Juanita Coulson - Children of the Stars 04 Read online

  The Saunder-McKelvey clan bragged that blood was thicker than water. Now that kinship was squashing Dan.

  The dispatcher set me up. Why didn’t I see it! The timing on this cargo was just too damned convenient, coming after that long layover. If only I hadn’t been so preoccupied with Dad’s letter. If only I’d used spacer’s intuition to smell the garbage she was dumping on me. If I’d checked with Traffic earlier, maybe I could have figured a way out. No, who am / kidding? There’s no way out. There never is from these things.

  The dispatcher had her revenge. Dan was blacklisted.

  He pulled the ident receipt from his pocket and gazed at Praedar’s signature. Nice and neat—and worthless, for now.

  Dan had seen this happen to other indies who inadvertently broke the unwritten dispatchers’ code regarding bribe-buried cargos. He knew when he made his next stopover, a clerk would duly record the receipt. Then the record would disappear for an indefinite period. No funds would move from the expedition’s accounts to Dan’s. Dispatchers would overlook him when they assigned cargo loads. That situation would continue until the dispatchers decided he’d learned his lesson. That could take months.

  Without money, he couldn’t make payments on his ship. She’d be repossessed. He’d be out of the hauling business. Then? If he was lucky, he might find a job at the bottom of the tech-mech labor heap, starting all over again.

  Dan went out and sat on Fiona's debark ramp. He stared dejectedly through wispy clouds at the stars.

  The stars.,.

  For five generations, the Saunders and McKelveys had led mankind outward and onward to those stars. Since the days of Ward Saunder, Dan’s great-great-grandfather, his family had served in the forefront of Earth’s leap into the galaxy. He’d kept up those traditions, in his modest way. True, he didn’t operate a fleet of spacecraft or own a multiplanet conglomerate like Feo’s sister Ulrica or his cousin Phil McKelvey, to name just a few. But he’d treated his customers fairly and always paid his debts—until now. His ancestors had broken the chains binding humanity to Earth and the solar system, and Dan gave his customers and their cargoes interstellar wings. He was his own boss, a spacer.

  Not anymore.

  What was he going to do? Ride his sisters’ coattails, or Adam’s? He cringed, hearing Adam say, “I knew it would happen. You’re a loser, just like Dad.”

  Other alternatives? Sell Fiona for whatever he could get? Losing the starhopper would hurt, but he’d have little choice. He didn’t have enough financial cushion to ride out this blacklist.

  When he launched from T-W 593, he’d vector into limbo.

  And he would have to leave soon. His visitor’s pass was limited to forty-eight local hours, and he’d already used up more than six of those.

  He didn’t want to go, and he couldn’t stay.

  Dan was trapped. Whichever way he turned, he’d face a dead end.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Outsider

  He drove back to the valley at dawn. Sunlight filled the mesa, but below the cliff the only illumination came from solar storage lamps and the N’lacs’ cook fires. Dan parked the rover and picked his way along a barely visible path, trying to avoid the pits and string markers he’d seen yesterday.

  Suddenly he collided with a living form. Atavistic alarms jangled in his brain.

  Someone laughed, and a human voice said, “You gotta watch your step when you don’t know the trail, McKelvey.”

  “Hughes?” Dan said sheepishly. “Yeah, i guess I should. Say, have you seen Praedar, Kat, or Sheila this morning?”

  “You’re headed in the right direction. Look in at the cook shack.”

  “Thanks, I...”

  The man had vanished. Hughes had moved on, becoming just another shadow in a valley heavy with shadows.

  Dan shivered, then swore softly. Why was he so jittery? Sure, he had to stay on his toes in this new environment, but he didn’t need to imagine each noise and object was a monster. He squared his shoulders, determined not to let things rattle him.

  All the same, he breathed easier when he reached the lighted area surrounding the buildings. The cook shack was the biggest of the linked polygons and served as a communal meeting room as well as a diner. At the moment, it was cluttered with eating stations, most of them empty. Vahnaj privacy cubicles and a I ,an-non “platform where one ingests” stood bare. Dan looked around and didn’t see Praedar or any other Whimeds. A few Terrans, Kat and Sheila among them, sat at the tables at the far end of the room. As he approached the women, Sheila said, “You’re an early riser, handsome. Kroo-ger! You look like leftovers from a lizard’s breakfast!”

