Long View - Zelde M'Tana Part 38

She went down the ramp, exchanged jokes with the new guard, and walked to Admin. Getting more exercise now, she was, than the brief routines she'd done aboard ship. It felt good.

This time she didn't bother Cannes or Hanen; all she needed was the use of a readout-only computer terminal. No problem; she got it, and began punching for everything she could find out about Fair Ball, other Hidden Worlds- 296.

she knew better than to expect coordinates for those-and Escaped ships. She got a sheetpad out of her bag, and what she didn't already know, she made notes on- places like Franklin's Jump and Target Place. She did find coordinates for Stronghold, UET's fortress setup where they sent so many armed ships-farside of Earth from any UET colony or any Hidden World. Somebody'd added a comment: "Rumor is, UET didn't invent stardrive at all. Stole it from aliens, and killed them.

That's what Stronghold's all about." So Turk wasn't the only one who had that idea.

Escaped ships, then. Sten Norden and Valkyrie, she'd heard of. Quinlan's Red Dog was still here-would she go out on it? Likely not, she thought. Now, then- She wanted to know about Tregare and his armed ship- the only one ever to Escape-but didn't find much. Just that he'd done things that sounded bad, and n.o.body trusted him much. Except, Ilse Krueger had-or talked like it, anyway.

Tregare either had or hadn't taken another Escaped ship by main force, groundside someplace. The report said, "It's thought that the ship is now Lejthand Thread, commanded by Derek Limmer." And then, just when Zelde expected to learn something, the item ended.

The only other solid thing was that Raoul Vanois in Car-charadon had raided UET on Iron Hat. Zelde closed her notepad. She still didn't know much-but she wasn't done looking.

She'd used a lot of time; afternoon was into late hours. She called Jady Trevaile; when he got off work he picked Zelde up at Admin and Torra Defose at Strike Three. On the way to town, not much talk. Getting out at River House, Zelde thanked Jady. Then she and Torra went inside the inn.

Before dinner-not talking at all-they made love. Then in the dining room, during the meal and after-coffee and a liqueur-n.o.body said much. Zelde asked if Torra wanted to go see the town; Torra didn't, so they went back to Zelde's rooms.

Torra reached to embrace; Zelde pulled back. "Not just yet. Don't you want to talk any?"

"I'd rather pretend-that there's nothing that needs saying."

297.

"There is, though." She sat in a chair; after a moment Torra went to the couch.

Seated, she looked only at Zelde, eyes wide.

Zelde shook her head. "Then I'll say it. You need to stay on the ship. With Dopples."

Terra's mouth twisted. "How about what you need?" And then Zelde realized something she hadn't known. I don't need anybody. Maybe I did, all along, without knowing it. But I don't now.

When had the change happened? And how? Suddenly she knew; part of it, anyway. It was when she'd been offered the chance to get back on Strike Three, and had the good sense to turn it down.

She didn't say any of it. Instead: "I need a new ship-a Hat berth on it. Wouldn't be one for you, likely, so you're best off where you are. Think a little, you'll know that."

Blinking back tears, Torra nodded. Zelde went to her. "All right, then. And for now-this is going to be one great night."

Nuzzling Zelde's cheek, Torra said, "It has to be- because it's the last. Once more is all I can stand, to say good-bye."

"I know. I got the same trouble." But Zelde lied. She was free now, whether Torra was or not.

They finished breakfast next morning too late to ride with Jady Trevaile; the morning bus was gone, too. At the office, Zelde asked Lynne about transportation.

The old woman pursed her lips. "For a Weltmark you can use my groundcar-drive it yourself." Zelde signed a tab for the amount, and she and Torra went to the car.

"You drive, Torra-and show me how, so I can bring it back." Seeing Terra's look, she added, "I've watched folks drive-I could manage, probably. This is just to be sure." So as Torra started up, and drove, she explained just what she was doing.

About halfway to the Port, she stopped.

"Maybe you should try it now, while I'm still with you."

