Drifter's Run (10 page)

The pressure suddenly disappeared. Lando was floating in space.

"Well, well," a voice said. "Look at that. A piece of space junk. People are
so
rude. They leave their garbage all over the place. What if we hit it? That space armor could scratch our paint job!

"No, our duty is clear. A clean orbit is a safe orbit. Wouldn't you agree. Citizen Lando? That's your name, isn't it? It's the one dear old Cap listed on the contract with Pylax."

"Screw you, Willer."

"Such unpleasant language," Willer observed mockingly. "Still, if it makes you feel better, I'm willing to listen. Any last words?"

Lando forced a chuckle. "Yeah, chrome dork, how're your knees?"

An invisible club came out of nowhere and blasted Lando into space.

As G's piled on top of G's, a big black hand reached up to pull Lando down. Well I'll be damned, Lando thought to himself, death isn't so bad after all.

7

Cap stepped out of the bank and looked around. Pylax was very different from Dista. In place of muddy trails there were broad well-paved streets packed with bumper-to-bumper traffic. Horns beeped, loud music leaked out of stores, sirens wailed, and well-dressed people made a swirl of color.

Cap smiled, sidestepped an intense young man with a shiny portacomp, and looked for a place to relax. Retail shops, restaurants, and lounges occupied the first two floors of every building in sight. Signs pulsated, flashed, and glowed. There were bars aplenty. There were upscale bars, downscale bars, and ethnic bars but none that catered to spacers.

Cap held up a hand and jumped in the backseat when an auto cab whirred to the curb. "Your destination please?"

"Blast Town. Give me a bar patronized by spacers."

The cab whirred away from the curb. "There are a number of good bars located adjacent to the port. I have paid advertisements for three of them."

"Play back please."

Cap listened as the auto cab played them back. All three sounded fine, but Cap chose Blaster Willie's, since it was the oldest. It was his experience that older bars have more flavor, more tradition, and more interesting clientele. Besides, Willie's was closest to the port, and therefore most convenient.

As the downtown section of Brisco City disappeared behind him, Cap saw more and more warehouses, until they gave way to the bars and brothels of Blast Town.

Blast Town. A place he'd have avoided like the plague in the old days, the days when he was one of the Empire Line's most promising young officers, and snotty as hell. Back then he looked down on people who drank cheap booze in smelly bars. Back then he was very young.

The auto cab pulled to the curb, accepted Cap's fare, and thanked him for the business. Willie's had a holo sign, a three-dimensional affair, in which a horizontal whiskey bottle poured electronic booze into an equally horizontal shot glass Glancing around, Cap saw that the other bars had equally fanciful facades, suggesting a competition to see which establishment could come up with the most garish sign of all.

Once inside Willie's it was dark, dirty, and completely satisfactory. Cap licked his lips as he stepped up to the bar and ordered a drink.

The barkeep wore an eye patch made out of something or somebody with green scaly skin. His apron was so dirty that Cap couldn't discern its original color. "One whiskey comin' up, sir. You wanta pay or run a tab?"

"I think I'll run a tab," Cap replied. It would call for exquisite judgment but if he drank just the right amount he could get reasonably sloshed and still fly the speedster. It was only a short hop into orbit and one rotation home.

He looked around. Willie's was nearly empty. "Not much business today."

The barkeep shrugged and wiped the countertop with a wet rag. "Well, sir, it's early yet. On toward nighttime we start to fill up."

Cap nodded. "Where's the men's room?"

"Right over there," the bartender replied, pointing across the room. "Take a right at the roid miner."

"Roid miner?" Cap squinted into the dark.

Sure enough, a woman dressed in a set of beat-up leathers sat slumped in a chair, her back to the bar. Maybe she knew something interesting, maybe not. A drink was a small price to pay to find out.

Besides, talking with her would justify his presence in the bar, and elevate his drinking to the category of "business research."

Cap signaled the barkeep and pointed to the miner. "Give her another of whatever she's drinking."

The bartender gave Cap a knowing grin and reached for another glass.

By the time Cap returned from the men's room, his drink and a tall glass of green liquor sat in front of the miner.

