Stranded on Haven

by William Zellmann

  The king hadn't been 'standing about'. He awaited me on a large, comfortable chair in front of a large selection of snacks and drinks; and a sycophantic crowd of courtiers, including Toray, bustled about making certain that the king's every wish was immediately granted.

  Toray glowered at me as he ushered the king aboard. "Where have you been?" he demanded in an outraged whisper. "His Majesty is most upset!"

  I grinned at him and Duke Richard, who was hovering nearby. "I've taken two heads of state to Cellia City and Tarrant, and back in less than an hour. I'd bet that a year ago King David would have considered that 'fast'. And now you're keeping him waiting. Shall we go?"

  The cranky, yawning King David that I returned to his palace in Firstlanding barely resembled the dignified young man I'd picked up hours earlier. The carefully-coiffed hair was mussed, the crown askew. He'd unbuttoned the two top buttons of his tunic, revealing a none-too-clean white undershirt, and his fly was unbuttoned. He'd obviously enjoyed the alcoholic liquid refreshments provided, and spent most of the flight flirting clumsily with several of his female courtiers.

  Duke Richard, though, was cold sober, and less than happy; whether at me or his king, I don't know.

  I breathed a huge sigh of relief as the king's party debarked from the gig. But it turned out to be premature. As soon as we lifted off from the royal palace, Heidi nudged me. "Kel Sarbo gave me this note to deliver to you as soon as the party was over."

  I looked at it like it was a stingfoot. "I doubt he has anything to say that I want to hear," I said. "I'm sure he recognized me." I opened the note. It was quite short:

  "Messer Carver: I have changed my mind about participation in your auction. Please have your representatives return so we can discuss it. Telegraph time and date they will be available. Sarbo."

  I sighed. "I was right. I really didn't want to find out that he'd changed his mind."

  But especially since I was certain he'd recognized me, I had little choice. I wondered if he thought he could blackmail me into giving him the aluminum contract. If so, he would regret it. Even if he took the news that I was moving about incognito to the palace and Duke Richard, little harm would be done. Our "safe houses" had already been established, and though I didn't say so to Ada Curran, I already had a Westin passport in an assumed name, as well as ones from Cellia, New Home, and Cornwell. Now that he knew me, I would have to be a little more cautious in my movements, but I was prepared for that.

  Still, if he told Duke Richard that I was moving about, the Duke would spare no effort to find and capture me. So, yes, I had to go.

  ********

  I couldn't have been out for more than a few minutes; when I came to, a face with sickening breath and a three-day growth of beard was removing my eyeglasses. My fake mustache was in his other hand. The last thing I remembered was leaving the train station and preparing to board a cab that had just pulled up. Obviously, we'd been attacked. I'd probably been hit with a leather bag full of lead shot, I decided. They didn't want to chance hurting me. "It's him all right," Bad Breath said. "I seen lotsa pictures. I guess the old man was tellin' the truth."

  There was a grunt. "The old man knows better'n to lie to me. Everybody knows better!"

  "What about the dollies?" came another voice, a gravelly bass.

  The man who'd stripped off my glasses was just sitting back. Another man, behind him, leaned forward. "Bring the small one along. Maybe she can help us reason with the hero, here. Leave the other one. One will be enough to convince him," he replied carelessly. The voice was the same one who was sure no one lied to him. There was a scuffle, and I saw Ellie's unconscious form lifted across my body. At least I assumed she was unconscious. At a word from the leader, we began moving off. I realized immediately that we were in an unsprung freight wagon.

  The wagon lurched, and the unshaven face with the murderous breath was thrust nearly against mine. "Hey!" said the face, "this one's awake."

  The leader shrugged. "Just sit on 'im until we get to the place," he grated. Bad Breath took him at his word, and I grunted as he literally followed his orders. My hands were restrained behind my back, and the handcuffs hurt. I ignored it, though. I had some urgent thinking to do.

