Where the Ships Die (33 page)

A tech lowered the
Willie's
umbilical to the tug, watched critically while the smaller vessel hauled it to the buoy, and delivered a thumbs-up when the connection was made. It cost less to buy shore power than to run the ship's reactor, an economy Jord was determined to capture. Plus, there were maintenance procedures that required them to power down.

No sooner were those arrangements made than a veritable armada of water taxis, food scows, makeshift rafts, and other rickety craft headed out toward the ship, each loaded to the gunwales with sales beings, con artists, tax collectors, and other assorted riffraff. Captain Jord wasn't about to allow such unsavory individuals aboard his ship, and posted guards bow and stern.

None of this was apparent to Marshals Rollo Drekno-Hypont III and Pilo-Horlon-Torx. They had been hard at work ever since the ship entered New Hope's system and, thanks to their diligence, had amassed an interesting set of facts.

It seemed Dorn Voss had been expelled from school for nonpayment of tuition and had disappeared shortly thereafter. This was news that came as a shock to his sister, who blamed herself, and sank into a deep depression. Then the next message arrived, suggesting that the younger Voss was alive, and being held in a forced labor camp. This was information obtained by following Orr's agent rather than arresting her.

Natalie, just released from her watch station, was overjoyed yet worried nonetheless. She made her case while the crew members released Rollo from his safety harness. "So, given what we know, I suggest we notify the police, go to this horrible place, and set my brother free."

Rollo thanked the crew people and treated Natalie to what any member of his race would have recognized as an expression of pained bemusement. "Your anxiety and eagerness do you credit. Any being having parents capable of multiple bir-things would be fortunate to possess a sibling such as yourself. However, much as Torx and I might like to take the actions that you suggest, we are unable to do so. Not immediately, in any case. The Confederacy was built on compromises ... not the least of which concerned matters of jurisdiction. We believe your brother is a material witness to criminal activity. However,
believing
is one thing, and
proving
is another. We need proof to force the sort of tactics that you recommend."

"So, my brother rots while you do nothing?" Natalie demanded angrily. "Not while I'm around!"

"We beg to differ," Rollo replied reasonably. "I think you'll agree that Torx and I have been rather active up till now, and I can assure you that we have no intention of slacking off. In fact, if memory serves me correctly, it was we who summoned
you,
not the other way around. Next, it's our duty to notify you that the sort of unilateral action you mentioned will land you in jail. Questions?"

Torx, who had been a bystander up till now, nodded his agreement and tapped a message into Rollo's side.

Natalie scowled, started to say something really unpleasant, then thought better of it. "I'm sorry, Rollo. I know you and Torx are doing everything you can. I was out of line. The rules are frustrating, that's all. Is there anything I can do?"

"Yes," the Dromo replied soberly, "there is. I prefer to swim ashore. Members of my species look quite absurd riding about in boats. Please open the cargo hatch and step out of my path."

Natalie remained where she was. "Can I go with you?"

"Do you know how to swim?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. Torx abhors contact with the water and prefers to be lowered onto my back. You can take his place."

Natalie tried to imagine what it would be like to climb aboard the alien's back and dive three stories into a badly polluted bay. She didn't care for the images that came to mind, but couldn't refuse. Not if she wanted to go along. She forced a smile. "I'd be honored."

It required no particular courage to open the hatch and ride Rollo to the door. The next part was scary, however. Especially when the marshal backed up until his hindquarters touched the bulkhead, charged across the hold, and launched himself into the air. The ancient war cry, delivered on the way down, was an obvious afterthought.

Natalie saw a blur, felt air rush by her face, and gasped when they hit. The impact threw her into the water, and she started to sink, but fought her way to the surface. It required three attempts before she was able to reclaim her position on Rollo's back. Once aboard, she surveyed the damage.

The marshal's belly flop, the most impressive such maneuver ever witnessed in Oro's harbor, had generated considerable chaos. Dozens of people had been soaked by the spray, a vegetable scow had overturned, and waves still rolled toward shore. Rollo, who fancied himself as something of an athlete, looked back over his shoulder. "Quite exhilarating, eh? Come, let's collect Torx, and be on our way. There's work to do."

