Horizon Storms (14 page)

With great aspirations, Jan had studied Dremen’s climate and meteo-rology, and had convinced a few investors by insisting (quite rationally) that while green crops struggled in the damp and dim environment, genetically enhanced mushrooms were sure to be a bumper crop. The spores he imported to Dremen grew into broad toadstools that provided edible flesh, dense in nutrients, though they were chewy and bland. Once he’d prepared his open fields, Jan went overboard with the planting. Untempered optimism again.

The first harvest had been beyond her father’s wildest dreams—or plans, because he’d made no prior arrangements for large work crews or automated equipment to chop down and preserve the delicate mushroom meat. The fungi grew quickly, but withered just as fast. Timing was crucial.

He and Orli had worked around the clock until they were ready to drop, but half of the crop still rotted. Jan had rushed into town, asking for help, but he had nothing with which to pay the crew. In the end, he’d been forced just to open his land and let people come in and take what they wanted, hoping to earn goodwill, if not actual profits, from his fellow colonists.

The unharvested mushrooms in the fields had dumped their spores and slumped into the bog—and an even larger crop of chaotic mushrooms sprang forth the next season, ripened . . . and then rotted.

Though Jan and Orli had plenty to eat, they had overestimated Dremen’s demand for edible fungus. No one really liked the taste, and few people were willing to pay for it.

Then, as the solar cycle waned, bringing increasingly cold winters, the already chilly fog became a cold sleet that turned the bogs into slush and finally snow. For the past couple of years Orli’s world had been a sloppy, frigid mess. Now as she and her father trudged across their mushroom fields, the standing pools were covered with skins of ice.

Pausing, she looked at the transport bins of mushroom meat they had sliced and stacked. “Once it gets warm again, Dad, let’s think about choosing a different crop.”

“I’ve thought about it plenty already, girl. The sad fact is we’ll never get rid of these mushrooms now. We’d need to incinerate acres just to prep the soil again and kill all the dormant spores. Looks like it’s fungus forever.”

“Then I’ll keep working on new recipes.”

“Don’t take time away from your music.” Her father arched his eyebrows. “You’ll be a famous concert performer someday. I know it.” His compliment warmed her heart, though she didn’t exactly see how she was going to find her big break here on Dremen.

She did not deflate his cheerful opinion. “Someday.”

Together they went to the full bins and sealed them against the worsening weather. “Enough for today, girl. Let’s get back home. You deserve a rest.”

“And I have to do my homework.”

“After we eat, I’m going into town again. The big shots are gathering for their regular session to solve the world’s problems.”

“I thought you’d already solved all the problems.”

72

“I did, but they never listen to me. We proved that much in the last election.” He tousled her hair as if she was still a little girl.

Their small house on the edge of the cold bog had few luxuries, but plenty of homey touches. Orli had been inside the larger homes of well-established colonists, and she thought her own house was a superior place to live. They dropped their packs. Jan turned up the heat, and Orli went to start dinner.

A printed solicitation message for the Hansa’s new transportal colonization initiative was there waiting for them. Jan Covitz pretended not to notice it, but Orli saw his eyes light up.

225RLINDA KETT

Flush with business opportunities thanks to the new colonization initiative, Rlinda Kett flew the Voracious Curiosity to the quiet world of Crenna. It was time to share the wealth and the success. And the work.

She went directly to her best former pilot and favorite ex-husband, Branson Roberts.

Almost two years ago, BeBob had successfully slipped away from his onerous assignment of flying dangerous survey missions for the EDF. Since his “retirement” was unauthorized, he’d been keeping a low profile on Crenna ever since; Rlinda knew that by now he was probably bored to tears.

Normally, aboard ship she wore skintight black pants over her wide hips and heavy legs, because they were so practical. Since she was seeing BeBob, though, she had changed into a flowing bright purple caftan shot through with iridescent threads she had kept from the first shipment of Theron goods. She liked a flash of color; she thought stripes and patterns made her look especially attractive.

BeBob greeted her with his adorable yet clueless smile. As usual, he wore monotone colors, colony slacks, a loose long-sleeve shirt that wasn’t stylish and didn’t fit him well; she had never been able to convince him not to wear it. Rlinda took his scrawny arm and walked him back to his colony house, then made him an offer she knew he couldn’t turn down.

