Mutiny (7 page)

Cole climbed back onto solid ground, and in another five minutes he was finally off the mountain, or at least onto the vegetation-covered foothills. He knew that Pinocchio was to the northeast, probably two hundred miles or more, and he also knew he was a marked man. He couldn't simply walk two hundred miles in the open, not if the Bortellites had made as many inroads as he suspected. Besides, he was exhausted, and except for the stuff they'd tried to feed him in the afternoon, he hadn't eaten in more than twenty-four hours. His first needs were food and shelter; Pinocchio could wait.

This was an empty quarter, but Rapunzel wasn't an unpopulated or undeveloped world. There had to be roads. The problem was that they might be twenty or thirty or fifty miles away—and even if they weren't, even if there was one within a mile, he wouldn't be able to spot it for hours, until the sun rose again.

There also had to be rivers flowing out of the mountains. A range this size would doubtless give birth to a major one, perhaps two or three. But the range was almost a thousand miles long, and he didn't know where the rivers were.

He decided that his best bet was to walk to where the dammed-up stream came out—after all,
some
of it had to get through, or he'd have found himself in a lake when he reached the blockage. Then he'd follow it on the assumption that if any humans lived out this way, prospectors, fishermen, whatever, they'd want to be near a source of water.

It took him about eight minutes to find the stream, and then he began walking alongside it. Suddenly his surroundings became a bit brighter, and he realized that Rapunzel's two moons were now overhead and reflecting off the water. The moons were moving rapidly through the sky. He decided to make the most of the minimal light they provided, and he broke into a trot. He felt he'd covered about four miles when the moons disappeared over the horizon, one right after the other, and he slowed his pace, fearful of twisting or breaking an ankle in the darkness.

After another mile the stream was joined by a bigger, broader stream, and became a small river. Cole realized that he was near the limit of his physical endurance, so he looked around for a log, found one, and carried it into the river. He had hoped to straddle it and ride it like a long-extinct horse, but he couldn't adjust his weight properly and it kept shooting out from under him. Finally he settled for stretching out behind it and letting it pull him downstream.

He rode the river until sunrise. Every now and then he'd fall asleep. Then his face would hit the water and he'd wake up, coughing and choking, and desperately trying not to lose his hold on the log. He had no idea exactly how far he'd come. The mountain seemed to be about twenty miles behind him, but the river wasn't running a straight course, so he might have traveled much farther.

He now faced another decision: Was he less likely to be spotted
on
the water or walking beside it? He was still considering his options when he nodded off yet again, and this time he breathed in so much water that he had to go ashore to clear his lungs. He decided he didn't want to plunge back into the cold water and realized that he couldn't go much farther, that he had to get some sleep. He looked around, saw a stand of shoulder-high shrubbery about fifty yards away, trudged over to it, lay down with the shrubbery shielding him from the river, and was asleep almost before his head hit the ground.

He didn't know how long he slept, but when he awoke he didn't feel especially well rested. For a moment he couldn't figure out why he woke up with the sun still high in the sky; he had assumed after his experiences of the past thirty-six hours that he'd probably sleep until nightfall.

Then he realized what had awakened him. He was being prodded with the barrel of a sonic rifle.

"Who the hell are you?" said a gruff voice.

Cole sat up and tried to focus his eyes. "Where am I?" he asked groggily.

"I'm asking the questions here. Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"Just give me a second to get my bearings," said Cole.

"You look pretty torn up. Where's your outfit?"

"My outfit?" repeated Cole.

"You're wearing a military uniform. Well, what's left of one, anyway."

"My ship's light-years from here," answered Cole.

"You're a one-man invasion party, are you?"

Cole finally looked up at the man who was speaking. He was middle-aged, on the slim side, his clothes expensive but well-worn, his (ace in need of a shave.

"I'm a one-man escape party," said Cole at last.

"From the mountain? I saw a bunch of Bug-Eyes working up there."

"Bug-Eyes?"

"Bortellites."

"Yeah, that's where I came from."

The man reached down and helped him to his feet. "Some of those cuts and gouges look pretty deep," he said. "Come on back to my cabin and we'll get you patched up."

"You live out here?"

The man shook his head. "No. I just get away whenever I can for some serious fishing."

"Do you deafen them first?" said Cole, indicating the sonic rifle.

"You never know what you'll run into up here," replied the man. "Devilcats, Bug-Eyes"—suddenly he smiled—"even escapees. You got a name?"

"Wilson Cole."

"Very funny," said the man without smiling. "Now how about your real one?"

"I just gave it to you."

"You expect me to believe that someone like Wilson Cole would come to a little backwater world like Rapunzel? Let's see some ID."

"The Bortellites took it from me."

