Authors: Mike Resnick
"You keep away from the ship,” the security man instructed him. “We'll take it for here."
Lomax watched from the shadows until he was convinced all the security personnel had surrounded Neil's employer's ship. Then he walked, briskly and silently, to his own ship, where he found the young man waiting at the hatch.
"Nothing to it,” grinned Neil as Lomax uttered the proper code words to open the hatch without detonating the security system within the ship.
"Let's go,” said Lomax, entering the ship. “The second I activate the ignition, they're going to know they were duped. Grab a seat, strap yourself in, and keep your fingers crossed that no one is approaching on our exit path."
"No one
ever
comes here,” said Neil, seating himself in the cramped cockpit. “That's why I want to get the hell out of here."
Lomax fed the coordinates of Olympus into the navigational computer, waited until it had chosen a flight path, then hit the ignition. As he had predicted, it brought all the armed security men back from the other ship, but he managed to take off before they could get off any damaging shots.
"So where are we going?” asked Neil Cayman when they had left the system and achieved light speeds.
"Olympus,” answered Lomax.
The young man had the computer cast a cartographic hologram in the air above his seat. “I can't find it,” he announced after a moment's scrutiny.
"Try Alpha Hayakawa IV,” suggested Lomax.
"Right. Here it is. I wonder why the difference in names?"
"Standard,” replied Lomax. “Most of the planets are named after the head of the Pioneer team that opened them up. Roman numerals indicate how far out from the sun it is; any other number tells you how many prior planets the man had opened."
"I don't follow you."
"This is Alpha Hayakawa IV,” explained Lomax. “That means it was first charted by a man or woman named Hayakawa, and that it's the fourth planet from a binary sun. But if you look elsewhere, you might also find that it's Jones 39 or Jones 22, which means that it's the 39th or 22nd planet opened up by some guy from the Pioneer Corps named Jones.” He paused. “And of course, the first thing the settlers did was change the name. Probably it's got some mountain that looks like a holo of Mount Olympus back on Earth, or maybe the first Governor was a Greek scholar, or maybe they had a civil war and the general on the winning side was named Olympus."
"It gets confusing, doesn't it?” said Neil. “All these names to learn."
"Even more so when the native lifeforms have their own name for their world,” said Lomax with a smile. “You get the hang of it after awhile."
"I
like
the notion of the inhabitants choosing their own name for their world,” said Neil. “Now that I'm going out to the Frontier, I want to pick
my
own name."
"You've got one."
"I don't like it. I want something colorful, like Gravedancer or Catastrophe Baker or Cemetery Smith."
"That's your right, I suppose.” Lomax converted to auto-pilot, unstrapped himself, and stood up, stretching his arms.
"You suppose?” asked Neil, following him back to the cargo area, which he had converted into a small lounge, with a pair of comfortable chairs secured to the deck.
Lomax sat down and lit a thin cigar. “If you're any good at anything, usually you'll find someone has picked your name for you, and you're pretty much stuck with it whether you like it or not."
"I could wait a long time,” said the young man ruefully, as he sat down opposite Lomax. “The only thing I'm really good at is wishing I was somewhere else."
"That's a start."
"It is?"
"Ever hear of Faraway Jones?” asked Lomax.
"No. Who is he?"
"An old man who's probably been to six, seven hundred worlds."
"Is he an explorer?"
"No."
"A cartographer?"
Lomax shook his head. “People say that when he was as young as you are, he fell in love with a girl on Binder X. Nobody knows what happened, but evidently he did something to make her leave him, and he's been hunting for her ever since.” Lomax paused. “He must have been searching for her for, oh, close on to seventy years now."
"Do you think she's still alive?” asked Neil dubiously.
"Probably not. Seventy years is a long time for anyone to survive on the Inner Frontier."
"Then why does he keep looking?"
Lomax shrugged. “You'd have to ask him."
"Will I ever see him?"
"Hit enough worlds out there and you'll run into him sooner or later."
"Who else will I see?” asked the young man eagerly.
"I don't know. Who do you
want
to see?"
"Everyone. All the colorful characters I've heard about and read about.” He smiled at Lomax. “They all seem so much bigger than life."
Lomax returned the smile. “I know how you feel. When I was your age, I wanted to go out to the Frontier and see all my heroes too.” He paused. “After awhile, you learn that they all bleed and they all die."
"What about the Prophet?"
"Who's he?"
"I don't know. Just someone I heard about on the video."
"This year's outlaw hero,” snorted Lomax. “Take my word for it, kid: some bounty hunter will bring him down, just like they brought down Santiago and all the rest of ‘em."
"Still, I want to see them all for myself.” Neil paused. “You're the only famous person I've ever met."
Lomax smiled ruefully. “Let me tell you, fame isn't everything it's cracked up to be—especially out on the Frontier."
"You say that because you see famous people all the time,” protested the young man. “But no one else special has ever come to Greycloud."
"There's nothing very special about pointing a weapon and killing people,” said Lomax.
"Sure there is,” argued Neil. “How many men can do it?"
"Too damned many."
"Still, I want to go out there and see them for myself."
"You may be disappointed,” said Lomax.
"I doubt it."
"What do you think—that there are a couple of thousand worlds out there populated only by killers and folk heroes? Kid, the Inner Frontier is filled with miners and farmers and merchants and doctors and everything else you need to run a planet."
"I know that,” said Neil irritably. “But they're not the ones who interest me."
"Something tells me that you'll find all the colorful characters you're looking for.” Lomax paused. “Kids like you usually do."