“How’d you like to fly the Blind Faith again?”

“But . . . I’m all out of fuel, and she needs repairs.” His big round eyes looked so innocent and adorable on his leathery face.

She leaned over to kiss his large ear, making him blush. “Stop focusing on the problems and answer my question.”

“Do you even need to ask? I hate being stuck here on the ground. I’m afraid one morning I’ll wake up with roots pushing into the soil. Give me metal walls and nice clean reprocessed air instead of the smell of rain and fertilizers—just as long as I don’t have to play chicken with drogue warglobes, like General Lanyan kept forcing me to do.”

“None of that.” She tousled his smoky gray hair and led him inside for a bit of privacy. “And the job’s completely legitimate.”

“That’ll be a switch,” BeBob said.

“For you, maybe. I’ve always been a respectable businesswoman.”

“You’ve always known when to turn a blind eye.”

“They go hand in hand, BeBob.” She sealed the door of his dwelling, then sniffed. “Who does your cooking? Smells like layer upon layer of prepackaged meals. Shame on you.”

“Well, I’ve grown rather fond of spampax. It’s amazing what a little hot sauce can do to doctor it up.” She made a face so outrageous that BeBob burst out laughing. Without asking, he opened a bottle of red wine for the two of them.

“That better be one of your ‘special occasion’ bottles,” she said. “Because this certainly qualifies.”

“Rlinda, it’s a special occasion anytime you come to visit me.”

“Especially when I come offering a nice job.”

“Or sex.” BeBob handed her a glass of wine and took a smaller one for himself.

Rlinda swirled it around, took a long sip. “Your taste in wine was never anything I had arguments with, BeBob.”

“One of the few things.”

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She playfully swatted the back of his head. “Thanks to my work with Davlin Lotze, we’ve opened access to the whole new transportal network.

The Hansa has enough lawyers and waivers that I’ll never get any of the patent profits, but the Chairman showed his gratitude in other ways. I’ve got a bottomless supply of ekti and a lucrative delivery contract as part of the new Klikiss colonization initiative. You want a piece of that?”

“I thought transportals didn’t require ekti. Isn’t that the whole point?”

“Transportals are perfect for shipping people and small objects, but the Hansa still needs ships like the Curiosity—and the Blind Faith—to haul heavy equipment and large components that can’t be broken down to fit through a transportal frame. And also to shuttle groups of eager settlers from existing colonies to the nearest Klikiss hub with an active transportal.”

“Ah, typical distribution bottlenecks.”

BeBob took the chair opposite from the sofa where she sat, but when Rlinda gave him a quick and disbelieving glance, he quickly changed his place to snuggle beside her. “That’s better,” she said.

“Don’t forget, I’m technically AWOL, Rlinda. I can’t just fly around doing Hansa business. Somebody’s bound to notice.”

“I’ve already taken care of the problem, BeBob.”

When Rlinda first received her assignment, she had asked for a face-to-face meeting with Chairman Wenceslas. Even after discovering the transportal network, she found it difficult to get through all the bureaucratic roadblocks.

Her old acquaintance Sarein had provided the key, marching Rlinda directly to the upper levels of the Hansa HQ and bypassing security. The ambitious young daughter of Theroc was apparently a frequent visitor to the Chairman’s private offices and chambers. Good for you, girl, Rlinda thought.

A young woman from a backwater planet had to do whatever was necessary to compete with those who started off with more political advantages and connections.

When she and Sarein finally stood in front of his desk, Chairman Wenceslas, though distracted, knew how Rlinda could help him. He looked up at her with a half-amused stare and a guarded expression. “If you expect outrageous concessions like last time, Ms. Kett, you’ll be dis-

appointed. You are not alone among pilots who are anxious to start flying again. I’ll have volunteers lined up from here to Ganymede.”

“Hmm, and some of them might even be competent. You know I am.

Besides, don’t you owe me a debt of gratitude?”

“I didn’t realize you were so old-fashioned.”

“It’s one of my flaws. But I won’t demand anything out of line. I just want to bring in one of my former pilots. He’s a man I’d rather not do without.”

