Drifter's War (7 page)

A faint "yes" came from off to the right, and Lando was just about to swim in that direction when another wave broke over him and dragged him toward the beach.

Fighting like a mad man, Lando struggled forward, clawed his way up the steeply shelving beach, and rolled over. His breath came in gulps. He looked right and left. Melissa. Where the hell was Melissa?

Then he saw it, over to the left, a flash of red as her life jacket was pulled under.

Jumping to his feet, Lando ran down the beach, angled out into the water, and dived toward the spot where he'd last seen her. His hands found her first. Slick fabric, a tangle of hair, and a wad of soggy clothing.

The smuggler grabbed the little girl under the armpits, pulled her up onto the beach, and fell backward into the sand. Melissa coughed, spit out some water, and fought to catch her breath.

"Melissa? Are you okay?"

Melissa smiled weakly. "Yes, I think so, but I lost Ralph."

Lando gave her a hug. "I'm sorry."

Melissa forced a smile. "That's okay. Ralph's a good swimmer. He'll make it."

Lando started to say something about buying her a new Ralph, caught himself, and nodded instead. "Right."

Lando got up, helped Melissa to her feet, and unbuckled her life jacket.

"Throw it into the surf."

"Why?"

Lando pointed toward the south. "Do you see the raft?"

Melissa nodded. "Sure, it's upside down."

Lando nodded. "Exactly. Looks like an accident, doesn't it?"

Melissa's face lit up. "I get it! They'll think we drowned!"

Lando shrugged. "We can hope anyway. Throw the jacket in and let's go."

Melissa threw the jacket as far as she could. The surf brought it back and dumped it at her feet.

Lando laughed and told her to leave it where it was. They walked hand in hand, careful to stay at the edge of the water, where the surf would erase their footprints. The mist had burned off and their clothes began to dry.

They had gone the better part of a mile before an ancient lava flow crept down across the beach to point a long black finger at the sea. The rock was difficult to walk on but made a nice hard highway on which their footprints wouldn't show. They were almost to the tree line when Lando caught the flash of reflected light.

He looked again and saw blue sea, brown beach, and, right there, something low and slow just above it. An air car! Searching for them!

Lando grabbed Melissa's arm. "They're here! Come on!" It was only fifty feet to the jungle but it felt like a mile. They plunged into the foliage and felt it close behind them. Lando turned to peer out.

The air car hummed as it moved down the beach. It was an open affair with an energy cannon mounted in the bow and racks of heat-seeking missiles to either side.

Both of the occupants were peering over the sides and looking down at the beach. One pointed in the direction of the raft and yelled something that Lando couldn't understand.

The air car banked in that direction and lost altitude. Good. The raft would keep them busy while Lando and Melissa put some distance between themselves and the beach.

It was a struggle to work their way through the undergrowth. Vines tore at their faces, moss-covered logs angled up to block their way, and leaves crowded in from every side.

They found a game trail eventually, and while it ran parallel to the beach, the going was so much easier that Lando couldn't resist using it. He went first with Melissa behind.

The jungle was both pleasant and scary at the same time. The sun came down through the canopy in gold streamers, bathing some plants in its magic glow, leaving others in almost total darkness. The air was sweet, heavy with humidity, and thick with insects. Finally, after two or three miles of twisting, turning trail, they came to a dirt road. It was a one-lane affair, cut through the area by parties unknown, already blurred by a blanket of green. Another year, two at the most, and it would disappear.

The road crossed the path at right angles and headed inland. To use it meant walking in the open, but to stay on the path meant going in the wrong direction.

Time was critical. Lando chose the road. He motioned to Melissa. "Come on, Mel, the road is just what we need. We'll make better time now."

Melissa looked doubtful. "I don't know, Pik, I'm getting kind of tired. Can we stop and rest for a while?"

Lando looked at Melissa and realized his mistake. If the jungle path had been difficult for him, it had been twice as hard for her. Melissa's hair was a tangled mess, there were cuts and scratches all over her face and arms, and her clothes were crusty with dried salt. Not only that, but her face was flushed with exertion, and she was breathing hard. Sweat covered her forehead.

