Coils

Chapter 13

I dozed after a time, a light and troubled sleep. Half-consciously, I checked periodically with the computer, keeping track of our distance from Memphis. I believe that I dreamed, but the particulars escaped me. I welcomed the distancing effect that a period of unconsciousness would place between me and the evening’s events. Light and broken though it was, my slumber gave this much to me.

The moon had climbed much higher by the time I came fully awake and decided that I could no longer postpone full forethought. I did not want to take the chance of riding all of the way into the railroad yard. Which meant that another unscheduled stop was in order. I was not familiar with Memphis. I did not want to stop too far out of town and simply find myself lost in the middle of the night; and I did not relish the idea of a long walk through unfamiliar territory. I decided on a sudden stop right before the railroad yard, unless something better presented itself along the way.

While I had cleaned up the computer record of this trip so far—back at regional—there was nothing I would be able to do about the memory of two unexplained stops in the minds of the train’s crew. The stops would be reported and there would have to be some sort of investigation. When it was seen that the crew’s story did not match the record, someone at Angra who must now be hunting transportation anomalies in this direction would be alerted. This coming situation was the necessary result of my present security. It was another reason for my getting off at a late point and not dawdling in the area. I would have to move on as quickly as possible. I began to wonder whether there were any way in which I might provide a false trail for Angra’s investigators. I began to consider what little I did know of the geography of the area and to speculate as to what might be quickly available to me.

So, later, when I initiated the braking program, there were all sorts of lights in sight. I crouched before the door, caused it to open and hit the ground before we had come to a complete halt. I headed forward, not wanting the crew to catch sight of me, down off the siding and across a field. I did nothing to the computer this time, other than to order it to shut the door a little later.

When I felt comfortably out of sight I slowed to a walk and caught my breath. I headed toward a row of streetlights beyond darkened houses, crossed some sort of drainage ditch and passed through someone’s yard. A dog began barking within the house. It shut up after I made it to the sidewalk and crossed the street.

I walked for about fifteen minutes after that, trying without success to get an idea as to where I was in relation to anything that might be of use to me. It was unfortunate that I had jumped off near a residential area. They are simply too dead after a certain hour to be of much use for the sorts of things I had in mind. I kept my mental ears open for the familiar voices of computers, but the only ones I could hear at all were too somnolent in terms of current activity to be kicked into service, most of them functioning as glorified timers at the moment.

I continued, turning after a time onto a larger thoroughfare. An occasional car passed, but I dismissed the notion of trying to flag one down. I did not want to leave anyone with the memory and possible description of a hitchhiker around this place at this time. I stretched my faculties as far as I could reach, casting about in all directions, seeking computer activity.

Faintly, far off to the right, there seemed to be some action. I turned right at the next corner and headed toward it. I kept walking past houses—darkened, for the most part—expecting to hit a commercial area. But I didn’t.

Instead, the area remained unchanged but the signal grew stronger, finally reaching the point where I could read it clearly. It was some insomniac gamester engaged in an elaborate four-way contest involving two players in Mississippi and one in Kentucky. There was a light behind drawn curtains in a house across the street, up ahead, which might well be its source. I slowed my pace.

Lickticktertick.

… I passed along the connections without disturbing their play. It was a telephone-line hookup, and the first exchange I got to I departed their circuit. Slowly shifting holes in an enormous piece of luminous Swiss cheese…

I plunged into, out of, along and through a great number of these. I finally got the feeling, jumping from circuit to circuit, for the ones which led to functioning computers as opposed to those in use between people’s phones…

After three bad leads, I found my way into the Police Department’s main computer. There were security wards, but after my bout with Big Mac I was able to pass through these without slowing down. It was not really the police computer that I had set out to locate, however. Any of a number of others would have done as well. All that I actually wanted was a detailed map of the city…

I studied it for a long while, fixing in my memory the features that I thought I could use. Next, I memorized a few major thoroughfares—east-west and north-south—so that when I finally hit one I would be into a coordinate system…

I was about to disengage from the unit when it occurred to me to seek myself within it.

Ricktatack. Backadaback…

… Donald BelPatri—[description and photo repro code]. Armed and dangerous. Fugitive warrant, Philadelphia. Theft, Angra Corp. Attempted homicide, William Matthews. Auto theft…

I erased it. No sense in leaving things easy for them when the opportunity to meddle is handy.

Still, I’d a feeling I would be back into the machine pretty soon, once my nemesis at Angra got wind of the railroad report. Running that thing down and trying to erase it could take me all night, time I couldn’t spare. Besides, by now it was probably already in the system at Angra. In fact… Maybe I had impulsively just provided them with another clue by wiping my record. Well . . shit. Too late now. Think first next time…

Rackadack.