  These weren't Duke Richard's people, or any other agents on Haven. No, it was like old home week. These were slumrunners; the kinds of thugs common in any ghetto area. That was both good news and bad news. It meant they would lack the efficiency and professionalism of trained agents. But it also meant that they were likely to substitute animal savagery for the cold brutality of trained interrogators. The leader here was probably nothing more than a criminal gang lord; a powerful one, perhaps, but still just a gang chief.

  The leader leaned forward, breaking my train of thought. "So, this is the Star Man, huh?' he asked. He snorted. "He don't look like much to me. He's just a skinny beanpole. Good thing you didn't stroke him too hard with that sap, Arby. You mighta made him cry."

  All three thugs laughed at that. And that gave me an idea. Life in the slum mostly reduced to the strong intimidating the weak. In the organized gangs, there wasn't a lot of fighting, except within their pecking order. Outside the gang, most of the 'fighting' consisted of beating up the few victims that dared resist their claimed authority. Their swagger, reputations, and aggressive manner were usually enough to get people to give them what they wanted. Maybe if I played the abject coward, they would relax their watchfulness for the few seconds Ellie and I would need to take them. It wouldn't work with professional agents or interrogators, of course; but with these bullies it just could work, and I was desperate. I really wished it was Heidi with me instead of the inexperienced Ellie. But all I could do was hope that her reaction time matched her attack speed in VR.

  I cringed, trying to pull away from the leader's face, despite the other thug sitting on me. The leader snorted. "Yeah. Like I thought. Just a chaz!" He settled back with a satisfied smirk. "I don't think this'll take long. He'll prob'ly break out crying as soon as we start on him or the dolly."

  The others laughed at their leader's joke, of course. There are no more abject sycophants than gang members. Well, okay, maybe I'm a little prejudiced. I call it experience, though.

  The vehicle, which I now saw was a steam truck, came to a halt, and Ellie and I were manhandled out onto the floor of what I decided was a partially-filled warehouse.

  "Bring 'em down to the basement," the leader ordered, "so the screams don't disturb the neighbors." He turned an evil grin on me, and I cringed. "Please don't hurt, me – us –." I pleaded, and the leader nodded with a satisfied grin.

  As they dragged us down the steep stairs, I saw that Ellie was conscious. Her hands and feet were tied, and one of the thugs was carrying her over one shoulder like a sack of flour. Her eyes were full of fury, but she caught my eye and jerked a quick, almost imperceptible nod. There was fear there, too, of course, but I was sure her anger would help her cope with it. Okay, I hoped her fury would override her terror. I winked at her, hoping that she would understand that my cowardice was just an act. Well, mostly an act.

  The basement had obviously been used for interrogations before. As one of the toughs lit the gas lights, I could see a large, heavy chair bolted to the wood floor. It had restraints attached for the arms, wrists, neck, and ankles. I was fastened to this, while making a great show of terror and abject pleading.

  It wasn't easy, What I was really feeling was fury. But all revealing that would get me would be a lot of pain, and maybe even death, if the thugs were careless. Ellie, bound hand and foot, was simply dropped onto the rough floor, where she lay mostly ignored by our captors.

  The leader dragged a chair over to face me. "All right, Star Man," he began. "I'm Var Rains." He paused, Obviously expecting me to recognize the name. When I didn't react, an irritated frown crossed his face. "I guess you woudn'ta hearda me. You been hangin' out with the fancies. But I'm the guy that runs Firstlanding; at least the crooked side of it. The old man just wants that
," he indicated the valise containing the book and aluminum sample. He shook his head. "Well, he'll get it. But he's a fool. I'm not."

  "Please," I pleaded, "don't hurt me ­ us. What do you want?"

  He reached out casually and backhanded me across the face. "You ain't stupid. You know what I want. You're gonna give me control of them two spaceships. Yah, I c'n read. I know you got control of ol' Adventurer, and you got another ship, too. Well, you're gonna tell me how to do that; how to get control of them thinkin' machines that run the ships."

  I put on a frightened look. "No. Please. I can't. I …"

  He backhanded me again. "Yeah, you can. And you will." Suddenly he smiled. "Hey, I know I gotta rep, but I ain't so bad. You be reasonable, and nobody gets hurt. I might even let you keep a nice little territory." The smile faded to a grim glare. "If you ain't reasonable, though, well, bad things 're gonna happen to you and the dolly, here. So, you gonna cooperate?"