Lando nodded. "You bet. We'll take five. Come on… let's get off the road."

Melissa followed Lando into the jungle. They collapsed beneath a huge tree. Vines had wound themselves around the massive trunk and disappeared upward.

Five minutes turned into ten and Lando realized that he was tired too. The warm air, the drone of the insects, all conspired to close his eyes. He thought about Della, wondered where she was, and what she was doing. He was asleep seconds later.

"Copy that, Roller One. I'm 4.2 miles up access road N-89. Nothing so far."

Lando came awake with a start. Melissa sat up, started to speak, but stopped when he put a finger to his lips.

There was a squawk followed by a jumble of words.

The voice sounded like it was only feet away. "I copy, Roller One. Follow N-89 to the beach and return. Over and out."

Lando moved quickly, trying to remain silent, but eager to see. He stopped and peered out through the foliage. The trooper wore a planetary guard uniform, light body armor, and a commo helmet.

Beyond him, grounded in the center of the road, was a Personal Combat Vehicle. Though little more than an armored antigrav sled, the PCV was transportation. The platform would do thirty or forty miles per hour and save them days of walking.

Lando felt his heart skip a beat as the trooper turned and walked straight toward him. Had the soldier seen something? No, his blast rifle remained where it was, slung over his shoulder and hard to reach.

The trooper stopped, unzipped his pants, and prepared to urinate. Lando grinned. Not quite as good as catching someone with their pants down, but almost as effective. The slug gun had been lost in the surf but the missile launcher was still strapped to his arm. Lando crashed through the bushes. "Hold it right there!"

The trooper didn't want to "hold it right there." He did his best to zip his pants and back up at the same time. He tripped and fell backward onto his blast rifle.

Lando couldn't see the trooper's face through the visor's reflective surface but he could imagine what it would look like. Surprise, mixed with embarrassment, and a good deal of fear. He pointed the missile launcher at the soldier's chest.

"Stand up. Leave the blast rifle where it is."

The trooper obeyed. "Wha…"

Was the helmet radio on or off? Lando made a cutting motion across his throat.

"Quiet! One more sound and you're dead."

The soldier nodded nervously. Lando moved forward. "Good. Now, stick your arms out straight." The trooper obeyed. Lando freed the blast rifle, released the safety, and backed away.

"Excellent. Now, take the helmet off."

The soldier released the chin strap and removed the helmet. He was young, no more than eighteen or nineteen, and very frightened. He had farm-boy cheeks and big round eyes.

Melissa's voice came from the jungle.

"Pik? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Lando yelled back. "Stay where you are. I'll call for you in a minute."

The smuggler made a jabbing motion with the blast rifle.

"Strip." The trooper removed his armor. His uniform followed. The boots came last.

Lando pointed toward the far side of the road. "Step over there."

The soldier refused to move, his eyes bright and lower lip trembling. Lando shook his head.

"You shouldn't believe everything you hear on the vidcasts. I haven't murdered anyone in weeks. I'll tie you up. In an hour, maybe two, you'll get loose and find your way home. Outside of some bug bites, and a good deal of ribbing from your friends, you'll be fine."

Somewhat reassured, the soldier crossed the road and started into the jungle.

"That's far enough," Lando said. "I'll leave you in plain sight in case one of your friends happens along. Hug that tree."

The trooper looked to see which tree Lando was referring to, wrapped his arms around it, and looked over his shoulder.

Lando gave him a reassuring smile. "Good. Now clasp your hands."

Lando used his belt and strips torn from his own shirt to tie the soldier's hands and bind his feet. He made the knots tight enough to hold for a while, but loose enough to allow for circulation and an eventual escape.

"There," Lando said, stepping back to inspect his handiwork. "That should hold you for a while. I'll leave your boots by the side of the road."

The younger man nodded, looked like he wanted to say something, but swallowed instead.

Lando returned to the middle of the road, retrieved the trooper's uniform, and stepped into the jungle. Melissa was waiting. She pointed toward the PCV.