I found myself leaning against a tree. I only dimly recalled having halted. I began walking again, reviewing the street map, trying to fix it more firmly in mind.

Several blocks passed. Small streets. Nothing I was looking for. But up ahead…

An apartment complex, with a big parking lot.

I studied the place for long minutes, to see whether I could spot a guard of any sort, but I couldn’t.

I could not start any of those cars mentally, I knew, not when they were cold like that. I needed a little juice in a machine’s circuits to play around with.

However…

I entered the lot and began a long, slow stroll. The lighting was not always good, and if anyone saw me I knew that I must look suspicious, peering into car windows that way. Statistically, it just seemed possible that out of all those cars someone might have left the keys in one.

Twenty minutes later, I was beginning to doubt this, right before I located one—a black coupe, electric. I got in quickly, started it, backed it out of the parking place and got out of the lot fast. I didn’t breathe easily until I had gone several miles.

I was onto a fairly wide street, which finally took me into a business district. I determined to follow it until I hit one of my coordinates or ten miles, whichever came first. In the later case, I would then turn around and follow it in the other direction backtracking and passing on until I hit one.

I came upon one fairly quickly, however, and turned onto it. Just a couple of miles, after that, I intersected with another. At last I knew where I was.

My mental map now oriented, I headed in the direction of the feature I sought. When the police car came up behind me I almost did something foolish. But prudence ruled and I halted at the stop light rather than flooring it and crashing through. When the light changed, the car passed me and shortly thereafter turned off to the left. I found myself shaking, though I knew that I should have felt a bit secure in the knowledge that there was nothing out on the car yet. I drove very carefully after that.

I saw an open diner. It wasn’t on my schedule, but my stomach felt otherwise about it. I could see that the place was nearly deserted. I pulled into the lot, went in and had a club sandwich, a piece of pie and a cup of coffee. I washed up and repaired my self in the rest room, wishing I had a razor as I ran my hand over my now-stubbly chin. I took out my wallet and counted the bills. I generally carry a good amount of cash when I travel—I’m old-fashioned that way. I was pleased to see that I still had several hundred dollars. Good. That would be of help.

Driving again, and feeling much better, I continued along the rough route I had in mind, still wincing whenever I heard a siren.

While I did not know exactly where the place was, I hoped to come across signs as soon as I got into the vicinity. The city thinned out as I drove. Malls and building clusters came and went, and then there were only houses, farther and farther apart. Finally, a sign appeared, and I turned where it indicated.

A light plane came out of the north, circled and descended toward a bright area up ahead, my destination.

I slowed as I approached, locating the entrance drive and turning up it. The place did not seem exceptionally large or busy. It was just one of many small air transport services.

I found a spot in the uncrowded parking lot, turned off the engine, turned off the lights. I coiled then into the computer in the operations building which lay ahead and to my left. I flashed past the flights in progress information and the weather reports. There were eight ’copters on the ground, I learned. Two of them were being serviced and two had just come in recently and had not yet been gone over. Four were out on pads, fully serviced, fully fueled, awaiting use.

I studied what I could see of the field, trying to match eyeball with electronic information. The farthest one, of course, would be mine…

I left the keys in the car, the car in the lot, my footsteps on the lawn, bearing me far to the left, past the building on what appeared to be its blindest side. I kept to the shadows as much as possible, passing along behind a row of small hangars. Someone was in the first one, servicing a light plane.

Emerging near the pad I sought, I simply walked across fifteen meters of concrete and climbed into the pilot’s seat in the vehicle I had chosen. There had been no outcry. If anybody had noticed me, perhaps they’d thought I’d some business there. I don’t know.

I studied the controls. I had only the vaguest idea of what did what for anything. Still, there ought to be some simple switches for ignition or battery, something that would get some juice into the system.

I strapped myself in and experimented. After half a minute of fumbling, I got the engine to kick over. Simultaneously, the flight computer came to life. I was still vividly fresh on helicopter computers and automatic pilots.

I activated the takeoff program. The sound of the engine increased in intensity and the blades made a bullroaring noise overhead. I followed the operations of the various systems. Everything appeared to be in order.

As I rose, I wondered whether I should have any lights on on the vehicle. I decided against it. Why make things any easier for anyone else, just for a little safety? Of course, they would doubtless try tracking me on their radar, but I intended to get very low very shortly for what I had in mind, and I had hopes of losing them—at least for a while.

I didn’t cross the field. I headed away from it to the left, constantly scanning the sky for anything incoming, until I felt safely out of range of the place.

