“Don’t look now, cat, but unless the digital navigation system is on the blink again, we’re homing in on the planet where we found the horns. What do you think? Should we give it a fly-by? I think we’ve probably got enough time to disable the transmitter. We’ve been weaving through wormholes like a demented spider. It’s gonna take Kisla and company awhile to get here. I vote we land and get this over with, then split.”
RK did not vote out loud, but instead sprang for the android’s neck, where the cat began biting and digging at the plastiskin with his claws.
“Oh, is that where the homing beacon is coming from?” Becker asked. “Okay, if you’ll move your furry carcass I’ll see if I can disable it and reprogram this dude.”
With a little physical persuasion, and the inducement that the man was actually doing what the cat wanted him to anyway, RK eventually subsided and Becker was able to concentrate totally on the android—so totally, in fact, that he lost track of time and place. He felt peckish and grabbed a handful of cat food but, after having to fish some of the food pellets out of the android’s inner workings, he gave up on snacking.
He had set the Condor on voice control for most functions. The voice control had the voice of Buck Rogers. For a while, Becker had used the usual ploy of having the computer sound like a husky-voiced woman, but he’d found he wasn’t getting much work done. He was always heading back to port to find a pleasure house. Now he used the voice of a heroic space voyager. He figured that would help him be proud and happy to be voyaging among the stars.
So, with Buck’s backup, and having committed himself to the task of debugging and rehabilitating the android, Becker gave it his full attention. Locating the main axis of the homing beacon wasn’t the only problem. The damned thing was thoroughly integrated with both the central nervous system and the circulatory system of the android. The wiring had to be removed completely and redone with minimal harm to the KEN unit.
Becker was very good at this kind of thing, when he wanted to be. It was one of his talents, prolonged intense focus on a single complex problem. Unfortunately, although the ship was still under his command, the part of his brain not devoted to working on the android was occupied fully with the problem at hand. The ship told him about wormholes and black water, space pleats and folds, and he took physical control long enough to negotiate through or around these, but all the best part of his brain function was devoted to the problem lying on his ship’s deck. He really didn’t register how long his work was taking until the Condor came within the orbit of the planet where they’d found the horns.
As he was just then managing to extract the last of the homing beacon, the Condor’s computer had to clue him in. “Captain Becker, do you wish to land? Or would you prefer to crash in a dramatic, explosive ball onto the surface when at last we have orbited until we run out of fuel?”
Becker looked up from his task. The extraction of the homing beacon had been successful. The bleep was gone, though it was almost as if he could hear the echo of it in his head, he’d been listening to it for so long. RK had finally gone to sleep and had opened one eye when the computer spoke.
“What? Oh, guess we should crash. No, just kidding, Buck.”
“Not funny, Becker. You programmed me with a sense of humor, but I did not find that amusing. I was already implementing the orbit by the time you said no.”
“Of course I programmed you with a sense of humor—otherwise I’d have taken a crowbar to you years ago. The cat isn’t much for laughing at my jokes.”
“I’m waiting, Captain Becker. This planet, however, is not. It continues to exert its gravitational force upon me.”
“Oh, yeah, okay. Let’s set down in that green patch where we found the horns the last time—you have the coordinates, right?”
“Accessing…can’t seem to find them, Captain Becker. Will that open volcano crater do just as nicely?”
“What? Huh? Are you crazy? Of course not!”
“Just kidding. I accessed those files nanoseconds and nanoseconds ago!”
“Now I know why usually I run the ship myself and talk to the cat!” Becker grumbled.
He figured he would have plenty of time to put the android back together after they landed. He’d have to wait to dispose of the deactivated beacon in space again. He certainly didn’t want it to lead Kisla Manjari to this planet. He finally returned his attention to the landing procedure.
“How’s it going, Buck?” he asked the computer.
“A-okay, captain. There is just one little thing I thought you might wish to be aware of, however.”
“What’s that?”
“The tail of a space liner seems to be extruding from the outer atmosphere. It looks as if it means to set down beside us.”
“I don’t suppose we could take evasive action?”
“You’re kidding again, right? Where would we take it? Between the last few centimeters of atmosphere left—well, not anymore—between ourselves and the ground? Sorry, Captain, we’ve landed. The other craft must have been cloaked.”
“I don’t suppose we have that capability, do we?”
“Afraid not. Besides, they know where we are,” the ship said.
“Well, just a minute then.” He spoke to the comscreen. “Hey, you, with your tail hanging out, identify yourself! This is Captain Jonas Becker of the Condor, flagship of Becker Interplanetary Recycling and Salvage Enterprises, Limited. My company has already got dibs—staked salvage rights, I mean, on this planet. Uh…,” he continued, as there was no answer, “…I don’t suppose you’re a derelict in distress looking for a tow, are you?”
Kisla Manjari’s face appeared, grinning, on the comscreen.
“Nope, I didn’t think so,” Becker said, disgusted. “What’s the matter, princess? Forget your receipt?”
“Oh, no, Captain Becker. It’s just that you go such interesting places and find such interesting things, I wanted to come along. I sent my droids to find out where you were going next, but you killed them. Well—all but the one whose track we’ve been following.”
