Drifter's War

by William C. Dietz

  "There," Lando said, stepping back to inspect his handiwork. "That should hold you for a while. I'll leave your boots by the side of the road."

  The younger man nodded, looked like he wanted to say something, but swallowed instead.

  Lando returned to the middle of the road, retrieved the trooper's uniform, and stepped into the jungle. Melissa was waiting. She pointed toward the PCV.

  "Will that carry both of us?"

  The smuggler stripped down to his underwear. "That's the plan. Those things are built to carry combat gear plus a passenger when they have to. Wait by the PCV. I'll join you in a moment."

  Lando emerged from the jungle five minutes later. He wore the trooper's uniform, had the blast rifle slung over a shoulder, and carried the commo helmet tucked under his arm.

  "Well, what do you think?"

  Melissa frowned and pretended to inspect him. "I think your pants are kind of short."

  Lando grinned. "Yeah? Well, so are my sleeves. The uniform should pass at a distance though. Assuming you stay out of sight. Come on, let's get out of here."

  Lando had Melissa step onto the PCV first. By sitting cross-legged on the floor she was able to scrunch herself into the small cargo compartment located in the forward part of the aircraft.

  Lando had never flown a PCV before but figured it couldn't be that hard. The rather simple controls supported that conclusion.

  There was a row of idiot lights, a throttle, an altimeter that topped out at a hundred feet, a turn and bank indicator, and an aircraft-type stick. When the operator pulled back, the aircraft went up; when the operator pushed forward, the aircraft went down; and when the operator moved the stick to the right or left, the PCV would turn in that direction.

  Lando saw that the power was already on, the idiot lights were green, and the stick was centered in the neutral position. He winked at Melissa. "Hang in there, hon, and remember, it beats the heck out of walking."

  The commo helmet was a tight fit. It activated itself the moment that Lando slipped it on. A steady babble of radio traffic filled his ears. What was the trooper's call sign anyway? And what about codes?

  The smuggler thought about interrogating the trooper, decided time was more important, and pulled back on the stick. The PCV's antigrav units pushed it up into the air. The moment the altimeter registered fifty feet Lando brought the stick back to the neutral position and advanced the throttle. The aircraft moved slowly at first, gradually picked up speed, and maxed out at sixty mph.

  After checking to make sure that there were no obstacles in his path, Lando looked over the side and saw the road passing below. He smiled. This was more like it!

  The next fifteen minutes were rather pleasant. The warmth of the sun, the wind tugging at his clothes, and the sensation of speed made a nice combination. He even played with the PCV a little, snaking back and forth across the road until Melissa tugged on his trousers, and shook her head. The violent motion combined with her position on the floor was making her ill.

  Lando flew straight and level after that and turned his attention to the countryside ahead. There should be some sort of arterial before too long, something he could follow toward Brisco City, and the spaceport beyond.

  It appeared about five minutes later. It was a gleaming four-laner, relatively new, complete with the latest in computer-controlled guidance systems.

  Rather than risk calling attention to himself Lando put the PCV down behind a clump of trees and took a look at the road. The smuggler had spent some time in Brisco City but knew very little about the outlying areas.

  Melissa appeared like a gopher from its hole. Her head swiveled in every direction as she looked around.

  A procession of computer-controlled driverless robo-haulers rolled by. They were big boxy things that consisted of a tractor-control unit and three trailers. They passed Lando at five-minute intervals.

  There were smaller vehicles too, brightly colored ground cars mostly, with a scattering of light-duty vans and hover trucks woven in between. They treated the robo-haulers as moving obstacles, passing them with almost monotonous regularity, zipping in and out of the fast lane.

  What Lando didn't see was military traffic of any kind. The PCV would stick out like a sore thumb. So much for his plan to ride the platform all the way in.

  A voice broke through the murmur in his helmet. "Flyer Three, this is Roller One. Come in, Flyer Three."

  Something, Lando wasn't sure what, told him that he was Flyer Three. The lack of response from anyone else seemed to confirm that notion.

