by Jake Elwood
Cassie brought her heels up to her buttocks, pushed down with her feet, and bucked her hips. He was on top of her, and he bounced upward. A sideways twist of her hips shoved him onto his side, and she rose to her knees, one hand lobbing a rock at his face, the other hand drawing her pistol.
He didn't try to get up, just swung his top leg. The kick slammed into her shoulder and she fell, the pistol clattering onto the ore. For a bad moment she found herself staring down at the ground rushing by beneath her. Then he grabbed a fistful of her cloak and hauled her back.
His other arm was pinned beneath him. It was a momentary advantage that wouldn't last, and Cassie capitalized on it. She grabbed a chunk of ore and brought her hand looping around, curving over the arm that held her cloak, and connected with the side of his jaw. He grunted, and she rose, wriggling out of her cloak. He made a groggy attempt to sweep her legs out from under her, before an east-bound ore car came rushing in on the upper rail.
Cassie leaped, her hands closed on the top of the car, and her body was yanked sharply to the side. One hand tore loose, and she hung by the other hand, feeling her fingers slip along the slick metal. The car with her blond attacker was left far behind as she hung there, trying desperately not to fall.
The car she hung from was quickly overtaking another car on the lower rail. With only seconds before her hand would inevitably slip, Cassie chose her moment as carefully as she could and let go.
Her feet hit the edge of the lower car, the difference in velocity sent her tumbling, and she fell past the front of the car. One hand caught the edge, her body swung, and her aching, abused fingers finally gave out. Cassie did her best to go limp in the final instant before she hit the ground, and luck was with her. She hit nothing but bare dirt, bounced once, and came to a halt.
She was still lying there, aching all over, waiting for the breath to come back into her lungs, when an ore car on the lower track came sliding up. Without warning, the blond man rolled over the side and dropped to the ground beside her. She was starting to rise when he kicked her hard in the chest. She flopped back, wheezing, and he knelt on her left arm. She heard a metallic click as a cuff locked into place.
He was trying to flip her over when she finally started to fight back. He was quick, and quite strong, and he pinned both her arms in short order. She was still on her back with her legs free, and she swung both legs up, locking them around his neck. He grabbed at her knees, digging for the pressure point just above the kneecap. That freed her arms. She scrabbled across the ground, looking for a rock, a dropped lump of ore, anything she might use for a weapon. He had a gun on his hip, but he was a professional. There was no way his gun wouldn't be locked to his handprint.
She glanced at his torso, looking for a weak point, and her eyes widened. Her own pistol was shoved into his waistband. She didn't try to pull it out, just shoved the dial over to stun, hooked her thumb through the trigger guard, and pulled the trigger.
He cried out as the stun bolt sank into his leg, then slumped forward. He was conscious, his arms still functional, and he reached for her. He grabbed for her wrist and caught the dangling handcuff instead. He reached for her elbow with his other hand, and she drove her whole body toward him, tipping him onto his back. She sprawled on top of him, her arm still trapped, and used her free hand to drag her pistol out of his belt.
For a moment they stared into each other's eyes. "No," he said.
"Kiss my ass," she replied, and shot him in the stomach.
He fell back, his arms splaying wide. Cassie stood, stooping to make sure an ore car didn't clip her skull, and staggered over to the polymer wall. She wanted nothing more than to sink down and have a good long rest.
The blond man let out a prolonged, rattling snore.
"Lucky bastard," she told him, and broke into a shuffling run.
CHAPTER 10
She hid the dangling handcuff in the palm of her hand until she was a good long way from the ore line. She tried burning through the locked cuff, but the metal heated up until her wrist started to burn. She sighed in exasperation and shoved the loose cuff up under her sleeve.
Pan Galactic Bank had never numbered among Cassie's haunts in the days when she'd prowled the alleys of Sandport. She walked through the doors of an out-of-the-way branch on a back street and loaded her pockets with a small fortune in credit crystals, then went in search of a data shop.
