Analog Science Fiction and Fact - 2014-05

by Penny Publications

  "Chapter nine," she said, and the reader skipped ahead. She crossed her legs and arms and got comfortable.

  "Whu..."

  "Holland. Holland!" She slapped his cheek.

  "What... what?" Mumbles and grunts.

  "Wake up, Holland." She patted his cheeks again.

  "Where? What?" His voice was slurry, drunk.

  "You're in the bathroom, Holland."

  His eyes fluttered open. They flicked around the room. Sink, toilet, the bag shower, and Elise.

  "What am I... what?" His eyes were starry.

  He had blue eyes and shaggy blond hair.

  "You have fifteen minutes. Take a shower. You need that. Use the refresher. Drink some water. I'll give you some food. Then you go back to bed."

  He blinked at her.

  "I... do I know you?" His burry throat ground out the words, roughing their edges like freshly-hewn pine boards.

  "Nope. You gonna make good use of the time, or what?"

  "Wait. Just will you wait a second?" He thrashed as he awoke more fully. "Just wait."

  "No. Fifteen minutes," she said.

  "Will you wait a sodding minute? Who the hell are you?"

  "Elise," she said. "Why do you care?"

  He stared. "Never mind. I don't care who you are. You turn me loose right now, or so help me—"

  She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you're scary. Do you need the refresher or what?"

  Holland tried to raise his fists. His bound hands were not threatening. He looked down at them. He was cuffed. He was also naked. He looked up.

  "It's easier to clean up if you mess yourself,"

  Elise told him cheerfully.

  "You... you stripped me?"

  "Nope. You were already naked. I found you in the shower." She looked at her chronometer. Looked at him.

  "Fine. Fine. Bitch," he said to the bulkhead.

  "Watch your mouth. Hurry up." She floated backward out the door. "And keep something in mind, Holland."

  "What?"

  "My job would be far easier if I stuffed you in the recycler." She shut the door in his face.

  Fifteen minutes later she rapped on the door.

  "Come on out. Slowly."

  The door opened and he drifted out.

  "There's a pack of soup here, if you want it." He grabbed the bulb.

  When he finished she said, "Get in your pouch."

  "Wait a minute—"

  She showed him a double-shot holdout, loaded with low velocity soft-nose ammo. It wouldn't pierce the walls, but it would do fine on him. Holland swallowed. He kicked to his pouch and climbed in. After he cinched the bag closed, she held out another sedative patch. He narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

  "Good boy. See you tomorrow."

  She slapped it against his neck. In seconds, his eyelids drooped.

  She went back to the kitchen panel. He did stock good stuff. She wouldn't take from his ship—she was honest—but she would eat it while on board. Cost of business, she figured.

  "Lunar Control, this is outbound 625, Luas, ready for departure." Wilder sent his all clear to the station.

  "Copy, Luas, you're cleared. Safe one."

  "Thanks, Lunar. Luas out."

  He nudged the drive and pulled away from the dock lane, eased the ship into exit vector, and hit the go-button. The five-second countdown gave him time to settle back. The thrusters fired and an invisible hand pressed him into the plush seat. After an hour of hard thrust the engines pulled back to a whisper. Gravity backed off his chest and he checked his board. All green.

  The cabin air was cool on his skin. He always launched naked if he could help it. A wrinkle at five gees was a knife in your kidney, and you'd piss blood for a week.

  After fixing a drink he studied the documentation. His target was a light freighter last seen out near Pluto. The intelligence being days old, the ship was likely gone by now, but that was the place to start.

  As he floated in lotus, the screen on the wall displayed a picture of the Beech-Aerodyne private freighter Adage.

  Nine days in, Holland made a break for it.

  He managed to cut the plastic cuffs on the folded metal edge of the sink. He had been scoring them a little every day, and Elise hadn't seen the wear. When she left him to his business, he started the shower but did not get in. He twisted his wrists, grinned with pain, and the cuffs snapped. He tried hard not to pant. He played the water wand over the inside of the rubber shower bag to cover any sounds. He was out of shape. His muscles were slack, and his belly had gone a little round. Most pilots practiced isometric exercises—the only kind that work in freefall—but he hadn't kept up. It was too easy to float around. Dangerous. By the time you realized how much bulk you had built up, you were stuck in orbit. You went down a gravity well and your heart stopped from the sudden strain.