She wore her hair high and tight marine style. She had a broad forehead, an upturned nose, and a no-nonsense mouth. The telltale rub burns on her forehead and cheeks hinted at endless hours spent in space armor. A roid miner for sure.

"I don't screw for drinks, mister. So if that's the plan, then forget it."

Cap smiled. "No plan, and other than some conversation, no obligation."

The woman nodded. "Fair enough. Just thought you should know. Have a seat. My name's Libby Nox. Most people just call me Nox, or Noxie."

"All right, Noxie. My name's Sorenson. People call me Cap. What brings you to Pylax?"

In his efforts to locate the
Star of Empire
Cap had conducted hundreds, maybe even thousands of similar interviews over the last few years, and the first part of Noxie's story was quite typical.

According to Noxie she and her partner, a woman named Farley, had worked a claim deep in the belt. Things were tough, but the two women made do, even scratched out a small profit until their claim took a direct hit from a "buster."

"Busters" were large chunks of rock that careened from asteroid to asteroid like enormous cue balls, knocking them out of their established orbits, and "busting" the small ones into even smaller pieces. Such was the fate of Noxie's claim.

Fortunately for her. Noxie was away at the time, using their scooter to scout another rock. Farley wasn't so lucky. She along with their small ship disappeared during the moment of impact.

Like most roid miners the two women had established an emergency supply dump on a nearby asteroid. Included was enough oxygen, food, and water to make it out of the belt. Loading it aboard a sled, and hooking the sled to her scooter, Noxie began the long arduous journey to the nearest gate. Once there she could take shelter in a dome provided for that purpose, activate an emergency beacon, and wait for help.

While incredible, the story up to this point was far from unusual, the rigors of the belt being what they were. But then, well lubricated by her fourth drink, Noxie said something that pushed the alcohol out of Cap's brain.

"Yeah," Noxie said, "strangely enough the 0
₂
was holding out, but my food was running low, and ditto the water. So there I was, getting ready to make the big jump, when I seen this ship."

"A ship?"

"That's what I said isn't it? A ship. A big sucker, big enough to be a liner, you know the kind I mean?"

"Yes," Cap answered excitedly. "I know the kind you mean. What happened next?"

"Well," Noxie said, more than a little drunk, "I thought my ass was saved. I thought they'd take me aboard, buy me dinner, and show me to a stateroom."

"And?" Cap asked, sensing where Noxie was going, and impatient to get there.

"And it was a drifter," Noxie answered dramatically. "A ghost ship. I was shit out of luck."

"Did you board her?"

Noxie shook her head. "No time. I was short on supplies remember? And it was spooky. No. I hauled butt."

"What did she look like?" Cap asked eagerly. "Can you describe her?"

Noxie finished a drink and wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve. "Why bother? Ain't a picture worth a thousand words?"

"You took a picture?" Cap asked, his heart in his throat. My God, after all these years, what if it was the
Star of Empire
?

"Hell yes," Noxie replied, fumbling around inside her jacket. "I've got it here someplace, wait a minute, here. Take a look at that."

As Cap took the crumpled holopix his hands trembled. Fighting back the effects of alcohol, Cap forced his eyes to focus and gave a grunt of satisfaction.

It was a ship all right, a big one, big enough to be the
Star of Empire.

Unfortunately the picture was slightly out of focus. Just enough to prevent absolute identification, but what the hell, given the vessel's size and shape it had to be the
Empire.

She was out there! Relatively undamaged and waiting for him to find her!

There was a tremble in Cap's voice as he asked the next question. "It looks interesting, Noxie, real interesting, a drifter sure enough. I don't suppose you took some bearings?"

A crafty look came over Noxie's face and Cap found himself wondering just how drunk she really was. "Suppose I did?

"Information like that would be worth money, lots of money, especially to someone in the salvage business. And that's you, isn't it, Cap? You're in the salvage business. In fact, I'll bet that you're captain of a salvage tug, and that's why they call you Cap."