“There now, RK, what’d I tell you?” Becker said to the cat. “Another fine mess you’ve gotten us into!”
“Oh, is the nice kitty there? I still really really want to play with it,” Kisla said. “I’ve heard so very often that there’s more than one way to skin a cat and I really want to find out.”
By now, Becker had a visual on the Midas, totally uncloaked and a largish dot in the multihued twilit sky.
“You’re a sick cookie, you know that, don’t you?” Becker asked.
“Why, thank you.”
Meanwhile, he opened the emergency cat flap in the hatch. Normally, from the hatch’s opening to the ground on a given planet was a bit of a leap for RK, and the cat used the robolift for an elevator in the same way that Becker did. But Becker had rigged the flap up for just such occasions as this—not that there’d been many occasions such as this, but Becker had a healthy imagination and a goodly amount of paranoia. He turned off the comscreen, grabbed RK before the cat had a chance to protest, and shoved him down the chute that led to the cat flap. He then opened the cat flap with the remote. He got a visual of RK sitting among the grass on the ground, licking himself vigorously, and then, as the other ship landed, bolting for the rough ruin of the landscape beyond the grass. RK would have sense enough to steer clear of Manjari, as long as he was free to do so, Becker knew. Becker was pretty sure he himself could out-maneuver her, but RK shouldn’t be trapped in the ship. In fact, if he left the ship himself, he might succeed in escaping her and it might not occur to her to attack the Condor. After all, the only thing he could think of that she wanted from him was the horns and this was where they’d come from. She had what she wanted. If she couldn’t find him, she’d more than likely take her booty and run off to do whatever it was she meant to do with it. Finance a fleet made from a higher caliber of cast-off parts, maybe.
He didn’t suit up this time. It would just slow him down and
he already knew he didn’t need to for this atmosphere. He did slip on antigrav boots, however, the ones he wore on planets with gravity far heavier than that of Kezdet. He didn’t want to take the time to lower the robolift. Instead, he opened the hatch and jumped out. The boots bounced him back up a couple of meters, and he sprang for the hinterlands, as if he was Jack wearing the seven league boots from one of the old fairy tales Dad had encouraged him to read in between physics texts in an attempt to give him back a little of the childhood that had been stolen from him on the labor farm.
He should be able to get away before Kisla emerged from her ship, he thought, feeling very cocky as he left the grass for the rocks. It wasn’t until the bolt from a stun gun mounted in the ship’s side sliced through him that it occurred to him, in one last flash of thought, that Kisla probably had no need to leave the ship to bring him down.
None of the people who invaded the holy place were able to see him, so well did he blend with his surroundings. But he saw them. Saw the first spacecraft land and the small furry animal, the same one who had come before, first fall from the craft’s belly, only to twist in midair and land on all four paws. It momentarily licked itself, then came running—straight toward him. None of the people had seen him, but the small furry creature headed his way immediately, past the sacred place and into the rocks where he lay concealed.
The other ship descended and as it did, a man bounced out of the same ship as the one that had carried the animal. The second ship landed, and a bolt of light shot from it. The man was on his third bounce, almost safe behind one of the hillocks of rubble created by the Khleevi when they destroyed this world. The man was the same one who had come before with the animal. He had the same smooth face and forehead. He did not look like a Khleevi and he did not act like a Khleevi. The Khleevi did not run in fear. They caused others to fear.
The animal had reached the hidden one, had greeted him with soft twinings and loud rumblings, seeking sanctuary. It had watched, wide-eyed, as the man fell. It had changed its body so that it grew to twice its size and the pointed ears lay flat on the head. The rumbling had given way to the sound air makes when escaping the lungs of someone punched in the stomach.
The second craft landed. Four people came out of it. There was a small one with a loud voice, and three larger ones. The small one moved with certainty, the others had less.
The small one walked right to the man, pointed to him, and indicated that the others should carry him. They did so, carrying him back to the grass between the two ships. The small one began to kick the body all over.
That was when the little animal burst from the rocky cover and leaped across the grass, into the midst of these intruders who, although they looked like the first man, appeared from their actions, from their—energy—to be Khleevi after all.
The hidden one shook and felt sick. He could not bear the Khleevi again, he was sure he could not. They had hurt him beyond repair before. He could not face them again, not even to save their new victim, for he knew he could not save him.
The little animal had less experience, though. It dove straight into the middle of them in a howling, angry whirlwind of fury, blood, snarling, and screaming. The blood appeared to be mostly from the small biped in the center. The noise seemed to be coming from all of them.
And then, all at once, another light bolt and the furry creature fell to the ground. A silence fell upon the group.
The people still standing looked much different now. Their clothing was torn, one of them covered an eye with his hand, and their faces were a network of scratches. The small biped had her—for the voice sounded female to the hidden one—hand to her throat and red blood streamed from between her fingers.
She sent a vicious kick into the body of the little beast and it flew to the edge of the grass.
Then she began once more to beat the unconscious man, until one of the other men stopped her.
The hidden one rocked and cried and grieved and wondered if perhaps—perhaps the little animal could be saved without the Khleevi noticing. There was enough power nearby to heal it, if the wounds were not already fatal.