  The voice came again, a little annoyed this time and slightly more urgent. "Roller One, calling Flyer Three. Wake up, Flyer Three. Are you in position?"

  Lando decided to take a chance. "Copy that, Roller One. This is Flyer Three. I'm in position."

  "What's the problem, Three? You sound weird."

  Lando tried to think and watch traffic at the same time. "Roller One." Was "Roller" a code name, or did it mean something? Roller, Roller, whoa! Roller as in truck? As in really big truck? As in some sort of PCV carrier?

  Lando cleared his throat. "Sorry, Roller One. There's some sort of short in my commo set. You're cutting in and out."

  "No problem, Flyer Three," the voice replied. "We're about ten miles south of your position. Join us on the hop. Once you're aboard I'll have a tech look at your helmet."

  Lando felt his heart try to beat its way out of his chest. Ten miles! Only ten miles away and doing at least sixty or seventy miles an hour! He'd have to move, and move fast.

  Melissa was looking around. Lando touched her shoulder. "Trouble's on the way. Get down and stay out of sight."

  The little girl ducked down into the forward compartment and Lando pulled back on the stick. The PCV went straight up and bobbed in the slight crosswind.

  "On the hop." That's what the man had said, and it gave Lando an idea. An idea that depended on finding the right kind of roller and finding it fast.

  The smuggler looked up the highway, saw a robo-hauler coming his way, and swore when he saw three fully enclosed trailers rolling along behind it. He needed something flat and open. Empty, but not too empty, so he could hide in among the cargo. Otherwise the PCV would stand out like a Zord at a Finthian air dance.

  Lando watched the roller pass by. Wait a minute… what was that? Open doors, that's what. The last trailer was wide open. Should he try it? Or wait for the next flatbed?

  Lando looked, but the next roller wasn't in sight yet, and when it was, might have military markings all over it. He grit his teeth, pushed the stick forward, and dived toward the highway.

  A bright red hover car disappeared beneath the PCV's deck and the pavement came up to meet him. He leveled out just above the surface of the highway and was aware of roadside laser sensors flashing by to the left and right.

  A man in a light-duty van started to pull over, saw the antigrav platform appear out of nowhere, and swerved into the fast lane.

  Lando heard the blare of a horn and activated the PCV's flashers. He tossed a salute toward the van.

  "If you can't hide, then come on strong." His father had given him that piece of advice many times and it certainly fit. With any luck the surrounding motorists would see the uniform, the PCV, and write him off as a pumped-up military jerk. He could hope anyway.

  The robo-hauler displaced a lot of air and the PCV swayed back and forth as Lando lined it up with the trailer's door. The opening was a mysterious black rectangle. What was in there anyway? A nice open space? A load of steel rods? There was no way to tell.

  The smuggler advanced the throttle and felt the platform shudder as it passed through the robo-hauler's turbulence. Steady, steady, just a little bit more, there. It grew dark as they entered the trailer.

  Lando bit his lip. The PCV was about three feet off the floor, and traveling forward at the same speed. It was dark and there was a solid wall of duraplast boxes up ahead. No steel rods or other dangerous cargo, thank Sol. The challenge would b
e to put the antigrav platform down without allowing the robo-hauler to run out from under it.

  Gently, ever so gently, Lando maintained the PCV's forward speed while easing the stick forward. Down, down, bump. The smuggler hurried to secure the platform's systems and kill power.

  Then, with everything shut down, Lando motioned Melissa out of her hidey-hole. Both took a look around. Outside of the PCV and the boxes they were alone. The smuggler shifted his weight to the right as the robo-hauler accelerated into a well-banked curve.

  "Flyer Three, Flyer Three, this is Roller One. Where the hell are you, over?"

  Careful not to activate the mike, Lando removed the commo helmet and peeked out the door. The nearest car was a mile back. A bridge came up and Lando tossed the helmet out and over the side. A locator beacon seemed unlikely. After all, why ask Flyer Three for positions if they knew where he was? Still, it pays to be careful.