The transponder on the Raffles showed up immediately on satellite scans. The ship was, apparently, right where she'd left it. She erased her search and headed for the main city gates.
There would be no leaving on foot, she knew. Not after a running gunfight through half the city. She bypassed a long and growing lineup at the security station and went in search of an illegal hopper. Fifteen minutes of prowling through junk shops close to the gate found her what she was looking for, an antigrav harness with enough power to lift her over the wall. She paid too much, got the shopkeeper to throw in an old overcoat, and put both purchases on. The coat looked odd in the Sandport heat, but it would cover the harness.
She kept a hand against the wall as she rose, and pulled herself sideways when she reached the top of the wall. She lowered herself rapidly to the ground outside, then set off toward the gate at a rapid walk. City walls weren't useless, exactly. Most nomads and thieves were poor, and stuck with ground transportation. Still, the value of the walls was mostly psychological.
She was trotting past the main city gate when an amplified voice hailed her from the top of the wall. So, she'd been noticed, then. She ignored repeated demands to stop, heading for the little cluster of nomads where she'd left Rufalo. People were fading back, avoiding her gaze, clearly not wanting to be dragged into whatever trouble she was in. Rufalo, though, just set to work prodding his trotters to their feet and hitching them to the rickshaw.
A pair of armored cops came out through the gate, gesturing toward her, but the rickshaw cut between them and Cassie. She swung herself aboard as the vehicle went past, and Rufalo sent the trotters racing into the desert.
When the city was hidden by a low hill, he called to the animals to halt. He turned in his seat and looked at Cassie, his face long and solemn. "There was trouble at the camp," he said. "Bil phoned me. He said there was a big energy pulse, and it fried electronics all over the camp. Then men came in, and there was shooting."
Cassie stared at him, feeling her mouth go dry. This is my fault. I brought this. All I did was land my ship!
"He was feeding the trotters when it happened," Rufalo continued. "He jumped on a trotter bareback and rode into the desert. Four or five others made it out. Everyone else is still there."
She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, forcing the fear out of her mind, forcing her stomach muscles to unclench, forcing herself to think. "When did it happen?"
"Just after we left. But Bil had to ride all the way to another camp to find a phone that worked. He called me about half an hour ago." Rufalo spread his hands in a gesture of helpless apology. "I don't know what happened to your ship. It must still be there. Maybe they'll let you have it. It must be PS people, looking for rebels."
PS was Planetary Security. They'd been a bunch of heavy-handed fascists twelve years ago. Now, with tensions rising, Cassie didn't want to think what they'd be like. Fortunately, it didn't matter. "It's not PS," she said. "I'm sorry to bring trouble to your door. The people who attacked your camp were looking for me."
He gaped at her.
She sighed. "I keep underestimating them," she said. "I thought landing outside the city would be enough to give them the slip. I was wrong." She'd been wrong back on Blix, too. The amount of money and expertise and manpower being brought to bear against her was mind-boggling. It was time to ditch that stupid egg and wash her hands of the whole mess.
Except that they'd still hunt her down and kill her. They, whoever "they" were, would think she knew too much, even though she had no idea what was going on.
Well, there wo
uld be time enough for that problem later. Right now she had a job to do.
"I'll take you to another camp," Rufalo said. "I know someone who can get you a flight off-world."
Cassie shook her head.
"Don't be stupid, Sand. Your ship is gone. Let it go."
"Sure," she said. "But Roger is on that ship."
"Who's Roger?" he said.
"My AI." When he scowled she said, "And then there's Lark."
"Who? Is that another AI?"
"No," said Cassie, feeling the weight of an impossible responsibility settle onto her. "She's a little girl. And she saved my neck once already." She sighed. "She's a nice kid, with more than her share of courage. She's been dealt a bad hand, and she deserves a shot at something better."
Rufalo shook his head. "These people, if they're looking for you, they won't bother with her. Maybe they'll let her go."