  I made a show of swallowing noisily and cringing back into the chair. "No … Please … I can't …"

  Rains nodded. "Break one of his fingers, Arby," he said casually. Arby stepped forward and I steeled myself to endure what was coming. I had to get these thugs into space, out of their comfort area and into mine. But I had to make a strong show of resistance, despite my apparent cowardice. Rains wouldn't believe it if it was too easy. So, I was going to have to endure some torture. I hoped it wouldn't be something Startrader's med bay couldn't handle!

  My main concern was for Ellie. I couldn't let them get started on her. Street thugs were very proud of the masculinity. To them, "masculinity" meant power and authority; they would be eager to show off for the others. They were sure to start with gang rape, and move on to even more disgusting sexual tortures; the kind of trauma that even the best counseling program would find difficult to deal with in a society like Haven's. So, ironically, I was hoping they would confine the physical stuff to me, but still leave me capable of taking advantage of an opportunity to turn the tables. At the moment, though, hoping was all I could do.

  I balled my hands into fists, all the time pleading and trying to work up tears. The burly Arby just grinned and pried my fingers open. No acting was necessary; the thug was strong!

  I don't think he really broke my left index finger, but it certainly felt as though he had when he casually pried it up backwards, dislocating it and leaving it standing straight up. Again, no acting was necessary. It hurt, and I didn't try to suppress a cry of pain.

  "See?" Rains asked. "That's just a sample of what could happen if you keep bein' stubborn. An' when we get tired a dealin' with you, well, the dolly looks to be hours a fun. So, what about it?"

  The tears I'd been trying to raise had risen easily on the tide of pain. But it would take more than a dislocated finger to make even a coward give up such a huge secret. I gritted my teeth and braced myself. I shook my head silently. Rains smiled. "Too bad. Break his hand, Arby."

  The thug pulled a large revolver from his waistband. He reversed it, and smashed its butt down on the back of my left hand.

  No acting, now. I screamed as the small bones of my hand were smashed with a crunch easily audible in the basement. One of the things that helped me survive in the slums was the ability to control pain. Somehow, I was able to push it into a back corner of my mind, and endure it without losing my ability to think clearly. This time, though, I hugged the pain to me, letting it dominate me; letting it make me react like a coward.

  "Please!" I begged. "No more, please! Don't hurt me anymore! I'll do anything you say!" I slumped in the chair, hopefully conveying a picture of cowardly misery.

  Rains sat back, a satisfied expression on his wide, florid face. "Yah," he said. "I thought so. Just a chaz." His tone turned contemptuous, almost dismissive. Just as I'd hoped. And I suspected his thugs would follow his lead, dismissing me as easy meat, no threat.

  "All right, chaz, how d'ya transfer control of them ships?"

  I was openly weeping, now, or at least struggling to convey that impression. The thug he called "Arby" grabbed a handful of my hair, pulled my head back. He slapped my face, following the slap with a hard backhand. "Messer Rains axed you a question," he grated. "Answer him!" He drew back his hand for another slap.

  I almost had to suppress a grin. It was working! Simple face slaps were actually signs of contempt. If he'd thought I was resisting the torture, he'd have worked on my ruined left hand. Contempt was good; it was what would make the thugs careless enough to give us the few seconds Ellie and I would need.

  "Please," I begged, "No more. I'll tell you. But it can't be done from here. You have to be aboard the ships to assume command. It takes fingerprints and retinal scans," I added.

  Rains frowned. "What's this 'retina scan'?" he asked suspiciously.

  I shook my head. "It just means staring into a box for a moment. It's to provide positive identification."

  "By lookin' into a box?" his tone was doubtful.

  I nodded. "The pattern of blood vessels in the eye is as distinctive as a fingerprint. But fingerprints can be altered; retinal patterns can't."

