Crashlander

The people around me were mostly Shashters eager for company to while away the hours. Some of us squared off for computer-game competitions. Our numbers kept changing. Staying with the same people was difficult because jet lag was hitting us all differently.

I let conversation find me, doing very little of the talking. I didn't want anyone remembering a pale flatlander or ex-astronaut on his way to Shasht. I turned down some interesting offers — honest, Sharrol.

The vast reach of Fafnir's ocean passed beneath us. Two days passed very pleasantly before the long backbone of Shasht rose from the sea.

And then all the relaxed people around me began acting like children who have remembered their homework.

The terminal was on the ridge, perched on the spine of the continent. I had my choice of booths or a magnetic car or a footpath down through a rocky canyon.

I chose the footpath. Maybe I was being overcautious; maybe I just wanted the walk, or the tan, or some extra time before they froze me into something not much like a living man.

Nobody tried to stop me. An hour's walk brought me to the Outbound Enterprises office at Shasht North Spaceport.

Outbound was a smallish pillbox of a building surrounded by parldand. It reminded me a little too much of a certain park on Earth that had once been a burial ground. Like Forest Lawn, the Outbound building was a pocket of green surrounded by glass slabs of cityscape.

Within the glass wall was a circle of benches and an arc of transfer booths, six, with phones at either end. Ms. Machti ruled at the center. She was a dark, pretty woman guarded by hands-off body language and by the circle of desk that enclosed her like a fortress.

I was glad to see her. She knew me by sight. Her fingers were dancing over her keyboard even as she greeted me. «Mr. Graynor! You've had a busy year and a half.»

«Nice and quiet, actually,» I said. «Are Milcenta and Jeena all right?»

«Cooled down and ready for shipment. I take it Adelaide never appeared.»

«No. Went her own way, I guess.»

«Just as well, perhaps,» she said primly. I don't think she approved of Mart Graynor having two wives, let alone bent ones. «Well, we have a few formalities to cover, and then you can join them. Did you know that your specs list you at six feet eleven inches?»

My shock must have showed. Who would have seen that listing?

I managed a credible laugh. «Did you have an oversized box laid out for me?»

«No, that's not a problem; it was only a matter of rewriting the specs. But we couldn't do that. Ms. Graynor doesn't seem to know your exact height. We'll have to measure you.

«Stet.»

«So.» She waved in a counterclockwise circle. Waving me around the desk? I walked that way and saw the sliding staircase leading down.

Of course. Most of Outbound must be underground.

I started down. Ms. Machti called, «Mr. Graynor? You've a call from a Mr. Ausfaller. He says you can't take off yet.»

Ausfaller! How could he know … What did he know? «He asked for Martin Wallace Graynor?»

«No, he wanted the red-haired man at the desk, and I said, 'Mister Graynor? and he —»

«Stet. Can you —» I did not want the call transferred to my pocket phone. «May I take it on one of those?» I waved at the booths.

«Certainly.»

It was half a phone booth, just two black walls and a projection table. It would give me privacy, but I could still see out. I tapped the receiver, and a life-sized bust of Sigmund Ausfaller popped into view.

His rather vicious smile faded a little. He hadn't expected me at eye level. I thought, Sigmund, you're bothering a total stranger, sandy-haired, ta

I didn't feel lucky. I said, «Long story. Ask Ander.»

«So your name is Graynor now?»

«Braynard,» I said distinctly. «Where are you?» He'd only heard the name over a phone. «Graynor» would give the bastard Sharrol and Jeena, too.

«Where should I be?»

I saw nothing of background, just the head and torso solid projection. He could be anywhere. I suggested, «Retrieving Carlos Wu's autodoc?»

«In due course. It shouldn't be left here. Look outside, Bey. Turn left. Farther. Look up.»

He was ten floors up in a glass slab, looking down at me. Doll-sized, he was just big enough to recognize. He waved at me from the window, then turned back to his holovid phone.

«I'm right on top of you. It would take you hours to freeze yourself, perhaps days to be stowed and launched. I need only cross the street to stop you. Let us reason together, Bey.»

«You always seem to have an offer I can't refuse. Why are you picking on me, Sigmund? I told Ander everything he wanted to know.»

«I haven't heard from Ander.»

«Feather. Carlos. Pierson's puppeteers.»

«You'll still have to come home with me, Bey. You know too much, and you talk too much. Now, wait. Don't go off half-cocked. I can get you a birthright.»

«Yeah?» It was dawning on me that he might not know about Sharrol.

«One child. We have that much power if you can do something of clear public benefit. Can you return Carlos Wu to his home?»

«Carlos is dead, Sigmund.»

«Dead?»

«How did you find me?»

«You can't see it, Bey, but I'm looking at four walls of vidscreens. We scattered cameras everywhere. Then we plastered the screens all over my room. It's been — Wait one. Pray turn all screens off.» He waited an instant, looking offstage. Then, «Thank God, I can throw these things away and watch blank walls again. I've been watching three spaceport terminals and the top five restaurants and ten hotel lobbies, and when you finally showed, I couldn't believe it was you.»

«You damn well convinced yourself somehow!»

«I couldn't believe it wasn't, either. Sorry about that. Bey, are you sure about Carlos?»

«Feather blew a hole through him. But the nanotech 'doc is his last legacy, and it's UN property, and I might arrange to put that in your hands.»

«Very good. We'll have a chance to talk about puppeteers and the like on the way home.» A bell pinged. He turned around and shouted, «Pray open the door!» He turned back. «And Feather? You know, we never intended to turn her loose on an alien world. We want some weaponry back, too. And the others, Sharrol and the children?»

I set my face for the big lie. «Feather's g-»

Sigmund jumped at me, banged his face on the edge of the field, recoiled, and fell backward and out of sight.

Ander Smittarasheed stepped into view, wading through the table, short ribs deep. He was holding a familiar object. He reached down. Sigmund Ausfaller was pulled into view by his hair. Sigmund's chest was shattered, a huge hole rammed through it.

Ander was holding Feather Filip's horrible ARM weapon, the gun that had blown a hole through my own chest. He pointed it at me. «Recognize this?»

For an instant I thought I was going mad. He couldn't have that. He couldn't. It was in the apt, Sharrol's apt, hidden — Ah. Sharrol left it for me. She left me a weapon in my backpurse. Not a bad idea, but Ander must have searched my room, searched by backpurse, found it there. When?

After di

Ander said, «Where are you, Beowulf?»

I was still looking through Outbound's huge window. High up in that glass slab I could see a tiny figure where Ausfaller had waved at me. The back of Ander's head and shoulders.

If he turned around and looked down, he would see me. I didn't turn away. The front of me now looked less like Beowulf Shaeffer than the back. And what could Ander see in his phone? The miniature bust of a ta