  Lando ducked back inside the trailer, looked for the door, and pulled it down. It banged into place. The darkness was complete.

  "I don't like this." Melissa's voice had a slight quaver to it.

  "Me either," Lando agreed. "Hold on for a second."

  It actually took a couple of minutes to fumble his way across the trailer, fall down as the robo-hauler took an unexpected curve, and find the PCV.

  After that it was a relatively simple matter to activate the antigrav platform's running lights. The aircraft's power pak would eventually run down, but so what? They couldn't use it again. Within the next hour or two a description of the PCV would appear on every terminal in the land.

  And that raised an interesting question: Where was the robo-hauler headed anyway? And how did that match his plans?

  Maybe the cargo would provide some sort of hint. Lando went forward to inspect the boxes. They were tan and looked almost white in the glare of the PCV's single headlight. The smuggler's shadow arrived before he did and obscured the view. He moved sideways to get out of the way.

  The boxes were rectangular in shape and extremely straightforward. Each one had the name "Mobar Industries" stenciled across its side.

  Each container had a computer-generated invoice pasted to its side as well, and while most of the pertinent information was safeguarded by indecipherable bar codes, the addresses were printed in standard.

  The first one Lando examined was addressed to: "Solano Plastics, Grid 54, Cross Street G, Brisco City."

  A quick survey followed during which the smuggler learned that while the boxes were addressed to a wide variety of companies each and every one of them was located somewhere in Brisco City.

  It was a major break. All they had to do was stay in the trailer, wait for it to arrive in Brisco City, and hot foot it to the spaceport. The tender would be covered… but he'd find something.

  Lando turned toward the rear of the truck. "Hey, Mel. Good news."

  No answer.

  The smuggler frowned, walked toward the back, and found Melissa curled up against a wall. She was sound asleep. He smiled, tucked his jacket around her, and sat down. The news could wait. Lando leaned against the wall, yawned, yawned again, and fell asleep.

  7

  Lando was thrown sideways as the robo-hauler came to a sudden halt.

  Melissa sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Pik? Where are we? What's going on?"

  The PCV's power pak was nearly drained by now, but the lights still produced a feeble glow. The smuggler rolled to his knees, stood up, and checked the blast rifle. The indicator showed a full charge. He slipped the safety off and moved toward the door. A glance toward his watch told him it was night outside.

  "I don't know, honey… but be ready to move."

  The handle made a clacking sound as someone turned it. The door rattled upward and disappeared into darkness. A flashlight pinned Lando in its glare.

  "Hold it right there." The voice was hard, full of authority, and distinctly female. There was something familiar about that voice but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

  The light was bright. Lando blinked but couldn't see a damned thing. Cop? Bounty hunter? Military? There was no way to tell.

  "Put the weapon on the floor, take two steps back, and place your hands on top of your head."

  The voice was calm, professional, and very sure of itself.

  Lando swallowed hard. What should he do? Fight or surrender? Melissa made up his mind. She stood and moved into the light.

  "Who is it, Pik? What will they do to us?"

  That's when it hit him. If he fired the woman would fire back. Melissa would die and that was completely unacceptable.

  Lando put the blast rifle on the floor, took two steps back, and placed his hands on top of his head.

  "Good," the voice said. "Very good. Now, let's get out of here before all hell breaks loose. They have the tender under surveillance, Cap feels like hell, and the drifter is a long ways off."

  It took Lando a moment to understand. "Della? Is that you? What the…?"

  The light went out and color swirled in front of Lando's eyes. The next thing the smuggler knew his arms were full of rather nicely proportioned femininity. Lips touched his and arms went around his neck. The smell of leather and perfume made a heady combination. He held on and didn't want to let go.

  It was Melissa who broke it up, switching from child to adult, forever practical. "Break it up you two… times a-wasting. Besides, where's my hug?"

  "Right here." The voice came from the doorway.