  Raines frowned. "I know about fingerprints, but I never hearda this 'retina scan'." After a moment his face cleared as he made a decision. "I guess it's star stuff. All right, Star Man, how do we get up to your ships? An' don't try to tell me we gotta go to that 'International Zone' of yours. You gotta way to sneak down here, an' it ain't too far away."

  I nodded. "I've got a lander stashed at a lighthouse. It's about a three-hour train ride, though."

  Rains nodded. "Cooey, bring that map over here." He even had Arby free my right hand. "Awright," he said, "show me this lighthouse." It took me only a moment to orient myself on the map, and to point out the lighthouse.

  Rains nodded again. "Right. But we ain't gonna take no train; too many witnesses. We'll take the steam buggy." He grinned at me. "An' if there ain't no spaceship there, well, it's easy to get rid a bodies in the ocean." I cringed theatrically.

  The steam buggy was a top-of-the-line limousine, but even so, it only had room for me, Ellie, Rains and two thugs. Good. The odds were getting better. I'd seen almost a dozen gang members at the warehouse.

  Finally, I could push the pain away; a good thing, since the trip took more than four hours. Rains and his thugs spent the trip laughing and joking, mainly at our expense. Ellie and I were silent, trying to reassure each other with winks, nods, and smiles. It was a long, unpleasant ride.

  But the gig was there. For awhile, I'd been worried that Heidi might have taken it and returned to the ship or the Zone.

  I was worried about Heidi. If she was coshed like us, she probably regained consciousness almost immediately after we'd driven off. What would she have done? And what if she hadn't awakened immediately? We'd been almost in front of the train station, one of the most public locations in Firstlanding. An unconscious woman would have been reported to the police immediately, and when Heidi was identified, alarm bells would go off in Duke Richards' mind.

  Well, if she did awaken without official attention, her first move would have been to contact Lisa. Lisa would have been able to pinpoint my position, but that wouldn't have helped Heidi much. That warehouse was obviously a long-term hideout for Rains, and as I mentioned, we'd seen over a dozen thugs there; Heidi would have no chance of rescuing us by herself.

  Nor could she go to the police. Oh, King David's police would have been delighted to help "rescue" the Star Man, but that would merely be exchanging one captivity for another, and probably worse one in King David's dungeons. There was zero chance that Duke Richard hadn't notified the police to report anything connected with the "Star Man".

  She couldn't even go to the Zone and mobilize my "assistants" without revealing that I'd been sneaking around Haven undetected, a fact that would be of great interest to even the friendliest of nations. Chances were it would touch off a planet-wide search. And once found, I would be a virtual prisoner, if not an actual one.

  I suspec
ted that Heidi would return to the lighthouse and have Lisa take her back to Startrader, where she and Lisa could try to find a way to help. I'd been hoping Heidi would remember to send the gig back to the lighthouse; we had discussed plans of action in the event of my capture, and Heidi knew that I would try to get my captors to bring me back to Startrader. After all, space was my domain; the advantages would be mine. We could cut the gravs, and leave our captors flailing about in midair, we could have them swarmed by 'bots as a distraction, and there were dozens of other actions that native captors would not expect.

  Whatever her actions, the gig was there. It was mid-day. I tried to convince Rains to wait until dark, but he demanded that we leave immediately. I did what I could: I skimmed the ocean until I was sure we were out of sight of the coast, and then lifted straight for Startrader as fast and as roughly as the gig could carry us. I wanted the thugs' minds on the fact that they were flying high above Haven; it could only make them more nervous than they already were.

  Rains was clearly aware that he was out of his element here. He fidgeted nervously, a large revolver in his hand. I made it a point to emphasize that firing a revolver in space, or even in the upper atmosphere, would have disastrous results. Rains ordered the other two thugs to put their revolvers away, though he still nervously toyed with his own.

  None of the three were very happy about stripping naked to board, either. Most of the trip to orbit was spent explaining and re-explaining to Rains and his thugs that Startrader would not permit them to board without decontam. He kept insisting that I could simply order Lisa to let us board; I explained at least six times that Lisa was programmed to refuse boarding to anyone not properly decontammed. That meant, of course, that I also had to explain repeatedly what "programming" was, and the difference between a hard-wired instruction and an order.