"It ain't for rent. Belongs to the manager, Mr. Izzo. Come back tomorrow."
Lando started to say something in reply but felt Melissa tug on his sleeve. She pulled him away. He frowned. "What?"
Melissa pulled him down so she could whisper in his ear. "Are we going to steal it?"
Lando glanced at the attendant. He pretended they weren't there.
"Yeah, I think so."
Melissa nodded in agreement. "Right. I'll distract him while you take the boat."
Lando thought about it. There was a comset about four inches away from the attendant's right elbow. A call would bring security on the run. Some sort of diversion would be a good idea.
"Okay, but come when I yell."
Melissa smiled mischievously. "Don't worry about me."
This was the adult Melissa. The same one who could run her father's business affairs, and, if push came to shove, fly a shuttle to boot.
Lando nodded, smiled at the old man, and strolled out toward the end of the dock.
The skimmer looked strange. It had a long pencil-thin hull. The winglike structure crossed the top of the mast like a giant T, slanted down to touch the water off the boat's port side, and bobbed up and down with the waves.
The canopy-covered cockpit was located just forward of the mast and looked large enough to accommodate four people.
As the smuggler came closer he saw that foils had been mounted on each end of the wing, one of which rested in the water, while the other hung suspended in the air. The leading edge of the wing had slats while the trailing edge was equipped with flaps.
The wing design gave Lando a pretty good idea of how the skimmer worked. The wing acted as a sail, providing a surface for the wind to push against, but adding something more as well. Air would pass over the down-slanting wing to create forward suction and provide lift at the same time. The result was a wind-powered craft that could achieve speeds of sixty or seventy miles an hour.
Though not a fan, Lando had seen skimmer races on the vid nets, and knew the ships could really move. Just the thing for an ocean-going getaway. If they could get the skimmer out to sea. If they could lose the pursuit. And if he could keep the damned thing under control.
Those were a lot of ifs but the smuggler had very little choice. He started to step aboard, thought better of it, and turned toward Melissa.
She made a sound designed to attract the old man's attention, teetered on the edge of the dock, and fell into the water with a big splash.
Lando was concerned at first. Melissa's swimming skills were little more than so-so and she was screaming her head off.
Then Lando noticed that Ralph was propped up against a post, dry as could be, and well out of harm's way. Melissa knew exactly what she was doing.
The attendant moved with surprising speed. Within seconds he had a long boat hook and had extended it toward Melissa.
Lando stepped aboard, touched a button, and smiled as the canopy whirred open. He stepped down into an oval-shaped observation-control area. The control position was toward the rear. It had airplane-type controls with a stick instead of a wheel.
Lando dropped into the captain's chair and watched the U-shaped screen light up. There were no security codes or anything. After all, why bother with an attendant looking on?
Words appeared. "Welcome aboard the Nadia. Keyboard or voice?"
Lando thought about that one. He had a general preference for keyboards, but that was aboard spaceships, where he knew what he was doing. In this case voice would be faster and therefore safer.
He said it aloud. "Voice please."
"Aye, aye, sir," a salty-sounding voice replied. "And where are we bound?"
Lando thought for a moment. He knew very little about the planet's geography, but remembered that a seaport called Norton was relatively close to Brisco City. And Brisco City was where they had left Cap and Della Dee.
"Our destination is Norton."
"And Norton it is, sir," the computer replied cheerfully. "The course is loaded and ready ta go. Begging your pardon, sir, and not wishing ta speak out of turn, but should we load more supplies? Our supply of wine is running low, especially the Cathcart '75, and we're almost out of goose liver pâté."
Lando smiled. Mr. Izzo had expensive tastes. "No, that won't be necessary. We have enough food and water for two?"
"Yes, sir."
"Excellent. I will bring my companion aboard and cast off."
"Aye, aye, sir. Auxiliary power, sir?"
Lando imagined trying to maneuver the skimmer out on wind power alone. Talk about disasters. "Yes, please."
Lando stepped up and out of the cockpit. The sun had disappeared. Some raindrops hit his face. They felt warm.