And then, to the northwest. I preferred skirting the town to flying over it I kept low as we passed above fields and farms, but high enough to avoid power lines as we chased the falling moon. Finally, the ground began to drop away, gently, and a little later I was given a view of the dark, star-shot river. Again, I reviewed the police map as I drove on toward it, and when I finally came to its bank and passed on out over the water I turned to the left and headed downriver.

There was an empty stretch of road about a mile from the place which I hoped would satisfy my needs. I set it down there, climbing out quickly, got out of the way and sent it aloft again. Having checked out a variety of pre-planned flight programs it possessed, I directed it to fly to Oklahoma City, maintaining a low altitude for the first twenty miles and then following its normal programming for the balance of the trip.

I turned to my left and began walking. I came to a section composed mainly of warehouses, just a few small lights about them, watchmen doubtless around somewhere, not that it mattered. Moving on past, I enjoyed the smells from the river, from which a light, warm, humid breeze was coming. Tomorrow would probably be hot and muggy, but the night was pleasant

There were no city sounds here, only insects in the grasses beside the road. And so far, no traffic along it.

I took my time, not wanting my arrival to coincide too closely with the passage of the ’copter. I followed a curve in the road which took me around a warehouse and nearer to the water.

The next big view to open up included people. There were overhead lights playing down upon a docking area, and I could now hear the creaking of a winch. A boom was swinging. A number of barges, anchored in various positions, came into sight. The one at the wharf was being loaded with large flats of cartons, which a pair of workers moved to strap into place once they were deposited. I found myself a comfortable and unobtrusive spot on the bank above the road’s right shoulder, and I settled there to observe the enterprise for a time. There were still quite a few flats waiting upon the pier for loading.

… A quick tick derick flick through the barge’s computer, which was now functioning in order to compare the manifest and what actually came aboard, told me a number of interesting things: the vessel would be departing in about two hours, and it would be stopping in Vicksburg.

No hurry then, and I could think of several arguments against prematurity in my approach. So I watched the operation and counted heads and checked out things which occurred to me with the computer.

There were the two men aboard the barge, loading the cargo into place. I assumed the crane itself to have a human operator, though it occurred to me that the large, red-haired man, wearing faded jeans and a blue and white striped sweater, who was seated atop a packing crate drinking a cup of coffee, might be manipulating it remotely by means of the small device near his right hand, which he occasionally raised.

Tick-terick.

No. He was just calling off inventory items through a broadcast unit. There was someone in the shed manipulating the crane. Another man was sprawled—sleeping or drunk or both—upon the decking, his back against the shack, head rolled to the side upon his shoulder, mouth open, eyes closed.

I guessed that the big man on the crate was the one listed in the vessel’s computer as “Ship’s master: C. Catlum”. The computer itself was similar to that on my houseboat, and I read that its standing orders required two live hands while the barge was adrift. I assumed that the guy propped up against the shed qualified loosely as the other one. I further assumed that some sort of union rules required that the vessel be loaded and unloaded by someone other than its captain and crew. I noted three cars and a truck parked in a lot behind the shed. The cars probably belonged to the laborers, the truck to the warehousing company which had stored the cargo. I strained and made out the lettering “Deller Storage” on its side. Good. It seemed I had a reasonable picture of the situation now. I cast about then for the best approach. There was just no way I could sneak aboard—I had discarded that notion long ago.

I watched for over an hour, assuring myself that there was no one else around. The stack of flats grew lower and lower. Another fifteen minutes, I decided…

When that time had passed, I rose to my feet and made my way slowly down toward the lighted area. There wasn’t much left to stow now. I walked out across the planks and up to the side of the packing case. The man propped against the shed still hadn’t moved.

“And hello to you, too,” said the man on the case, not looking in my direction.

“Captain Catlum?” I said.

“You’re one up on me.”

“Steve,” I said, “Lanning. I understand you’ll be leaving for Vicksburg in a little while.”

“I won’t deny it,” he said.

“I’d like a ride down that way.”

“I’m not running a taxi service.”

“Didn’t figure you were. But when I mentioned to the man at Deller Storage that I’d always wanted to ride on one of these, he said maybe I should see you.”

“Deller’s been out of business two years now. They should take that name off the trucks.”

“Whatever they call it these days, he said if I could pay my way I could probably get a ride.”

“The regulations say no.”

“He said maybe fifty dollars. What do you say?”

Catlum looked at me for the first time and he smiled, a very engaging thing. He was a ruggedly good-looking guy; about my own age, I guessed.

“Why, I didn’t write the regulations. Some fellow in an office back East prob’ly did.”

