THE BELTERS’ WAR
by
Christopher Stasheff
Copyright 2010
CHAPTER 4
The others converged with angry shouts, sleds shooting high, then down to surround the thieves, who drifted in a rough circle around the ten-foot asteroid that had started the Spindrift drovers’ day, and one of the thieves was carving a logo into its flank. Kit recognized the patterns on their helmets and screamed with fury; they were all Flanagan's drovers.
Charlie shot straight for the logo-carver, pulling out his laser. "Back off, Pepper! What do you think you're doing to our rock?"
The ruby laser beam built into the sled cut off, though it still glowed as Pepper turned his sled toward Charlie, ready to spit again, a ruby lance that would go straight through Charlie's heart. "Your rock?" Pepper demanded. "Says who?"
"Says our logo! Right there!" Charlie pointed to the glowing lines, then stared. They were etched into a flat-planed area the size of a brick that was still faintly glowing. "You bastards!" he said.
"What did they do, overburn?" Spindrift maneuvered his sled between the two men, angling it toward Pepper. "Yes, I see you did—shaved off my mark and etched in your own. What's the matter? The rocks in your own sector weren't enough for you?"
"Ain’t yours—it's Flanagan’s sector!"
"So that's his mark—two slices of pie?"
"Not pie—flan! Hispanic baked custard," said Frenchie, one of Pepper’s crew.
"We got enough rocks of our own," Pepper said, "and that's one of 'em, just drifted into your sector."
"Drifted right through Roberts' sector, did it?"
"It happens." Inside the face-plate, Pepper's jaw jutted out.
"So do double logos." Spindrift pointed. "Look inside that crater, four feet over from your logo."
Pepper looked, and swore. Cast in relief by sun-shadow was Spindrift's spiral and V.
“They’re dark," Spindrift said, "Not still glowing, like yours. They've been there since we etched them this morning.”
“Okay, so you’ve got two logos.” Pepper raised his laser. “But I’ve got ten drovers, and there’s only seven of you.”
“Is that so?” Spindrift asked. “Then have them show themselves.”
For a moment, Pepper was quiet, and Kit could picture the look on his face as his bluff was called. She smiled—and centered her aiming dot on Frenchie. He dropped down five feet, but she kept the dot on him.
“They show themselves, then you know where to fire.” Pepper’s voice had a triumphant ring; he’d found a way out of his dilemma.
“Each of my people has found a place to fire already.” Spindrift pressed the aiming stud, and the red dot appeared right over Pepper’s heart. “And I’m sure each of them has picked a second target, too.”
Pepper gave an elaborate shrug. “Your death, then.” His aiming dot appeared over Spindrift’s heart. “You’re too late, new boot. If you fire now, you’re dead. Better run while you can.”
“Yes, you had better run,” Spindrift returned, “for if either of us shoots, we’re both dead.”
Pepper’s voice dropped deeper and harder. “I think I’ll be the one walking a—"
His laser flared.
But Spindrift was already dropping, pulling himself flat to the rockface as his laser flared, holding steady on Pepper. All around them, lasers stabbed the dark, burning off shards of rock with people yelling in anger—but only Pepper howled with pain as he fell.
As suddenly as it had begun, the firing ceased and the drovers scrambled for new cover, knowing the enemy knew their old positions.
“Blast you, Spindrift!” Pepper snarled. “You burned my leg!”
“Get it to a doctor right away,” Spindrift answered. “We’ll hold fire for a few minutes to give you time. If any of your people fires, though, so will we.”
“You’ll pay for this!”
“Yes, yes, I know, if it’s the last thing you do. Don’t let it come to that, please. Too many young men like yourself die out here in the emptiness between asteroids.”
“You’ll be one of… Get that stretcher away from me! Just bring me my sled.”
Realizing that Pepper was talking to his own people, Spindrift stayed silent. His drovers followed his example, and Flanagan’s drovers retreated into the night. When their sleds had become nothing but glowing lights, Spindrift said. “All right. Secure the area.”
The drovers came out from their cover, lasers out and ready to find a few enemies still in place—but steady scouting showed that they were alone.
“All clear,” said Charlie.
“Clear here too,” said Agatha.
One by one, they all checked in, declaring their patches empty of enemies.
“All clear, then,” Spindrift said. His tone was bitter. “How ridiculous for people to risk one another’s lives over worthless boulders!”
“Scarcely worthless,” Kit said, trying to sound reassuring. “That rock they were trying to steal will probably net us a hundred credits.”
“Right,” Skurly said, “and if we let them steal all our money, we won’t have any to live on.”
“’No money, no life,’” said Agatha.
“Yes, I suppose we have to protect our own,” Spindrift sighed.
“Our own people, too,” Charlie said. “You stood up to Pepper like the boss you are, Mr. Spindrift. It’s an honor to guard your back.”