Melissa was still thrashing around in the water. The attendant yelled for her to grab his boat hook. She ignored him. Lando waved his arms.
Melissa saw him, waved in response, and grabbed the boat hook with both hands. She gave it a vigorous jerk. The attendant tumbled in headfirst. There was a tremendous splash.
Lando watched to make sure that the man could swim, saw Melissa pull herself up and out of the water, and laughed as she retrieved Ralph from his resting place.
The rain had just started to make dark circles on the sun-bleached wood as Melissa scampered down the dock. Her eyes danced with excitement as she ran toward the skimmer. She jumped and Lando caught her.
"How did I do?"
Lando had to shout against the rush of the rain. It splattered around him and drummed against the skimmer's composite hull. "You were great! Now get below and find a towel!"
Lando cast off the bowline first, gave the dock a healthy shove with his foot, and ran toward the stern. The stern line splashed as it hit the water.
Then the smuggler realized that it was supposed to work the other way around, that the lines should stay aboard the skimmer, but by then it was too late. The gap between the dock and the boat had widened and the on-board computer had activated the auxiliary power unit. The wake foamed white as the Nadia headed away from the dock.
The rain fell even harder now, drenching Lando to the skin and churning the surface of the bay. The attendant was out of water now, comset in hand, pointing toward Lando and talking in an animated fashion.
The rain fell in sheets. The robo-sentries were skeletal figures only dimly seen. They stalked down across manicured lawns, ignored the dock, and headed out along the top of the breakwater.
Lando looked out toward the ocean. The entranceway was half a mile ahead. If the robo-sentries got there first they could grab the skimmer or, failing that, blow it out of the water. He dropped into the cockpit.
"I want full speed ahead."
"Aye, aye, sir, " the computer replied. "Full speed it is." The skimmer surged forward. Lando bit the inside of his cheek. The race was on, and the outcome would be extremely close.
2
Della Dee pushed the door open and stepped inside. A neon nude ran the length of the opposite wall. Pink nipples flashed on and off. They stopped as the door closed. Smoke hung in slowly drifting layers. One of Terra's most popular vocalists moaned seductively in the background, her voice distorted by the bar's cheap sound system.
Dee's boots made a clacking sound as she approached the bar, selected a stool, and sat down. It was early yet, and while half the tables were occupied, Dee had the bar to herself. Every man in the room turned to stare.
Dee had bright green eyes, flawless skin, and a nice figure. She wore a white blouse under flat black body armor, skintight pants, and knee-high boots. The slug gun rode high and tight in a cross-draw holster. But it was the flaming red hair that drew their attention. It was and always had been both a blessing and a curse, attracting men like moths to a flame.
Dee looked too straight to be a whore, too hard to be a citizen on the prowl, and too good to be unattached. Long red fingernails made a clicking sound as they hit the bar.
The bartender looked, liked what he saw, and nodded. He had a bull
et-shaped head, a wrestler's torso, and massive arms. He grabbed an aluminum cask, heaved it off the floor, and dropped it into a cradle. It hit with a distinct thud. The bartender smiled as he turned around.
"What'll it be, honey?"
Dee ignored the bartender's leer. "A beer plus some information."
The bartender frowned. His eyebrows came together into a straight line. He ran a rag over the spot in front of him. "What kind of information?"
Dee smiled reassuringly. "Nothing complicated. Take a look at this."
For the sixteenth time that day Dee slipped the holo cube out of her pocket and placed it on the bar. The bartender lifted the device up to eye level and gave it a squeeze. A man appeared. He had bushy eyebrows, a long straight nose, and a tight thin-lipped mouth. His eyes were bright blue and stared out from cavernous sockets. An alkie or a wire-head. The bartender saw them every day.
"So you're a bounty hunter. What'd he do? Walk away from his bar tab?"
Dee shook her head. "Nothing like that. He's a friend of mine. Have you seen him?"
A calculating grin stole over the bartender's face. "And what if I have? What would you give me?"
