The Stolen Future Box Set

by Brian K. Lowe

  “I would rather not, actually, if I had a choice.”

  She sniffed. “You and me both. But I didn’t have a choice. That’s what I’m getting to. I set down in that deserted city to do some hunting. We’d spotted the thunder lizards from the air, but I’m not into big game—I thought maybe I could bag a blood bat or a plains lion.”

  “Or a breen?”

  Maire shot me a look of utter horror. “Are you crazy? Not if I was shooting from up here. Anyway, to get to the point, somebody stole my shuttle and left me there.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. I was hunting alone—you know, big girl, big gun…big idiot—and somebody smacked me from behind. When I woke up my gun was gone. They left me my baton, for what it was worth. I was looking for shelter when the Vulsteen caught my trail, and that’s when you found me.”

  “Someone was trying to kill you.”

  “Uh-huh. I’ve been questioning the crew. The word got around that I’d gone missing. They mounted search parties, but they couldn’t look in the dark because of the animals. By the time they came back, the Vulsteen had caught up to us and we were underground. If they hadn’t spotted you eventually, they probably would have given me up for dead and left.”

  “So that was why you kept looking at the sky.”

  “Uh-huh. Whoever dumped me had to make a really good-looking search before they gave me up—even then my father would have had heads flying—but I was hoping I could get some idea what was going on if I could see them before they saw me.”

  I reached for the pitcher again and poured another drink. “But we spoiled your plans. What was that all about, anyway? Do your men often swoop out of the sky and kidnap unsuspecting passersby?” She gave me a puzzled look, as if my question were entirely unexpected. I had blundered into some kind of faux pas, and I scrambled to change the subject. “That reminds me,” I resumed quickly. “What happened to Harros? I know he was shot, but when I woke up in the dungeon I thought he’d be around.”

  The puzzlement on her face immediately gave way to grave concern. She walked over to one of the tapestries, and where I had thought would be only a wall I saw a room-sized alcove containing a large bed. On it lay Harros.

  He was unconscious, his breathing regular but shallow. As I grew nearer I could see a clear gelatinous substance clumped around his right temple, a plasm bandage. Technically alive, it formed over a wound, feeding on bacteria and impurities so that it cleansed at the same time as it closed cuts and supplied nutrients by being absorbed slowly into the body. Once the injury was healed, if the plasm had not been completely absorbed, it simply dried into a powder and fell away. A faint scar showed through the gel.

  “One of the men had his phase pistol set on high, unlike Durrn—the man who shot you. I don’t know if he was aiming for me and hit Harros by mistake, or if he tried to pull his shot… It only grazed him, but he almost died before we could get him back on board. With all those witnesses the killer couldn’t do anything but go along and follow my orders. So I know some of the crew is still loyal; I just don’t know which ones.”

  “Is he going to be all right?”

  “In a few days.” She nodded sadly. “I felt responsible, so I had him brought here. Now you know what I meant about rumors.”

  I knew what she meant, all right, but I suspected also what she was not saying. Impertinent as it seemed to me, Maire had our lives in her hands, and I needed to know what she intended to do about us—her concern so far being subsumed to all appearances by her own self-interest. So I choked back my manners and prepared to be rude.

  “It’s going to be rough on him when he has to give up that bed for the rowers’ quarters,” I said with simulated pity.

  “There’s plenty of time for that,” she replied brusquely. She took hold of the tapestry, giving me a meaningful look. We left Harros to sleep.

  “There’s something I have to know about you,” she said. Standing directly in front of me, in height she came almost to my nose. Her eyes were dark and direct, challenging. “Why are two Nuum and an ape prowling around deserted cities alone with no guns and no transport other than a crushed groundcar? Come to think of it, where did that ape come from?”

  Given the variety of humanoid mammals I had seen back in Vardan, I was surprised by the latter question, but as I could not answer it in any case, I ignored it and concentrated on the former. Harros and I had spent much time in the groundcar working on our story while the empty miles drifted by.

  “We were part of an infantry unit detailed to fight the natives at a research station in the jungle,” I said. “We came from Vardan on an airship. Most of the post was wiped out by the natives, but Harros and I escaped.”

  Her eyes widened, to my great appreciation. “You were at the research station? The entire Thoran newsnet talked about nothing else for a week!” I started to speak but she turned her back on me, pacing. Abruptly she turned again. “Escaped, huh? So where’d you pick up the ape?”

  Damn. She was not going to let it go. “He helped us get away. The natives had him caged up. We freed him and brought him along. He’s useful, times being what they are.”

  If she disbelieved a fraction of what I was telling her, she was a great actress, because she didn’t show it. She began pacing again, and stopped.

  “Garm tells me you’ve already taken over the Hold.” She waited for my reply, but since the answer was self-evident, I said nothing. After a moment she went on, conceding a point to me. “You have any idea what that means?”

  “As far as I can tell, it means that the next man you kidnap is probably going to try to pound my head in my sleep, so I should sleep with one eye open and the other half-closed.”

