"On the ship, what?"

  "Sometimes officers and ratings can roomie and sometimes not. On Inconnu, which way is it?"

  "Well—" He stalled, partly because he hadn't really thought about it and partly because his instinct went against being rushed. Was this too soon? And distracting him further, a land of buzzing started inside his head. No—not in his head—he was really hearing it. And now it built to thunder, and he knew—a ship was lifting, crossing above him while still plowing air. Not Inconnu; the direction was wrong. This ship was coming from the Port at One Point One. He hadn't known any were there now, but if one had landed from westward, the sound might not have been noticed here, with the Big Hills between to deflect it.

  He started to sit back, to put his mind to Leanne's question, but from above the sounds changed. Not just the ship, its thunder softening with distance and climb into thinner air, but something approaching, now.

  An aircar. No, more than one, and not far off. How the hell did they get over here? And then came the ssisss of a falling object and a clanging explosion too close not to jar things. Why, the bastards were bombing him!

  There wasn't time for anything, so he didn't take it. "Get under the bed!" and he saw her go in that direction. All he wore was pants and socks; they'd have to do, as he realized the damn missile-control panel wasn't hooked up yet so he'd have to try to get to the scout. He was out the door and running, feeling the sharp rocks cutting at his feet, while he tried to think how to jigger the scouts control frequencies to launch some missiles. Once they were up, they'd seek heat and metal, but what the hell were his launch codes?

  Sound and shadow passed above him; something hit his leg and hurt a lot; he heard the rattle that meant a whole batch of needle projectiles had hit the ground behind him. He didn't look at the leg—it was still working, so it could wait. Then he was up the ramp and into the scoutship.

  For seconds that seemed longer, he paused. The launch codes! He was too hassled to be able to remember anything about them. He put the viewscreen on and saw two aircars circling; one dropped a bomb and all too soon the scout rocked to the blast.

  Hell with it—if he waited, he was dead. So he hit the Drive switch and took the scout up cold. Well, not quite; it hadn't wholly cooled from its last flight. But still a risky move.

  The scout made it, though. Tregare got off the ground alive.

  And went up past the two aircars and made a sharper turn than

  he really should have, and came down in one elegant S-curve that put his projector fire across both cars, blowing them into nothing much.

  Then he landed, right about where the scout had sat before, and went back into the cabin.

  * * *

  She probably hadn't gone under the bed at all, for what good that might have done her. Leanne Prestor sat on that bed, drinking what looked like a cup of coffee. She said, "You want some?"

  Wrung out all to hell, Tregare didn't appreciate anybody trying to show how nothing bothered. He took the cup. "Yeah, gimme that. "

  First she was silent, then she said, "I'm sorry. You're so damned competent; I was only trying to keep up a little. Tregare—what did happen? All I know is, there was a lot of shooting, and I was scared out of my skivvies. "

  Put that way, he could understand. "Me too. Two aircars with bombs and needleguns, it was. I don't know how they got here. I took the scout up and wiped them. " He felt the blood on his leg. "Hey—take a look here? I guess I got hit some. Not too bad?"

  "It doesn't seem so. The needle went straight through, nowhere near the bone. Where's your first-aid kit?" And when the wound was patched to Bran's satisfaction, she said, "You never did answer my question. "

  He was going to ask "Which one?" but then he remembered. And said, "I'd purely enjoy you moving in with me. Don't let anyone accuse you of trading on my rank, though. Which means, don't give 'em any excuse to. "

  She nodded. "Yes, of course. I won't cause trouble. "

  Not that he figured on any more attacks right away, but Tregare wanted those missiles in working order. Leanne asked why he had no such things down at Base Two and he explained that not only did Inconnu have its own missiles "... makes these here look like kids' firecrackers... " but also its projector turrets had traverse capability, which the scout's lacked.

  She couldn't help him on the hookup, except with fetch-and-carry work; circuitry wasn't her specialty. But he found himself enjoying her company anyway; she seemed to know when it was okay to talk and when to shut up and let him think.