"Will that carry both of us?"

The smuggler stripped down to his underwear. "That's the plan. Those things are built to carry combat gear plus a passenger when they have to. Wait by the PCV. I'll join you in a moment."

Lando emerged from the jungle five minutes later. He wore the trooper's uniform, had the blast rifle slung over a shoulder, and carried the commo helmet tucked under his arm.

"Well, what do you think?"

Melissa frowned and pretended to inspect him. "I think your pants are kind of short."

Lando grinned. "Yeah? Well, so are my sleeves. The uniform should pass at a distance though. Assuming you stay out of sight. Come on, let's get out of here."

Lando had Melissa step onto the PCV first. By sitting cross-legged on the floor she was able to scrunch herself into the small cargo compartment located in the forward part of the aircraft.

Lando had never flown a PCV before but figured it couldn't be that hard. The rather simple controls supported that conclusion.

There was a row of idiot lights, a throttle, an altimeter that topped out at a hundred feet, a turn and bank indicator, and an aircraft-type stick. When the operator pulled back, the aircraft went up; when the operator pushed forward, the aircraft went down; and when the operator moved the stick to the right or left, the PCV would turn in that direction.

Lando saw that the power was already on, the idiot lights were green, and the stick was centered in the neutral position. He winked at Melissa. "Hang in there, hon, and remember, it beats the heck out of walking."

The commo helmet was a tight fit. It activated itself the moment that Lando slipped it on. A steady babble of radio traffic filled his ears. What was the trooper's call sign anyway? And what about codes?

The smuggler thought about interrogating the trooper, decided time was more important, and pulled back on the stick. The PCV's antigrav units pushed it up into the air. The moment the altimeter registered fifty feet Lando brought the stick back to the neutral position and advanced the throttle. The aircraft moved slowly at first, gradually picked up speed, and maxed out at sixty mph.

After checking to make sure that there were no obstacles in his path, Lando looked over the side and saw the road passing below. He smiled. This was more like it!

The next fifteen minutes were rather pleasant. The warmth of the sun, the wind tugging at his clothes, and the sensation of speed made a nice combination. He even played with the PCV a little, snaking back and forth across the road until Melissa tugged on his trousers, and shook her head. The violent motion combined with her position on the floor was making her ill.

Lando flew straight and level after that and turned his attention to the countryside ahead. There should be some sort of arterial before too long, something he could follow toward Brisco City, and the spaceport beyond.

It appeared about five minutes later. It was a gleaming four-laner, relatively new, complete with the latest in computer-controlled guidance systems.

Rather than risk calling attention to himself Lando put the PCV down behind a clump of trees and took a look at the road. The smuggler had spent some time in Brisco City but knew very little about the outlying areas.

Melissa appeared like a gopher from its hole. Her head swiveled in every direction as she looked around.

A procession of computer-controlled driverless robo-haulers rolled by. They were big boxy things that consisted of a tractor-control unit and three trailers. They passed Lando at five-minute intervals.

There were smaller vehicles too, brightly colored ground cars mostly, with a scattering of light-duty vans and hover trucks woven in between. They treated the robo-haulers as moving obstacles, passing them with almost monotonous regularity, zipping in and out of the fast lane.

What Lando didn't see was military traffic of any kind. The PCV would stick out like a sore thumb. So much for his plan to ride the platform all the way in.

A voice broke through the murmur in his helmet. "Flyer Three, this is Roller One. Come in, Flyer Three."

Something, Lando wasn't sure what, told him that
he
was Flyer Three. The lack of response from anyone else seemed to confirm that notion.

The voice came again, a little annoyed this time and slightly more urgent. "Roller One, calling Flyer Three. Wake up, Flyer Three. Are you in position?"

Lando decided to take a chance. "Copy that, Roller One. This is Flyer Three. I'm in position."

"What's the problem, Three? You sound weird."

Lando tried to think and watch traffic at the same time. "Roller One." Was "Roller" a code name, or did it mean something? Roller, Roller, whoa! Roller as in truck? As in really
big
truck? As in some sort of PCV carrier?