by Eric Flint
The idea had seemed good, but nearly got her killed. She made her hole, making sure she was well clear of the electrified wires, and started walking fast, as she wanted enough light to at least find the cargo door.
And then suddenly there was far too much light. Searchlights sprang to life on the watchtowers, an alarm shrieked. Goth froze for a moment, crimping her eyes against the glare. She was in no-shape and quite safe, but some instinct made her run, anyway, which was just as well as blaster bolts seared the place she’d been standing. She took off at a zigzag run, back toward the fence, with them firing at her from the watchtowers, just as if they could see her.
She realized that they could. They must have some kind of infrared detector. The Toll teaching pattern said she could no-shape infrared too. It wasn’t easy to learn while you were running, but she did it. And kept running for a bit for good measure.
The shooting stopped. But that was definitely a bit of an ionization burn on her shoulder. Did she need the Egger Route…?
Not quite yet, she decided. She was too close now. But the wound hurt and she was fairly mad about it—partly at herself for being caught like that. Well, if they wanted to shoot at infrared images she’d give them some to shoot at. She could split light images—and infrared was still light. There were four targets for them, moving ones, ones that they could shoot at to their hearts’ content. She pushed the split light images toward the watchtowers. Sore or not, she had to suppress a giggle at them shooting at the bases of each other’s towers. Someone was going to fall, hard, when those came down.
Unfortunately, someone must have realized that could happen. They stopped shooting—and plainly were calling for reinforcements. The occupants of the palatial building came—armed, scared—and opened the gate. Goth decided that going to the ship would just have to wait. She went back out of the spaceship compound, where someone had just found her cut wire.
Goth knew that sooner or later they’d figure out she had to have come from the building compound. And then they’d search that, in earnest. Wincing a little at the pain from the burn on her shoulder, Goth decided it would be sensible enough to make them assume she’d come from outside—and hopefully left that way. So she took a piece out of the outer wire…which caused sirens and alarms, not exactly what she’d had in mind. Obviously the outside perimeter had some sort of detector, to make sure it wasn’t broken.
What was out there that they were so scared of? These people were not exactly soft inner-planet dwellers, terrified of the wild. Listening to them, it was all about the Gaks. “There’s bound to be a charge soon!” said someone, warily looking at the dark jungle beyond the cleared area around the fence.
Those funny little hairy humanoids? Goth couldn’t see it. And her shoulder was sore. So she went back to the palatial building in search of some burn ointment and a dressing. That proved harder than she thought it would be. Even in no-shape, you had to dodge being bumped into and also go through doors before they closed. Someone running nearly sent her flying, and really hurt her sore shoulder. And then they slammed a door in her face.
She recognized the next two coming out—the whiny useless Felap and the Bolivar’s mate, Forz. “Why can’t we get the Gaks to do it? Or some of the boss’s guards? Those crates are heavy.”
“Because when the Gaks come they want to be able to shoot anything that looks like one, not worry about if these are tame ones or not, you idiot. And we’ll take a ground truck. If there’s a big rush they’ll need extra blaster charges. Now get a move on.”
“I still don’t see why I have to do it. Ow. You didn’t have to hit me,” complained Felap.
“I don’t have to but I’m going to,” said Forz. “Come on.”
Goth followed the complaining Felap around to the factory, scrambled onto the back of the ground-truck before it rose on its repulsors, and enjoyed a ride out to the Bolivar. She was feeling a little faint by now. Inside the ship she could take a rest and have a good look at her injury. Part way across it occurred to her that their supply of blaster power units was now in a crate labeled TOILET PAPER and if the Gaks did attack they’d have to throw nails at them. Even feeling sore, that made her smile.
Once inside the Bolivar, the two went looking. “Manifest says it should be packed here,” said Forz.
“Well, it’s not,” said Felap, looking at the space-crate label. “Says toilet paper.”
“Patham’s seven steaming hells! Those idiots offloading must have shuffled things about. Look for it.”