  He braced against the wall and propelled himself through the door, hard. The plastic panel banged outward. He reached out for—

  For what? Elise watched him, startled, having just come from heating his meal in the kitchenette. Before he could orient on her she drew on him.

  He glowered at the pistol.

  She dug into her pocket and tossed him another cuff.

  He had the sense to not fight. He cinched his wrists together, showed her how tight they were, and went to his pouch. She waited until he sealed in before she flew over with the new patch.

  "Hey..." he said, "hadda try, you know?"

  "No hard feelings, Efram. Good night."

  In a perverse fit of pique, she slapped the patch to his forehead. His eyes rolled up to stare at it as he drifted off.

  After he was asleep, she fashioned an ankle cuff and a lead out of scraps in his repair bay. She floated his pouch to the refresher and secured the lead to the wall with pseudo-metal epoxy. At least he wouldn't be able to cause any more trouble.

  She kicked to the cockpit to check the radar. Ten days left until she pulled into Lunar Dock's orbit.

  There was a blip on the radar. She stared for a second. She zoomed in, tried to isolate the ident number. The speakers crackled, and a voice said faintly, "Emergency. Emergency."

  The word set her teeth on edge and spiked her blood pressure. "Emergency" is a dirty word in space.

  She thumbed the transmit button and said, "Unidentified pilot, this is B—" she stumbled over the name. "This is private vessel Adage, what's the nature of your emergency?"

  Static.

  "Repeat: private vessel Adage—"

  A feedback whine cut her off, then: "... peat, emergency. My oxy unit's screwed. I can't... I can't repair it, me. Anyone out there?"

  She sent again, "I hear you. Can you squawk ident?"

  A hopeful voice responded, "Is... are you there? I—I thought I heard someone, me." It was tinny, but clear. She couldn't place his accent.

  "I'm here. What's your situation?"

  "Thank God. My ship is the Luas. I'm out of Luna headed for Pluto and the belt, me. About two hours ago, my oxygen unit malfunctioned. I'm in a bad way. I don't suppose you're a mechanic?"

  "Not that kind. What happened?"

  "I'm not sure. I think my algae colony died."

  "What? What happened to it?"

  "No idea, Adage. I changed it out at Callisto base a week ago. Now it's dead."

  "Sounds bad. I've never seen that happen. Guess there's a first time."

  "Copy that, Adage. I don't suppose you have a spare?"

  She scrolled through the ship's stores.

  "Your lucky day, Luas. I have a spare colony. You have to evac yours and purge the tank, in case it's a virus."

  "Well, I'm already suited. I can dump it and scour. I can pay for it, me, I'll be happy to pay for it."

  She could afford to be generous.

  "Don't sweat it, Luas. Call it goodwill. Your best bet's gonna be exposing it to vacuum. Got any perishables?"

  "Not that I'm upset to lose under the circumstances, me."

  "All right. I'll pull along.
You do what you have to, and afterward I'll tether. You can wait it out in here. I'd suit up and help, but..."

  "No problem, Adage, I understand. You've already stuck your neck out. I'll stop and prepare for a hard dump, me."

  "Roger, Luas. Keep me posted."

  She thumbed off the link and watched the radar. The Luas killed speed. She did the same. Adage slowed and came to a stop off his port side.

  She pulled up what she could from the computer. Luas was registered out of Luna, a rental, just like her mysterious visitor said. Rated for prospecting. No red flags, no warrants.

  She never expected company out here, but no way could she cruise past someone with a life-threatening emergency. Many would, but she had to sleep every night. Holland wouldn't complain if she raided his stores. She'd have to explain right off who she was but that was okay. She had the warrant and the badge.

  Wilder watched the ship, just in visual range, from inside his emergency suit.