Dee shrugged. "Ten credits and a sincere 'thank you.'"
The bartender leaned forward, closing the distance between them to a foot or so. "How 'bout something a little more personal? Something you'd enjoy as much as I would?"
Dee sighed. She forced herself to be patient. "I've got a headache. The offer stands. Have you seen this man or not?"
The bartender shrugged. He nodded toward the far side of the lounge. "He's over there. In the side room. Playing it big with some drunks."
Dee felt her spirits leap. Finally! She slapped some currency on the bar. "Thanks."
"What about your beer?"
A roid miner had passed out at the nearest table. Dee gestured in her direction. "Give it to her when she wakes up."
The bartender nodded and turned away.
Dee felt eyes follow her as she walked across the room. The sensation was nothing new. Some were curious, some wanted her body, and some were afraid.
They were like rabbits crouched in their burrows as the fox strolled by. They saw past the cloud of bright red hair, past the pretty face, all the way to the slug gun with reactive grips. They saw the way she moved, the way her eyes slid over their faces, and knew exactly what she was. A huntress, a self-employed killer, a bounty hunter.
They had nothing to fear however since Dee's attention was focused on other things. She had been sitting face-to-face with the Imperial consul when Cap spilled his guts to the media.
The consul had been interested, very interested, especially in the drifter. And why not? The ship was loaded with advanced technology, stuff years ahead of anything the Il Ronn had, and worth millions of credits.
The consul had studied the holo pix, viewed the vid tapes, and was just about to say something when an aide had slipped into the room. Words were whispered and a wall-sized vid screen appeared.
The consul was a small man, very dapper, and carefully manicured. He smiled. "Bear with us for a moment, Citizen Dee. It seems that channel twenty-three has some news of interest to us both."
So Dee had been forced to sit there, squirming in her seat, as Cap spilled everything he knew to a man with a carefully arranged smile. Everything but the actual location of the drifter. Somehow, some way, Cap had retained enough brains to keep mum about that.
But the damage was considerable. The consul was no fool. Why pay for something you can get for free? All he had to do was send some people after Cap, sweat him a bit, and wait for the information to pop out. And failing that he could reopen negotiations with Dee.
So Dee had left the consulate with two humans and a robot on her tail. It had taken a full hour to ditch all three of them, and by the time she called channel twenty-three, Cap had slipped away. She got the impression that they were looking for him too.
And then, about two bars back—or was it three?—Dee had seen the special report. She'd been back in a corner, talking to a four-armed cyborg, when the feed came on-screen. A weird-looking camera shot that lurched up out of the sea, swept back and forth, and focused on Pik Lando. Dee saw Lando get to his feet, saw Melissa run, and knew that a bad situation had just turned worse.
Dee felt a troubling emptiness in the pit of her stomach. She'd gone after Pik herself a few months before, and had caught him too, but lost him in an ambush. She'd been wounded, and had nearly died, but Pik had pulled her through. Pik,
Melissa, the strange little cyborg who called himself "Cy Borg," and, yes, Cap. Without trying, without meaning to, she'd become part of a family.
So she cared about them and that made her stomach feel empty. That's the problem with loving people. It makes you vulnerable. Life or death can take them away.
Dee thought about Pik, thought about losing him, and knew it would hurt. If ever there had been a chance for a relationship it was with him. With a man who, in spite of his profession, was basically honest. With a man who fought for lost causes, took little girls under his wing, and was willing to risk his life for a bounty hunter he didn't even know.
She forced the thought away. Never mind Pik. If there was a way to reach Brisco City, he'd find it. Her job was to find Cap, put him under wraps, and be ready to lift when Pik arrived.
The door sensed her presence and slid open. The room was small and thick with smoke. Light came from a single source in the ceiling. It bathed Cap in a hard white glare. He lay on the tabletop with his pockets turned inside out. His hair was in disarray, and he had a two-day growth of beard, but she could still see signs of the man he'd once been. The high forehead, the firm jaw, and the thin-lipped mouth had been handsome once. Just right for a promising young officer.
