"I think I'll run a tab," Cap replied. It would call for exquisite judgment but if he drank just the right amount he could get reasonably sloshed and still fly the speedster. It was only a short hop into orbit and one rotation home.
He looked around. Willie's was nearly empty. "Not much business today."
The barkeep shrugged and wiped the countertop with a wet rag. "Well, sir, it's early yet. On toward nighttime we start to fill up."
Cap nodded. "Where's the men's room?"
"Right over there," the bartender replied, pointing across the room. "Take a right at the roid miner."
"Roid miner?" Cap squinted into the dark.
Sure enough, a woman dressed in a set of beat-up leathers sat slumped in a chair, her back to the bar. Maybe she knew something interesting, maybe not. A drink was a small price to pay to find out.
Besides, talking with her would justify his presence in the bar, and elevate his drinking to the category of "business research."
Cap signaled the barkeep and pointed to the miner. "Give her another of whatever she's drinking."
The bartender gave Cap a knowing grin and reached for another glass.
By the time Cap returned from the men's room, his drink and a tall glass of green liquor sat in front of the miner.
She wore her hair high and tight marine style. She had a broad forehead, an upturned nose, and a no-nonsense mouth. The telltale rub burns on her forehead and cheeks hinted at endless hours spent in space armor. A roid miner for sure.
"I don't screw for drinks, mister. So if that's the plan, then forget it."
Cap smiled. "No plan, and other than some conversation, no obligation."
The woman nodded. "Fair enough. Just thought you should know. Have a seat. My name's Libby Nox. Most people just call me Nox, or Noxie."
"All right, Noxie. My name's Sorenson. People call me Cap. What brings you to Pylax?"
In his efforts to locate the Star of Empire Cap had conducted hundreds, maybe even thousands of similar interviews over the last few years, and the first part of Noxie's story was quite typical.
According to Noxie she and her partner, a woman named Farley, had worked a claim deep in the belt. Things were tough, but the two women made do, even scratched out a small profit until their claim took a direct hit from a "buster."
"Busters" were large chunks of rock that careened from asteroid to asteroid like enormous cue balls, knocking them out of their established orbits, and "busting" the small ones into even smaller pieces. Such was the fate of Noxie's claim.
Fortunately for her. Noxie was away at the time, using their scooter to scout another rock. Farley wasn't so lucky. She along with their small ship disappeared during the moment of impact.
Like most roid miners the two women had established an emergency supply dump on a nearby asteroid. Included was enough oxygen, food, and water to make it out of the belt. Loading it aboard a sled, and hooking the sled to her scooter, Noxie began the long arduous journey to the nearest gate. Once there she could take shelter in a dome provided for that purpose, activate an emergency beacon, and wait for help.
While incredible, the story up to this point was far from unusual, the rigors of the belt being what they were. But then, well lubricated by her fourth drink, Noxie said something that pushed the alcohol out of Cap's brain.
"Yeah," Noxie said, "strangely enough the 02 was holding out, but my food was running low, and ditto the water. So there I was, getting ready to make the big jump, when I seen this ship."
"A ship?"
"That's what I said isn't it? A ship. A big sucker, big enough to be a liner, you know the kind I mean?"
"Yes," Cap answered excitedly. "I know the kind you mean. What happened next?"
"Well," Noxie said, more than a little drunk, "I thought my ass was saved. I thought they'd take me aboard, buy me dinner, and show me to a stateroom."
"And?" Cap asked, sensing where Noxie was going, and impatient to get there.
"And it was a drifter," Noxie answered dramatically. "A ghost ship. I was shit out of luck."
"Did you board her?"
Noxie shook her head. "No time. I was short on supplies remember? And it was spooky. No. I hauled butt."
"What did she look like?" Cap asked eagerly. "Can you describe her?"
Noxie finished a drink and wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve. "Why bother? Ain't a picture worth a thousand words?"
"You took a picture?" Cap asked, his heart in his throat. My God, after all these years, what if it was the Star of Empire?