  Originally he'd planned for manual launch control, with radar and sonic alarms to alert the operator. Now he decided to jigger that setup a little, adding the option of letting the alarms do launching automatically. "Not all at once, " he said, explaining to himself as much as to Prestor. "Send up two, first

  When they blow, either on impact or burnout, if the targets still there, then another two fire. And so on. "

  This was one of the times for talking. She said, "So how do you come here and land in one piece?"

  That answer he already knew. "The systems either on manual or automatic; I can switch it here or by a coded signal when I'm leaving or coming in. " He made half a grin. "Just so nobody forgets the drill, is all. "

  There were a few more things he wanted to do before leaving. Most of them got done but some would have to wait for another time. At midafternoon he said, "Time to pack it in, " and they put tools and apparatus in some sort of order and boarded the scout. When they were strapped in he called Inconnu and got Jargy Hoad.

  "It's going well here, Tregare. How's it with you?"

  "A little flap, nothing serious. Tell you later. Just wanted to say, have somebody cover Prestors watch again tonight. "

  Hoad acknowledged; Tregare cut the circuit. As he waited for the Drive to warm up, Leanne said, "I could stand my watch. "

  "Not from One Point One you can't. That's where we're going. "

  When he lifted, Bran first cruised the downslope below his plateau. He saw some fragments of aircar wreckage but, he decided, nothing big enough to identify—even if he could have landed, or taken time to investigate on foot. So forget it...

  He took the scout high, crossing the Big Hills, and tilted to get a good look at their overall contours in this area. He landed in the open space nearest the Port Admin building and said, "I'm going to talk with the Commish. Want to come along, or stay here?"

  "I'm coming with you. Tregare, this is why you brought us here, isn't it? I certainly don't intend to miss it. "

  Tregare called the Commissioner, whose secretary said that Layne Ingalls was in conference but should be free in half an hour; could he call back? "Yeah, sure, " and Bran confirmed his call codes and primary frequency for that purpose. Call closed, he turned to Leanne Prestor. "Dry work. We have some time to kill. Fix us drinks, maybe? Bourbon, ice, for me. "

  She said, "Half an hour? You know, we could—"

  "Drinks. Please. Or I could fix 'em. " "Tregare—I'm not supposed to ask? Is that it?" His hand slapped his seat's armrest. "Hell, no. Asking's okay; it's fine. Just, this time I have to say no. Two reasons. One is, I killed some people this morning and I'd kind of like to find out who they were, if I can. The other—well, in bed I don't like time restrictions. Now—"

  But she was already moving. "Drinks coming up. " When she handed him his, she said, "I like knowing the reasons for things. "

  Ingalls called back on schedule; a few minutes later Tregare introduced Chief Rating Prestor to the Commissioner and they all sat. "And what's on your mind?" Ingalls said.

  All right. "What ship lifted off this morning, heading east?"

  "Only one has departed all week. This morning, yes. That was Dominguez on Buonatierra. "

  "Damn! I wanted to meet that man. " For a moment, Tregare forgot his present concerns. "Did he check the data grapevine, where we all leave word?"

  "Yes, he took full computer readouts. But the man was in a hurry. Refueled, restocked, and left. Something about a rendezvous, though how you people can compute such things in the Long View—"

  "Yeah. It's not easy. " But right now was a shorter view. "Dominguez, though. You know if his cargo included any aircars?"

  Ingalls nodded. "Yes. Two. And that's odd. Because they weren't packaged for stowing. In fact, when I saw them, not long before Buonatierra lifted, those cars were simply sitting just inside the cargo hatch, and the local pilots who delivered them seemed to be doing routine maintenance. "

  Tregare leaned forward. "Those pilots. They belong to anybody in particular? Some clan, some oligarch?"

  "Mmm, no. They hire out. Not particularly savory characters, I might add. They work for—"

  "The dal Nardos, maybe?"

  "Sometimes. And the No Names. And last summer one of them did a month of chasing poachers off the fishing grounds that young Fennerabilis is trying to develop. More legitimate than most of their enterprises, that one. I'm just as glad they're gone with Dominguez. " Not with Dominguez, but gone, yes. "Why—"

  Tregare stood. After a moment, so did Prestor. Bran said, "This morning a ship went over where I was and two aircars came down bombing and shooting. Anybody wants to investigate, I can tell 'em where the pieces landed. How the investigators get there, across the Big Hills, is their problem. "

  Briefly, Ingalls looked startled. Then he nodded. "Quite so. I assume that if I asked your cooperation—?"