The Dromo turned, churned his way through a sea of still-bobbing vegetables, and approached the ship. It rose huge and black before them. Suddenly Natalie realized where she was and what she was doing—riding an alien law officer through the waters of a distant planet! It was the sort of adventure she'd imagined as a child, and though she knew she shouldn't be happy, not while her brother was missing, she was.

The message arrived while Myra was scrubbing the kitchen floor. It came via one of the servant children, her hands still grubby from cleaning vegetables. The words tumbled from her mouth. "Myra! I have a message for you! From the camp!"

Myra straightened, brushed a wisp of hair from her eyes, and took a quick look around. The kitchen was empty, or seemed to be, although experience had taught her that in a house filled with people, appearances could be and often were deceiving. "Softly, dear... the walls have ears."

The little girl nodded and glanced around as if searching for wall-mounted ears. "Sorry ... I forgot."

"The message?" Myra said gently, her heart beating a little bit faster. It was from Dorn. It had to be from Dorn. "A girl brought it. Her name is Dee Dee. She says Dorn was hurt... but feels better now. He's in trouble and the guards are searching for him. He wants to see you. Dee Dee will lead the way."

Many thoughts chased each other through Myra's mind. She remembered Dorn telling her about Dee Dee, and the alien they lived with, so that part made sense. The fact that he was hurt was worrisome and gave rise to a variety of questions: How serious were his injuries? Who, if anyone, was caring for him? And what about their escape plan? Could he travel? And trouble ... what sort of trouble? There were various possibilities, none of them good, but Myra would have bet what little bit of metal she had that the
Mary Voss
played some sort of role in the trouble. Excitement danced in the little girl's eyes. "Will you go? Well, will you?"

Myra was still on her knees. She took the child by both arms. "Maybe, I don't know. Now listen, Nadi, don't breathe a word of this to anyone, not to anyone. Not even your mother. Understand?"

Nadi nodded solemnly. "Yes, Myra, I understand."

"Good," Myra said gently. "I stashed a cookie in the usual place. Take it and get back to work. Fimbre will make his rounds soon."

The little girl smiled, retrieved the cookie from behind a broken pot, and scurried out the door. Myra returned to scrubbing. The decision was easy. If Dorn wanted her, she would go. Even though it meant sacrificing a relatively privileged position and subjecting herself to danger. The only questions were how and when.

Honley was a seaport approximately two hundred miles south of Oro. Though the smaller and less populated of the two cities, it was more than adequate for Carnaby Orr's needs. He watched the last of the toughs board via the main hatch and head for the lounge. Perhaps one in fifty had even
seen
a spaceship before. Mouths hung open and heads turned as they surveyed the metal-rich surroundings. They were a scurvy lot, and the very thought of allowing them to ride in the yacht's salon would have driven his wife crazy—assuming she could be any crazier than she already was.

Anyway, who cared what the musclebound idiots did to the decor? So long as he took possession of the Mescalero Gap and the leverage that went with it. Orr's greatest fear was that he'd find Dorn Voss only to discover that the kid didn't have the faintest idea where the coordinates were. The industrialist strapped himself into his seat, ordered everyone else do likewise, and took the controls. Lawson, not looking forward to what would happen next, tried not to care.

Repellors roared, steam flared, and the ship staggered into the air. Once aloft, the industrialist turned the yacht on its own axis, aimed her bow toward the open sea, and took her out. His repellors tore a fishing boat in half and he didn't even notice. The camp was less than an hour away by air and Orr was expected for dinner, a rather boring prospect but necessary nevertheless. The ship accelerated, pushing the passengers back into their seats. They tried to look tough. Some succeeded.

Seleen had made a study of Myra and knew the servant girl was up to something the moment she appeared. The occasion was lunch. Myra was one of two servers, and she performed flawlessly. So well, in fact, that the very perfection of it drew Seleen's attention to the excitement in Myra's eyes and the energy around her. Something was up all right, and the something was Mr. Dorn Voss. Nothing else made sense.

Seleen had listened while her father described the wreck master's murder to her mother. His narrative included the fact that the primary suspect was a worker named Dorn Voss. Her father had a low opinion of Castor, that was clear. But he was still concerned. There had been riots in the past, horrible riots, and a murder, successfully carried out, could trigger them again.

