Long View - Zelde M'Tana Part 39

It was high enough; they pa.s.sed between two mountains, and below, in a rounded valley, she saw a deep-blue lake. That's where Zelde wanted to go, and Ole brought the car down, explaining everything he did as he landed the car. Yeah, Zelde thought-she could do it, maybe, if she had to.

She got out and walked the few meters to the lakesh.o.r.e, through loose sand that grew tan-colored tufts of something that wasn't exactly gra.s.s. She dipped a hand in the water. "Really cold."

"Off the mountain ice," Ole said. "This is one source of Main River."

Breathing deep, she looked up and around. More blue to the sky here-alt.i.tude, or just contrast with the white peaks? And the lower slopes-first, some kind of trees, though not here in the valley, and then tan ground-cover flecked with green. "I'm glad I saw this place."

But now she was restless-ready to go again but with no place in mind. Back in the car he let her try takeoff; she did it well enough, if a little jerkiness didn't count.

She didn't let it give her a swelled head-these things were built to handle easy. And now, getting used to the controls, she wasn't nervous-I could fly it all day. Except that when they pa.s.sed the foothills and had line-of-sight to the settlement, her rented talk- set bleeped.

She looked to Ole; he took control and she switched the set on. "Message Center calling Zelde M'tana. The Port wants to talk with you."

Signal from the Port, relayed, wasn't good; Zelde got maybe half the words.

Enough, though. "I'll be there soon as I can," she said, and repeated until she got a Roger. "M'tana out."

She turned to Ole. "Can you fly me to Baseline Port?" "Not today-we don't have enough daylight. I told you my night-flying instruments are out of business."

305.

d.a.m.n! She thought. "This is important-a starship in Port, and not staying long.

Look-can't you follow Main River? I came up it; at night, it reflects skylight good.

And at the far end you got the town lights, and the Port's. You see?"

He hesitated. "I'd need to refuel first. And the cost- round-trip fare, because coming back is deadhead." He named a figure. "You have that much?"

"Not with me. On deposit with Baseline Trading, though. You can call and check it."

"All right. As soon as we're close enough to hear better."

Baseline confirmed Zelde's money status; when he heard the amount, Ole whistled.

He landed in the settlement; again, she kept close watch on how he did it. "I'll be a little while, refueling," he said, "and I'd like to get a meal and maybe a drink before we leave. If you-"

Zelde motioned toward her traveling case. "There's drinks in there, you need one." A little whiskey left, and some trair. "I'll get some takeout food; we can eat while we're moving."

He didn't argue, so she left him to his work. Walking fast, she went to the Message Center and asked for a circuit to the Port. "I'm sorry; they're all busy now." Zelde waited for a time, then gave it up. Where she'd eaten before, she bought a bag of wrapped snacks. When she got back to the aircar, Ole Rolvaag was in his seat, leaning back, sipping from a cup.

She climbed in. "We ready to go?" He nodded. "Then let's move-and the fastest you figure to be safe. But no faster."

He rammed power to the car so that it literally jumped off the ground, then kept the indicator just under redline until they hit top cruising speed. Then he filled his cup again, putting the bottle under the seat when Zelde didn't want any-and sat back, only the fingers of one hand resting on the control wheel. Zelde watched the river, and the light retreating up the mountains behind.

Just before dark, they ate. She thought they might land then, for a couple of minutes, because later wouldn't be so good-but the car had a toilet setup in the back, so they didn't need to. Then it got dark. She was right-below, Main River showed clearly.

306.

It might have been an hour later-she'd dozed some- that the car wobbled. Zelde looked over; Ole had the bottle to his face. "Hey! Watch what's happening, will you?"

He reached the bottle to her. "C'mon-have some. Almost half full, still." But the whiskey bottle had been less than that-lots less. The other-the trair-it had been nearly full.

She took the bottle, and sniffed it. Trair, all right. "Ole? You drink all this?"

"Sure. Great stuff. Usually, wouldn't have more'n a drink or two. But this-more I drink, more alert I feel. Except-"

She found the cap on the instrument shelf and sealed the bottle. "Ole, give me the controls. You go in back and stick your finger down your throat and puke, all you can. Drink water and do it again. Move!"

"Whatcha mean? I'm-oops-all right." The car almost fell off to one side; Zelde took hold of her own set of controls and pulled it steady.

"That's trair you drank. Yeah-it keeps you sober for a while. But when that part wears off-Ole, get your a.s.s back there and puke!"

"Can you . . . ?"

"I got to. Move it!"

And he did. Wobbly now, he climbed out of the seat and felt his way toward the back. Zelde couldn't spare a look to see how he was doing, but heard him gag. Then nothing- so she got the controls set dead neutral, where they'd hold steady, and stood up to see.