  That was a painful reminder of what had happened last night. He muttered, “I didn’t sleep well. I... I wanted to catch you before you started work. Have to ask something ...”

  “Shh!” Sheila gestured toward Kat and an older man and whispered, “Let me hear how this comes out first.”

  Kat was saying, “Oral tradition based on genuine tribal history is a given in our profession, Dr. Getz.”

  “Not with the N’lacs. Not yet. I’m unpersuaded.” Getz was a pudgy, balding type, very sure of himself. “You xenosocios who study with Harte never do take these primitive legends with sufficient salt and cynicism.”

  “Chuss is a very reliable interpreter,” Kat retorted. “And I’m fluent in N’lac. I guarantee he’s giving us an accurate rendition of Sleeg’s narratives.”

  “No doubt you do. I’ve observed your quaint selection process for a full dig season now, Olmsted, all those so-called tale-telling sessions.” Getz sipped from a disposable mug before he recited in a bored tone: “ ‘We traveled long-long time through Big Dark to escape Evil Old Ones. We come home here. If we do not please gods, Evil Old Ones will send demons to catch us and take us back to the horrible place.’ Bah! Sleeg’s spinning yams for the N’lac kiddies. Don’t forget Chuss himself is a N’lac kiddie, barely more than a pup. He’s bright, yes, thanks to Hughes’ experiments, but far too impressionable for Praedar to base an entire hypothesis on.”

  “You agree Sleeg’s legends correspond closely with aboriginal myths from Earth’s Western Hemisphere,” Kat said, refusing to retreat.

  Getz made a rude noise. “Where’s the evidence? You need material to measure and analyze...”

  “Of course. Measure and analyze—and ignore any anomalies that don’t fit one’s preconceived ideas. A few people on this project think you use that system in your effigy classifications, to the detriment of science...”

  Sheila bit her lip, afraid that Kat had pushed her arguments over the edge. She was right. Dr. Getz, his face alarmingly flushed, got to his feet and stomped out of the room.

  Kat smashed his abandoned mug into a messy puddle. A be-whiskered cook, gathering trays, complained loudly about people who played with their food and made extra work for him. That drew a taunting chorus from the breakfasters. “You call this stuff food, Frank?” The cook gave as good as he got. Ribald insults flew.

  Their banter eased Kat’s mood. She managed a lopsided grin and said, “Well, at least sparring with Bill gets my adrenaline flowing in the morning. Far better than caffa.”

  Sheila regarded her friend with amusement. “Suit yourself. But that was a low blow, accusing him of unprofessionalism about his effigies. He is the expert.”

  “Maybe he’s too cocky because of that. It won’t hurt him to consider others’ opinions and doubts for a change. I’m sick of his brushing off everyone else’s theories—including those concerning the N’lac legends.”

  “He can be a pain, true,” Sheila conceded.

  “More than that. He has to modify his claims,” Kat said. “If he doesn’t, Feo and Hope will tear his data to shreds at the Assembly. That is, if we even get to the Assembly—if something else doesn’t crop up and spoil our plans.” She noticed Dan and said, “Good morning. You look terrible. Did you bring back the rover? Is it in one piece?”

  “Yeah, and in better shape than it wa
s. That power switch was a mess. Why don’t you people take better care of your equipment?”

  Kat shrugged. “We have more important matters to attend to.” He wanted to shake her out of that indifferent pose. But smart beggars didn’t antagonize potential benefactors, and he was here to beg a favor. Dan cleared his throat and asked with careful courtesy, “Could I have an extension on that visitor’s pass, please?”

  The women exchanged weary glances, then headed for the outer door. Kat said, “Sorry, no. This isn’t a tourist world. You heard the rules.”

  Dan pursued her and Sheila, talking earnestly. “I don’t want to play tourist. All I’m asking for is a longer layover permit, and maybe a chance to work.”

  No response.

  He went on, explaining his problems with the blacklist, emphasizing that he wasn’t requesting charity.

  Still no response.

  The trio ducked through the insta-cell’s low exit. Dan was momentarily blinded by sunlight. The air was heating up fast, a scorching promise of what it would be like at midday. However, the atmosphere by the cook shack was as cold as Kat Olmsted’s face. She repeated, “Sorry. All our personnel must be fully accredited members of the project.”