  "You'd get it. But hardly anyone else would. "

  "Yes, " Ola Stannert answered. "The floodlights are working. "

  "Good, " said Tregare. "Expect us pretty quick now. " He lifted the scout, started toward the Big Hills and then swung back. On his comm-panel he punched a call into the local system for Layne Ingalls's office and got relayed to the Commissioners home. "Tregare here. I think I know which is the dal Nardo estate"—he gave the coordinates he'd spotted on the map—"but I want to be sure. Confirm?"

  "Why, yes; that's correct. But, Tregare, you can't just—"

  "I know, Ingalls. I'm not certain they hired the bombing— just positive. And they didn't kill me, so I'll return the favor. "

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Teach Lestrad dal Nardo something he can't learn any younger. "

  Prestor was gasping and protesting but Tregare didn't have time for it. He'd spotted the dal Nardo mansion, and drifted toward it, while he talked with the Commish. Now he dropped near to ground level; the scout tilted, its Drive raising hell with the immediate landscape. All around the great house, twice, he walked the small craft, turning the ornamental grounds to pure chaos. Then he lifted the scout high and took it across the Big Hills slowly. Because he figured he had some talking to do.

  He looked to Leanne. "What's your problem? You said you liked me because I know what I'm doing, but when I do it you get all shook up. You having second thoughts, maybe?"

  Her head moved, not decisively. "But you—you just took this scout and smashed somebody's property. I—"

  "Not somebody's. Lestrad dal Nardos. Case you didn't notice, it's his people tried to bomb us out, at the cabin; nobody else here had reason to. " He overrode her attempt to interrupt. "He's leaned on me before; I told him what would happen if he kept it up. He did, and I did. Any more questions?"

  She had none, but he gave answers anyway. "It's close to time for lifting Inconnu off Number One. What I need here is almost done, and it's years before I—" No, he didn't have to tell her about the fleet he wanted, or when rendezvous could occur. "—before I come back here. What I do is, I use those years on fast time, ships' time—making contacts I need, and plainly raising hell with UET any chance I get. I don't waste that time sitting here and getting old. " His right fist clenched. "I want UET scared, up to its neck in puke. So I have to go hit the bastards. And I can't leave some scorpion behind who thinks he can go eat eggs out of my nest when I'm not looking. You understand that?"

  "Yes. "

  "Good. " But another thought came. "From now on, when I do something, why don't you just figure I have a reason for it? And do the asking later. "

  Her smile came a little shaky. "Yes, I think I can do that. "

  The remaining twilight let him land, with no need for instrument work, alongside Inconnu. In that ship's galley, because he and Prestor hadn't eaten since leaving the cabin, he talked while he ate. "What I want to know, Jargy, is how they knew where I was. "

  "MacDougall. Aguinaldo. " Gonnelson said it. "Their—"

  Needing to swallow before talking, Tregare shook his head. "No. Mac and Pete wouldn't cross us. "

  Jargy Hoad said, "Their crew, he means. Moved back and forth a lot, in the other scout, to have days-off in town. So somebody got to one of them. More, maybe. Right?" Gonnelson nodded.

  Tregare could see it but he didn't like it. "How soon can we dump most of the outsiders and do our own work?"

  Hoad-grinned. "Yesterday. Mac and Pete stay and three they vouch for. The rest are superfluous now, anyway. "

  "Yeah. Good, Jargy. " Bran thought ahead. He needed talk with MacDougall and Aguinaldo, but tomorrow would do.

  Right now, he turned to Prestor. "How long you need to get your stuff together?"

  "Twenty minutes, maybe thirty. "

  "All right. About then, I'll come help. "

  As she left, Jargy Hoad said quietly, "You have a new roommate, Bran? Funny thing; I'm not at all surprised. "

  "Funnier still, " said Bran Tregare. "I am. "

  Next day in his quarters he hosted Mac and Pete to lunch. His point was that when he took Inconnu off Number One, fairly soon now, he needed reliable caretaker service for both his bases. "And some missiles here, too, of course, with a control booth, and control capabilities for both places, from either one. "

  No problem on any of that; the big question was: "All right; now can you two arrange a setup to keep these bases in shape for me while I'm gone? Even if it's twenty or thirty years?"

