Sidney's Comet by Brian Herbert Read Free Book Online Page A

tracks.
    “Robie clears us for landing,” a gravelly voice to his left said. “Pad four.”
    Javik glanced at his wiry-thin co-pilot, Brent Stafford, nodded. Stafford’s face was creased beyond its years and made him look more like forty-eight than thirty-eight. The hair was blue-black, tousled. He sat hunched over a computer screen, perspiring in the mid-afternoon heat. This summer had been a scorcher.
    Javik verified the clearance on his own screen, cracked: “Tell ’em to evacuate the area. This heap handles like a flying sack of potatoes. No power, controls shot to hell—”He wiped his brow, scowled. “And no air conditioning. Jeez that load stinks today!”
    “Cattle carcasses,” Stafford said, nodding in the direction of the underdeck cargo hold. “They didn’t seal up those drums worth a damn. Saw ’em load on a bunch of cobalt and zirconium waste too. The packages were dripping radioactive . . .”
    “Don’t worry about it,” Javik said. “You knew what you were getting into when you signed on for garbage duty.”
    “Aw, what the hell. Guess it beats pushing paper at some desk.” Stafford smashed a fly against the side of his keyboard with one fist, wiped the insect off on his pantleg.
    “Not like the old days, is it?” Javik said, glancing down at his stained grey and blue garbage workers uniform. “Remember those Space Patrol outfits? White and gold with ribbons across our chests?”
    “Yeah. The ladies sure went for ’em.”
    Javik grinned, wiped a hand through his shock of amber hair. “Uh huh! Hey, remember that Polynesian girl I met in the astro port?”
    Stafford smiled, glanced out his starboard window as he heard the sonic thump of a catapulted load. “Port Saint Clemente,” Stafford said. “Greatest little spot in the asteroid belt. You met her at the hot springs . . . love at first sight.”
    “Thought I was gonna go A.W.O.L. and become permies with that lady,” Javik said. “But the war . . .” His voice trailed off. “Well, you know. . . . ”
    The Icarus hovered over its landing pad now, and Javik watched grey-uniformed men below scurry to get clear.
    “Never saw you any closer, pal,” Stafford said. He studied his friend, noted that Javik’s long legs had to be turned to one side to fit under the instrument panel. Lines were beginning to appear around deeply set blue eyes. The aquiline nose had a scar at the bridge from one of many barroom scuffles. A little pouch of fat had begun to adhere beneath Javik’s chin, evidence that he no longer sustained a rigid conditioning program. In the old days, Stafford could hardly keep up with this man. Of late, it had been the other way around.
    Javik hit the retro rockets button, flipped a switch to activate the para-flaps. “C’mon, c’mon,” he husked impatiently. He was cursing when the rockets finally ignited, but Stafford could not hear the words in the roar. The Icarus settled onto a concrete landing pad. “Okay!” Javik yelled, hitting switches and pushing buttons. “Shut her down!”
    Javik was first to the door. He waited as one of the base crewmen drove an escalator unit into position. Javik mento-locked his moto-boots and was bounding down the steps before the mechanism had clicked into place against the Icarus. Stafford followed.
    “Hey you guys!” a pig-faced base sergeant called out. “Remember the Conservation of Motion Doctrine! No exercise outside a Bu-Health gym!”
    “Stuff that full-employment hype, Peterson!” Javik barked. “We’re doin’ our bit hauling garbage to the catapults!” Javik reached the ground, short-stepped to the sergeant and pushed him in the chest. “You wanna ride in that ship full of stink, buddy?”
    The sergeant rolled back against the escalator, nearly falling over. “You’re not in the Space Patrol anymore, hot-shot!” he screamed. I’m gonna teach you a lesson!” The sergeant locked his moto-boots and grabbed a wrench from the escalator cab.
    Javik hit him