The crane swung back and descended. It caught hold of another flat and raised it.

“You realize, I’d be jeopardizing my career by taking you aboard,” he said.

“He really said a hundred dollars. I suppose I could manage that.”

He did something to the machine at his side, indicating the loading of that last flat.

“You like to play checkers?” he asked.

“Well—yes,” I said.

“Good. My partner’s going to be out for a while. What’d you say was the name of that man you talked to?”

“Wilson, or something like that.”

“Oh, yeah. Why’d you wait so long before you came on down?”

“I saw you were busier at first.”

He grinned and nodded. Then he came down from the crate, leaned forward and counted the remaining flats. He reached out and entered something into the unit. I was suddenly awed. There had been no real way of telling while he was seated, and he was well-enough proportioned that it was almost difficult to believe, but the man was about seven feet tall.

“Okay,” he said, hooking the unit onto his belt and handing me his cup and a huge thermos jug. “Take these, will you?”

Then he leaned forward and scooped up the unconscious man. He draped him over his left shoulder and headed up the gangway as if the extra weight meant nothing. He headed into the small cabin and dumped him onto a bunk. Then he turned toward me and took his cup and thermos.

“Thanks,” he said, hanging the cup on a hook and depositing the jug in a corner.

I was reaching for my wallet, but he walked away, departing the cabin, and checked on the rest of the incoming cargo. When this was done he turned to me, grinning again.

“Say, I’m going to have to break the shoreside computer hookup in a few minutes,” he said, “Do you think Wilson might have left a message about you in the company machine?”

I shrugged.

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

“You a sporting man, Steve?”

“Sometimes.”

“I’ll bet you a hundred dollars he didn’t say a word. You know old Wilson—or whoever.”

I figured I could probably use the money, and I wanted to strengthen my story, as he obviously believed I was lying—though I didn’t think it really mattered that much to him.

“You’re on,” I said, and I coiled.

“Okay. They’ll finish stowing the stuff in another five minutes. Let’s go and see now.”

I accompanied him back to the cabin, where he approached a terminal and punched an inquiry after messages in the warehouse computer.

STEVE LANNING WILL BE ALONG, the screen flashed.

“I’ll be damned,” he said. “Old Wilson remembered. That’s a fine trick. Looks as if you ride free. Well, we’d better be gettin’ ready to cast off now. Say, how good a checkers player are you?”

No sense in putting myself down. Besides, I was pretty good.

“Not bad,” I said.

“Good. Let’s make it two dollars a game. I think there’s time for fifty quick ones before breakfast”

I didn’t think it possible that anyone could beat me fifty straight games of checkers. Catlum won the first dozen games so fast that my head spun. He never paused. He just moved whenever his turn came. Then he poured us each a cup of coffee and we took them outside while his companion snored.

We looked out over the waters and I thought of Mark Twain and of all the things that had come down the river over the years.

“You running from something?” he asked.

“Running to something,” I answered.

“Well, good luck to you,” he said.

“Don’t you get bored pushing a barge?” I asked.

“Haven’t done it in a long time,” he said. “This is a sentimental journey.”

“Oh.” I was silent for a while. Then, “This must really have been something when it was all wild,” I observed.

He nodded.

“Pretty. Of course, the last time I came down this way I wound up in jail.”

We watched until our cups were empty and then we went back inside. He beat me another dozen games, and then a false dawn occurred in the east. I bore down, I played as well as I could, but he just kept winning. He chuckled each time, taking my two dollars or making change for me. I finally decided that he had to be taken down a peg. I coiled into the computer and installed the tightest impromptu game program I could come up with—which I guess was only as good as the programmer, because I leaned heavily on it for a time and he kept right on winning.

He got his hundred dollars sometime late that morning, and then I had to sack out on the other bunk while he went out to look at the cargo.

I don’t know how long I had been asleep when I dreamed my way through a Coil Effect. I was inside that ’copter again, skimming across the countryside, when suddenly I was flanked by a pair of heavier-looking machines. They opened fire without preamble, tearing my vehicle to bits. I remained within the computer’s shrinking sensorium as it plunged earthward. Then came the impact and I awakened briefly. I knew that it had been more than a dream. The feelings accompanying the phenomenon were second nature, and the ones I’d just experienced had been real.

But there was nothing to do at this point and my eyes were still heavy. I drifted back to sleep. I dreamed more dreams, but they were garden-variety and fugitive.

What finally slowly brought me around later was a moaning sound—repeated, drawn-out. I opened my eyes. The cabin was dark. The fellow on the other bunk was making the noises. For a minute, I was disoriented, and then I realized where I was.