  “So I’m not a scientist. I can still be useful here.”

  They smiled at him patronizingly and Dan bristled. Sheila said, “We’re sure you’re good at what you do, but we don’t need a pilot.”

  “Hey! You think I was bom at a starhopper’s controls?” he exclaimed. “I’m a qualified tech-mech, all branches, fifteen years’ experience. I can repair any rig and most circuitry. Terran, Whimed, Vahnaj, you name it, I’ll fix it,”

  “Not necessary,” Sheila said with the same superior smile. “We take turns keeping our machinery in good order.”

  He opened his mouth, eager to remind her that the rover, the com, and that broken vacuum dredge showed they weren’t doing a terrific job at that.

  Kat cut him off. “It’s not that we’re unsympathetic. We simply have no place for you.”

  Frustrated and angry, Dan quit worrying about stepping on their toes. If they were going to turn him down anyway, he might as well speak his mind. “I see. No place for an ordinary spacer, since you’ve already got plenty of slaves.”

  The women’s bland expressions altered. Kat yelled, “I told you the N’lacs aren’t slaves!”

  “Then how did you know I was referring to them?” Dan said, and went on with heavy sarcasm. “Excuse my pitiful lack of education. I know I can’t join your exclusive club of the bigbrained elite. I’m just a stupid tech-mech. You make your own definitions, dressed up in fancy words. You want to call it a symbiotic relationship? Fine! How could I? Why, I can’t even flaunt a degree from some important institution...”

  The brunette spluttered, speechless with indignation. Sheila tugged her friend’s arm. “Come on, Kat. Let’s not waste the morning in this pointless jabbering ...”

  Dan blocked their path. “You owe me, dammit! The least you can do is give me that pass extension as partial payment.”

  They gawked at him, amazed. After a lengthy silence, Sheila said, “How do you figure we owe you anything?”

  He jerked a thumb at the camp’s supply sheds. “That cargo. That’s what got me in bad with the dispatchers. I’m mixed up in your feud with Feo and Hope Saunder, whether I want to be or not. Maybe I ought to take the machinery back to Port Eighteen. That might pull me off the hook and reinstate my regs.”

  It was an empty threat. A lone man couldn’t cart away kilo-tons of cargo under the noses of an entire Settlement. But the rest of what he’d said seemed to make the women reconsider. They frowned and conferred in whispers, eyeing Dan thoughtfully.

  On edge, his senses drawn taut, he awaited their decision. He became keenly aware of sight, sound, and smell: sunlight reflecting off polygonal housing and labs; the odors of freshly dug earth, sweat, smoke, and food; and the multiple sounds of men and N’lacs starting the day’s work. In the distance, a machine coughed; Ruieb-An, trying to get that dredge operational, using the parts Dan had delivered? He hoped the noise would underline the debt these settlers owed him.

  Kat finally threw up her hands and grunted sourly. Dan braced himself for a rejection. But to his surprise, she said, “Your point is well taken. You do appear to be an innocent bystander who was dragged into our dispute with Feo and Hope.” He started to thank her. Kat held up a warning hand. “That doesn’t mean you get the extension. It means we’ll talk it over with Praedar. No promises. Agreed?”

  “Agreed!”

  “Hmph! I should think so!” Kat peered at her wristvid and said brusquely, “Until you hear from us, you’re on probation.” Then she hurried on up to the trail to the dome. Dan got the impression she was fleeing before he could come up with any more demands or disturbing cracks about slavery.

  Sheila said, “Pretty slick blackmailing there, handsome.

  You’d better not try it often. Olmsted has a short fuse.” She winked and ran to catch up with Kat. The blonde’s long legs easily matched the smaller woman’s pace.

  Dan swung a roundhouse punch at nothing, releasing pent-up tension. They hadn’t said no. They’d said maybe! A reprieve! His hopes soared. He even allowed his hormones to romp, watching Kat and Sheila walking away, enjoying the movement of their bodies, bare legs, and bouncing braids. Snooty, sure, but they were sexy women. If Praedar let him stay, he might become better acquainted with them. Not a bad deal.

  If Praedar said okay.

  No matter what sort of work the expedition assigned him, it was bound to be an improvement over mooching dregs at Settlement Labor Offices or living on Adam’s crumbs. Also, he’d be able to hang on to Fiona for a while longer. No creditor would come clear out to this back-of-nowhere world to repossess a secondhand starhopper.

