The Universe - or Nothing Part 14

Your companion's intervention, I admit, relieved the pressure, but the method he chose may prove unfortunate."

"Why this melodramatic escape?"

"To avoid a confrontation in which Scarf, backed up by his troops, would be in complete control; a confrontation in which you couldn't possibly hold your own. The encounter has already caused me embarra.s.sment. I don't relish a repet.i.tion."

Drummer paused. "And there's another reason."

"Oh?"

"I know who you are, and the circ.u.mstances that brought you and your a.s.sociates to Planet Pluto.

I want to know more."

"Why?"

"My answer to that depends on what I learn about you and your companions."

Drummer slowed to a fast walk, searching s.p.a.ces between the bundles of the thick cables.

"So that you know," he said, "we're heading for my villa-dome about five kay from the city."

Drummer grunted that he'd found what he had searched for. Clawing under a flap, he uncovered a depression in the wall alongside a cable junction.

He pressed himself in behind the junction and into a cranny, motioning to Brad. One by one, they squeezed through, and found themselves at the foot of a flex-ladder. Drummer climbed; they followed.

They emerged through a manhole into a kiosk next to a transit strip. Darting from the kiosk Drummer boarded the strip and nodded back to Brad to join him. Within moments they were all gliding toward an air lock leading to the outside.

Entering the air lock, they hurried into s.p.a.ce suits from the public service rack, checked each other's seals and oxygen reserves, tested the communications and pressurization systems and crowded into the pressure-equalization chamber. Air lock and suit pressures up, balanced and checked, Drummer jerked a lever and, a moment later, they ducked under the rising panel to the outside.

Running along the ramp Drummer flashed his suit lamps at a parked robo-taxi. The signal activated the craft and it was in ready status when they reached it. Boarding first, Drummer keyed in coordinates. As the last Sentinel scrambled through the hatch he hit the lift b.u.t.ton. The taxi rose and curved away.

Chapter THIRTEEN

The black skies and drab mounds of Planet Pluto were spotted with color. From where he stood on Drummer's enclosed patio, Brad looked through the transparent shields at ice-gray Charon low over scarred ridges to the west. Shifting his eyes slightly brought into focus the panorama of Coldfield's dome and its multi-colored lights. The orange-green cylinder of the Slingshot Logistics Depot gleamed in the black sky.

The Fandango force field around the depot shimmered. A wide gap separated the transports loading and unloading at the portals inside the force field from those outside waiting in line or in cl.u.s.tered formations until moorings inside became available.

The short taxi ride from Coldfield had been uneventful. The formalities of introductions behind them, the host and his guests had refreshed themselves, dined and rested.

Drummer joined Brad and followed his gaze to the orange-green cylinder and its gaggle of transports and tugs. The silence was brief.

Drummer said, "I've had your ship searched."

Brad shrugged, eyes scanning the scene outside, and replied dryly, "Hope it was worth your while. To us, it was transportation. Any old tub would have done.

As it turned out, we were lucky."

"I'll accept that it's an 'old tub'. I gathered as much from the reports I received," Drummer said, "but I understand the primary systems are in good condition, considering the vessel's history and the spunnel shocks the ship must have experienced on the way. How does it all fit together?"

"How does it concern you?" Brad turned to face Drummer.

"Come, now." Drummer shook his head impatiently.

"Let's not act naive; it doesn't go with the rest of you. But," he added waving his finger at Brad as he turned away, "just so you don't make a habit of responding to my questions with diversions, be aware that I am a member of President Narval's Council of Advisors. Despite the incident with Scarf, I have considerable authority and resources at my command.

"I've checked through my confidential sources in the Inner Region," he went on, "and confirmed you are all convicted criminals that escaped from a Guardian Station prison. Now, for starters, how did you manage to get a lift by spunnel and make it this far without tearing that old wreck apart? Those vessels don't have navigational gear for trips to the rim, nor do they carry the required gear and supplies. Straight answer."

"We're s.p.a.cers," Brad said. "One of us is an experienced maintenance engineer. Another is a s.p.a.ce navigator. We've all knocked about the s.p.a.ce-ways a bit on a.s.sorted jobs. I was Captain of a freighter before the s.p.a.ce Guard and the Transport Board took my ship away from me on trumped up charges, and then sent me up for five years of rehab. We teamed up on the Guardian Station, worked out the details, kept our noses clean and our eyes open, and, when the chance came, grabbed it. We did have a few breakdowns, but we kept her moving along until we could attach the ship to a convoy through the spunnel. We took our chances and made it."