He'd started forward again, but he was sprawled flat, snoring.

She sat. Stupid, stupid-saying sure, go ahead and have a drink, and not warning him what trair did. I can land this thing, she'd thought. Now, the way it looked, she'd d.a.m.n well have to.

For a time the car ran itself and she let it. Then the river curved to the right and the car didn't; updraft from the hills tilted it. She took the wheel and turned, seeing how fast the river's light dimmed with a little distance.

Just follow the river; stay right over the middle of it. Should be easy. Couldn't tell how high she was, though- 307.

that instrument read a thousand meters, no matter what, and the haze was worse now. There were cliffs along here somewhere, she remembered. She squinted to the sides- but wasn't sure she really saw anything out there, except darker patches of haze. And she had no idea how far it was-in hours-to Baseline Port. But the river would be getting wider. So if she kept it looking about the same, to her, she'd be sure to stay high and safe.

Holding the wheel, her muscles ached and her hands sweated. Every chance she had, she got the car running straight and level so she could let go and flex her fingers. She got out another snack and ate it-she was thirsty, but the water was in back. So she took a swallow from the trair bottle, and the stuff relaxed her. She checked the time- one shot every hour wouldn't get her drunk, and it sure helped!

By the time she had her third jolt of trair, she was used to where she was and what she was doing. A little later she saw lights ahead, and tightened up again-she still had to land this thing! And then she heard a noise behind her. "Ole?"

"Wha.s.s happ'nin'? Y'awright? Lemme have it now." He had his hand on the back of his seat and was trying to stagger around into it. She checked that the controls were neutral and turned to face him. He fell against her and she pushed him.

"Ole! Stay away-you can't hit the floor with your hat!" He kept coming-too drunk, still, to listen. So she brought her knife out. "Hear me! You touch those controls, I'll cut your head off!" He didn't stop, so she jammed the knife's point into his shoulder, and hit bone. Not much blood came.

The shock sobered him. "That hurts!"

"I figured." The car was tilting; she straightened it. "Sorry. You want to sit down; all right. But keep your hands off the controls." She watched him as he climbed around into the seat. "Have yourself something to eat, why don't you?"

As he did that, she watched the lights ahead as they appeared to expand and then separate into two groups-the town and the Port. No hills here, so she left the river and turned directly toward her goal. Sooner than she expected, 308.

she was past the town-and higher than she'd thought, too. Ahead she spotted the Admin building, and past it, two ships-Cut Loose Charlie, sitting dead, and another.

She had to go beyond the Port and circle back, to get down where she could judge how to land. And now there was nothing in her mind at all, except light and shadow and distance.

With rigid hands she moved the wheel. Now, away from the river's guidance, she felt less sure of her control-the car seemed to weave and drift, and when she tried to correct for its movements, she overcontrolled. On her left, something went past the edge of her vision-too low! It's a building! She pulled up then, made a slow turn and found she'd lost orientation-she didn't know which way things were. Shaking her head for a moment, she looked until she found the river; then in her mind she set how the port must lie, and eye-searched until she found the place she needed.

"Pro'lem?" said Ole. "Want me to take her down?" He didn't sound very good yet; Zelde shook her head, then told him aloud. "Wha'ever you say," he mumbled, and she guessed he was shrugging.

How high was she? From this angle the light was wrong; she couldn't get a good sighting. All right-up again, just in case-make a turn, keeping track of where she was, and come back the other way. Then start down again-faster, because the place wasn't as big as she'd thought-but close to the ground, cut power.

And then the wheels touched, and bounced and came down solid-but d.a.m.n it!

Where's the brakes? She swerved to miss a groundcar, ran out of s.p.a.ce and dodged between two buildings and steered to a stop.

Then she saw where she was, and laughed. She'd ended up right where she wanted to be-behind Admin, where other aircars sat.

She cut power entirely now, and flexed her hands. Ole said, "You did very well- you know that?" He sounded sober.

Zelde grinned. The pressure was off, all the way, and she felt good. "In one piece we got here, anyway." She was in a hurry, but needed to finish this deal. "Let's go into Admin; I'll get your money. Where you going to stay tonight?"

"Here in the car. A bed folds out; I use it sometimes." So he followed her out of the car, toward the building. As 309.

she walked, something stuck in her mind. The new ship, the quick look she'd had-it was different. Yeah-at the top, things sticking out. Projector turrets, like she*d seen once, on Earth?

She squinted past the corner of the building, up at that ship. Above the open ramp, a copy of its insigne was spotlighted.

Inconnu. Tregare's ship, this was. The one with guns.

Zelde walked into the building. Nothing happening downstairs, so she went up. As she turned a corner she saw closed doors, darkened-but light came from one that stood ajar. It was where she'd talked with Marisa Hanen. Well, might as well try it.