"Sure." They changed seats and Zelde began-jerky, at first, but soon she caught the hang. Torra had her do some things she didn't need to, just then, so she'd know how when she had to. Then they came to the Port and to Strike Three, and Zelde cut the power.

She reached to Torra and kissed her. "Now look-we 298.

been good together. So have a lot of luck for yourself, will you? And take care of Dopples."

Terra's eyes were wet. Zelde felt no tears-not now. "You take care of you, Zelde.

Be careful. I-"

"Don't worry on me, none. I come a long way since Earth-and I don't mean only the distance. Not figuring to stop now."

One more hug, and Torra got out and walked toward the ship. Zelde didn't wait to see her aboard; she started the car and drove away. She knew Torra would stop, going in, and look back-and Zelde didn't want to see her do it.

The car was easy. When she got back to River House, Zelde stopped it where she'd found it, and once more ran through all the controls. Especially the ones she hadn't needed-lights, backup shift, wheels-lock for staying stopped on hills, even the compartment heater. Then she nodded. All right-now she could drive one of these things!

When she went in to tell Lynne she had her car back, she asked about some of the travel ideas the waitress, two nights ago, had mentioned. Lynne lit a thin cigar-to Zelde, it stunk like somebody set a chicken on fire-and squinted through the smoke.

"Downriver to the ocean-nothing to see there. You'd be bored silly, and bitten b.l.o.o.d.y by desert gnats. Crosscountry, now-to the mines and their crummy little vil- lages-there's not much to interest anyone." Ash fell from her cigar; she ignored it.

"Upriver, to the mountains' edge-that's what's worth seeing. The mountains up closer, the herds and the herders' camps-some of the lakes, the lower ones, aren't too hard to reach, hiking." She nodded. "Yes. In your place, with a little time to spare, that's what I'd do."

Lynne knew some freightboat people; she could arrange the trip, on commission.

Fine; Zelde shook hands on the deal.

Nothing happened right away, though. Restless, Zelde spent time nosing around town, getting the feel of the place. She liked it, mostly-but it wasn't a ship, with work to do, and new planets to see, and the years rolling up the way they did. . . .

299.

It took her a while to see how different it was, here, with no UET on top of everybody. City Hall and the Port ran things, sure-but n.o.body was scared of anything. If you had a gripe with the bra.s.s, you might win it or lose it, but that's all you lost.

Maybe the ship still had more UET stuck to it than she'd thought. Then she thought again-the ship had to run tight because if somebody screwed up it could be everybody's a.s.s. Here, groundside, that stuff didn't matter so much. All right. . . .

She caught her share of attention-especially if she had a drink in town-from men on the loose. Some she liked, some she didn't-but for now, she plain couldn't get interested.

One man, though, was different. Not to look at-middle-sized, maybe thirty bio- years, red-faced and sandy-haired. But Niels Jarding was a teacher.

That's how Zelde, one day, stood in front of a couple of dozen boys and girls maybe ten to fourteen years old, while Jarding told them she'd explain all about living on star-ships.

A long time since she'd done anything like this. Not since working for Honcho, talking to groups of the younger Kids-how to dodge the Welfare catchers, stuff like that. These, now-a lot different. Not just cleaner-these got nothing to be scared of.

Then Jarding was done; it was her turn. Living on a ship-so she left out UET, and the h.e.l.l of killings at Escape, and that t.u.r.d Mauragin-none of those things fit, here.

The work, the jobs, how a ship hung together-the best she could put it straight, that's what she told. And pretty soon, seeing their faces, enjoyed the telling.

And then the questions. One girl-twelve, maybe, and chubby-asked, "How did you get into s.p.a.ce? I mean, you haven't said."

Zelde was stopped. Then, finally: "That don't figure, here. Because you're not starting-none of you, for sure- from where I did." She grinned. "What you mean is, how you might get off groundside?" From the girl's nod and Jarding's smile, she took her cue.

What there was of it. "I'm sorry-I don't have you an answer." She thought. "Try to get work at the Port, when you can. Anything-scutwork, running errands, whatever.

300.

