Drifter

by William C. Dietz

  "Damn it, Pik! This is crazy! Get back in bed!"

  Lando waited for the dizziness to ebb. His voice was little more than a croak. "Not right now, honey… I've got a headache."

  It took forever to traverse the few feet between the cabin and the head. Each step brought new pain. It felt as if Pal and his thugs had beaten every square inch of his body.

  He lurched through the door and was shocked by what he saw in the mirror. His eyes were little more than reddened slits, nearly invisible within blue-black pockets of swollen flesh.

  There were bruises everywhere, a carefully sutured cut on his right temple, and more scratches than he cared to count.

  Wendy managed a smile. "I couldn't find any broken bones or internal injuries. You did receive a nasty crack on the head, though. Maybe they thought you were dead."

  Lando nodded and wished that he hadn't. "I certainly look like I'm dead."

  But he knew it wasn't true. If Pal had wanted him dead, then he'd be dead. No, the corpo wanted him off-planet and out of the way. The beating had served to even the score.

  Carefully, and with lots of help from Wendy, Lando dabbed at his face, brushed his teeth, and shuffled into the lounge.

  None of this met with Wendy's approval, but she was powerless to stop it. Some coffee, a little bit of fruit juice, and four pain tabs later, Lando felt like he might survive.

  "Did they damage the ship?"

  Wendy shook her head. "Not that I could see."

  Lando nodded. It confirmed his suspicions. They wanted him to leave. If the message torps triggered some sort of investigation, a murder would make things worse.

  The whole thing had seemed slightly silly the night before, a wild-eyed scheme by a bunch of religious fanatics, but now it was different. Now it was personal.

  Lando cleared his throat. "What time is it?"

  Wendy glanced at her wrist term. "Almost noon."

  "Okay. Get your stuff. We'll lift in four hours."

  Wendy shook her head. "No, Pik. Your body needs time to recover. I won't allow it."

  "We have no choice," Lando insisted gently. "News of what happened on Weller's World will arrive any day now. Besides, once we clear the atmosphere I'll hand the ship over to the NAVCOMP and sleep all the way to Techno."

  Wendy didn't like it, but knew that Lando was correct. The sooner he left, the better. And her too, for that matter. She had no desire to face Lorenzo Pal. Not yet anyway. She stood up. "All right… if you promise to take easy until I come back."

  Lando smiled and winced when it hurt. "Yes ma'am, doctor ma'am. But there's one more thing. We're going to need some help. The cargo carrier trick won't work twice. We need someone on the ground. Someone who knows the equatorial zone. Someone who's willing to take a few risks."

  Wendy frowned. The equatorial zone was the ten-to-fifteen mile-wide strip of land located directly under Angel's halo. It covered some three hundred thousand square miles of surface area and was an extremely dangerous place to go. Roughly 250 million tons of debris fell into the equatorial zone each year, with individual chunks ranging in size from bullets to ground cars. The corpos used huge armor-plated crawlers to scavenge for metals in their half of the zone and lost one or two a year.

  Wendy considered telling Lando that, but one look at his beat-up face convinced her to let it go. The less talking the better. She nodded.

  "I know just the man. He goes into the equatorial zone all the time, and believe me, that's risky. I think he's in town but I'm not sure."

  "Good," Lando answered. "Bring him here. Oh, and bring some maps of the equatorial zone. We're going to need them."

  It took Wendy more than an hour to rush home, shove some clean clothes into her backpack, and find her father.

  Blopar Wendeen was out in the equipment shed as usual, his large bony hands working to replace the drive assembly on Elder O'Brien's number two robo-tiller while his mind dwelt on events long past. The sun slashed down through a large skylight to bathe him in gold.

  Wendy paused for a moment, determined to lock the picture away in her memory, insurance against the possibility that she'd never see it again. She'd grown up here, playing among the machinery, asking her father endless questions. The look of it, the smell of it, were an important part of her childhood memories.