  He hadn't planned on luck. Running across the Adage en route like this was pure, blind luck. His information showed that Efram Holland was captain of the Adage. Maybe he brought a woman with him. It was a long way to Earth. Quill hadn't said. Maybe he hadn't known. Didn't matter. He wasn't here to write a biography.

  He knew the oxygen plant story was thin, but he had been caught short, and forced to improvise.

  Every ship carried an oxygen plant. Superaccelerated algae converted carbon dioxide and produced breathable oxygen. The generators were automatic, and generally trouble-free. When trouble happened, most pilots never get beyond the "check the manual" stage. Wilder was not "most" pilots. He knew how the plant worked, how to change the colony out, and what kinds of chemicals to keep away from it. Most ships carried a caustic epoxy puncture sealant he could use to kill it.

  He knew the setup seemed fishy. The pilot was wary, but willing to help. Wilder waited until the conversation was over before he injected the sealant into the slab of algae. It started to blacken at the edges as the chemical colony died off. By the time he was ready to eject the mass, it was almost all black. He recorded it with his suit cam in case it came up in conversation.

  He scrubbed out the tub with a sterile cleaner. It was ready for a fresh colony. He double-checked the computer to make sure the ship would stay parked.

  He tugged the bio bag full of dead algae to the airlock and cycled out. He kicked the bag away toward deep space.

  He didn't admire the beautiful, empty space around him. He fixed his gaze upon the Adage and crossed the gap.

  She floated well back from the door as the airlock cycled. Her sidearm wasn't pointed at him, exactly. He peeled off his suit. His face was ruddy and rough with a week of reddish beard. He wore a tight blue jumpsuit. He was a thin, muscular man and she couldn't see a gun anywhere. His green eyes had circles under them.

  "I'm Elise," she said. "Elise Rosemonde."

  "Wilder. And thank you, Elise. You saved my life." Wahlder. An'thank ya, Eleeze. Y'saved mah lahfe. She smiled. His accent turned a simple phrase into something akin to a song, tempo rolling gracefully between soft syllables. He stared at the gun but didn't comment.

  "Welcome, and glad I could help. Where you headed?"

  He grinned. "I was headed out to Charon. I saved for two years to get that boat. I'm out to be a prospector. Hope to strike it rich, me." His thickened accent distracted her. The trick served him well in the past. Some stereotypes died hard.

  "Rough life in the belts," Elise said.

  "So I hear. But I leased a ship, arranged for a dock, and I'm gonna keep on till I hit, or I have to go home."

  "Or you die?"

  He frowned. "Well... yeah, I suppose."

  Elise put her gun back in the clamshell holster at the small of her back. She kicked toward him with her hand out. He took it gratefully.

  "Welcome aboard, Mr. Wilder."

  "Just Wilder is fine, me. Thanks."

  "It'll be a minute while I dig out the new slab. Meantime, you hungry?"

  He nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Funny; two hours ago I was sure I was gone. Now I'm famished."

  "Come on." She led him to the galley. She displayed several food packets and a bottle of wine. He chose, and she set them cooking. While they waited, Wilder said, "You've got a nice ship."

  "It's not mine," Elise said.

  "Uh..."

  "I've got the owner tied up in his bathroom."

  "Uh huh." He eyed her warily. He held very still.

  She smiled. "It's okay. I have a warrant."

  "What?" It threw him off. He almost lost the accent.

  "I'm a property retrieval technician. I'm licensed to intercept and apprehend."

  Wilder blinked. "You're a bounty hunter?"

  "Kind of." The machine chimed and she pulled out their meals, parked them in the air, and sipped from her bulb.

  "Wow. So... that's why the gun?"

  "Necessary precaution. Never know, do you?"

  "Yeah. I see what you mean. What did the guy do?"

  "Does it matter?" she smiled. "It was enough to get me out here and I don't work cheap."

  "I see," he said.

  "Try the wine. It's not bad."

  He sipped from his clear bulb of wine. He nodded in appreciation.

  "Good." He looked around. "Where's the guy?"

  "Like I said, refresher in his cabin. He'll sleep anesthetized for the rest of the trip."

  "Anesthetized?"

  She nodded. "I used a surgical disc. It induces chemical unconsciousness."