“Thank you, Charles,” Spindrift said, and they could hear the wry smile in his tone. “It’s not my back that needs guarding, though, so much as my left side.”
“Left side?” Kit frowned. “Why?”
“Because my left eye is blind,” Spindrift said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Blind?” Kit gawked, then realized she was being rude and looked away. “Sorry. I don’t understand…”
“Why I don’t have an artificial one put in?” Spindrift smiled with gentle regret. “It seems I’m one of the very few whose body won’t tolerate foreign matter in that particular place, Ms. Kildare. The socket rejected three replacements before we gave up. I’m not happy about it, of course, but there isn’t much I can do.” His voice hardened. “But I won’t let it slow me down.”
“No, of course not.” Kit looked back at him with a warm smile. He had courage, this one. “You’re doing everything anyone else can.”
“Except make a left turn,” Spindrift said with a smile. “I do that too, but I have to be careful about it.”
* * *
The lawyer and the rich boy lived in apartments on the second floor, above their new store; if nothing else, they would make up the cost of living. Not to be outdone, Flanagan installed a young Navy veteran as his store manager; Maguire lived upstairs over the Emporium, in clear sight of Swayne & Spindrift’s—and, of course, in clear shot.
About a week before the store opened, Spindrift came down one morning, turned on the lights, and went to his desk, just as a head-sized rock crashed off the dome, bending one of the struts. Startled, he looked up, saw what had happened, and went outside to investigate. He stepped down into the street and looked around, but there was no one in sight—it was rather early. Shrugging, he turned back and was about to spring toward the door when he saw the banner he and Swayne had hung over the lintel: “Swayne and Spindrift, General Merchandise.” His name and Swayne’s were crossed out. So was the word “Merchandise” and below it someone had scrawled “nuisance.”
It didn’t take much thinking to discover who had probably done it. Trail agreed that the drovers would be better employed hanging around in the store and outside it, friendly and chatty but with their hands near their lasers. Strangely, there was no more vandalism.
Then came the proud grand opening. Townsfolk lined up, tired of Flanagan’s holding them to ransom by virtue of monopoly and eager to see if Swayne’s prices were lower. They were, considerably—only cost plus a modest profit margin. Phones appeared and customers called in their friends. People started streaming toward the store—until a dozen drovers dove at them in formation, wearing Flanagan’s imitation camouflage colors. Before they could touch down, though, Spindrift’s drovers appeared out of the tavern, the church, the assay office, and even from behind people’s houses. They lined up, hands near their lasers.
The townsfolk looked at the two lines of armed drovers facing each other. Anyone going in the front door would have to walk down the aisle between them. Customers began to melt away—and went through back yards to discover the back door (actually, many of them had located it a week earlier).
Maguire realized what they were doing and snapped an order to two of his people, Cook and Laurel. They stepped out of line and started toward the back of the store.
A roar in their headphones stopped them. Looking up, they saw a Ranger ship zooming toward them; the crew’s microphones were picking up the sound of its engines and relaying it for everyone to hear. Around the ship, six Rangers rode escort. They swung down to land between the two lines of drovers, back to back, swinging their blasters off their shoulders to cover each of the groups. The drovers froze.
These weren’t part-time warriors who were really drovers—they were trained fighters, and their plasma blasters were much more powerful than the drovers’ work-lasers. The patrol boat held its position above the store, and the captain’s voice came through all earphones. “Any sign of disorder, lieutenant?”
“No, sir,” the lieutenant answered. “Everybody seems peaceable.”
“So I see,” the captain answered. “Anybody want to argue the point?”
There were a couple of curses, not at all muffled, but no one admitted to saying them.
“Glad to hear it,” the captain said. “Lieutenant, it’s lunch time. Send up some sandwiches, will you?”
“Yes, sir. Sergeant Elba, see what they have in the General Merchandise. Sergeant Bibelot, see what the Emporium has to offer.”
Fifteen minutes later, one of the sergeants ferried lunch up to the patrol ship, patronizing both stores equally. The other sergeant kept an eye on his Rangers, now standing with their blasters slanting across the chests of their space suits, clearly ready to swivel around and return fire, if any came.
Slowly, one by one, the drovers began to wander away, Maguire’s crew mostly toward the tavern inside the Flanagan emporium, Swayne’s toward his store, where he too had installed a bar and a good selection of bottles that were actually worth the price he was charging. Kit was the last to go.
The next day, all the drovers lounged around the town under the steady eye of the patrol boat’s cameras. Rangers ambled along the streets, not quite patrolling, only walking two by two, talking and laughing with one another. At lunch time, they all happened to be off the street when Spindrift came out to see how many more customers were in line—none, as it turned out, but Maguire came storming up to him and jammed the barrel of his laser under the angle of Spindrift’s jaw. The young man froze.