Dee thought Cap was dead at first, but then she saw his chest move and found a pulse. He smelled of sour alcohol.
Dee shook her head sadly, grabbed one of Cap's arms, and pulled him into a fireman's carry. She was strong, and like many alcoholics, Sorenson was light. The door opened at her approach.
"Come on, Cap. Let's go home."
3
The Rothmonian security center was a quiet, almost cloistered place. There was the gentle hum of air-conditioning, the muted mumble of radio traffic, and the occasional sound of a buzzer. Row after row of vid monitors blinked through a preprogrammed sequence of security cams, some of which hopped, crawled, or flew through air, while others remained stationary and captured whatever happened to take place in front of them. Some of these were mounted in locations that guests would object to but didn't know about.
Technicians moved here and there, attending the machines like priests at the altar, speaking to each other in tones of hushed solemnity.
Nathan Izzo slammed the door open, dropped his portacomp onto a countertop, and looked for someone to abuse. Five or six technicians were present. All did their best to disappear. "Rister! Get your butt out here!"
"My butt is out here." The voice came from right next to Izzo and made him jump. Carolyn Rister, chief of security, saw her superior's expression and smiled. "Welcome to the security center."
Izzo scowled. His hair was black. He wore it short and flat on top. That, plus the hard, determined eyes and the formally cut business suit, gave him a military air. Just right for the man everybody called "The General."
"Don't give me any of that 'welcome to the security center' crap, Rister. Save it for the headquarters types. What the hell's going on? Your people are too damned visible. Some of the guests are getting nervous."
Rister was a long, lean woman who moved with a sort of sinewy grace. She had been places and done things that Izzo couldn't even imagine. The executive didn't scare her a bit.
"Well, let me see… we've got a killer on the loose, we're trying to keep about twenty bounty hunters off prem, and someone's in the process of stealing your skimmer. Which one would you like to discuss first?"
Blood rushed to Izzo's face. "Stealing m
y skimmer?"
Rister nodded agreeably. "That's right. Take a look over there. You'll get a robo-sentry's eye view of your boat on its way out of the harbor."
Izzo looked. The picture jerked right and left as the robo-sentry stalked along the top of the breakwater. Rain fell in sheets, visibility had been reduced to a few hundred yards, and sure enough, there was the Nadia making for the open sea.
The executive grabbed the back of a chair. He owed more than a hundred thousand credits on the skimmer. None of them were insured.
"Stop them! Stop them right now!"
Rister nodded sympathetically. "Yes, sir. That's what we're trying to do. And if the robo-sentry beats them to the entrance, we might even succeed."
"'Might'? You might succeed? The robo-sentry has an energy cannon. Burn them down!"
Rister lifted an eyebrow. "If you say so, sir… but what about your skimmer?"
Rister's words were like a bucket of ice water. Izzo felt stupid and tried to hide it.
"How could something like this happen?"
Rister shrugged noncommittally. "Bad luck, that's all. It turns out that the guy in villa fourteen is wanted for murder. Channel twenty-three learned he was here, told everyone on the planet, and the bounty hunters arrived shortly thereafter. The guest tried to run, couldn't use the causeway, and stole your boat. It's as simple as that."
Izzo looked from Rister to the monitors. "No it isn't," he said resentfully. "You should've neutralized him back on land."
"Not unless policy has changed," Rister said evenly. "Think about it. I watched the tapes of this guy putting on his clothes. He has a slug gun stuck down the back of his pants and a mini-launcher strapped to his right arm. We fire at him and he fires back. Presto, the lodge becomes a free-fire zone. Dead guests all over the place. Get my drift?"
Izzo knew when he was beat. He stared at the monitor. The rain made it hard to see. The robo-sentry was close but the Nadia seemed even closer. "Shit."
"Yeah," Rister agreed calmly. "That pretty well sums it up."
Lando was soaked to the skin. Rain drummed on the deck around him. Melissa was below changing her clothes. For reasons known only to Mr. Izzo the Nadia came equipped with a wide array of female apparel.
Drifter's War Page 2