Cassie shook her head. "I wish," she said. "You don't know what these people have done to get ahold of me." She considered. "Well, you know some of it. They'll ask the kid where I've gone. And when she can't tell them, they'll ask again, not so nicely. And again, and again."
Rufalo paled as the ramifications sank in. "No," he said. "No, they wouldn't… what? Torture a little girl?"
"Maybe they won't," Cassie said. "I'm not betting Lark's life on it."
He stared at her, his eyes haunted. "You could turn yourself over to them."
Cassie made herself consider the idea before she shook her head. "Once they have me, the kid's a liability."
"Oh." Rufalo looked as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. "What will you do?"
She told him. He didn't like it. They argued for a long time, and at last he gave in. He brought out his phone and made a few calls. At length he gave her a grim nod and they set out.
Sandalwood Seven was due east of the city, which meant they'd be watching for her to approach from the west. Cassie and Rufalo circled well around the camp, then approached cautiously from the east, following the lowest contours of the land. They stopped at the base of a low ridge a dozen kilometers from the camp. Eventually a pair of packers came lumbering up from the south-east. The packers drew a wagon full of sealed crates, and the men driving it were hard-faced and suspicious.
Cassie smiled grimly. This was exactly what she needed.
When she set off she was a good deal poorer. She rode one of Rufalo's trotters, the saddlebags clanking with every step the animal took. She'd never ridden a trotter before. It was uncomfortable, the saddle thumping her with every bouncing step, her body swaying from side to side until she felt the beginning of nausea. Still, she was covering ground quickly, and with the replacement robe that Rufalo had given her, she looked like just another desert dweller.
Kilometer after kilometer rolled by, and the sun drifted lower in the sky. Bruma had thirty hours of sunlight and thirty hours of darkness, so she knew actual sunset was still quite a ways off. The air was beginning to cool, though, which was a relief.
A thousand scenarios flitted through Cassie's mind as she rode. She imagined Lark being tortured, and shoved the thought away because it filled her with a rising panic. The nomads might all be dead, but she thought not. A murder was one thing, a massacre quite another.
The mercenaries would have attacked the ship hoping that Cassie was inside. When they got into the ship and learned she wasn't there, they would have turned their attention to the city. They must have breached the Raffles, then.
Or had they? A large team, well-organized, would be sending men into the city just in case she wasn't on the ship. Maybe Lark was still okay.
By now they knew that she knew about them. If they intended to use the ship as bait, she was riding into a trap. They would see her coming long in advance. She would never see the shot that dropped her.
But they wouldn't expect her to head for the ship, would they? After all, it was an insane strategy. If they gave her credit for a bit of common sense, the ship was the very last place they would be looking for her.
It was a slender thread of hope to gamble her life on, but it was Lark's only chance. Cassie shrugged grimly and rode on.
She thought she still had a kilometer or so to go when she saw a glint of sun on metal in the desert ahead. A low ridge rose on her right, and she sent the trotter up the ridge to take a better look.
She found herself looking down on the nomad camp. She could see the nomads sitting shoulder to shoulder in the shade of a couple of tents, a pair of mercenaries and a robot standing over them. An armored ground car with gun turrets sat in the middle of the camp, with a strange vehicle beside it. It was like a specialized truck, with a telescoping tower a good ten meters high standing in the bed of the truck. Metal legs folded out from the sides of the truck to stabilize it.
Just beyond the truck was the Raffles. A dazzling light glowed against the hull, bright enough to make Cassie squint even at a considerable distance. She could make out a couple of men in masks and protective gloves, using a thermic lance to cut through the hull.
She grinned. They weren't inside the ship yet. Lark wasn't being tortured.
Yet.
She tugged on the left rein, turning the trotter away from the top of the ridge. She was far too visible, and it was high time she—
Light flashed through the air, her cheek felt suddenly warm, and she smelled ozone and burning fabric. She bent low over the saddle, and a second shot lashed out. The ground erupted beside her, splashing her with clods of dirt, and the trotter broke into a panicked run. Two mighty strides carried them below the crest of the ridge, and Cassie hauled back on the reins. When the trotter didn't stop she pulled her feet out of the stirrups and hurled herself out of the saddle.
