The Rothmonian security center was a quiet, almost cloistered place. There was the gentle hum of air-conditioning, the muted mumble of radio traffic, and the occasional sound of a buzzer. Row after row of vid monitors blinked through a preprogrammed sequence of security cams, some of which hopped, crawled, or flew through air, while others remained stationary and captured whatever happened to take place in front of them. Some of these were mounted in locations that guests would object to but didn't know about.
Technicians moved here and there, attending the machines like priests at the altar, speaking to each other in tones of hushed solemnity.
Nathan Izzo slammed the door open, dropped his portacomp onto a countertop, and looked for someone to abuse. Five or six technicians were present. All did their best to disappear. "Rister! Get your butt out here!"
"My butt is out here." The voice came from right next to Izzo and made him jump. Carolyn Rister, chief of security, saw her superior's expression and smiled. "Welcome to the security center."
Izzo scowled. His hair was black. He wore it short and flat on top. That, plus the hard, determined eyes and the formally cut business suit, gave him a military air. Just right for the man everybody called "The General."
"Don't give me any of that 'welcome to the security center' crap, Rister. Save it for the headquarters types. What the hell's going on? Your people are too damned visible. Some of the guests are getting nervous."
Rister was a long, lean woman who moved with a sort of sinewy grace. She had been places and done things that Izzo couldn't even imagine. The executive didn't scare her a bit.
"Well, let me see . . . we've got a killer on the loose, we're trying to keep about twenty bounty hunters off prem, and someone's in the process of stealing your skimmer. Which one would you like to discuss first?"
Blood rushed to Izzo's face. "Stealing my skimmer?"
Rister nodded agreeably. "That's right. Take a look over there. You'll get a robo-sentry's eye view of your boat on its way out of the harbor."
Izzo looked. The picture jerked right and left as the robo-sentry stalked along the top of the breakwater. Rain fell in sheets, visibility had been reduced to a few hundred yards, and sure enough, there was the Nadia making for the open sea.
The executive grabbed the back of a chair. He owed more than a hundred thousand credits on the skimmer. None of them were insured.
"Stop them! Stop them right now!"
Rister nodded sympathetically. "Yes, sir. That's what we're trying to do. And if the robo-sentry beats them to the entrance, we might even succeed."
"'Might'? You might succeed? The robo-sentry has an energy cannon. Burn them down!"
Rister lifted an eyebrow. "If you say so, sir . . . but what about your skimmer?"
Rister's words were like a bucket of ice water. Izzo felt stupid and tried to hide it.
"How could something like this happen?"
Rister shrugged noncommittally. "Bad luck, that's all. It turns out that the guy in villa fourteen is wanted for murder. Channel twenty-three learned he was here, told everyone on the planet, and the bounty hunters arrived shortly thereafter. The guest tried to run, couldn't use the causeway, and stole your boat. It's as simple as that."
Izzo looked from Rister to the monitors. "No it isn't," he said resentfully. "You should've neutralized him back on land."
"Not unless policy has changed," Rister said evenly. "Think about it. I watched the tapes of this guy putting on his clothes. He has a slug gun stuck down the back of his pants and a mini-launcher strapped to his right arm. We fire at him and he fires back. Presto, the lodge becomes a free-fire zone. Dead guests all over the place. Get my drift?"
Izzo knew when he was beat. He stared at the monitor. The rain made it hard to see. The robo-sentry was close but the Nadia seemed even closer. "Shit."
"Yeah," Rister agreed calmly. "That pretty well sums it up."
Lando was soaked to the skin. Rain drummed on the deck around him. Melissa was below changing her clothes. For reasons known only to Mr. Izzo the Nadia came equipped with a wide array of female apparel.
The robo-sentry was closer now, a towering presence only forty yards away, its podlike feet pulverizing smaller chunks of rock as they hit the top of the breakwater.
Lando felt the deck shift slightly as the boat's NAVCOMP made a slight correction to the skimmer's course. A breeze touched his right cheek. The entrance to the harbor lay directly ahead. It was narrow, no more than fifty feet across, and would be impossible to negotiate if the robo-sentry arrived first.
Lando took a quick look around. Most of the pleasure craft had already made it to the docks, but those that hadn't hurried to do so. He saw no possibility of escape, no alternative to the upcoming confrontation, so he turned toward the robo-sentry.
Lando's blood ran cold as the gangly monster reached the end of the breakwater, tried to step down into the water, and slipped. Servos whined as the machine caught itself and made another attempt. The robo-sentry's pods found firmer footing this time and it waded out into the water.
Lando wrapped his left arm around the skimmer's mast and pointed his right hand toward the robo-sentry's head. That's where the machine's sensors should be. Maybe he could disable them.
The mini-missiles had no guidance systems of their own so Lando took careful aim. The trick would be to lead the machine by just the right amount, compensate for the wind, and hit a relatively small target.
Lando flexed his muscles just so and a mini-missile left the launcher. It missed the robo-sentry's insectoid head by inches and headed out to sea.
Lando swore and waited to die. The burp of blue light never came. The robo-sentry was knee deep in the water by now and reaching for the Nadia's bow.
Why? Why were they still alive? What had the attendant said? Something about the manager's boat? So that was it! The security types were reluctant to destroy Mr. Izzo's toy.
Lando aimed his second and last missile. He fired. This missile ran straight and true, hit the robo-sentry right between its electronic eyes, and blew up. Hot shrapnel flew in every direction. Pieces pinged against the skimmer's wing and others hissed into the water.
Izzo slammed his fist onto a tabletop as the monitor went dead. He was furious. "Stop them! Never mind the skimmer! Just stop them!"
A technician looked at Rister. The robo-sentry's energy cannon had been destroyed but the rest of the machine was still functional. The security chief nodded her head.
