal enjoyed this cat and mouse stuff, but he didn't. The more time they spent in the zone, the better the chances of winding up dead. Sato balled both his fists and the Eight-Ball skidded to a halt.

Pal screamed in his ear. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Go after them!"

Sato didn't look around. His eyes were on the screens. "I'm getting tired of your bullshit, Pal. Shut up and sit down. If your brain ran half as fast as your mouth, you'd see something very interesting."