The impact wasn't as bad as she expected. She rolled a couple of times, then sprang to her feet. She thought about shooting the animal to keep it from running away with her gear. Instead, she ran along the base of the slope, then drew her pistol, lowered herself to one knee, and waited.
An open-topped ground car came flying over the ridge, the two men inside focused completely on the fleeing trotter. Cassie fired once as the machine flashed past, missing completely. Once the machine was past her the angle was much better. She shot the passenger first, then the driver a moment later.
There were good safety features built into hover cars. The machine drifted to a halt within a few meters. Cassie ran to it, hauled out the stunned men, and dumped them on the ground. There was a hand scanner on the dash, but the car was already running, which made the anti-theft device useless. Cassie slid behind the controls and pointed the hover car after the trotter.
The trotter's training had finally kicked in. With its initial panic over, it had noticed the trailing reins. Now it stood panting forty or fifty meters away. Cassie stopped the car beside the animal, got out, gave it a soothing pat, and stripped off the bulging saddle bags. Then she looped the reins over the saddle and said, "Go home!"
The trotter ignored her.
"Fine," Cassie said. "Stay here, then." She plopped the saddlebags onto the passenger seat and hopped back into the car.
Speed was the key now. She had to hit the camp before anyone knew the two idiots were in trouble. The tower, she decided, was the key. It had to be broadcasting a scrambler field that was keeping Roger from functioning. If she could shut the field down he might be able to take off and carry Lark to safety.
Maybe even Cassie, too, if she was lucky.
She was assuming a lot, she knew. If it was just a communications tower she was going to be stuck in a camp full of mercenaries beside a dead ship. Cassie glanced at the saddle bags and grinned. "It would be a shame to waste all these great bombs," she muttered, and sent the car flying back up the ridge.
She raced into the camp at high speed. There was a mercenary walking toward the ridge, and she couldn't resist steering for him. He made a wild dive to the side, and she laughed like a maniac as she passed him. She aimed the car at the truck with the tower, braced herself, and clo
sed her eyes.
The hover car's safety features spoiled her fun. She opened her eyes when she felt the machine braking, and cursed as it drifted to a halt, the nose not quite touching the nearest supporting leg. She drew her pistol with one hand, grabbed the saddlebags with the other, and scrambled over the windshield and onto the hood. A quick hop took her to the limited cover of the truck's fender.
And enemy fire came pouring in.
Gone were the stun bolts and sticky webs she'd dodged in Sandport. Either the mercenaries didn't recognize her or they didn't care. Projectiles ricocheted from the steel supporting leg, energy blasts scorched holes in the side of the truck, and laser beams sizzled and popped as they cut into metal and plastic. The hover car sank to the ground, smoke billowing out from the engine.
Through it all, Cassie huddled against the ground, unable to return fire, unable to even think about using the explosives in the saddlebags by her feet. A laser touched her arm, the mesh dissipating the worst of the heat, but she yelped as the heated sleeve burned her. Rail gun rounds hit the tower behind her and bounced, raining down around her. She stared at a little steel sphere, somewhat deformed by impact, that lay on the ground near the tip of her nose, and wondered how long it would take the mercenaries to finish her off.
Then the blast turret on the armored ground car opened up. The hover car seemed to disintegrate in front of her eyes, and she tried to burrow into the dirt beneath her. The stream of energy blasts inched toward her, and the truck vibrated with the impacts. Cassie cringed back, trying to put more of the fender between her and the turret. The fender was flying apart as she watched it, demolished by the incoming fire.
The steel support leg on the side of the truck box rang like a bell as blast rounds hit it, then groaned and broke apart in a storm of shrapnel that had Cassie wrapping an arm around her face. A prolonged sound of tortured metal made her remove her arm and look up.