They both did and soon found the suitably labeled crates. Felap whined about how heavy they were.
“You’d moan more if we didn’t have them,” said Forz, lifting the other. “They say the last time the Gaks massed an attack there must have been ten thousand of them.”
“Why don’t we just stay on board, then? Just in case.”
“You’re a little worm, Felap. Anyway, Pnaden said that we’re to get the ship offloaded and ready tomorrow. They’ll be bringing the cargo. He wants a quick turnaround.”
That really didn’t suit Goth. She could cope with the Egger Route and one person…but there was a chance of it being two. For that she’d want a spaceship. So once they’d gone, she’d have to wait for their return. Or take steps to see that they couldn’t leave.
First, though, was food and a cleanup of the nasty burn on her shoulder. Then…well, she had the ship’s codes. Part of her wondered if she should just seal the ship, take off, and put it down somewhere else. That was something she could probably manage. Pausert handled takeoffs and landings with the Venture, but both she and the Leewit had been taught how to do it. He’d even taught them how you ought to do it, instead of his way. But that wasn’t quite the same as actually doing the job.
Once she’d eaten, and had a wash, she was yawningly tired. But there was no telling when they might discover that they’d taken two crates of nails, not blaster power units. So she set about making sure that they didn’t find them. Engineering had a store for lubricants and cleaning material so she put the boxes in there. That involved quite a lot of the heavy lifting and carrying that Felap had moaned about, and hurt her shoulder. Then to make sure that they didn’t leave, she removed two electronic units from the tube warmup mechanism. They might be able to find them, or replace them—she really wasn’t sure how well equipped their spares were. But, from her experience with the Venture’s disaster on the world the Megair Cannibals had claimed for their own, she knew that they weren’t going to have a spare multiplier link from the main sequencer. So she took that out too. By this time she was exhausted. She just had to rest, to sleep, somehow, somewhere.
But some instinct said that using the boss’s cabin was probably not a great idea. So she moved her bag out, and took herself to the tip-of-a-broom-cupboard they had given her for a cabin. She cleared enough flat space to lie down on, curled up, and slept.
CHAPTER 13
Goth awoke to the sound of people moving around in the ship. She should have thought to bring breakfast along with her, she realized. Best to find out what they were doing, she decided.
What they were doing was offloading the cargo, in double quick time, and preparing the ship for takeoff. That preparation included cleaning up the boss’s suite, so Goth was glad not to be there.
Actually, it seemed the ship would be a good place not to be soon, so she took the parts, the hat and dark glasses, and a spare jacket and left on one of the ground trucks—which, today, they were using as well as the trolley pulled by the chattering little humanoids. The stores were being packed into a warehouse, but Goth decided that the spaceship spare parts should be put somewhere where they were less likely to be accidentally found. So she went into the factory, which was running full tilt, crushing paratha and packing it into tiny bottles that ran down a conveyor to get sealed. The sealer was against the wall, and had some space behind it. Goth slipped the units into the dusty cavity behind and below—and nearly got herself caught, by touching that machine’s
casing and losing her no-shape.
It drew her in. It was full of memories. This was where the injured prisoner Lieutenant-Commander Kaen had been put to work. He’d fixed that machine…and sent his name out with every single bottle sold. There was also the image of a little hairy humanoid somehow tied to his hopes and fears.
“Who are you?” one of the prisoners from the cells asked. Goth was no longer in no-shape, and just standing there.
“New prisoner,” she said. “I was sent to work here. But they didn’t tell me exactly where I had to go. Everything seems to be a bit of a mess this morning.”
Inwardly Goth was cursing. She didn’t want them searching where she’d been seen—or describing her too closely. She used a light-shift to alter her appearance. But habit caught up on her: She’d been using the ghostly image of Pausert’s mother to try and frighten the crew of the Bolivar, so that was the face she chose. And then seeing the startled look on the face of the other prisoner, hastily modified it.