The technician turned to his console. The robo-sentry might be blind but he wasn't. A security cam had been mounted on the north side of the breakwater. By turning it to the left the tech could see the robo-sentry's back and the skimmer beyond.
Now for the next step. The robo-sentry's primary voice-recognition sub-processor had been destroyed along with its head. There was a second-rate backup located in the machine's chest cavity. The technician spoke slowly so the processor would have time to understand.
Metal screeched as the Nadia scraped along the robo-sentry's right leg. Completely blind, the machine flailed right and left. A metal pincer hit the boat's wing with a loud bang. Lando held on as the boat rocked back and forth.
Water churned as the skimmer's auxiliary power unit pushed it forward. The robo-sentry dropped into a crouch and prepared to jump. The impact of its two-ton weight would crush the Nadia like an egg shell. Lando thought about Melissa, thought about telling her to dive overboard, but knew there wasn't enough time.
The robo-sentry made its headless leap. Lando watched in numb fascination as the machine fell, missed the skimmer by inches, and splashed chest down into the bay. Spray spattered the deck, the Nadia rocked back and forth, and the breakwater passed to either side. Bubbles boiled up from the point where the robo-sentry had disappeared.
A reader board was mounted on pilings off to the right. The words slid from left to right: "Thanks for staying at the Rothmonian Lodge. Please come again."
Lando looked around. He saw open water, white-capped waves, and low-scudding gray clouds. Perfect weather to hide in.
A wave broke across the bow, sluiced the length of the deck, and washed over Lando's feet. The cockpit had a high coaming around it but the rest of the deck was clear. The smuggler grimaced, and was just about to go below, when something surfaced off the starboard bow.
Lando's first thought was an animal of some sort, a Pylaxian version of Ithro's sea monsters perhaps, or a bioengineered whale. But whales don't have metal skins or make whining noises when their heads move.
The creature's head came up out of the water, its mouth opened, and a pair of robo-cams flew out. One came in close while the other hung back. The voice was the same one Lando had heard on the beach.
"Hello, Citizen Lando! That was a close call back there. What now?"
Lando pulled the slug gun, took careful aim, and put two slugs through the closest vid cam. It staggered, belched black smoke, and splashed into the water.
Lando smiled as the other camera scuttled into the submersible's open mouth and disappeared. The entire machine was gone a few seconds later. Lando wondered if it would attempt to follow him. Stupid question. Of course it would.
The smuggler took a quick look around, failed to detect any other signs of pursuit, and went below. A section of canopy hissed open to admit him. The air felt warm and dry. His shoes squished down the ladder.
Melissa looked small in oversize shorts and top. She threw her arms around Lando's neck. "It's a good thing you're okay . . . Della would go bonkers if I let anything happen to you."
Lando gave her a hug, marveled at the little girl's strange logic, and grabbed a towel from the nearest seat. He used it to dry his hair.
"Welcome below, sir," the NAVCOMP said heartily. "We're receiving repeated messages ta heave to. How should I respond?"
It was tempting to make a snappy reply but that would provide the Rothmonian's security people with a radio fix. Lando spoke through the towel.
"No reply . . . in fact, the less electromechanical activity the better."
"Aye, aye, sir," the computer responded. "And that bein' the case, sir, should I shut down the auxiliary power and deploy the sail?"
Lando considered it. "How would that effect our speed?"
"Given the current weather conditions our speed would increase from twenty knots to more than forty."
Lando threw the towel toward a corner. "Excellent. Deploy the sail and cut auxiliary power."
"Aye, aye, sir. The sail it is."
The Nadia wallowed in a trough. Lando fought to keep his balance. "One more thing."
"Sir?" the NAVCOMP responded.
"Can you tell if we're being followed?"
"Would you be referrin' ta the submersible, sir?"
Lando smiled. "Yes, I would."
"They're followin' all right, sir. Would ya care ta lose them?"
"That would be nice, yes."
"Consider it done," the NAVCOMP said confidently.
It took the NAVCOMP about three minutes to position the skimmer's wing, to adjust the slots and flaps, and to turn onto an easterly course.
Lando felt more than a little useless as he sat down before the control console. A whole network of potentiometers provided him with information. The only problem was that he didn't know what to do with it. Thank Sol for the NAVCOMP.
The skimmer shuddered momentarily as the wing cut into the wind, heeled to starboard, and picked up speed. A few moments later the slight vibration caused by the auxiliary power unit disappeared and the Nadia started to fly.
The wind not only pushed against the wing but lifted at the same time. Freed from all but minimal drag, the boat did exactly what its name suggested, and skimmed the surface of the water.
Rain spattered against the duraplast canopy and kept Lando from sliding it back, but nothing could separate him from the almost overwhelming sensation of speed. And not just any speed, but dangerous speed, as the NAVCOMP calculated and recalculated the wind speed, air temperature, wave action, and prevailing currents thousands of times a second, made minute adjustments, and pushed the boat to the limit of its performance.
Melissa was fascinated. Her forehead was pressed against the inside of the canopy. The lead-gray sky and sea seemed to fly past the skimmer. There was no noise of an engine, no sound of machinery at work, just the roar of the wind and the patter of rain. The only thing she felt was the bump, bump, bump of wave tops hitting the bottom of the hull.
Lando remembered the skimmer races that he'd seen and felt a new sense of respect. The racers had some help from an on-board NAVCOMP but were required to provide most of the control themselves. Lando couldn't imagine how they did it. The NAVCOMP interrupted his thoughts.
"We outran the submersible, sir."
"Excellent. Let me know if you detect pursuit of any kind."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Melissa clapped her hands. "We're free!"
Lando forced a smile. "Yes, we are. For the moment anyway."