Seleen nearly spoke then, nearly told her parents all she knew, but couldn't bring herself to do it. Yes, the information she provided would almost certainly get Dorn Voss out of trouble, or lessen it at least, but what then? He'd go free, the servant girl would win, and she would lose. A nearly unthinkable outcome.

No, there had to be a better way, a means by which she could bond with Dorn, and use the relationship to reach the next level of intimacy. He wanted her the same way all men wanted her, was good-looking in a rough-and-ready sort of way, and theoretically rich. What more could any girl desire? Especially if the relationship took her away from this house, this peninsula, this entire planet. Myra appeared to Seleen's left and proffered a pitcher of ice-cold tea. "A refill, miss?"

Seleen checked to make sure that her parents were engaged in one of their interminable private conversations and kept her voice intentionally low. "So, how's our friend? Well, I trust?"

The other girl's reaction told Seleen everything she needed to know. The fear-filled eyes, the half-bitten lip, and the suddenly shaking hands. Myra knew where Dorn was or knew how to find out. Seleen smiled and waved the pitcher away. "No, thank you. I have what I need."

Sharma's guards arrived at approximately three in the afternoon. They'd been through the area twice before and it seemed as if they'd never give up. One of them banged on the door with his truncheon. "Security! Open up!"

"Coming! I'm coming, damn it."

Dorn listened to the floorboards creak as Sandro made his way across the room above. The wood vendor and his wife were the third set of people to give him shelter. All had one thing in common: Their lives had been enriched by an alien named La-So. The door opened and Dorn blinked as light sliced down through the boards and made a path across his face. Dust motes drifted through the air, and the voices were muffled. "Torly, turn this place upside down. You, what's your name?"

"Vitrus Alexander Sandro."

Dorn flinched as boots thumped over his head and moved toward the rear of the shack. Mrs. Sandro said something unintelligible. Something crashed as Torly tipped it over. The first guard put a finger against the wood lot owner's chest and pushed. Sandro took a half-step backwards. "We're looking for a murderer. His name is Voss. Dorn Voss. He bought wood from you."

Dorn, his eye no more than an inch from the crack, saw Sandro shrug. "I sell wood to hundreds of people. I know some better than others."

"And Dorn Voss? Did you know him?"

"No more than the others. Who did he kill?"

"Wreck Master Castor."

"Too bad. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Boots clomped toward the front of the house. Torly appeared, chewing on one of Mrs. Sandro's locally famous biscuits. "I didn't find nothin', Hank... I suppose they're clean."

"And see that you stay that way," the first guard said ominously, subjecting Sandro to another finger attack. "We'll be around."

The door closed, the light disappeared, and Sandro swore: "Pigs."

Dorn grinned and winced as he lay back on the makeshift bed. It was important to rest while he could. After Jana carried him up from the beach, La-So had pumped him full of blood volume expanders, closed the puncture wound, and stuffed a handful of antibiotics down his throat. He felt better now, a lot better, but didn't know what to do. He couldn't stay, not with the guards looking high and low, but he couldn't run. Not unless Myra's plan was ready. Her letters, each smuggled out via the children who ran errands for Chef Fimbre, were full of hope. Dorn imagined how the truck would slow as it passed through the slums, how he would jump aboard, and Myra would pull him in. It was easy to imagine her eyes, lips, and body. Sleep followed.

It wasn't every day that an enormous alien, with still another alien riding its back, and a human thrown in for good measure, swam in from a spaceship, bid a fisherman good day, and waddled up a heavily used boat ramp. Once Rollo gained the top of the embarcadero, it was necessary for him to push his way through the steadily growing crowd. Natalie, still damp from her immersion, sat behind a bone-dry Torx. She used halting touch-code to tap a message into his shoulder. "Where going we?"

The Treeth reached back, touched her calf, and responded in kind. She had long since learned that it was easier to read the code than send it. "One of our agents was murdered. His backup, a woman known as Rikki, saw what happened, but couldn't intervene. She was too far away. The perp, a professional bodyguard employed by Carnaby Orr, was allowed to remain at liberty. We will meet with Rikki and hear what she has learned."