Drummer shook his head. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"The reports I received identified your former professions and gave me the rest of your personal histories. Frankly, it has me wondering: a ship's captain, paramedic-logistics type, a maintenance engineer, communications specialist, navigator, and a weapons technician. Wasn't it odd to have these special skills fall into place?"

"Not really," Brad countered. "I could have made up any kind of crew I wanted. The station has lots of s.p.a.cers under lock and key. These folks happened to fit in with my plans, and they were as anxious to get out as I was. It worked. Now, what's the problem?"

"The problem," Drummer replied, "is that a half-dozen escaped convicts with exceptional s.p.a.ce skills make it to Planet Pluto; that one of them defends a high level official in a tavern brawl, making for himself a mortal enemy of their sanctuary's chief security officer. To cap it, the escaped convicts are now guests in the home of the official that they defended in the bar-room sc.r.a.pe who, I might add, also happens to be a member of the President's Council. See the problem?"

"Crank this in," Brad remarked, "the citizen, who considers himself a high government official, moves about without a bodyguard thus inviting confrontations. Also, his attacker's arrival at the bar-room couldn't possibly have been predicted, let alone his drunken behavior and my colleague and I happening to be there. Add who it was that took the initiative for departure from the tavern, and that it was the high government official that invited the escaped convicts to his home. He wasn't threatened or coerced into extending his hospitality."

Drummer grinned, nodded. "You ordered Hodak to intervene. Why?"

"First, tell me more about Scarf."

Drummer shrugged.

"He's been with Narval since the beginning of the regime. Did, and still does, most of the dirty work that keeps any government in power, and he's better at it than most. He has a special hatred for dissidents to Narval's policies and uses spies, informers and killers to infiltrate their organizations and tear them apart. By the way, he also had your ship searched. Watch out for him. Now, my question."

"When Scarf began to ha.s.sle you, I had no idea of his ident.i.ty or position. His words and actions in the bar-room gave me an impression that, if we got you out of that mess, you might reciprocate by helping us to get permission to remain on the planet, and maybe steer us to jobs. It was a chance. Now, as to your problem with us: is it insurmountable?"

Drummer studied Brad's face, trying to read his thoughts. "Not really, insofar as getting you and your friends temporary resident status," he said.

"Scarf will not be easy with you and your friends, especially my rescuer, Hodak. I'll talk to my a.s.sociates. The skills you have might be useful to us. Since you're a former ship's captain, I'll consider you spokesman for your colleagues."

Chapter FOURTEEN

President Narval invited all INOR amba.s.sadors to meet with him in his conference suite; the subject was not announced in advance. The amba.s.sadors sought guidance from their home governments. In response, they were instructed to attend, make no commitments, and report back immediately on the proceedings.

As the appointed time neared, the Presidential Security Guard, augmented by a detachment of heavily armed police, moved into the conference area. They took up positions at doors leading from the President's Suite, along the connecting corridors, and inside the Conference Room. All rooms, corridors and exterior approaches leading to the meeting site were physically and electronically searched, and the ident.i.ty disks of all individuals pa.s.sing through the area scrutinized and verified.

Shortly before the meeting, the President's Council entered and took seats along the wall, leaving the chairs around the table for the guests. A lackey scampered about, lifted the lids of beakers, peered in, made minute changes in the alignment of goblets, and scuttled out.

A view tank rose from a well at the front of the room, glowed, and cleared to show the Special Zone. Charon and its background of stars had been dimmed to reduce the clutter. In the foreground, the Slingshot Logistics Depot and its maze of ships, tugs, articulated cranes and flex-conveyers were portrayed busily engaged in loading and unloading the moored vessels, and the new arrivals that waited for their turn.

A flurry rippled through the room as a door panel slid back into its slot and the Amba.s.sadors strode in from an anteroom. They were men and women of varying appearance: tall and short, slender and rotund, and cadaverous and fleshy. More than half wore the military uniforms and ranks of their nation, and the rest were in the colorful robes of their offices and governments.