He edged through the woods until he came to the spot nearest the farm buildings. He could hear the search copters circling again and knew they were looking for him, but they were way off to the southwest; with any luck they wouldn’t cover this area until he was well hidden. He checked to make sure there was no one in the farmyard who could see him, then dashed across open ground until he reached the side of the barn. He soon found an open door and slipped inside.
The barn was dark and smelled strongly of animals – of bullards, the slow-witted draft animals that still pulled plows in the less technological rural areas, and of cartlies, the lighter, faster animals that pulled wagons and carts for transportation. The animals rustled nervously as they caught the scent of a strange human, but they sent up no alarm. Pias looked around and saw no one. So far he was still safe.
He would have to stay here at least until after dark, possibly longer. It would all depend on how vigorous a search the security forces made for the smuggler. He might have to spend the entire night and try to leave in the morning.
Pias moved quietly through the barn until he found a small compartment where harnesses and tools were stored. Squeezing in, he folded himself up as comfortably as he could and tried to rest. He’d done a lot of running already and might be called on to do some more; he might as well take advantage of this respite while he could.
He must have dozed off, because he woke with a jolt. He strained his senses to learn what had awakened him, but the barn seemed quiet outside the cramped confines of his hiding place. Then he heard a sound – the slow creaking of the barn door on its hinges. Someone had come in here very quietly. That person obviously knew something was amiss.
Pias tried to reach for the stun-gun inside his vest, but the closeness of the compartment made it impossible to bend his elbow the proper way. In any case, the gesture would have been futile, for he suddenly found himself staring down the barrel of a stun-rifle. A deep masculine voice said, “Come on out of there before I have to shoot you.”
CHAPTER 4 Tas the Tyrant
Even staring down the barrel of a weapon, Pias remained cool and rational. This stun-rifle was at least twenty years old; they didn’t make models of this particular shape any more. If Tas was upgrading his security forces, he’d hardly give them outmoded weaponry. Then too, the man’s words had been stern, but scarcely officious. This was no man of a military mind barking crisp orders. Pias guessed he was facing the owner of this small farm, who was concerned with a trespasser on his property.
Moving carefully, so he wouldn’t alarm his captor, Pias squeezed out of the storage compartment. He kept his hands up and well away from his body; the farmer was probably more nervous than he was, and Pias didn’t want to make any mistakes that would frighten the man into shooting without cause.
As he’d guessed, the man was dressed casually in country work clothes – but he knew how to hold a gun. “Who are you?” the farmer asked, never taking his sights off Pias. His voice had a thick rural flavor as he spoke Romny, the native tongue of Newforest.
“My name’s Gari Nav, and I mean you no harm,” Pias replied in the voice he’d practiced aboard the ship.
“What were you doing in there?”
“Sleeping,” Pias answered truthfully. “It’s a little cramped, but it’s good and dark.”
“Why were you in there?”
“I’m not a thief, if that’s what you’re thinking. I was just looking for someplace where I wouldn’t disturb anyone for a while, then I’d go along my way.”
The farmer didn’t lower his gun. “That’s not an explanation.”
The sound of a copter grew louder overhead. “But that is,” Pias said, looking up to indicate the sound from above.
A teenage boy poked his head in through the door. “Poppa, it’s the brassies. They’re landing in the front yard.”
The farmer looked sternly at Pias. “What do they want with you?”
Pias was taking a gamble, and he knew it – but he also knew the Newforest people. They were mostly descendents of Gypsies and English Tinkers who had fled Earth during the bad years of the early twenty-first century. They hated authority and loved a clever rogue – and Pias hoped he could capitalize on that fact now that he was facing a threat from the planetary authorities.
“I was just trying to make a profit with some off-world goods,” Pias said with a wink. “The government’s mad because I don’t have an import license.”
The farmer had a hard decision to make, and he had to make it quickly. The “brassies,” as Tas’s security agents were evidently called, had brought their copters down and their footsteps could be plainly heard walking toward the barn. He had to make up his mind whether he believed Pias’s story and, if he did, whether it was enough to keep him from turning the fugitive in.
“Get back in there,” the farmer said, motioning at the storage compartment with the barrel of his rifle. “We’ll sort this out later.”
Pias hastened to comply. He was not out of danger yet, but the farmer had shown the expected tendency to prefer the individual over the police. Now all he had to do was hope the police behaved like police. Nothing would more insure his winning the farmer’s sympathy than highhanded behavior from the security forces.
As soon as Pias was out of sight the farmer walked to the barn door where he was met by the leader of the security team. Pias could not see what was happening from his hiding place, but the sound of their voices reached him well enough.
“Are you the owner here?” the security leader asked, and her voice was so brisk and businesslike it made Pias smile. She would do a splendid job of alienating the farmer and shifting his sympathies toward Pias.
“Yes,” the farmer answered tersely.
“Have you seen any strangers around?”
“Is there any trouble?”
“I’ll ask the questions, you answer them.”
“Ain’t seen no one I’d call a stranger,” the farmer said. “We’re pretty out of the way; don’t get many visitors.”
“What about you? Is your card in order?”
“Should be, I don’t use it much.”
“Let me see it.”
“It’s in the house.”
The security leader fumed. “You’re supposed to carry it with you at all times.”
“I did, at first, but I got out of the habit. My bullards all recognize me by sight.”
“Just get it and stop trying to be clever.”
The footsteps walked away from the barn toward the small farmhouse, and Pias could no longer hear what was going on. He waited in suspense for an agonizingly long time until finally he heard the copters take off once more. A few minutes after that, when they were no longer in range, he could hear the barn door swing open again and the farmer called to him, “You can come out again.”
Pias did so and found that the farmer still had the rifle handy. He might distrust the authorities, but that didn’t mean he automatically trusted Pias.
“I know I’ve brought you trouble, and I’m sorry for it,” Pias apologized sincerely. “I’d like to pay you for letting me stay here for the night, and for dinner, too, if you can spare it. Tomorrow morning I’ll be on my way and you needn’t bother about me again.”
“We don’t take money for hospitality here,” the farmer said. His rifle was no longer pointed directly at Pias, but he kept it tucked in the crook of his arm just in case. Pias knew that the stubbornness of the Newforest people would keep the man from acknowledging friend ship for a while yet – but he also knew the extent of his own charm and was confident the man and his family would be on his side before the evening was out.
The farmer’s name, Pias discovered, was Mestipen Smitt and his wife was Klarika. They had five children and earned a decent living here on the farm, enough to suit their modest needs. Pias offered to help with the evening chores and his enthusiastic hard work finally convinced Smitt that he was no threat to the family and was entitled to come into the house as company rather than as a prisoner.
The Smitt family accepted Pias into their home with all the generosity of which Newforesters were capable. Klarika fixed him a delicious meal and refused his offer of payment. As the family sat around the dinner table, Pias’s gentle probing brought forth a picture of recent life on Newforest.