  Wilder ate some beef stew.

  "That's pretty handy."

  "I think so."

  "Can I see him?"

  "Why?" She nibbled a pastry.

  "I don't know. Curiosity?"

  "About what?"

  "Well..." he said. "You say you're here to get the guy. I never heard of that, me. It sounds fishy, you know? A little... creepy."

  "You're welcome to go back to your ship," she said.

  He put up his hands. "No, no! I'm not... I didn't mean to offend you. I'm just... this is weird, you know? I'm a dirt-buster. I took a six-week course in piloting and survey. I'm not really a space man, me."

  Elise said, "Yeah, well. I have a warrant. I'm a duly-appointed representative."

  "Appointed? By who?"

  "Never mind," she said. "What's with all the questions?"

  "Nothing. I got time to kill, me."

  Elise finished and tossed the containers into the recycler. She said, "Come on, then."

  Wilder followed. He watched her go, eyes on the gun. Grabbing it was risky. Try it? Or wait for another opportunity?

  They hovered in the air before Efram Holland. She watched Wilder poke the man.

  "Wow. He's out."

  "Yep." She didn't move.

  "Well, okay." He turned to look at her appraisingly. "So, can I get some more stew?"

  "Sure," Elise said. "Come on."

  She turned away. He caught her from behind and encircled her neck with one arm, pressed the tip of a small knife against her throat. It lived inside the sleeve of his suit, which looked cheap and disposable, and was neither.

  "No sudden moves," he said. "I don't want to hurt you, but I will." The patois was gone.

  She smiled, though he couldn't see it.

  "I could say the same to you," she replied. He felt movement at his belly as she cocked the pistol. He had been so busy at her neck he missed the draw.

  They rotated in the air.

  "Well, well. You'll shoot me?"

  She nodded. "If you cut my throat, you die. If you don't get that knife off my neck, you die. Either way, you die. Which would you prefer?"

  "Tough call."

  "You have five seconds to get that knife off my neck, mister."

  Wilder said, "Seems like a bad deal. I let you go, you shoot me anyhow."

  "I won't if I don't have to," Elise said. "One—"

  Wilder pushed off. Elise spun, the gun never left his midsection.

>   "Toss the knife here."

  He floated the knife to her. She grabbed it. It was hardened ceramic hull shielding, small and permanently sharp. The hull material from which it was constructed repelled micrometeors, and diamond couldn't score it. She put it in her belt.

  "That was ballsy. You stupid?"

  "Calculated," Wilder said. "You don't seem the type to shoot me in cold blood. You said so."

  "You're sure?"

  "You wouldn't have stopped to help if you were. You could have ignored me, or waited until I ran out of air and salvaged the ship."

  "I'm not interested in what you have." She nibbled her lip. "What are you really out here for, Wilder? Is it Wilder?"

  "It is. I'm here for the same reason you are." Elise shook her head.

  "No way. They don't double-book a job like this."

  "I don't think it's a double-book. I think we're just two working stiffs with different bosses who want the same package."

  "That's too bad for you."

  "So it seems." Wilder crossed his arms. "Now what?"

  "Is your oxygen unit shot, or was that a line?"

  "Had to make it look good," Wilder said. "Killed the colony myself, though. No accident."

  Elise nodded. "The stamp of verisimilitude."

  "Right," Wilder said. "I like to cover my bases."

  "So you have a spare?"

  "No," Wilder admitted. "I don't. This was a last-minute plan."

  "You either don't think ahead, or you have an over-developed sense of optimism," she said.

  "I prefer to think of it as motivated self-interest," he said. "If I had a back door, I might be tempted to use it."

  "Ship stores are two doors down. Get your slab and get off this ship."

  "Really?"

  Elise nodded.

  "Why?" he asked.

  "Does it matter? I don't want to kill you. Besides, I said I would. I keep my word."

  "Thank you for that," he said. She didn't know whether to trust his sincerity.

  "Let's go," she gestured. He set off down the hall. She kept distance between them. He pulled the slab out of the storage rack and turned to look at her. She motioned for him to come out. They floated back to the airlock. He let go of the slab to pull on his suit.