"Hell yes," Noxie replied, fumbling around inside her jacket. "I've got it here someplace, wait a minute, here. Take a look at that."
As Cap took the crumpled holopix his hands trembled. Fighting back the effects of alcohol, Cap forced his eyes to focus and gave a grunt of satisfaction.
It was a ship all right, a big one, big enough to be the Star of Empire.
Unfortunately the picture was slightly out of focus. Just enough to prevent absolute identification, but what the hell, given the vessel's size and shape it had to be the Empire.
She was out there! Relatively undamaged and waiting for him to find her!
There was a tremble in Cap's voice as he asked the next question. "It looks interesting, Noxie, real interesting, a drifter sure enough. I don't suppose you took some bearings?"
A crafty look came over Noxie's face and Cap found himself wondering just how drunk she really was. "Suppose I did?
"Information like that would be worth money, lots of money, especially to someone in the salvage business. And that's you, isn't it, Cap? You're in the salvage business. In fact, I'll bet that you're captain of a salvage tug, and that's why they call you Cap."
Cap made no effort to deny it. Negotiations began. They lasted for the better part of an hour. Cap found Noxie to be a shrewd negotiator and nobody's fool. She knew Cap wanted the drifter, and wanted it bad. And having lost everything to the buster, she was determined to get everything she could.
So when the two of them shook hands Cap was broke. Noxie had all his money. She had Junk's operating budget for the next two months, electronically transferred from his account to hers, plus the crew's pay.
Cap felt sure they'd understand, and even if they didn't, he'd sweet-talk them into waiting a bit longer. After all, they knew he was a drunk, and drunks do irresponsible things.
So it was with a sense of triumph that Cap zipped the bearings into the inside pocket of his coat, hoisted one last drink with Noxie, and set out for the spaceport.
There was a spring in his step as he passed through the gates. He'd done a good piece of business, the Star of Empire was out there waiting for him, and he could still walk without assistance. Mel would be proud.
All landing fees were paid cash in advance, so it was a simple matter to wave his plastic receipt at a scanner, and make his way out onto the field. Lacking the money for a ground shuttle he walked toward the speedster.
It was about two miles out to the low-cost landing grids and the sun was hot. The combination of the heat and the alcohol made Cap's head swim.
The walk seemed to last forever, but finally he was there, climbing into the cockpit and entering his code.
The moment Cap hit the last digit a beeper went off accompanied by a flashing red light. There was a message waiting.
What now? Couldn't it wait until he came aboard?
Cap pressed a button, heard a moment of static, followed by Melissa's voice. His daughter's obvious desperation sobered Cap up faster than a bucket of cold water.
"Daddy! Pik was outside working in the trap. Willer came and did something horrible to him. Cy's got Junk's control system torn apart and it'll be half an hour before he gets it back together.
"Cy says help's on the way, but I'm afraid they'll take too long, so I'm going after Pik myself. Daddy, I need your help but if you're sick, don't try to take off."
Cap swore, bypassed the normal start-up procedures, and went for emerg
ency lift. The control tower was still screaming threats as the speedster screamed over the horizon and climbed toward space.
As heavy G's crushed Cap's chest and drove the blood from his brain, he could still hear her words: "Daddy, I need your help, but if you're sick, don't try to take off." Shame rolled over him like a wave and he cursed his own weakness.
Melissa bit her lip until blood came. What looked so easy when Lando did it was almost impossible for her. The tender seemed huge and awkward under her hands. It wallowed through turns, drifted to port and starboard, and punished her with flashing red lights. There were so many things to do, so many things to remember, and underlying it all the incessant tone from Lando's locator beacon.
Melissa couldn't tell whether Lando was alive or dead but his suit was functioning, and that gave her hope. She wasn't sure what Willer had done to Lando, but given the way the pilot's suit had accelerated out and away from the tender, it seemed as if the cyborg had clobbered him with a pressor beam.