  The workshop was a large but almost fanatically tidy place, full of chain hoists, power tools, spare parts, and equipment awaiting repair. Although Wendy's father thought of himself as a farmer, and did sow some fields each year, he made most of his money by repairing other people's machinery. Machinery that would cease to exist if the plan worked.

  A power wrench whined and chattered in Blopar Wendeen's hand. Then he saw his daughter, the backpack that dangled from its strap, and knew she was leaving. Wendeen turned the wrench off and put it down. He wiped his hands with a dirty rag.

  "So, he's well enough to lift?"

  Wendy shrugged. "No, not really, but he's determined to do it anyway."

  Wendeen nodded. "I have a feeling that Citizen Pal did us an enormous favor last night. Pik had 'no' written all over his face as he left the house. The beating changed his mind."

  Wendy thought about it and decided that her father was probably right. She felt disappointed. It always seemed as though Pik did the right things for the wrong reasons.

  "Yes," Wendy replied soberly. "I suspect you're right. Well, we're lucky to have him. If anyone can get the cargo through, Pik can. By the way, he wants me to bring him someone who knows the surface, especially the equatorial zone."

  Wendeen frowned. "The equatorial zone? Why there? It's extremely dangerous."

  Wendy nodded. "Yes, I know. But that's what he wants."

  Blopar Wendeen looked thoughtful. "Okay, but don't let him risk the shipment on any stupid schemes. You thought of Lars?"

  "Yes, that's where I'm headed next. I hope he's in town."

  Her father nodded. "He is. I saw him yesterday. He asked after you."

  Wendy made a face. Lars Schmidt had asked her to marry him. Twice. She had refused on both occasions. She could hardly say "yes," knowing it would put Lars on a collision course with Lorenzo Pal.

  And there was something else too. Was this what she really wanted? Life on a rim world? Lando had offered to take her with him, not just to Techno but wherever he went. Part of her wanted to say "yes."

  "You could do a lot worse," her father cautioned sternly. "Lars has a good head on his shoulders."

  Wendeen regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. He started to apologize but it was too late.

  "And you should mind your own business," Wendy replied tartly. "Who I marry is my business. Take care, Father. And watch out for Lorenzo Pal. He'll be back."

  Wendeen bent over to kiss his daughter's cheek, cursed himself for a fool, and watched her leave the shed. A large part of his heart went with her. She was right about Pal. The next few months would be extremely difficult. But difficulty was nothing new. Not for The Church of Free Choice. The wrench chattered in his hand.

  Lars Schmidt was right where Wendy had expected him to be, deep beneath the city's library, busily tapping data into the colony's mainframe computer. A computer that the corpos knew nothing about.

  The brightly lit room held six terminals, and all of them were in use. Two of the scientists nodded to Wendy as she walked down the center aisle, but the rest didn't even look up. Computer time was precious and they were determined to use every second. One of them wore a bulbous helmet that allowed him to use verbal commands without disturbing the others.

  Most were hard at work on computer-aided models that simulated the interaction between the planet and the custom-designed ecosystem now waiting on Techno. It would be too late to correct mistakes once the organisms had been dispersed.

  Schmidt was the single exception. He was the colony's chief geologist and had just returned from a field trip. His research had a bearing not only on the eco-design project but more general applications as well
.

  It was Schmidt's job to assess their half of the planet's mineral resources, investigate the many active volcanos, and pass that information along to the rest of the scientific community. There was absolutely no chance that he'd accomplish the task in his lifetime.

  The geologist was a large man. He filled the chair to overflowing and tapped the computer keys with big blunt fingers. He wore a set of beat-up leathers, a utility belt, and some scruffy boots.

  The man was handsome, there was no doubt about that, and Wendy could feel his raw physical power from ten feet away. He had a neatly trimmed beard and bright green eyes. They lit up with pleasure as Wendy appeared.

  "Wendy! It's good to see you. I heard about the trouble. Are you all right?"

  There was genuine concern in Schmidt's voice. He knew what Pal had done, and was worried about Wendy. There was no trace of the distaste or curiosity that some men would have displayed. Wendy felt grateful. She smiled. "Hello, Lars. It's good to see you too. I'm fine, thanks."