When you think you know a little something, ask can you put word into-well, it's a kind of bulletin-board circuit for ships, in the Port's computer. That you want on a ship- and tell what you can do. It could work. Then if you do get on, learn everything you can. Just in case."

A lanky boy, bony-faced, stood. "We heard you were Captain on your ship. How old are you?"

'She looked at him-eager grin, awkward stance. "I lost track-chrono and bio both.

Yeah, though-I wound up with command, a time there. Because-" She swallowed bile. "Because the real Captain died, and the First Hat hurt too bad for duty. And-"

No, she couldn't say it-not behind Lera Tzane's back. "And the Second Hat had her own reasons to pa.s.s it."

They dropped the matter, and she told shipboard stories -the kind kids would like. Spoof tricks in the galley, Parnell jockeying talk with Kickem Bernardez of the Hoover, neither letting on they were Escaped, but Bernardez dropping a veiled clue about the Underground. When she came to what Ilse Krueger had said, several youngsters clapped their hands. Pirate or no pirate, to these kids Tre-gare was a hero.

Not to Niels Jarding, though. Over lunch, later-his treat, to repay Zelde for her time-he explained why killing and violence were no answer to human problems.

Then he asked her to spend the night with him. She shook her head.

"But why, Zelde? Don't you feel you know me well enough?"

"Know you fine-can't figure you, though. But you don't know me, is what." She leaned forward. "Niels, I been a fighter since I was maybe twelve. I mean, that was my job. And killing-in a big fight, you can't even keep count." She saw his face change. "Don't mean I like it- but sometimes you got to."

"Well-self-defense, I suppose. . . ."

"Not always." Carlo Mauragin, screaming. "Niels-I said I couldn't figure somebody, won't fight when it's got to be. You're all right where you are, I guess.

Hope it stays that way." Through the rest of the meal they didn't talk. When they shook hands afterward, Zelde ready to leave, Jarding still looked puzzled. Zelde grinned, patted his shoulder, and walked out.

301.

Restless-the town was beginning to bore her-Zelde went back to River House. In her room she found a note from Lynne: the freighter Mainliner, leaving for upriver in two days, had one pa.s.senger s.p.a.ce vacant-did Zelde want it? Zelde did, and Lynne made the arrangements.

The ship Mainliner-and it struck Zelde funny, calling a water-barge a ship-was about fifty meters long and fifteen wide. Built low, except for a sort of building in the middle-two levels high, most of it-covering a s.p.a.ce maybe thirty meters by eight.

The captain, Chais Geddeke, was an ex-s.p.a.cer grounded by injuries; she had a metal hand, no front teeth, and was half-bald from radiation damage. Mostly she wore a cap.

Zelde's cabinmate was Bailey Poindecker, a herd rancher-tall as Zelde, red-haired, with a scarred left cheek. At first, not liking the man, she figured him to push her for s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g, and was set to stop that idea, fast. But the problem, when it came up, was different; the first afternoon, she found herself locked out of the cabin. An hour later, when Poindecker came out with a young crewman, he didn't pay much attention to her complaint; he'd do as he d.a.m.ned well wanted to.

"Fine," said Zelde. "Next time you do, though, and I want in, I'll shoot the lock off." After that, when he wanted the private use of the cabin, he asked first.

A little less than six days, the trip took. There'd be a ten-day stay, Geddeke had said, and then about four days for the downstream run. By the second day on Mainliner, Zelde found herself missing First Base. Town or city, at least there was more of it.

n.o.body to talk to, much. Geddeke wasn't unfriendly, but her mind brooded on tumors cut out of her body-and maybe more growing in there right now. That's al!

she could talk about, for long. Zelde watched the pa.s.sing river-banks-different kinds of trees and bushes, sometimes animals but not often, or close enough to see very well. She sat in on a card game for a while, in the deckhouse. The game was new to her but the rules were simple. So was the dealing-she'd never seen such clumsy cheating. For the stakes involved-centums, not Weltmarks-the crockery wasn't worth calling. But she did, anyway-and the others 302.

laughed instead of fighting, and after that, played straight cards. Maybe she'd pa.s.sed some kind of test, there.