  Mac shook his head. "I can't handle something like that. The administrative part, sure. But the on-the-spot stuff—I'll be in town with no ship or scout for transport, and I don't intend to risk my neck in an aircar, as often as I'd need to, crossing that pass of yours. "

  Even without drugs, Pete Aguinaldo's smile was lazy. "That part's mine. Okay, Mac?" And the other nodded. "Then we have a deal. "

  There was more to it: contracts to be filed with the Port Commissioners office, legal arrangements for the long term (privately, Tregare had little faith in those, but as a matter of form he negotiated and finally signed).

  Then there was a certain amount of commerce back and forth across the Big Hills, until Bases One and Two were as complete as Bran could manage, and Inconnu primed to lift. The ship would run crowded, because he wanted supernumeraries just in case, after having to scrounge for troops to man Derek Limmer's ship.

  Tregare enjoyed the ride when Pete Aguinaldo first took an aircar through the pass from the coastal side. The man eased in toward the "chimney" at medium speed and altitude; when the turbulence hit he went with it, mostly, letting it bounce him to the sides of the cut but not quite into disaster, and steadily increasing push to gain height. Bran had to admit that Aguinaldo was doing this with less effort than he had used.

  And when the dogleg loomed, Pete swung the car at an angle well ahead of time, then hit max thrust to take an economical diagonal across that zigzag. Straightened out after the second turn, the car made its final climb easily. Tregare said, "I like how you did that. The dogleg. How'd you gauge it so well?"

  "I noticed, before. On your right, just at the turn, there's a pile of white boulders. Maybe some aircar wreckage in it, too. Anyway, when I saw that coming up, I—well, it's like putting a groundcar into a sideways skid, and then pouring on the traction. "

  "I never got fancy with groundcars, " Bran said. "Just ships and scouts. But the way you took that zigzag sure works fine. "

  "Going back should be easier. "

  When Pete left, after dining on Inconnu, Tregare considered his arrangements and found them good: the maintenance skeds for skeleton crews at both bases, the funding arrangements through the Port, with MacDougall working the investment side, on commission. As good as could be set up, he decided, when you have to go with absentee management. If only his plans didn't need so much time...

  He was tired, needing sleep before morning lift-off from Number One, but he checked the comm for messages. Most, his watch officers had handled—but Stannert told him one was personal so he played the tape. It was Sparline, his sister, and his gut knotted so hard that for moments her words made no sense to him. Then, "I didn't leave you there, Bran! Peace take you, I was only twelve years old. I had no—"

  He couldn't listen any more. Shaking his head, trying to dislodge its sudden ache, he said, "Stannert, tell them there'll be no answer. " And more to himself than to her, "I can't. When they left me at the Slaughterhouse, that door closed. It stays that way. " And how could he do this to Sparline? He had to, was all.

  He said. "We lift at oh-six-hundred. For Target Place. " And about time we got this show on the road!

  4. Deuces Wild

  Ola Stannert had been Second Hat on Moakers Cut Loose Charlie, so Bran figured to let her do the lift-off. But at nearly the last day, Chief Engineer Mallory came up and said, "Tregare, I'm getting too old for this deadly game you're into. I have some good years left and I'd like to spend them on this world; I've asked around, when we were over at One Point One, and I can do well here as a consultant. Will you buy me out?"

  "Well, sure. Sorry to lose you, Mallory, but I see your point. " It took some figuring but there were no real problems. For one thing, with Tregare leaving investment funds at the Port, Mallory didn't need his shares all paid off right now. So the two men shook hands, and Mallory and his belongings rode the scout's last trip to One Point One.

  The trouble now, though, was that Ola Stannert couldn't always decipher Junior Lee Beauregards accent, which he himself described as "mushmouth Southron. " Redheaded, freckled Junior Lee was a competent Chief Engineer, but his speech patterns did take some getting used to. Tregare had learned to ignore the differences consciously, and listen to what Junior Lee meant. So Bran did the lift himself.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28