"Well, whoever the hell you are, if you're running from them, I'll help you all I can. My name's Carson Potter. Pleased to meet you." He extended his hand, and Cole shook it.

"Where's this cabin of yours?"

"About a mile."

"I don't suppose you have a subspace radio there?"

"Now, what the hell would I be doing with a subspace radio in a fishing cabin?"

"I've got to get to Pinocchio," said Cole. "Can you take me there?"

"Once we get you patched up," said Potter. "Going to contact your ship?"

Cole shook his head. "My ship wouldn't go an inch out of its way for me. I've got a captain who won't bend a regulation and a first officer who makes the captain look like a flaming radical."

"Hit the dirt!" said Potter urgently. "Here comes one of their shuttles."

"Keep walking," said Cole, waving his hand at the shuttle.

"You got a death wish?" retorted Potter. "I have to think they're not after
me."

"We can't hide from their sensors, so we might as well not try. If we keep walking and give them a friendly wave, we're a couple of hunters or fishermen. If we try to hide, we're insurgents."

"You sound like you've had some experience at this sort of thing."

"A little."

"Are you
really
Wilson Cole?"

"I told you I am."

"Then what the hell are you doing out here on the Rim? All the big battles are being fought halfway to the Core."

"I go where I'm ordered," answered Cole.

"Well, damn it, if they order someone like Wilson Cole to go out to the Rim, I don't have a lot of confidence in the brainpower of who-ever's running this goddamned war."

"Welcome to the club," said Cole.

They reached the top of a ridge, and suddenly a small cabin came into view.

"There it is," said Potter. "It doesn't look like much on the outside, but it's livable—and I've got a medical kit." He glanced at Cole. "When was the last time you ate?"

"It's been a while."

"I hope you like fish."

"I hate fish."

Potter shrugged. "Have it your way. I hope you like starving."

"How do we get to Pinocchio from here?"

"I've got a small aircar out behind the cabin. I can have us there in two hours."

"Good."

"That's two hours after I start, not two hours from now. First I'm going to patch you up as best I can and give you a chance to develop a taste for God's finny creatures."

"My wounds and my appetites can wait till we get to Pinocchio," said Cole.

"You don't want to get an infection on this world," said Potter. "Your body doesn't produce the right antibodies to fight it off until you've had some specialized vaccinations, and I'd be willing to bet you haven't had 'em."

"Two hours won't make that much difference."

"It won't take that long to patch you up, and I ain't going down in the history books as the man who let Wilson Cole die," said Potter adamantly. "Even if you're just
a
Wilson Cole and not
the
Wilson Cole."

"All right," said Cole as they reached the cabin. "Let's get it over with and get the hell out of here."

"Take off your tunic while I get out the kit," said Potter, opening the door and entering the cabin.

Cole followed him in. There was a large state-of-the-art holoscreen, an airsled that doubled as a bed, two leather chairs and one made of some alien hardwood, and a kitchen with unique appliances that could gut, scale, and cook a fish without any human ever having to touch it. He decided that what made it rustic was its size and location, not its conveniences.

"The exterior is a little misleading," remarked Cole. "This place must have cost you a bundle."

"I had a bundle to spend," replied Potter. "My wife died five years ago, and both my daughters were killed in the Battle of Diablo III."

"In the service, or civilians?"

"One of each."

"From everything I've heard, that was a disaster."

"It sure as hell was for my bloodline," said Potter. "Anyway, now I've got no one to spend it on except me." He opened the kit. "Sit down and let me assess the damage."

Potter began spraying and patching various wounds, some of which Cole hadn't even known he possessed. After about ten minutes he told Cole to put his tunic back on.

"How about your legs and hips?" asked Potter. "Any serious wounds?"

"A couple of cuts."

"I hate strong silent types. Pull your pants off and let me take a look." Cole hesitated. "Take 'em off. I'm going to medicate you, not grab you."

Cole pulled his pants off.

"That's one hell of a wound on your hip," said Potter. "How'd you get it?"

"Sliding down the mountain in a stream."

"Didn't anyone ever tell you mountain streams are full of rocks?"

"Yeah, but mountain paths are full of armed Bortellites. At least,
this
mountain's paths."

"What the hell are they doing on Rapunzel anyway? One day we'd never seen a Bug-Eye, and suddenly we turn around and there are hundreds of 'em, maybe thousands. Damned arrogant bastards, too. I sure as hell don't remember anyone inviting them."

"They've got an energy-poor planet. I think they're here to swipe some from yours."

"Swipe? You mean buy?"

"I meant what I said."

"That sounds like an act of war to me."

"We
are
at war."

"Not with them," said Potter. "They're neutral."

"Not anymore," replied Cole. "They joined the Teroni Federation a week ago."

"And you're here to throw 'em off the planet?"