  “Well, yes…but more than that it means that it’s your job to keep that bunch of killers, thieves, and cradle-robbers in line—and keep them from killing each other. That’s your job as far as the rest of the crew is concerned, anyway—but I also need you. I need you to keep your eyes and ears open, to try to find out who’s with me and who’s against me.” Her voice softened and her eyes would have melted a Prussian regiment. “Will you help me, Keryl? You’ve already saved my life twice; you’re getting pretty good at it.”

  “And what about us? We weren’t sentenced here; when do we get to leave?”

  “You have a choice, my friend. You can either stay with me, or I can set you down at the next military outpost.”

  Chapter 37

  Conspiracy

  “I just can’t figure her out.” I had explained my conversation with Maire to Timash in low tones. I had to give him credit for keeping his surprise at her identity to himself.

  My friend shook his head in sympathy. “Women. They never change.”

  I glanced at him to see if he realized just what he had said, and the blank look on his face was too comical to resist. I started laughing and I could not stop. It took only a moment for Timash to see why, and he laughed until he was bent over with tears running down his face. While it may have owed its origin more to hysterical fatigue than real humor, our emotional release was real.

  Evidently laughter of any kind was not a common occurrence in the Hold. (I made a mental note to try to change the name of this place. It reminded me too much of the pit.) Those whose survival mechanism consisted of staying out of the way of their larger mates stole surreptitious looks of confusion our way, while their bolder comrades—in particular those who had formerly been allied with Skull—watched us with open disdain. One or two grinned wolfishly, perhaps believing that this existence had already worn away our sanity and openly awaiting their chance to regain the throne of the slaves.

  Our mirth exhausted, we leaned against each other for a moment until we regained our breath. I took the opportunity to whisper into Timash’s ear.

  “I’ve got to get out of here and search the ship. You stay here and keep order. You think you can handle it?”

  Very softly, he cracked his knuckles.

  No one challenged me
when I left, not that I had expected anyone to do so, but it still felt akin to sneaking into the dons’ kitchen for a midnight snack. Trying to adopt a purposeful attitude, I straightened my aching back but avoided making eye contact with any crewmen. It seemed to work: perhaps they simply assumed I had been summoned to the captain again—or perhaps word of what had befallen Skull had traveled above-decks: Even among the Nuum, I was a formidable physical specimen.

  I say this not in vanity, but simply as truth: As I had noticed soon after my arrival, the men of this age, whether through lack of physical labor, deliberate malnutrition, or simply evolution, were physically smaller than we of the 20th century. Even the Nuum, an alternate offshoot given generations of offworld development and access to better food and medicines, were smaller than I on the average. Harros was really the only Nuum I had known who rivaled my size, and I believe that I yet surpassed him in strength, although it had never come to a test.

  All this time I had been wandering the corridors at random while attempting to look as though I had a definite goal. That could not last forever. For one thing, I had my work shift soon, and I doubted my status as the captain’s pet rower would protect me from Garm if I missed my assignment. For another thing, someone was eventually going to ask me a question I could not answer, or find me in a restricted area, which would see me hauled back before Garm, if they didn’t simply toss me over the side.

  Garm had explained to us the first day, in his “orientation speech,” that a force field rose up from the hull on either side of the ship to a point about ten feet above the gunwale. Its purpose was to keep anyone from falling out accidentally (he made it very clear that “anyone” was defined as the captain and crew), should the airship encounter unexpectedly rough weather. He had further intimated that it would not prevent the purposeful exit of a man from the ship, provided he were “assisted” by Garm. Then he snapped his whip and screamed “Row!”

  Naturally I had carefully memorized each bend in every corridor and the placement of all the cross-passages I traversed, and so I set about to return to the Hold in complete confidence. Within five minutes I was totally lost; with the exception of the captain’s quarters and where I really needed to be, I had no idea where I found myself. A vision of Garm treating me to a panoramic view of the earth from five thousand feet in the sky was beating down the doors of my mind.

  Ahead of me stood one of the Dark Lady’s few obvious modern features, a lift for transporting heavy cargo and machinery from the deck to the holds, and vice versa. If I could reach the deck, I could find my way back to my berth—or just stay there, as my shift would doubtless begin soon. As long as I stayed out of Garm’s way he probably would not deign to notice me.

  Once more my confidence soared. Every elevator I had ever seen on Thora operated the same way—I was as good as home. I stepped on, pressed the button to go up—and felt my stomach rise to my throat as I was dropped further into the bowels of the great airship.

  There was no telling what was at the bottom of the shaft, but I needed no genius to know that rowers were not expected to be found there. My breath came shallowly as I waited for the car to halt; it was an express, and there were no controls for canceling its descent or stopping at another level. Finally it came to a gentle landing and the doors opened.

  In fact, the doors both before and behind me opened: the cargo lift was designed to be entered from either side. My hand, hovering on the button, froze when I heard a voice outside:

  “About time! Somebody should do something about the elevators on this tub.”

  “Leave it alone. The longer we take to get this regulator upstairs the longer till we get off.”