  Wendy gestured towards the computer. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I need your help. I also need the latest maps, surveys, and photos of the equatorial zone."

  Lars looked curious, but nodded, and produced a big smile. His teeth were extremely white in contrast to his beard. "For you, anything. I'll dump what you want to a data cube, log off, and be right with you."

  Schmidt was as good as his as his word. Fifteen minutes later they were aboard Blopar Wendeen's UV and racing towards the airstrip. The geologist did his best to listen and hang on at the same time. Wendy drove with her usual abandon and yelled to make herself heard over the engine.

  The more Schmidt heard, the less he liked it. He didn't like the fact that Wendy was spending time with another man, he didn't like plans that involved the equatorial zone, and he didn't like being so helpless.

  But Schmidt knew Wendy, and knew that one wrong word could drive a wedge between them, so he kept his reservations to himself.

  Wendy sprayed gravel against The Tink's starboard landing jack and brought the vehicle to a sliding halt. Schmidt followed her into the ship's lock, waited for it to cycle them through, and felt increasingly jealous. The way Wendy operated the lock, the way she moved down the vessel's main corridor, all signified a degree of intimacy that he envied. Who was this Lando guy anyway? And what made him so special?

  Then Wendy stepped out of the way and the geologist was taken aback by what he saw. In spite of the smuggler's fresh coverall it was obvious that he'd been severely beaten. Something Schmidt knew a lot about, since unlike the other colonists, he was well acquainted with violence.

  Not even Wendy knew that the soft-spoken scientist had served a six-year hitch in the Imperial marines, fought on three different worlds, and been decorated twice. Nor did she know that the second decoration was the Imperial Battle Star, the empire's highest medal of valor, or what Schmidt had done to get it. A deed so horrible that it still haunted his dreams.

  Wendy smiled hesitantly. "Lars Schmidt… Pik Lando. Pik… this is Lars. He heads up our geological team."

  Lando winced as he got to his feet. "Welcome aboard, Lars. Thanks for coming."

  Schmidt wanted to dislike the other man, wanted to find fault with him, wanted to reject him. But it was impossible to do. Long before Schmidt had heard of the Church, or embraced a life of nonviolence, the marine corps had trained him to respect honesty, strength, and courage. And like it or not, Lando looked like a man with all of those traits. No wonder Wendy liked him. Schmidt forced a smile.

  "Glad to do it. I'm sorry about the beating. It looks like a rather professional job."

  Lando raised an eyebrow, one of the few facial expressions that didn't hurt. A nonviolent geologist who knew a professional beating when he saw one. Interesting.

  "Yeah, they knew what they were doing all right. Which brings us to the present. I've agreed to take my ship to Techno, pick up your custom-designed ecosystem, and bring it back."

  Schmidt nodded his understanding. "The first part being relatively easy, the second being a good deal more difficult."

  Lando smiled. "Exactly. And that's where you come in."

  The ensuing conversation lasted for more than an hour. During that time, information about the planet's surface was dumped into the ship's computer, and various plans were considered and rejected before a compromise was reached.

  It would require lots of luck, no small amount of courage, and considerable skill.

  Schmidt had mixed feelings as he drove away in Blopar Wendeen's utility vehicle and paused to watch the liftoff. He wished Wendy were on the ground with him. The entire plan was iffy, but Schmidt's part, the part on the ground, was the worst of all. What would he do if it came to a fight? Give up, or…?

  There was a roar of sound as Lando activated the main drive and pushed his ship up through the atmosphere. Within a matter of minutes the The Tink was little more than a speck at the far end of a long white contrail. The contrail intersected Angel's halo and made an enormous white cross. The speck disappeared.

  Schmidt sat for a moment, stared at the cross, and wished that things were different. It seemed that the very thing he had run away from had tracked him down.

  He started the UV's engine and headed back towards town. He would return the vehicle to Blopar Wendeen later. The thought of making conversation with Wendy's father was too much to face right now. Why hadn't he told her how he felt? That he was worried about her? That he cared about her?