Cap made no effort to deny it. Negotiations began. They lasted for the better part of an hour. Cap found Noxie to be a shrewd negotiator and nobody's fool. She knew Cap wanted the drifter, and wanted it bad. And having lost everything to the buster, she was determined to get everything she could.

So when the two of them shook hands Cap was broke. Noxie had all his money. She had
Junk's
operating budget for the next two months, electronically transferred from his account to hers,
plus
the crew's pay.

Cap felt sure they'd understand, and even if they didn't, he'd sweet-talk them into waiting a bit longer. After all, they knew he was a drunk, and drunks do irresponsible things.

So it was with a sense of triumph that Cap zipped the bearings into the inside pocket of his coat, hoisted one last drink with Noxie, and set out for the spaceport.

There was a spring in his step as he passed through the gates. He'd done a good piece of business, the
Star of Empire
was out there waiting for him, and he could still walk without assistance. Mel would be proud.

All landing fees were paid cash in advance, so it was a simple matter to wave his plastic receipt at a scanner, and make his way out onto the field. Lacking the money for a ground shuttle he walked toward the speedster.

It was about two miles out to the low-cost landing grids and the sun was hot. The combination of the heat and the alcohol made Cap's head swim.

The walk seemed to last forever, but finally he was there, climbing into the cockpit and entering his code.

The moment Cap hit the last digit a beeper went off accompanied by a flashing red light. There was a message waiting.

What now? Couldn't it wait until he came aboard?

Cap pressed a button, heard a moment of static, followed by Melissa's voice. His daughter's obvious desperation sobered Cap up faster than a bucket of cold water.

"Daddy! Pik was outside working in the trap. Willer came and did something horrible to him. Cy's got
Junk
's
control system torn apart and it'll be half an hour before he gets it back together.

"Cy says help's on the way, but I'm afraid they'll take too long, so I'm going after Pik myself. Daddy, I need your help but if you're sick, don't try to take off."

Cap swore, bypassed the normal start-up procedures, and went for emergency lift. The control tower was still screaming threats as the speedster screamed over the horizon and climbed toward space.

As heavy G's crushed Cap's chest and drove the blood from his brain, he could still hear her words: "Daddy, I need your help, but if you're sick, don't try to take off." Shame rolled over him like a wave and he cursed his own weakness.

Melissa bit her lip until blood came. What looked so easy when Lando did it was almost impossible for her. The tender seemed huge and awkward under her hands. It wallowed through turns, drifted to port and starboard, and punished her with flashing red lights. There were so many things to do, so many things to remember, and underlying it all the incessant tone from Lando's locator beacon.

Melissa couldn't tell whether Lando was alive or dead but his suit was functioning, and that gave her hope. She wasn't sure what Willer had done to Lando, but given the way the pilot's suit had accelerated out and away from the tender, it seemed as if the cyborg had clobbered him with a pressor beam.

Melissa tried to imagine what that would feel like. To be hit with a club so powerful it could move battleships, to be hurled into space, to be all alone.

Melissa shuddered. Well, she'd find him. She'd follow the locator signal to its source, get him into the lock, and… Tears began to flow.

What if Lando were dead? What if she'd killed him the same way she'd killed Lia? The thought was unbearable.

The tone was louder now, indicating she was closer. She could see it on the scanner screen, a flashing light that indicated electronic emissions, and a dwindling set of digits.

Melissa fumbled with the controls, started to fire retros, and remembered to dump power first. There… no, still too fast… fire the retros again.

Melissa's hair was wet with sweat as the tender slowed and matched speeds with Lando's suit. She'd done it! Releasing her harness, Melissa rolled up and out of her seat. Grabbing handholds, she raced for the lock.

A buzzer went off. Melissa stopped. The buzzer was part of the ship but the voice in her head belonged to Lando.

"A pilot never… repeat never… leaves the board without running a NAVCOMP sequence. There are three programs to choose from: auto run, auto standby, and auto shutdown. Each program…"

Melissa gave a little cry of frustration.

She turned, pulled herself back to the control room, and tapped some instructions into the NAVCOMP. The buzzer stopped, the tender's drive and control systems went over to standby, and Melissa heaved a sigh of relief. She gave a powerful kick and headed for the lock.