Going toward that office she heard a man's voice- raised, harsh-and a thumping sound. "Peace take you, you will refuel me! Just as the Compact states. Or I'll orbit a beacon, blacklisting you with every ship that comes into signal range."

She looked inside. The man standing, beating a fist on Marisa Hanen's desk, was as tall as Zelde. His sallow, bony face held a taut scowl; over a high forehead, his curly black hair looked rumpled. On his left cheek, reddened with anger, she saw the full- circle tattoo of a UET captain. Tre-gare? Must be.

Hanen sat back in her chair; seated near her were two men Zelde hadn't seen before. One, heavy and red-faced, said, "Sure we'll refuel you; I never said otherwise. It's only a matter of price, the same as with the food. Now, if you'll undertake our mission-"

The tall man sat down hard, and leaned forward. "Your stupid mission! My ship to take Far Corner, you say, and hold it against UET? And then what? Think ahead once, Fairgrave. We couldn't hold it, anyway, except by keeping the ship there-and then, only until UET found out and brought more force against us. You think I'll waste my life on that mudball?"

Fairgrave looked pretty mad himself. "I've told you- UET ships land, unsuspecting, and we take them. Soon we have-"

"You have a hatful of s.h.i.t, Fairgrave! If you don't know that, I do. It's not worth the trying-and that's final. Now let's talk about the fuel you have to sell me."

310.

The other nodded. "Of course. A matter of price, as I said."

"You said, yeah. Twice the usual, you're asking."

"Do our mission, and you can have it free. But-"

"But you're asking a hundred and twenty thousand Welt-marks to fill my tanks, where sixty's a good normal price."

"I'm sorry-but taking Far Corner, that's important, Tregare."

"You wouldn't know important if it bit you on the leg. I-" Looking up, he saw Zelde. "You! Who are you? What's your business here?"

Now everyone looked toward her; she stepped inside. "Zelde M'tana. My business, it's with the computer terminal over there. Go right on yelling-it won't bother me none." n.o.body said not to, so she walked past the group and sat down at the terminal.

She punched to see how much of her money was tied up-and in what-and how much was free. Checking a few price quotations, she grinned-yes, she could do it.

She bought and sold, shifting her own holdings-then a little more, for safeties-and put the readout tape in her jacket pocket. First move. Then she remembered to punch payment for Ole Rolvaag-with ten percent extra, for luck.

The talk was more quiet now-and she hadn't been listening. She stood and turned back to the group. Tregare frowned at her. "You get done what you wanted- M'tana, is it?"

"Some part of it, yeah."

Marisa Hanen said, "Zelde-no offense, but you are interrupting a very important meeting. Could you-"

Tregare cut in. "What else do you need, M'tana?"

"To talk with you." His brows raised; she said, "Stay all night here, you still get no place-and you know it. And I bet n.o.body's had dinner, though it's late for that.

Tregare-buy me a drink on your ship, and a meal with it. We need to talk."

Lips tightened, he began to shake his head. Fairgrave said, "That's the most arrogant, ridiculous thing-you walk in here and-"

Grinning, Tregare slapped the desk, and stood. "If you don't like it, Fairgrave, then it has to make sense. This meeting's recessed for two hours-or I am, at least.

Come 311.

on, M'tana-you just bought yourself some drinks, and dinner."

"And talk."

As she walked past him, he touched her shoulder.

"Yeah-that, too."

At the door, Zelde gave Ole the readout tape that Baseline Traders would redeem in cash, and shook hands with him. "Thanks, Ole. You'll be all right?"

"Sure. Sorry I screwed up with your booze."

"No problem. Just be careful with what's left." Following Tregare outside, she motioned him to wait while she detoured to the aircar and got her travel case. Then they went to Inconmt-the ramp guard's wave was hardly a salute-and upship. Not to the galley, but to captain's quarters-and all the way she noticed that the layout was some different from what she knew. Not too much, though.

Inside, he pointed where she should sit, and went to the intercom. "Tregare.

Dinner for two, here in quarters. The best that's quick and handy-but not slapdash."

He turned to Zelde. "About your booze-are you particular?"

This one gets right to it. "Spirits with ice-nothing sweet. Bourbon's fine, if you got it."

"Bourbon it is." When he sat facing her, and they'd clinked gla.s.ses and sipped, he said, "First, now-tell me who you are."

She handed him the papers Dopples had given her. He read them, handed them back and nodded. "Yes. I've skimmed the bulletin-board circuit. So you're the one who wants a Hat berth." With one eyebrow slanting up, he grinned. "Worked up from cargo, did you-all the way to Captain, for a while-by way of the skipper's bed?"