On his belly, the hidden one slithered toward the edge of the grass where the small body lay.
Fifteen
Becker had definitely had better days. The pain in his leg was intense. Kisla’s kicking reminded him of the time he had dropped one of those Myrathenian morning stars on himself while trying to store the damned thing. Lots of little sharp pains. Speaking of which, it looked like Kisla and her gang had lots of little sharp pains themselves. RK had apparently come back; their faces definitely bore his signature. But where was the little demon anyway? Becker raised his head to look around. The eye that wasn’t busy swelling shut saw the small furry body by the edge of the—moving?—rock.
Kisla’s boot aimed at his jaw. Becker caught her leg in one hand and jerked. She fell on her butt. Some-what to his surprise, though her crew showed him their weapons, they did not intervene. Come to think of it, he wasn’t all that surprised that they didn’t. These were humans, not androids. Working for Kisla probably had a few uncomfortable side effects.
“Shoot him!” Kisla screamed.
“Calm down, princess. What did I ever do to you?” he asked. His voice was a little slurred. Apparently one or more kicks had done more damage than he thought.
“You cheated me is what! You destroyed my droids—”
“You poet, you,” he said.
“And you lied about the horns! You said there was only the one! You lied! I found another horn. Where are the others?”
He sighed painfully. He really had to get rid of her and go see about the cat. “They’re right here—all around. I just took a sample or two.”
“He’s lying,” one of the crewmen said. “There’s nothing here. I’ve been looking.”
Kisla kicked herself free of him and stood up, but she stood back. “Okay, time to make him tell! Let’s take him back to the ship.”
“Before we go through all that, why don’t I check his computer banks and see where he found the horns, and if this is the place? Meanwhile, you can keep him on ice while we make a more thorough search for the horns.” This was proposed by a sane-sounding man, a high-ranking member of Kisla’s new crew, judging by the decorations on his uniform.
“I give the orders here,” Kisla said.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m just trying to suggest a fast way to check on what the man’s told us.”
Kisla liked to give orders but she wasn’t stupid. The guy was making sense. She hesitated.
“With your permission then,” the man said, not making it a question, and turned to go.
Becker sat up again, unhooking the remote from his belt. “Here, buddy, you’ll need this. Red green blue red.” He could cooperate with sane people. It wouldn’t do to get Kisla excited again.
It was a good move. The other two crewmen tied Becker up—well, taped him up, having apparently brought along a roll of silver tape just for the occasion. They only let Kisla get in two more kicks before they distracted her by rooting around, looking for horns. During the time they were doing this, Becker noticed that RK was no longer lying where he had been. That was interesting. Could the little guy fake being hurt? Nah, surely not!
After a while—Becker didn’t know how long as his consciousness seemed to fade in and out, along with Kisla’s dainty little foot—the crewman who had gone up into the Condor returned. He was carrying the sack that contained the horns. Becker groaned. He’d gotten used to a sweet-smelling spaceship and had been sort of hoping Kisla wouldn’t find the horns so he could heal himself.
“Well?” she demanded.
“This is the place all right. Not on any of our maps but the coordinates are the same ones he marked before. Here are the horns. This all there were, buddy?”
“I didn’t think so,” Becker said truthfully. “That’s why I came back. But the light’s not that good. Maybe we took them all the first time.” He tried to shrug b
ut his shoulder had stiffened up too badly.
“Your droid is a mess,” the crewman continued his report to Kisla. He brought out the mess of wires and syn-tissue that Becker had extracted from the droid. “Here’s the homing beacon. You know, your uncle—I mean you—figured Becker here would make a bee-line back for where he found the horns. This very likely is the place.”
“Maybe,” she said. She had the sack now and was pawing through it. “Where did you find these, junk man?”
“Lying around on the ground here. Don’t ask me why. I didn’t get it off any living girl, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“That’s too bad, but it can be remedied later,” Kisla said.
And just then a series of explosions shook the ground, shooting blossoms of dirt and fire in a more or less straight line toward the Midas.
“What the hell is that?” one of the crewmen asked.
“Asteroid shower?”
“This planet has obviously undergone some kind of destabilization recently,” the fellow who had boarded the Condor said. “I don’t think we’d better hang around very long. Want to take Becker here along with us, ma’am?”
Kisla grinned through her sharp little teeth as another explosion rocked both the Midas and the Condor. “No.” She snatched the remote from the crewman’s hand, threw the unit to the ground and stomped on it, grinding it under her heel. “We’ll leave him. No food or water here except on his ship, which he can no longer board. He’ll have to eat the cat—hey, where did the cat go?”
Another explosion erupted beside her before she could answer. She kept her mouth shut as the crewmen herded her aboard the Midas, which prepped for takeoff in record time. The ship rocketed back into space like a scalded cat.
Speaking of cats…
Becker passed out, only to awaken when something wet hit his face. Cat drool. RK, looking no worse for wear, stood on his chest, kneading sharp claws into it. He no longer lay beside the Condor. It was dark, and he didn’t hurt anymore. Not anywhere.
Acorna’s People Page 19