The woman looked at Goth again, blinked, and rubbed her eyes. “For a moment I thought you were that Lina woman. The one who ran off and got herself killed by the Gaks. Did they tell you where you were supposed to be working?”
“No. They just chased me out of the cell they put me in,” said Goth sullenly. “I want out of here.”
“Huh. Fat chance,” said the other prisoner. “Where are you going to go? Leave here and the Gaks will kill you. And even if you got away from them, what are you going to eat out there?”
He shook his head. “Wait here. I need to shut down my crusher. I was told to get Pilsk to help load plants at the nursery. But you’ll do. Pilsk is a borgum.”
Goth had a few seconds to scoop some debris over the parts behind the cover, before the other prisoner came along and led her out, toward the warehouse, where a bored spacer was sitting on a small armored ground vehicle. “You took your time, Vanessa. Who’s this? It’s not Pilsk.”
“She’s a new prisoner, Heffner. What’s your name, woman?” asked Vanessa.
“Orthia,” Goth supplied. She’d had time to think of that and prepare.
“Didn’t know there were any new ones. Come with the ship, did you?”
Goth nodded.
“Well, come on, there’s work to be done,” said Heffner. “We’re to put a thousand seedling trays on the ship.”
“The boss is taking them off-world?” asked Vanessa.
“Yeah, but not you, Vanessa,” said the spacer, sardonically. “You should have known better. You’re lucky to be alive. And you, Orthia? What did you do?”
“It was just borrowing,” protested Goth sullenly. “I didn’t really steal it, no matter what Forz says.”
The other two laughed, obviously not believing her. “You drive, Vanessa,” said the spacer. He climbed into the gun turret, and Goth sat herself down in the second seat. Vanessa started the ground truck and they went into the compound that held the scruffy huts of the humanoids, and then out of a far gate, toward patchworks of fields, all growing the big-leafed paratha. On the one edge of the fields was a long, low building. By the time they got there, Goth had decided that the spacer and Vanessa—despite being a prisoner herself—were both on a par with the crew of the Bolivar, if not worse. It was time to ask some direct questions, and get some direct answers.
The spacer was armed. Vanessa obviously wasn’t. Still, his hip-blaster’s power unit was easily portable, but he might have something else. And Goth had learned a great deal from that sore shoulder. She gave them a false light image to use for a target. The image also had her Clipe needler in hand. “Just stop right there,” said Goth.
The spacer took one look and dived sideways, clawing out his blaster. His look of horror when it didn’t fire was a pure pleasure. He hastily pulled at the power unit…which wasn’t there. He started to reach for a pocket, and Goth let a Clipe needle blow dirt all over his face. “Lie very still,” she said. “Otherwise you’re going to lie still forever. I want some answers. If I get them, you get to live. If I don’t I’ll find someone else to tell me.”
“Give me the gun, Orthia. You can’t get away. There’s only one ship. And the boss doesn’t care about hostages.”
He was brave, Goth had to give him that. He was also misinformed, at least about the getting-away part. “Even if he doesn’t care, you do. At least you care about staying alive,” Goth said. “Vanessa. Tie him up. There’s rope in the ground-truck.”
“One of the patrols will come around, Orthia. Look,” she pointed at an armored groundcar across the fields in the distance. “Give up. Me and Heffner will say nothing. We promise.”
The only fit answer to that was: “Get the rope, Vanessa.”
Vanessa’s tying was deliberately loose, but once she’d finished tying Heffner, Goth checked the ropes, Clipe needler against his spine. As she expected, they were too loose. She then made Vanessa tighten them up properly, after which she searched Heffner and removed a spare power unit from a pocket and a rather nice knife. “Now load him in to the ground-truck, Vanessa. Do your best to help her, Heffner. Otherwise I’ll just tie a rope to your feet and drag you behind like a bollem.”
“Are you crazy? You’ll never get to the ship,” complained Vanessa, nonetheless trying to pick up an uncooperative Heffner, who just looked sullen.
“I’m not going to try. Go on, Heffner. Stand up before I shoot you in the leg so you have a reason for behaving like you’re crippled. I need some answers out of you.”