“Now, you close down your store,” Maguire said, “and you sell your piece of sector to Mr. Flanagan. If you don’t, I’ll do this again, and I’ll push the firing stud.”
“That would be very unwise,” Spindrift said, “with so many Rangers close by and their cameras watching.
Maguire glared at him for the longest minute of Spindrift’s life, then stepped back with a snarl and jammed his laser into its holster on his thigh. “Next time I’ll catch you alone.”
“Then I’ll have the good sense to always have company,” Spindrift returned. “There may not be much law in this Belt, Mr. Maguire, but there is some, and I don’t think even you want to break it.”
“Don’t be too sure of anything, fancy boy! It’s the things you count on that can kill you.” Maguire stormed away, leaving Spindrift to gaze after him, frowning in thought.
Only thought, Kit noted. Her man hadn’t folded even with a laser right under his jaw. He had guts as well as brains, and her fascination with him grew.
* * *
The grand opening happened three months after Swayne's arrival. All that time, Spindrift and his drovers were busy gathering asteroids to bring in to Ceres. Unfortunately, it was time enough for Flanagan's drovers to discover that Roberts' parcel really was mined out. They began to cross it to haul in rocks with Spindrift's logo. They'd burn it over first, of course, and Flanagan had registered a new logo that resembled Spindrift's outline of a top with a wavy line to indicate something that was both spinning and drifting. Just as Flanagan had crafted a logo that could convert Trail's "3L" to an “8L,” he now added horns to Spindrift’s spinning top and another curve to the wavy line to link the two, making it a horned snake with a rather large head. It didn't mean anything, of course, but it didn't have to, as long as it was legally registered. Flanagan’s drovers scarcely ever got the overburn exactly right, though, so it was easy to see the original logo underneath the new, and Trail said Spindrift should sue—after all, he had a lawyer handy. Spindrift answered that he would bide his time, and when his videos showed the twentieth rock stolen, he did.
The case went to court with amazing speed. Swayne played segment after segment, showing the overburning and the thefts, but Flanagan claimed that no one could tell for sure that the new logo was an overburn, since it matched so closely to the old one. He had no lawyer, and his defense was so weak that Swayne was pole-axed when Judge Clovis ruled in Flanagan's favor.
As they came out of the courthouse, Spindrift asked, looking lost, "How could he rule like that, Mr. Trail? Mr. Swayne showed it clear as day!"
"Incontrovertible evidence," Swayne said heavily.
Joan glanced at him with contempt.
"It’s Clovis,” Trail answered. "He plays poker with Flanagan and three of his other cronies. I expect he lost kind of heavily this week."
Spindrift stared. "You mean Flanagan said he'd forget the debt if Clovis ruled for him?"
Trail nodded, and Swayne looked scandalized. "Justice to the highest bidder, Mr. Trail?"
"Only for friends and family," Trail said.
So Flanagan was free to keep on stealing—and did.
* * *
A week later, five men marched into Swayne’s store. The leader had a grin on his face and a piece of paper in his hand.
All Swayne’s hackles prickled, but he said, “Good morning. I’m Alexander Swayne. And you would be…?”
“Pepper,” the leader answered, “Maguire’s foreman.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Swayne could make the occasional social lie. “What can I get you?”
“Everything,” Maguire said, and lifted his gauntlet to show a badge bonded to the back. “I’m the new proctor—the new Peacekeeper.”
“Are you really.” Swayne tried not to stare at the badge. “By whose authority?”
”Justice Clovis,” Maguire said, and laid a piece of paper on the counter. “He gave me this to hand to you.”
Swayne glanced at the document, and froze. “A writ of attachment.” He scanned it and caught his breath. “Flanagan has accused Spindrift of stealing asteroids?”
“And since you’re his partner in this store, the building and everything in it is forfeit.” Maguire grinned. “Payback time, Counselor—and Mr. Flanagan’s recordings, you can’t argue with.”
“Oh, I can argue,” Swayne said. “The question is, where can I find an unbiased judge to rule on it? And a jury who’re not intimidated?”
“Right here in Port Alice,” Maguire said. “That’s where the suit is filed, that’s where you have to try it.”
“Not necessarily,” Swayne said. “There are grounds for a change of venue.”
Maguire lost his smile. “That’s for you and the court. In the meantime, you have five minutes to clear out of the store before I seal it.”
Swayne went upstairs to his apartment—apparently Flanagan and Clovis had forgotten to list it in the writ—and set his tachyon radio to Trail’s private frequency. When he answered, Swayne gave him a summary of the event and asked for a meeting. Trail said he’d bring Spindrift.
Trail gave him the bad news, and the young man froze. Then he said, “But… but how can he?”
“Who’s to stop him?” Trail returned.
“The sector court,” Swayne said slowly.