  I could not see either of the speakers; they were hidden behind a massive piece of machinery that was inching its way toward me. It would plainly fill the car. Quickly I tiptoed out and hid behind quietly humming heavy machinery until the doors closed once more.

  Trapped in the nether reaches of the Dark Lady, late for my rowing shift, and trespassing in restricted departments, it was the furthest thought from even my impulsive mind to stir out of sight from the lift shaft until I saw those doors open again and an empty car awaiting me. Even then I ran the risk of being seen as I emerged, but there was no help for it. I must think on my feet.

  It was, as I say, the furthest thought from my mind. Fate had other ideas: I was not alone.

  I heard more voices in the distance, sensed other minds communicating, but they were on the far side of the lift shaft, and I relaxed. As I could barely hear them, I assumed they were working at the other end of the compartment; even if they heard the elevator return they would not see me get inside. I crept back to the lift button and had my finger over it when I heard one man’s voice rise a bit above the others, and another quickly shushed him.

  My “impulsive” mind took over. Whatever they were talking about, they wanted no one else to hear.

  Drifting silently down neat rows of the identical humming machines, I satisfied in passing one curiosity: According to a warranty panel I saw in route, these huge devices were the anti-gravity motors that kept us all from making a big hole in the clouds. The Library had seen fit to give me only the loosest possible definition of their theory, so I had been inclined to dismiss them, much like the airplanes of my own age, as a convenient fantasy as long as they worked. If they ever stopped working, I would have wings to fly by myself ere very long.

  The voices had resumed, and now that I had an idea of their location, I was able to hear their words with relative ease. The trouble was, their thoughts, forming the bulk of their conversation, were completely hidden.

  I wondered if the anti-gravity motors’ strong radio-fields interfered with thought transmission; the fact that the conspirators had chosen this spot to make their plans certainly lent credence to my theory. It was damnable luck, since my brain structure rendered my own thoughts practically invisible unless I wished otherwise, which meant under other circumstances I could have eavesdropped from scant yards away with little or no risk of discovery. But to lurk too closely courted disaster should they suddenly decide to break off their meeting and turn a corner right into me.

  On the chance that the interference might be lessened if I could get alongside the radio-fields rather than amongst them, I sought out the bulkhead. I found some improvement, but not enough. I realized with disgust I would have to be outside the ship before I had any chance to “overhear” them.

  Suddenly I squinted at a spot a few yards ahead of me on the bulkhead. I thought I saw door in the wall: it turned out to be a maintenance hatch. Attached to a cleat bolted to the bulkhead was a stout rope and harness. The door, designed to be used under emergency conditions, was manually operated. I donned the harness, slipped open the door and let myself out.

  Bracing my feet against the ship, I slid the door closed as far as I could. As aircraft go, sky-barges are quite ponderous; the wind was no more than I could easily handle, nor did I think the breeze would alert the men inside, shielded from it as they were by the boxy generators. And even though my ears were now useless, I could understand almost every word they broadcast.

  “—night,” one of them was saying. I did not know the crew well enough to distinguish their “voices,” so their identities remained a mystery. But if I could just divine their plans…

  “What about the rowers?”

  “What about them?”

  “I mean the ones that came on board with her. The Nuum’s already sent Skull down to the mat, and what’s goin’ on with that ape-thing? I ain’t never seen nothin’ like him before.”

  Several others joined in agreeing with his last comment. Perhaps bringing Timash with me had been a mistake after all. I needed anonymity, and he prevented that on sight. No—without him I’d be dead already. For better or worse, he was along for the ride.

  “Never mind them,” the first man, apparently the ringleader, answered. “It’s under control. If they get in the way…” I suddenly caught that over-the
-side image once more. In my present position, it was quite uncomfortable. “That’s it. Let’s get topside before somebody gets suspicious.”

  “Say, wait a second,” one of his henchmen objected. “How do we know Farren is going to pay us when the job is done?”

  I almost lost my grip on the rope.

  His boss chuckled. “You see this ship?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s how we’re gettin’ paid. When the job’s done, we send Farren a note. We don’t see him, he don’t see us. He ain’t even worried we’re gonna finger him, ‘cause who’d believe us? Instead we take this sweet little crate way up north somewhere, change a few registrations, and she’s ours. To do with what we please.”

  “Like what?”

  “You’d be surprised. You will be, if you don’t get your backside moving and I toss you over the side!”

  That broke up the meeting in a hurry. I hung there a long time waiting for them all to take the lift and disperse. Farren! What had he to do with Maire? Why did he want her dead? And who were the plotters scurrying about the ship awaiting the order to do his bidding? I was to discover the answer to this last question rather sooner than I expected and far sooner than I would have liked.

  As I reached for the hatch to haul myself back inside, it suddenly swung open to reveal the toothy grin of Porky, the pilot who had flown Durrn’s shuttle.

  “Ah ha!” he laughed. “I thought I felt a breeze in there! And lookee here, they always said you couldn’t do no fishing from a sky-barge! I guess they didn’t have the right kind o’ hook!”

  His knife flashed in the sun, blinding me as it fell.

  Chapter 38