  A lot depended on Praedar’s generosity. Whimeds were funny beings, similar to Terrans in certain ways, totally alien in others. How could he encourage the expedition’s boss to decide in his favor? Obey camp rules, naturally, and avoid annoying the scientists or getting in their way. It seemed wise to scout the territory and learn as much as he could now. Then he’d be primed to step in and prove he could contribute when Praedar gave the go-ahead.

  There was considerable activity at the dome this morning. That was as good a place to start as any. Dan climbed the hill and stood on the sidelines, observing. The xenoarchaeologists had set up a dirt-removal assembly team. Offworlders shoveled and N’lacs scooped with their webbed paws. Rubble went into hand carts or baskets and was taken from the deepening excavation to a nearby dump pile. The process was steady but very slow.

  The scene appalled Dan. He empathized with the scientists’ aching muscles. And although he still wondered if the N’lacs weren’t glorified slaves, he had to admit that the e.t.s weren’t being bullied or doing any heavy stuff. The offworlders handled that, and it was damned rough work. Obviously this was why the team had been so glad to see those replacement machine parts. Once the dredge was repaired, it would suck away this mound of earth in a hundredth of the time it would take via hand labor.

  Not everyone was shoveling and hauling. Armilly, the Lan-non, hunkered amid a forest of monitors, checking on what lay under the remaining soil. Dr. Getz and his students were poking through the accumulating rubble heap, searching for effigy fragments.

  Dan sidled nearer the site, craning his neck to see. The team was gradually clearing a ramp that sloped toward the hidden base of that huge dome. Eavesdropping, he learned that Armilly’s gear was mapping underground structures for them, showing precisely where to dig. Those remote scans weren’t good enough for the group. They wanted eyeball contact, and were willing to strain their backs to achieve that. With the dredge out of commission, they’d had to resort to hand tools. ^

  Work progressed in fits and starts. At times it came to a dead stop while the scientists used miniature blowers to expose finds. They crowed over these “life-style artifacts,” “socio-indicative litte
r,” and “ethnic constructs.”

  A wall bordered the ramp. As dirt was removed, team members cleaned its surface and sprayed it with protective mists. Writing and pictures began to emerge.

  Despite Dan’s feelings about the foolishness of salvaging Saunderhome and this buried city, he was intrigued. This was fascinating! How many years had these things been locked in the soil? Now they could be studied and might tell Praedar’s gang more about the civilization that made the dome, the ramp, and the wall—the civilization of Chuss’s ancestors, if what Kat had said was true.

  Dan longed to join the party. It would be a thrill to make such a discovery, like finding a wrecked starhopper and tinkering her back to spaceworthiness after everyone else had given up on her.

  His shoulder blades itched, an odd, unnerving pressure. No, it wasn’t an itch. He was being stared at. Someone was boring a hole through his spine.

  He turned and came face to face with Praedar.

  The tall Whimed’s jumpsuit was rumpled, his crest unkempt. He looked as if he’d just awakened. Whimeds, a polyphasic species, grabbed short catnaps around the clock instead of sleeping for long stretches, as monophasic Terrans did. The boss no doubt had been taking a snooze. Now Praedar was out and about, and pinning Dan with that unblinking, piercing stare.

  A Whimed’s starburst-shaped pupils were weapons. No human, Vahnaj, or Lannon could match the felinoids in this game of locked gazes. Dan didn’t even try. He lowered his eyes and pretended that he really wanted to examine a chunk of rock by his boot. He allowed a number of seconds to elapse in order to regain his composure, glanced up, and said, “Can I help dig?”

  “No.” Praedar softened that with, “I would prefer you do not at present. You do not know what we are seeking or how to seek it. That requires much advance preparation and training.”

  Plain enough. Ego deflating, but plain.

  It was unusual for a Whimed to take that much trouble to explain his reasons to a non-Whimed. Praedar’s patience was necessary, if he was to lead a diverse, multispecies team. He waited, silently demanding a response. Thoughts of that visitor’s pass danced in Dan’s head. He clung to the implications in the phrase “at present,” hoping that meant Praedar would accept him eventually. For now, he’d occupy himself elsewhere, and stay out of the alien’s crest.