That night, not sleepy, she sat a while on top of the deckhouse, watching dim outlines of trees and hills pa.s.s by, and once looking back to see the bright patch of sky that might be a Magellanic.

From behind, there, came a rumble like soft thunder; through the haze a blue glow lanced upward. Only for seconds-then it was gone. Zelde shrugged. Too soon for Strike Three to lift; it had to be Quinlan's Red Dog.

The third day, Mainliner was pulled up through swirling rapids-with a lot of thumping and grinding on rocks-by winched cables. Then the ship went up a long narrow lake, past the gap through foothills, winding along a broad valley. Half a day along that lake, then the river narrowed and the current was stronger, slowing Mainliner. For two more days the land flattened-Zelde could see it stayed that way to the edge of the second foothills where they rose steep. The morning of the sixth day, the ship docked. Less than two kilos away, the hills began.

Not much of a town. Carrying her travel case, Zelde walked along a rutted lane deep with loose dust; at the sides and up the middle, weeds grew. She came to a low sheet-metal building with radio dishes on top; the sign read, "Message Center.

Information."

She took a closer look-the dishes pointed north, toward the hills. Squinting, through the high haze she saw three towers on the nearest summit. Sure-get the signal up a ways, then beam it south. She turned and walked inside.

Lots of comm-gear-it all looked pretty much alike to her. She asked at the counter, and a young woman found two messages for her-forwarded from River House at a quarter-Weltmark each. Cheap enough; she paid, and unfolded the first paper.

It said Strike Three was leaving the next day-which, now, was yesterday-and that Quinlan had already gone. Another ship was on its way in-signal detected, but not good enough to read or identify. The message ended with two signoffs: "Best of luck, Dopples," and "Love, Torra."

The second one was shorter. "Good knowing you, Zelde. Hope we meet again.

Turk and Rooster."

Before leaving, Zelde rented a talker. "To keep in touch 303.

here," the woman said. "Half a Weltmark per day, and the range is better than a hundred kilos." Zelde paid a deposit, and followed through the instructions the woman gave her. All right. She left and headed on into town. She was getting hungry.

She got lucky. The small place with the sign "Eats and Drinks" served good food- and the big blond man sitting next to her, Ole Rolvaag, ran an aircar service. Zelde decided she could use an air tour; they were shaking hands on the deal when the waiter brought their coffee. A little later, they walked to Ole's office.

The office was a tarpaper shack; the car didn't look much better. Ole said, "She runs good. A couple of my night-flying instruments don't work-so I don't fly at night.

The looks of her, though-pretty, I can't afford." They got in, and the propulsion unit started up, smooth enough. He listened to its hum and nodded; the car moved forward. Then he shoved the power lever full-forward and pulled up on his control wheel, and they were up-turning toward the mountains, climbing fast. When they were high enough that the buildings behind were only dots, he-said, "Do you fly these things?"

Zelde touched the duplicate wheel in front of her. "Never had a chance to learn."

Or groundcars, either, until here. . . .

"Watch what I do. Then you try it." He made the car dip and rise, turn and straighten, speed up and slow down. "All right-do everything very gently. And if I tell you, let go the controls."

"Right." She expected to overcontrol at first, and she did; the car dipped and swung. On a hunch she let go the wheel for a moment-sure enough, the car leveled off and flew straight. Then she took hold again, careful not to move anything in the taking, and now made very slight moves until she got the feel of it. When she'd done the same maneuvers Ole showed her, she was sweating. "Want it back now, Ole? How'd I do?"

"Not bad. If you knew how to land this thing, you could solo." He grinned.

"Landing, though, takes more learning. I'll show you."

304.

Crossing the foothills she saw the herding ranches- groups of the odd-looking cattle, buildings, people in open groundcars tending the herds. Ole said, "Like to set down and see it close?"

"No. Rather see the mountains-lakes and things." So he turned north again and climbed higher, then leveled off. Oxygen equipment not working, he explained. "So this is as high as we go."