Melissa tried to imagine what that would feel like. To be hit with a club so powerful it could move battleships, to be hurled into space, to be all alone.
Melissa shuddered. Well, she'd find him. She'd follow the locator signal to its source, get him into the lock, and… Tears began to flow.
What if Lando were dead? What if she'd killed him the same way she'd killed Lia? The thought was unbearable.
The tone was louder now, indicating she was closer. She could see it on the scanner screen, a flashing light that indicated electronic emissions, and a dwindling set of digits.
Melissa fumbled with the controls, started to fire retros, and remembered to dump power first. There… no, still too fast… fire the retros again.
Melissa's hair was wet with sweat as the tender slowed and matched speeds with Lando's suit. She'd done it! Releasing her harness, Melissa rolled up and out of her seat. Grabbing handholds, she raced for the lock.
A buzzer went off. Melissa stopped. The buzzer was part of the ship but the voice in her head belonged to Lando.
"A pilot never… repeat never… leaves the board without running a NAVCOMP sequence. There are three programs to choose from: auto run, auto standby, and auto shutdown. Each program…"
Melissa gave a little cry of frustration.
She turned, pulled herself back to the control room, and tapped some instructions into the NAVCOMP. The buzzer stopped, the tender's drive and control systems went over to standby, and Melissa heaved a sigh of relief. She gave a powerful kick and headed for the lock.
Melissa had considered using the tractor-pressor beams to reach out and grab Lando but she was afraid to try. One little mistake and she could push him beyond reach or smash him against the hull. No, it was simpler and safer to suit-up and go after Lando in person.
With her suit sealed Melissa waited for the outer hatch to cycle open and tried her radio. "Pik… this is Melissa. Do you read me, Pik?"
No answer.
The circular hatch was only half-dilated when Melissa dived through. Pylax floated like an amber-colored jewel against the black velvet of space.
But Melissa ignored the planet and everything beyond to concentrate her attention on a single point of reflected light, the steady tone that emanated from it, and the actions necessary to reach it.
Suddenly all hesitation was gone. Space was Melissa's element, her playground, the place where she'd grown up. She'd been going outside for five years now, and even Cap said she was good, better than most grown-ups.
Melissa fired her suit jets in a long steady burst of power, watched the gleam of light turn into a space suit, and did a half somersault. She waited for the jets to slow her down, cut power at just the right moment, and threw her arms around Lando's left leg.
Melissa wasn't a bit surprised at her success. Only impatient to reach the tender, scared of what she might find when she got there, and worried about her ability to handle it.
What if Lando needed emergency medical attention? What if she had to dock with a habitat or, Sol forbid, land on Pylax? Could she do it?
These questions and others plagued Melissa as she grabbed onto Lando's external power pak and blasted for the tender. It was awkward, but Melissa had handled large loads many times before, and this wasn't much different. Lando's external air gauge was in the red so speed was of the essence.
The little ship came up quickly, and Melissa gave thanks for zero G, as she followed Lando's inert form through the hatch and cycled the lock.
Pushing Lando over to a suit lock Melissa engaged the electromagnet and did the same for herself. After that it was a matter of listening to the pulse pound in her head and waiting for the lock to pressurize.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the green light came on and Melissa could break her seals.
Pulling herself over to Lando, Melissa tried to see through his visor and failed.
"Pik? Can you hear me? It's Melissa. I'm opening your suit, Pik. Oh, please, Pik, say something, anything. Tell me you're okay. I promise I'll be good. I'll learn all the math the auto tutor can teach me, I'll clean my cabin twice a week, and I'll wet vac the hydroponics tank without being asked. Please, Pik… wake up."
Melissa pulled his helmet off and saw that he was breathing. Thank God! His eyelids fluttered and popped open. Slowly, very slowly, Lando's eyes came into focus. His voice was little more than a croak.
"You promise?"
"Pik… I'll get some help…"
"You promise about the math?"
"Sure… listen, Pik…"
"Say it."
"I promise to do my math."