Actually there had been many times—especially when they were married—that she very much had wanted to do without Branson Roberts. But that was all water under the bridge, and she intended to include BeBob in the surge of profitable business.

Chairman Wenceslas sat back at his desk and looked questioningly at Sarein, but the young ambassador only shrugged her narrow shoulders. He asked, “And is this man a decent pilot, Ms. Kett?”

“Oh, he’s the best. So good, in fact, that General Lanyan yanked him from his regular business to fly dangerous recon missions. He’s exceptionally skilled at . . . unorthodox piloting and squeaking his ship out of difficult situations.”

The Chairman tapped his fingers on the desktop. “I see. So you would like me to intervene and sever his commitment with the Earth Defense Forces so he can fly merchant runs instead of surveillance?”

Rlinda chuckled. “Oh, that’s not precisely the problem, Mr. Chairman.

You see, BeBob has already done that. He wasn’t cut out for military service and . . . voluntarily failed to return from his last assignment.”

Even Sarein was surprised. “You mean he’s one of the AWOL pilots?”

The Chairman frowned. “Ms. Kett, General Lanyan rants and fumes about those ‘deserters’ practically every day.”

Rlinda brightened. “So, wouldn’t it be a good idea to put Captain Roberts back into worthwhile service? That way he could make up for his indiscretions.”

“Basil, the General would throw an absolute fit if he found out,” Sarein said in a low voice.

“And it would only encourage other disgruntled pilots to ignore their orders and desert their posts. I’m afraid we can’t have that, Ms. Kett.”

“Oh, come on now. The Chairman of the Terran Hanseatic League can 76

find some way to make an exception.” She crossed her beefy arms over her chest and stood like a worldtree that had just taken root in his office. “After all, I could have made a far more unreasonable request.”

“That doesn’t mean I would have granted it.” Wenceslas sighed as more messages popped up on his multiwindowed translucent desktop.

“The best I can offer is that we’ll allow your friend to fly his ship on our missions. No one will ask his background, and your man should be smart enough not to reveal anything.” He raised a warning finger. “But if he should ever get caught, there is nothing I can do to help him. General Lanyan has a standing vendetta against those pilots.”

“If BeBob is dumb enough to get caught, Mr. Chairman, then I’d dis-avow any relationship with him as well.”

Rlinda finished her wine in one long drink. Outside, Crenna seemed so . . . bucolic. “During maintenance prep on the Blind Faith, you could change its name and serial numbers. That should keep you from drawing any attention, especially if you’re doing Hansa work.” She put a big arm around him and pulled him closer to her on the sofa. “Look, I’ll even stay and help you fix up the ship.”

He smiled. “There aren’t many other people I’d trust to tinker with the Faith . . . but if it gets you to stay here longer, then you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“That didn’t take much convincing.” She poured herself another glass from the bottle and refilled BeBob’s. “As soon as you get the Blind Faith in the air again, you can start flying load after load. Chairman Wenceslas is pushing this full-scale colonization, and there’s quite a backlog already.”

“At least the two of us will be partners again, doing what we do best.”

BeBob set the glass down. “Should we seal it with a kiss?”

“A kiss for starters. Just for starters.”

235DAVLIN LOTZE

This world was different: Davlin could tell as soon as he stepped through the transportal. But though he sensed looming danger, he would not leave until he had completed at least a cursory exploration. The Chairman expected a full report on every new Klikiss planet an explorer visited.

Every coordinate tile needed to be documented somehow.

The sky overhead was a bruised purplish-red; a primary element of the atmosphere seemed to be distilled shadow. As he stepped away from the blank trapezoidal rock of the transportal, Davlin took a deep breath and coughed at the sour, sulfurous odor in the air. The Klikiss had similar breathing requirements to humans, but the stench made this world unpleasant. He fumbled in the pockets of his jumpsuit, withdrew a supplemental airmask, and fixed it over his face.

He looked back at the transportal and was surprised to see that the flat wall stood alone at the brink of a canyon’s sheer cliff. In order to return, he would have to step through the transportal as if he were leaping into the chasm itself. Most unsettling . . .