Trail shook his head. “Take too long. They’ll jump their kangaroo court all over your store and your home asteroid.”
“Not if I’m here,” Swayne said. “I’ll file a new motion every morning and afternoon. Clovis won’t be able to work through them fast enough to seize anything before the Governor rules on them.”
“But you’ll be going up against Sector Attorney Pine,” Trail objected. “He’ll shoot you down as fast as you can talk.”
“He’ll have to state grounds,” Swayne said, “and they won’t stand up in court.” He turned to Spindrift. “But you’ll have to appear in person. I can go with you, but you’ll have to go.”
“Why not?” Spindrift asked, with bitterness. “I can’t protect anything here.” He turned to the drovers. “At least we’ve finished the bunkhouse. You’ll have somewhere to stay.”
“No thanks, Mr. Spindrift,” Charlie said. “I’d rather come along with you.”
Spindrift stared at him, then glanced at the others. They all nodded. He gave them a smile of affection. “Thank you all. You don’t really have to—there’s no danger.”
“Oh, yes, sir,” Charlie said, “there is.”
* * *
Trail agreed—Flanagan couldn’t take any chances on a Ceres lawyer being able to prove Flanagan’s recording was a fake, or that Spindrift might be telling the truth. He stayed to keep on eye on everything, but loaned Spindrift his burro-boat for the trip. The drovers flew convoy for him in a ring around the middle of the ship. They stayed the night at an asteroid camp, three of the drovers in the igloo, the rest of them on the bunks in the burro-boat. Kit tried to think of a way to have all the other drovers spend the night in the igloo so she could be alone with Spindrift—she had a foreboding that this might be her last chance—but couldn’t find any, especially since Agatha and Jessie seemed to be thinking the same way.
By their chronographs, it was the next morning when they set out. About an hour along, laser bolts started lancing the space around a big asteroid over to their right.
“Better go see what that’s about,” Charlie said. “I need two with me.”
“Me,” Skurly said.
“I’ll go,” Agatha said.
They turned their sleds toward the light show and shot off. As they diminished into lighted dots racing away, an explosion bloomed off to their left, the brightness and the expanding cloud eerie in the silence of the vacuum.
“What could that be?” Spindrift asked.
“Collision,” Jessie said.
Kit nodded. “Could be somebody’s in trouble.”
“Or,” Lucky said, “could be somebody’s doing a little amateur smelting.”
“Go look,” Spindrift said. “I’ll follow.”
“I got a bad feeling about this,” Kit said.
“No need,” Spindrift assured her. “We’ll all still be together.”
Reluctantly, Kit turned her sled to follow Jessie and Lucky.
There was nothing to be seen on the near face of the rock, just the usual craters and cracks, so they went around back. They had barely seen the canister that had blown up to make a fake explosion, when a dozen riders dove out from behind a huge asteroid a kilometer away, and a burro-boat came looming out to follow.
“Ambush!” Kit shouted, and wheeled her sled around to race back. But it was too far and Flanagan’s boat was moving too fast; she couldn’t get into range, and Spindrift was turning slowly, too slowly…
Four figures on sleds came racing out from the big asteroid and two from behind the iceberg where Spindrift’s crew had spent the night. Red rays bracketed Spindrift’s boat and his four drovers dove for cover behind the closest rocks they could find, chased by laser beams all the way. Kit triggered her sled’s laser and a green beam shot toward the Flanagan drovers—she knew them all by their helmets. Charlie and Agatha shot back, too. Lucky was a little late, shooting far enough to the side that he wouldn’t hit Kit, and the gulf between the asteroids turned into a lacework of green and red beams.
Flanagan’s boat spat a column of flame, a blaster flare that struck the right side of Spindrift’s view pickup; another clouded his porthole, and Spindrift shot away in a long curve. Maguire’s drovers raced after him, laser beams lancing out as soon as they came in range, and Kit and her crew shot after them, not even waiting to be in range before they fired. Aiming dots speckled the backs of Maguire’s drovers, lighting up their space suits and sleds with patterns of colored circles that were pretty but did no damage, while Spindrift’s sled curved around and back, an arc that turned into a circle, wavering as Spindrift’s hands reeled over the controls. Charlie and Agatha shot to his aid and Kit dove toward them, screaming, Lucky right behind her. Shocked, Kit realized that Spindrift was looping into a circle—and faster he went, faster and faster, circling again and again while his voice moaned despair in their headphones.
“Boss!” Charlie shouted. “Straighten out!”
But Spindrift kept flying in circles with a high, despairing howl, and Kit realized why—he only had one good eye! Flanagan’s shot had burned out his viewscreen and his back-up porthole, and he was flying blind.
“What’s the matter, boss?” Charlie called.
“His vision,” Kit shouted. “They clouded his starboard viewscreen and porthole! He can’t see!”
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