He cooperated, but Vanessa went on trying to talk. “I’ll help you but you must let us go.”
“I’ve come to look for Lieutenant-Commander Kaen and Lina. We’ve tracked both of them this far. You get to go free when I find them.”
“You’ll never get off this world alive,” grated Heffner. “Anyway—the scout-pilot and the woman are dead.”
“Then I’ll have their killers.”
He snorted. “Good luck. The Gaks killed them. And that’s nothing to what we’ll do to you. You can’t get away.”
“Actually, it’s you who can’t get away. Your ship won’t fly again. I did that last night. That was the alarm you heard. You’re all stuck here.”
They both looked at her in horror. “But…but we’ll all die,” said Vanessa.
“We’ll make you fix the ship. And you are just as stuck!”
“I may fix your ship. But I am going to want answers first. Sit down, I am going to tie you to the seats.” Goth could see the patrol vehicle heading around. But before the other armored vehicle got to them, Goth had the ground-truck started and headed slowly back toward the base…and then, once the patrol had gone past, turned around again. The “slowly” part had been more a case of learning to drive the vehicle, but it really was quite simple. Light-shift on a moving vehicle was quite hard, so Goth waited until she was near the edge of the fields before doing so. The jungle of tall, feathery looking trees was not that far off.
Her passengers didn’t know that light was bending around them. “Where are you going?” demanded Vanessa, her voice high and panicky.
“Away. I want to ask you some questions in peace. Then I might bring you back,” answered Goth.
“The Gaks will kill all of us, you mad fool!” she yelled.
The prisoners were unaware of the invisibility of the vehicle. Goth picked on a thinner-looking patch of brush, and gunned the ground-truck forward. “The sooner you answer all my questions, the sooner I let you go. If I get the information I need, that is.”
“We’ll tell you anything you want to know. Just don’t go into the jungle,” begged Vanessa.
Goth ignored her and kept going. She’d given up on the light-shift while they drove. It was hard going at first, but the problem now was finding a path through the vast feathery trees. It was quite dim under the canopy. Both prisoners were begging her to go back and struggling to free themselves. She stopped. If these little humanoids were dangerous…right now all they would see was a tangle of shadows. “So what
happened to Lieutenant-Commander Kaen and Lina? Tell me.”
“They did pretty much what you did, you crazy woman. Ran off into the jungle,” said the spacer.
Piece by piece, Goth got the story. The lieutenant-commander had been shot down in an ambush arranged by the boss’s contacts in the Imperial Space Navy. He’d made a crash landing on Lumajo.
“The Gaks brought him to us on a stretcher,” said Vanessa. “He was hurt pretty bad. No one expected him to live, but the boss thought he’d question him, so we put him in one of the cells. He got better while the boss was off-world. We made him work in the plant. He was a good engineer, and he fixed things. But one day we found he’d cut a hole in his cell and slipped away during the night. The ship wasn’t here—it had just left. Look, I gave him extra food. Heff wasn’t even here yet.”
“Hang on,” said Goth. “You say the Gaks brought him to you on a stretcher. I thought you said they’d killed him?”
“That was then. They got crazy later,” said Heffner.
“They treated us like gods back then,” said Vanessa.
Digging through their answers, Goth began to form a picture. This had been a pirate and smuggler base, before the little humanoids had brought them gifts of paratha. Paratha had just started becoming big business, when Lieutenant-Commander Kaen had been shot down. A then-young Vanessa had been one of a smuggler crew, before she’d gotten herself imprisoned and effectively enslaved. Something had gone wrong between the smugglers and the locals, and except for the little tribe living in the compound, it was now open war. Things had been hostile before Kaen had fled, and by the time Pausert’s mother came a few years later the only way to get the paratha—for which they now had a valuable, captive market—was to grow it. They’d had to fort up and the Gaks attacked them on sight. And it had only gotten worse since, with the base nearly being overrun twice.
