the Drake it was.
Getting on board would be the trick. He had been thinking about it in a theoretical way for six months.
Several times, while in town on an errand for his father, he had come to watch the cargo being onloaded.
There was a special section for animals, just aft and below the passenger compartment. Caged livestock was conveyored in through a hatch to a robot stacker that worked inside. The livestock cartons came in three sizes, small, medium and large, corresponding roughly to cat, large dog and cattle-sized beasts.
Mwili doubted that the stacker robot checked the animals inside closely, if at all. So, all he had to do was find a dog or nguruwe cage large enough and use that. There were several already stacked for loading that might do. He could put the animal into a carton with another one, or maybe tie it somewhere out of sight, and take over the empty carton for himself.
It might be tricky, but he was sure he could pull it off. Getting over the fence would be easy enough.
There was a spot behind the repair hangar where nobody would see him scale the wire, and once inside, he'd move fast and carefully. He was sure he could do it.
But not yet. There might be a human worker checking the animals. They did that sometimes, an hour or so before loading. After that, he'd be safe enough.
So. He had a few hours to kill before he made his move.
Mwili turned away from the fence. He didn't want anybody to notice him, maybe remember his face when his father came looking. He was hungry, and there were food vending machines lining the back wall of the freight terminal entrance across the street, under the overhang. He'd spend a couple of his standards to buy some supplies. The jump to Kalk took about thirty hours, being all inner system time on pusher rockets. Eat something now, he thought, and save some for later.
He stowed the rest of the food in his pack, after downing a bulb of fruit juice and a fried soy cutlet. He was waiting for traffic before crossing the street, heading back toward the fence, when he glanced toward the crossroad by the flitter charge station—
And saw his father, driving the ancient tractor, towing the flitter!
Fear froze Mwili. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think—
Fortunately, Mafuta Kalamu was looking the other way, distracted by the yelling of a hovertrucker behind him, angry at the tractor's slow speed.
Mwili managed to stumble backward until his shoulders were against the rough stucco wall between two of the vending machines. His father! How could it be? Mwili hadn't been gone five hours yet—his father wouldn't have stopped work so soon! He couldn't be here!
The tractor went past, some loose attachment clattering on the systone road underneath the old machine.
The trucker behind continued yelling, but Mafuta Kalamu pointedly did not look back. Neither did he look to the sides, and so passed his son unknowingly.
Inside Mwili's brain, the voice of catastrophe babbled, a high, keening whine: There he is, there he is!
You're dead, you're dead— !
"No!" Mwili yelled. The sound of his own voice startled him into motion. Both his father and the hovertrucker were past, and a short line of flitters and delivery vans followed, blocked by the slow lead vehicle.
As soon as there was a break in the traffic, Mwili darted across the road, toward the port's fence.
He knows ! came the voice inside his mind. He knows you've run away, he's coming to catch you !
"He can't know!" Mwili said aloud, answering his internal voice.
God must have told him. Baba is tight with God, and you know it's true that God watches you, every day, every second, and he's put your father onto you—
Mwili shook his head as he reached the fence. No, it couldn't be. He wouldn't believe it.
But—how else, Mwili? You know he's come for you. You saw his face. He is angry. Angry at you, boy. The strap will do a mighty dance tonight, Mwili. You'll be so sore you won't be able to bend over
Getting on board would be the trick. He had been thinking about it in a theoretical way for six months.
Several times, while in town on an errand for his father, he had come to watch the cargo being onloaded.
There was a special section for animals, just aft and below the passenger compartment. Caged livestock was conveyored in through a hatch to a robot stacker that worked inside. The livestock cartons came in three sizes, small, medium and large, corresponding roughly to cat, large dog and cattle-sized beasts.
Mwili doubted that the stacker robot checked the animals inside closely, if at all. So, all he had to do was find a dog or nguruwe cage large enough and use that. There were several already stacked for loading that might do. He could put the animal into a carton with another one, or maybe tie it somewhere out of sight, and take over the empty carton for himself.
It might be tricky, but he was sure he could pull it off. Getting over the fence would be easy enough.
There was a spot behind the repair hangar where nobody would see him scale the wire, and once inside, he'd move fast and carefully. He was sure he could do it.
But not yet. There might be a human worker checking the animals. They did that sometimes, an hour or so before loading. After that, he'd be safe enough.
So. He had a few hours to kill before he made his move.
Mwili turned away from the fence. He didn't want anybody to notice him, maybe remember his face when his father came looking. He was hungry, and there were food vending machines lining the back wall of the freight terminal entrance across the street, under the overhang. He'd spend a couple of his standards to buy some supplies. The jump to Kalk took about thirty hours, being all inner system time on pusher rockets. Eat something now, he thought, and save some for later.
He stowed the rest of the food in his pack, after downing a bulb of fruit juice and a fried soy cutlet. He was waiting for traffic before crossing the street, heading back toward the fence, when he glanced toward the crossroad by the flitter charge station—
And saw his father, driving the ancient tractor, towing the flitter!
Fear froze Mwili. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think—
Fortunately, Mafuta Kalamu was looking the other way, distracted by the yelling of a hovertrucker behind him, angry at the tractor's slow speed.
Mwili managed to stumble backward until his shoulders were against the rough stucco wall between two of the vending machines. His father! How could it be? Mwili hadn't been gone five hours yet—his father wouldn't have stopped work so soon! He couldn't be here!
The tractor went past, some loose attachment clattering on the systone road underneath the old machine.
The trucker behind continued yelling, but Mafuta Kalamu pointedly did not look back. Neither did he look to the sides, and so passed his son unknowingly.
Inside Mwili's brain, the voice of catastrophe babbled, a high, keening whine: There he is, there he is!
You're dead, you're dead— !
"No!" Mwili yelled. The sound of his own voice startled him into motion. Both his father and the hovertrucker were past, and a short line of flitters and delivery vans followed, blocked by the slow lead vehicle.
As soon as there was a break in the traffic, Mwili darted across the road, toward the port's fence.
He knows ! came the voice inside his mind. He knows you've run away, he's coming to catch you !
"He can't know!" Mwili said aloud, answering his internal voice.
God must have told him. Baba is tight with God, and you know it's true that God watches you, every day, every second, and he's put your father onto you—
Mwili shook his head as he reached the fence. No, it couldn't be. He wouldn't believe it.
But—how else, Mwili? You know he's come for you. You saw his face. He is angry. Angry at you, boy. The strap will do a mighty dance tonight, Mwili. You'll be so sore you won't be able to bend over
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