"Good girl," Lando replied with just the trace of a smile. "Now drag whatever's left of my body to a bunk and strap it in. I need a nap."
8
Lando looked in the mirror and winced. His face was black and blue. Even though a complete medical examination had failed to turn up any broken bones or internal injuries, the pressor beam had ruptured thousands of capillaries just under the skin and turned Lando's body into a giant bruise.
In fact, the doctor Cap had flown up from Pylax had pronounced him "lucky to be alive," and had shaken her head in amazement.
Lando agreed. He was lucky to be alive. Lucky there'd been plenty of open space behind him, and lucky that Melissa had come after him before his suit ran out of air.
Lando remembered the fear in her voice, the pale little face, and the joy when he spoke. He smiled and it hurt.
Fumbling around in the medicine cabinet, Lando found a couple of pain tabs, placed them on his tongue, and chased them with some water.
The doctor had suggested a zero-G environment for his convalescence, but Lando had refused, pointing out that the movements required during weightlessness would hurt just as much or more. Besides, this way he could sleep in his own cabin, and that felt good.
The intercom bonged gently over his head.
"Yeah?"
"How're you feeling?" The voice belonged to Cap. A day late and a credit short as always, but very solicitous.
Especially after informing Cy and Lando that he'd used their salaries to buy coordinates for what might, or might not, be the Star of Empire, based on a fuzzy photo obtained from a woman in a bar.
It was pure Cap, or crap, depending how you viewed it, and Lando was pissed. But in his present condition the pilot was too beat-up to do more than grit his teeth and go along. "I feel even worse than I look."
"Sorry to hear that," Cap replied, doing his very best to sound sincere.
"Would you know anything about a dead body? We just got a com call from some naval lieutenant. A guy called Itek. He's looking for an Imperial Courier. A man named Nugleo. According to the lieutenant this Nugleo guy turned up missing three or four weeks ago, and for reasons that aren't clear could be orbiting Pylax in a space suit.
"I told him no, we didn't know anything about it, but Mel says you found a body. True?"
All sorts of thoughts raced through Lando's mind. The bounty on his hea
d, the dead body wired to the inside of the trap, and the gold-filled satchel.
Great Sol! The gold! Where was it? Still connected to his suit? Lando hobbled toward the door. "This lieutenant… where is he?"
"On his way up from Pylax," Cap answered curiously. "Why? Is that a problem?"
"It might be," Lando answered tightly. "Meet me at the tender."
Fifteen minutes later Lando opened the tender's lock while Cap looked on. The older man wanted to ask a lot of questions but something about the expression on Lando's face kept him from doing so.
The space suit was right where he'd left it, and yes, the satchel was still in place.
Lando unsnapped the satchel and its sudden weight jerked his hand toward the deck. Wincing at the effort, Lando carried the bag to the outer hatch and dropped it into Cap's waiting arms.
Cap staggered, recovered, and did a double take when he saw the Imperial crest that was woven into the satchel's fabric. "What the… ?"
"Take a look inside," Lando answered impassively. "I think you'll find the contents rather interesting."
Cap fumbled the satchel open and looked inside. Lando smiled at the look of pure unadulterated avarice that came over the other man's face. "That's right… gold. Enough gold to keep all of us happy for the next year or so."
Cap looked up. "The courier? You didn't…"
"Don't be silly," Lando replied scornfully. "The courier had been missing for weeks, remember? No, I didn't kill him, I found him, that's all. He was drifting around Pylax with all the other junk. And that means the gold is ours, right?"
Cap frowned and hefted the satchel with his right hand. "I don't know, Lando . . , our contract gives us salvage rights to whatever we find… that's true enough. But Imperial gold? Chances are it's covered in the"fine print."
Lando swore softly as he climbed down and rubbed the back of his neck. Like the rest of his body it hurt. Cap was probably right. It was just like his father had always said: "Governments are all the same, son, they take most of what you make and spend it on themselves."
Drifter's Run Page 8