  Because she'd think he was being possessive, that's why, or jealous, or God knows what. Schmidt remembered the marriage proposals. Awkward blurted things that seemed to fall from his lips like stones. He winced, and drove a little faster.

  Schmidt's house was half underground like all the rest, a small affair, but more than adequate for a bachelor who spent most of his time in the field.

  Schmidt parked the UV out front, entered through the front door, and headed for the bedroom. The house was sparsely furnished. There was only one of everything and no provision for guests. Every available surface was littered with core samples, pieces of rock, and stacks of hard copy. Boots, packs, and other oddments of outdoor gear filled the corners.

  Schmidt entered the bedroom, went straight to the closet, and brushed a pile of dirty laundry off the top of a gray duraplast trunk. He paused for a moment, grabbed a handle, and dragged the chest out into the room. Schmidt pressed his thumb against the print lock, heard a distinct click, and felt the lid move under his hand.

  There was a long moment during which Lars Schmidt did nothing at all. It had been five years since he'd sealed the trunk. What would happen if it were opened? Would it be like Pandora's box? A source of pent-up evil?

  Moving slowly, Schmidt lifted the lid. There were four separate bundles inside. He lifted them out one by one and placed them on the unmade bed. Carefully, almost reverently, he unwrapped each bundle.

  Then, when all the objects had been laid side by side, he sat down to look at them. The bed hissed under his weight. There was a blast rifle, an assault gun, a hand blaster, and a slug thrower. All artifacts of an earlier life. A life in which he had understood and treasured such things.

  Were they the very embodiment of evil? Why had he kept them? And what would he do now?

  Schmidt heard no answer beyond the sound of his own breathing.

  11

  Lester Haas was bored and had been for some time. He was a small man, strong for his size, and as plain as an unmarked envelope. That's why it was so easy for him to sit in the middle of the arrival lounge without attracting attention. Something he'd done every day for the past three weeks.

  It was fun at first, a nice change from life as a bounty hunter, living off a Mega-Metals expense account while waiting for people to happen by. But it was extremely boring. You spot someone, file a report, and sit around some more. Haas would have enough money to buy his passage out in another week or two. Maybe he'd try his hand at roid mining or join someone's army. Anything would
be better than this.

  Haas crossed his legs, refolded the news fax to the sports section, and scanned the immediate area. The synthi-leather-covered seats started right in front of Techno's entry point and radiated outward like ripples in a pond. About a third were occupied.

  Very few of the people around Haas were waiting for incoming passengers. Most were too poor to live in anything more spacious than an hourly sleep slot, and used the lounge as a communal sitting room. They read, watched portable holo players, or munched on the wide variety of food available from the roving robo-vendors.

  And others, even those with a bit more money, came to enjoy the high ceiling, the lush islands of green plants that dotted the lounge, and the slowly moving star field that could be seen through the transparent duraplast high overhead.

  Bit by bit the lounge had come to serve as a social center,

  much like the town squares common to recently settled rim worlds, or the gigantic shopping malls of Terra.

  So there were all sorts of people in the lounge, long-time residents and newcomers alike, walking, talking, or just taking a nap.

  Haas compared their faces and body types to the hundreds that had been chemically and electronically memprinted onto his cerebral cortex, found a zero correlation, and turned his attention to the sports page.

  Like any large corporation, Mega-Metals had a lot of friends and a lot of enemies. Both bore watching. In the dog-eat-dog world of competition, today's friend could be tomorrow's enemy. Information could spell the difference between profit and loss.

  That's why Mega-Metals paid Haas, and thousands of others, to gather information. And Techno was the perfect place to do it. The scientific habitat functioned as a sort of economic and political crossroads, a place where all sorts of sentients met, and intrigue was a way of life.

  That made the place worth watching, not just by Mega-Metals, but by all the larger corporations, and the government as well.

  Haas smiled to himself. He wondered what would happen if he stood on his chair and asked all the spies to raise their right hands. The ex-bounty hunter imagined a hundred hands stabbing the air all at once. Would anyone be left? Was anyone an innocent? Or were all of them watching each other?