  "Daddy!"

  Melissa scurried to the doorway, jumped into her father's arms, and laughed when he stumbled backward.

  The sound of a siren caused them to freeze momentarily, then galvanized them into action.

  Cap lowered Melissa to the ground and pulled her away.

  Della tugged on Lando's hand. "Come on! The car's up front."

  They jumped to the ground, sprinted the length of the trailers, and rounded the robo-hauler's chunky front end.

  Lando saw they were in some sort of warehouse district. There were low blocky buildings, widely spaced float lights, and stacks of cargo modules. Something roared, and a long, thin shaft of fire raced toward the sky. The spaceport! It was one, maybe two miles away!

  The ground car sat two feet from the roller's massive bumper. From the way the vehicle was positioned Lando could tell that Della had pulled in front of the robo-hauler and forced it to stop. Assuming a hijacking or other criminal activity the truck's on-board computer had summoned the police. And from the sound of it, they were damned close.

  Doors slammed as they piled into the car. Lando was thrown forward as Della put the transmission into reverse and stepped on the gas. Tires screeched as she stood on the brakes, changed gears, and accelerated away. The sirens started to fade.

  "Where are we headed?" Lando had to yell to make himself heard from the back seat.

  "The spaceport," Della yelled back. "They're keeping an eye on the tender, which means they're watching Junk as well, so I hired a jobber. She's waiting for us now."

  Junk was a deep-space tug. She'd been designed and built by Melissa's mother from salvaged parts and whatever else happened to be lying around at the moment. Hence the name Junk.

  Jobbers eked out a marginal existence by carrying cargoes from one ship to another, ferrying passengers to and from the planet's surface, and other less legitimate tasks. No one used them unless forced to do so, and knowing that, the jobbers charged exorbitant prices.

  "A jobber?" Cap demanded. "They'll charge an arm and a leg!"

  Della glanced toward the passenger seat. Her voice was hard and cold. "You should have thought of that before you got drunk and spilled your guts."

  Cap flinched as if struck across the face. He turned toward the window.

  Melissa looked from one adult to the other and frowned. Della meant well, but it wouldn't do any good. Daddy was Daddy. She didn't like it when the adults became angry with each other.

  Lando braced himself as the car skidded into a corner, s
lid sideways, and accelerated away. The spaceport was up ahead. "How did you find us anyway? We could have been anywhere."

  Della smiled grimly. "It wasn't as hard as you might think. You were all over the vids. During the course of a day I saw footage of you lying on the beach, stealing a skimmer, and destroying a robo-cam.

  "But it was the interview with the trooper that told me where to look. After listening to him I knew that you had a PCV, access to a highway full of robo-haulers, and a strong desire to reach Brisco City. I put one and one together and got two."

  "But how could you pick the right truck?" Lando insisted. "There must be hundreds, maybe thousands to pick from."

  "Not true," Della replied. "I called the Highway Control Authority, identified myself as Detective Lieutenant Orling, and requested some information. They were very cooperative. There were twenty-six robo-haulers headed in the right direction at the right time. I stopped seven of them before I found you."

  "But why scare the heck out of us? We thought you were a bounty hunter."

  "I am a bounty hunter."

  "You know what I mean."

  Della shrugged. "I didn't know who if anybody would be inside, and besides, you've been known to shoot first and ask questions later."

  Lando grinned. He wanted to grab and hug her. "You are absolutely amazing."

  The spaceport's security fence was just ahead. Della smiled as she applied the brakes. "I certainly am. And don't ever forget it."

  They piled out of the car. Della had parked in the shadow cast by a large warehouse but they were still exposed. She popped the engine compartment and told Cap to stick his head under the hood. Considering their proximity to Blast Town, and the time of day, there was little chance of someone stopping to help.

  Lando eyed the fence. He saw it was constructed of high-test metal mesh and boasted a force field too.

  "How could we possibly cut through that?"

  Della shook her head. "We won't. We go over it instead."