head straight for it. Once aboard they could lift, rejoin Cy aboard the drifter, and decide what to do. But what if the tender was a trap? What if the police were watching it? Things could go south in a real hurry, that's what.
The gate was just ahead. The guard shack was built like a pillbox and was equipped with the latest in automatic defenses. Dee swallowed something hard and dry. Was airport security on the lookout for them? If so, it was all over.
There was a delivery truck right in front of them. It came to a full stop. A beefy guard stepped up to the window and waved a scanner toward the back. A routine precaution or a sign of heightened security? There was no way to tell.
The truck rolled on. The cab jerked into motion and ground to a halt seconds later. The guard stepped forward. Dee heard a comset buzz. The guard turned away.
"Corporal Prescott. Rudy? Damn it, Rudy, how many times do I have to tell you? Don't call me here at work."
The guard waved toward the auto cab and it jerked forward.
Dee gave a sigh of relief and leaned back in her seat.
The ships were parked in orderly rows, each one sitting on its assigned number. Cap's tender was parked in row F number 47. Dee tried to look in every direction at once as she directed the auto cab down row E.
Things looked normal enough. Ground jitneys dashed here and there, repair techs strode about on their shiny exoskeletons, and robots rolled, crawled, walked, or flew in various directions.
Dee pointed toward a reentry-scarred freighter. Stacks of cargo modules surrounded it. "Pull up over there."
A gang of auto loaders were hard at work placing cargo in the main hold but there was no sign of any sentients. Good.
Brakes rasped and the auto cab came to a halt. "Ten-fifty, please."
Dee opened the door. "Wait here. I'll be back."
"Yes, mam," the machine said cheerfully. "That'll be one credit per minute while on standby."
"That'll be fine."
Dee stepped out of the cab onto hot pavement. The air reeked of ozone, fuel, and lubricants. She marched toward row F. Dee had learned a long time ago: If you're not supposed to be there⦠then look like you are.
She had to wait for an auto tractor to pass. A long train of power pallets followed obediently behind, each one bobbing up and down on its own cushion of air, soon to be loaded with incoming cargo.
Once the pallets had passed Dee ducked around the side of a large cargo module and found the hatch was ajar. She pushed it open. It was dark and relatively cool inside. The air had a metallic smell. "Anyone home?"
Nothing. She looked around. The module had been converted into a portable workshop. She saw racks of electronics, a variety of power tools, and an industrial-strength laser cutter. Satisfied that she was alone Dee stood just inside the door and took a look.
The tender sat right where they'd left it. It had the boxy appearance of a vessel meant more for space than atmospheric use. Hot air shimmered all around it.
Dee squinted against the glare. The ship was completely undisturbed from all appearances. But was it? The tender could be sitting there ready to lift, or packed with police, just waiting for them to return.
And there was another problem as well. Dee couldn't fly anything more complicated than a light plane and Cap was out of commission. Once aboard they'd be trapped. Unable to lift and unable to run.
Dee decided to do what successful bounty hunters do best. Wait. Wait and watch. If the tender was a trap something would happen to give it away. Patience was the key.
The first thing to do was get rid of the cab. A short wait was one thing, but an hour or more might trigger the cab company's central computer, and bring someone to investigate. Besides, at the rate of a credit a minute, she'd be out of money in no time flat. She made her way back to the cab.
A puff of cool air hit Dee's face as she opened the door. Cap mumbled something unintelligible and waved a hand in her general direction. He
The gate was just ahead. The guard shack was built like a pillbox and was equipped with the latest in automatic defenses. Dee swallowed something hard and dry. Was airport security on the lookout for them? If so, it was all over.
There was a delivery truck right in front of them. It came to a full stop. A beefy guard stepped up to the window and waved a scanner toward the back. A routine precaution or a sign of heightened security? There was no way to tell.
The truck rolled on. The cab jerked into motion and ground to a halt seconds later. The guard stepped forward. Dee heard a comset buzz. The guard turned away.
"Corporal Prescott. Rudy? Damn it, Rudy, how many times do I have to tell you? Don't call me here at work."
The guard waved toward the auto cab and it jerked forward.
Dee gave a sigh of relief and leaned back in her seat.
The ships were parked in orderly rows, each one sitting on its assigned number. Cap's tender was parked in row F number 47. Dee tried to look in every direction at once as she directed the auto cab down row E.
Things looked normal enough. Ground jitneys dashed here and there, repair techs strode about on their shiny exoskeletons, and robots rolled, crawled, walked, or flew in various directions.
Dee pointed toward a reentry-scarred freighter. Stacks of cargo modules surrounded it. "Pull up over there."
A gang of auto loaders were hard at work placing cargo in the main hold but there was no sign of any sentients. Good.
Brakes rasped and the auto cab came to a halt. "Ten-fifty, please."
Dee opened the door. "Wait here. I'll be back."
"Yes, mam," the machine said cheerfully. "That'll be one credit per minute while on standby."
"That'll be fine."
Dee stepped out of the cab onto hot pavement. The air reeked of ozone, fuel, and lubricants. She marched toward row F. Dee had learned a long time ago: If you're not supposed to be there⦠then look like you are.
She had to wait for an auto tractor to pass. A long train of power pallets followed obediently behind, each one bobbing up and down on its own cushion of air, soon to be loaded with incoming cargo.
Once the pallets had passed Dee ducked around the side of a large cargo module and found the hatch was ajar. She pushed it open. It was dark and relatively cool inside. The air had a metallic smell. "Anyone home?"
Nothing. She looked around. The module had been converted into a portable workshop. She saw racks of electronics, a variety of power tools, and an industrial-strength laser cutter. Satisfied that she was alone Dee stood just inside the door and took a look.
The tender sat right where they'd left it. It had the boxy appearance of a vessel meant more for space than atmospheric use. Hot air shimmered all around it.
Dee squinted against the glare. The ship was completely undisturbed from all appearances. But was it? The tender could be sitting there ready to lift, or packed with police, just waiting for them to return.
And there was another problem as well. Dee couldn't fly anything more complicated than a light plane and Cap was out of commission. Once aboard they'd be trapped. Unable to lift and unable to run.
Dee decided to do what successful bounty hunters do best. Wait. Wait and watch. If the tender was a trap something would happen to give it away. Patience was the key.
The first thing to do was get rid of the cab. A short wait was one thing, but an hour or more might trigger the cab company's central computer, and bring someone to investigate. Besides, at the rate of a credit a minute, she'd be out of money in no time flat. She made her way back to the cab.
A puff of cool air hit Dee's face as she opened the door. Cap mumbled something unintelligible and waved a hand in her general direction. He
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