I sat up on the edge of the bunk and massaged my brow. Had I really slept away most of the day? My body must have needed the rest badly, to put me out like that. I looked over at the other bunk. The man who tossed there, arm across his face, appeared to be in the throes of a horrible hangover. As this did not make him the best of company, I rose and turned toward the doorway, realizing as I did that I was ravenously hungry. I also wanted a bathroom.

I passed outside. Catlum was leaning against the bulkhead, grinniag at me.

“Just about time to go, Steve,” he said. “I was going to get you up in a few more minutes.”

I cast about in all directions. I did not see anything that lived up to my expectation of Vicksburg. I told him so.

“Well, you’ve got a good point there,” he said. “Vicksburg’s still a little ways downstream. But we’re already long past Transylvania. Most important of all, though, the captain’s waking up.”

“Wait a minute. Aren’t you Captain Catlum?”

“Indeed I am,” he answered. “Only I’m not captain of this particular vessel—one of those little fine points they sometimes get touchy about.”

“But when I saw you supervising the loading—”

“—I was doin’ a little favor for a friend who couldn’t say no to free drinks.”

“But what about the other guy? Aren’t there supposed to be two people aboard?”

“Alas! That other gentleman was taken out in a fist fight. It comes of drinking and carousing. He was in no shape to make the trip. Now, up forward there—”

“Hold on! It sounds as if you stole this vessel!”

“Lord, no! I’ve probably just saved that poor man’s job.” He jerked a massive thumb back toward the cabin. “I’ve no desire to embarrass him by waiting around for his thanks, though. Now, we’d better be jumpin’ in a few minutes. The water’ll be shallow off to port, near that promontory. We can just wade ashore.”

Wading, I reflected, tends to be easier when one is seven feet tall. But I said, “Why’d you do it?”

“I needed a ride to Vicksburg, too.”

I was about to say that the computer had him listed as captain, but how was I to know that? Instead, I said, “I’m going to hit the head first.”

“I’ll be gettin’ my gear while you do that thing.”

While I did that thing I also coiled into the computer and checked again. “Ship’s master: David G. Holland” I read. So Catlum had fudged the records, too, temporarily—just an observation, as I could hardly afford a holier-than-thou attitude on that count. But knowing my story about a Wilson at Deller’s referring me to him to be a complete fabrication, he must have been puzzled about how I did know his name and how I’d gotten my message into the computer. On the other hand, he didn’t seem to care and he hardly seemed the sort to go running to authorities about a fugitive. He might even be one himself. I decided that it was safe to accompany him ashore at the point he had indicated.

When the time came, we jumped. He did wade. I swam. My teeth were chattering when we finally reached the strand, but Catlum set up a brisk pace which was eventually warming.

“Where are we headed?” I finally asked him.

“Oh, a couple of more miles along the road here there’s a little eatery I know,” he said.

My stomach growled in reply.

“…Then a little further on there’s a small town with just about anything you’d want. Maybe even a new pair of pants.”

I nodded. My garments were even shabbier now. I was starting to look like a bum. He slapped me on the shoulder then and increased his pace. I forced myself to match it. I thought about the barge and its hungover captain, winding along the river up ahead. I had to acknowledge that if anyone somehow traced me to the barge the trail was going to be even more confused than I’d originally intended. I owed this oversized con man that much.

When we got to the restaurant I was almost dizzy with hunger. We settled at a table off to the side and I ordered a steak. My companion did what I’d only fantasized. He ordered three. He finished them, too, and started in on several pieces of pie while I was still working on mine. He called for coffee so often that the waitress left a pot on the table.

Finally, he sighed and looked at me and said, “You know, you could use a shave.”

I nodded.

“Didn’t bring my barber along,” I said.

“Wait a minute.” He leaned to the side and opened his duffle bag. He rummaged in it for several moments, then withdrew one of those plastic disposable razors and a small tube of shaving cream. He pushed them across the table toward me. “I always carry a couple of these for emergencies. You look like one.”

He poured himself another cup of coffee.

“Thanks,” I said, spearing the last edible morsel on my plate and glancing back toward the Men’s Room. “I’ll take you up on it.”

I went back and washed, lathered my face, shaved and combed my hair. The image which regarded me from the mirror actually looked presentable, well-nourished and rested then. Amazing. I disposed of the disposable and departed the facility.

Our table was empty, save for the bill.

After a moment I had to laugh, for the first time in a long while. I couldn’t hold it against him. I should have seen that one coming. I shook my head, feeling something vaguely like a loss other than my money.

That Catlum was sure one hell of a checkers player.