"You see anyone with me?" asked Cole with an ironic smile.

"We'll pass the word and throw 'em off ourselves," said Potter.

Cole shook his head. "They've got a warship parked on the other side of the planet that could destroy Rapunzel in seconds."

"Then what are we supposed to do?" demanded Potter. "Just sit around and let them run roughshod over us?"

"I'm working on it."

"Looks like
they've
been working on
you"
said Potter. He finished working on the hip and turned his attention to Cole's left shin, then the right knee and ankle. Finally he stood up. "Okay, you won't die before you get to Pinocchio. Not from
these
wounds, anyway."

"Let's go."

"You're sure you don't want something to eat?"

"I don't like fish." Pause. "You got a beer?"

"I don't drink."

"Then, like I said, let's go. Take the rifle with you. Have you got a second gun?"

"Got a burner, but it's in the shop," answered Potter. "It was draining power from the battery pack, and I couldn't figure out why."

"All right. We'll make do with what we've got." Cole walked out the door and circled the cabin, then came to a stop in front of a small aircar. "You think
that
can carry both of us?" he asked dubiously.

"It carried me and a five-hundred-pound horndevil to the taxidermist in Pinocchio."

"I'm sure it did," said Cole. "I'm also sure you tied the horndevil to the hood."

"You've been spending too much time in space," said Potter, getting into the vehicle. "Watch."

He uttered a command, and the left side of the vehicle suddenly transformed itself into a sidecar. "Hop in and we'll be on our way."

"I never saw one of these before," admitted Cole.

"I'm surprised your military vehicles don't all have 'em."

"We don't do much fighting on the ground."

"You also don't do much fighting on the Rim. Do you plan to change that?"

"It's not up to me," answered Cole as the aircar began skimming two feet above the ground. "I just go where they send me."

"Then what's all this crap about you don't fight on the ground and you only go where they send you? You're
here
, aren't you?"

"Let me qualify that," said Cole. "I just go where they
should send
me."

"Now,
that
sounds more like the Wilson Cole I've heard about," said Potter. "What are you going to do when you get to Pinocchio? Lead a revolt?"

"And get fifty thousand Men killed? Don't be silly."

"Well, then, what
do
you plan to do?"

"Hide."

"You could have hidden at my cabin."

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"But you didn't want to," continued Potter. "There's something in Pinocchio you want. You're joining up with some secret force, right?"

Cole shook his head. "You've been reading too much cheap fiction. I told you: all I'm going to do is hide."

"There's a huge cache of weapons in Pinocchio," guessed Potter.

"If there is, I don't know anything about it."

"If you're not going to fight," said Potter, "what the hell are you doing here?"

"Running away from the enemy."

"Okay, it's a secret plan and you don't trust me," said Potter in hurt tones. "I can accept that."

"Look," said Cole. "I don't have any secrets from anyone. When we get to Pinocchio I'm going to send one radio message—-"

"To the Fleet?"

"No, it'll be to someone on the planet. Then I'm going to make a vidphone call, and then I'm going to find some place to hide."

"For how long?"

"Not very."

"Then what?"

"Then, if things go the way they should, I'll rejoin the
Theodore Roosevelt
and go back on patrol."

"You're on the
Roosevelt
?" said Potter. "You must have got someone pretty high up really mad at you."

"A lot of someones," replied Cole wryly.

"I'll start pointing out the sights to you as soon as there are some," offered Potter. "But the landscape stays like this for another forty miles or so."

"That being the case," said Cole, "I think I'll shut my eyes and take a little nap. Wake me when there's anything interesting to see."

"You got it."

It seemed to Cole that he had only closed his eyes for a few seconds when he felt Potter gently shaking him by the one section of his right arm that wasn't covered with cuts and bruises.

"We're there."

"Where?" asked Cole, blinking his eyes rapidly. "Is there something to see?"

"We're in Pinocchio," said Potter. "You look like you needed the sleep."

Cole looked around and found that they were in the center of town, surrounded by office buildings for two or three blocks in each direction.

"Where's the nearest subspace sending station?" he asked.

"Almost all these big buildings have one," said Potter. "Take your choice."

They got out of the aircar, and Cole walked into the closest building.

A robotic doorman directed him to the subspace station, where a white-haired woman looked up from her desk as he approached.

"Good afternoon," said Cole. "I want to send a message."

"Booth Three is empty. Just walk into it, wait until it matches your thumbprint and retina against your credit account, and then tell it where you want your message to go."

"This is military business," said Cole.

"Fine. Show me your ID and we'll charge the government."

"I don't have any ID with me."

"Then you'll have to pay."

"I'm in uniform."

"I can buy a much better uniform down the street, and I've never been in the military"

Suddenly Potter spoke up. "It's all right," he said. "You can bill my account."