"Maybe I can even become one myself,” said Neil, trying to hide his eagerness.
"If you live long enough,” said Lomax. “Now let's start taking care of business."
"What business do we have before we reach Olympus?"
"Well, to begin with,” said Lomax, “they've probably issued a kidnapping warrant for me. I want you to radio Olympus and tell them you've come with me of your own volition."
"They won't believe me."
"Perhaps not, but I want it on the record."
Neil nodded. “All right."
"And then, since you're going to have to start earning your keep, I want you to go into the galley and make me up some dinner.” He paused. “Soya products only. No red meat, no dairy products."
"I don't see how that makes you a better killer,” said Neil.
"It makes me a healthier one,” responded Lomax. “I've got high blood pressure and a high cholesterol count. No sense letting these control patches I wear do all the work."
The young man smiled. “You're kidding."
"Why should you think so?"
"I just can't imagine the Gravedancer sticking medical patches in his body for that stuff."
An amused smile crossed Lomax's face. “You probably can't imagine that I've got a prosthetic eye, and that my current set of teeth are three years old, either."
"Is that true?"
"Kid, there are very few whole men walking around the Inner Frontier,” answered Lomax. “Now go send those messages."
Neil activated the radio and spoke briefly to his father, who was alternately distressed and enraged, but finally realized that there was nothing he could do about the situation, and even volunteered to send some money ahead to Olympus, an offer the young man refused.
Then they ate, the young man insisting on having the same bland food as Lomax.
Finally they strapped themselves into the bunks that folded out from the bulkhead in the short corridor between the galley and the cargo area, and went to sleep.
Lomax awoke with a start an hour later.
"Shit!” he muttered.
"What is it?” asked Neil, sitting up abruptly.
"I put us on auto pilot, but I forgot to activate the Avoidance Sensors. We're probably okay, but it'd be just my luck to smash into the only damned meteor within five parsecs."
"I'll take care of it,” said Neil, walking to the control panel.
"Wait a minute and I'll hit the lights,” said Lomax.
"Not necessary,” came the answer.
"Even if you know where the sensor control is, you still have to be able to see it to make the adjustment."
"It's done,” said Neil, returning to his cot in total darkness.
"How the hell did you do it?” asked Lomax.
"I thought I told you: I work with computers. I was picking up some parts when I met you."
"So?"
"A couple of years ago I programmed a pair of microchips for infrared vision and had them surgically inserted in my eyes."
"You can really see in the dark?"
"Sure,” said Neil.
"Amazing!” muttered Lomax.
"Oh, that's nothing. I've got chips in me that enhance my hearing and my sense of smell, too."
"You designed yourself?"
"It's what I do."
"I suppose if you had to, you could probably design one that would speed up all your reactions,” said Lomax.
"Given enough time, I probably could. Why?"
"It might prove useful where you're going."
"You know, it never occurred to me,” admitted Neil thoughtfully.
"Well, it's an idea, anyway,” said Lomax, laying back down on his cot.
"It's a damned
good
idea, Gravedancer,” said Neil. “If I'm going to live on the Frontier, I ought to be ... well,
prepared
."
"Nothing wrong with that,” agreed Lomax. “Out here you need any edge you can get. I just went up against a man who had a laser built into a fake finger. Never spotted it. If the fat old man I'm working for hadn't been a little more alert than I was, I wouldn't have lived long enough to get to Greycloud."
"A weapon in a prosthetic finger...” mused Neil. “I could do that.” He considered the proposition. “Hell, I could turn my whole body into a killing machine."
"Who do you plan on killing?” asked Lomax.
"No one."
"Then why bother?"
"Because one of these days someone may want to kill me, and it's best to be prepared."
"Contrary to what you may have seen on the video, life on the Inner Frontier isn't one prolonged gunfight,” said Lomax.
"Yours is."
"My life is like anyone else's in my profession,” replied Lomax. “Endless stretches of boredom, punctuated by very brief periods of danger that make you wonder what was so wrong with the boredom in the first place."
"Well, it can't hurt to be prepared,” said the young man stubbornly. “After all, you suggested it."
"I know,” said Lomax sleepily. “You do what you want to do."
"I'll start designing what I need on the ship's computer in the morning."
"Fine,” yawned Lomax. “At least I know what to call you now."
"You do?"
"Yeah. From this day forward, you're the Silicon Kid."
Neil smiled happily in the darkness. “I
like
that!"
"Somehow I thought you might,” said Lomax.
Olympus was a rugged little world, filled with too many mountains and too little farmland, saltwater oceans that tended to produce tidal waves and freshwater lakes and rivers that tended to dry up every summer. At first view there was no reason why anyone should have wanted to settle there, let alone produce a sprawling megalopolis between two of the larger mountain ranges, but it happened that the planet was almost ideally located between the Democracy and that section of the Inner Frontier dominated by the Binder system. Originally it housed a single Tradertown, but as commerce grew between the Democracy and the worlds of the Inner Frontier, the Tradertown began growing in all directions—including
up
—and one day, without anyone knowing quite how it had happened, it had become a huge city encompassing almost two million humans and perhaps fifty thousand aliens of various races, a shipping and trading center of truly Homeric proportions. There were four spaceports, two orbiting hangars each capable of accommodating more than one thousand ships that were too big or too heavy to land on the planet's surface, and some forty square miles, just to the north of the city, for storing grain that was
en route
to the Democracy.
The city was named, appropriately enough, Athens, and most of the major thoroughfares bore names taken from the Iliad and the Odyssey. It possessed many of the conveniences of the Democracy, but despite its size and affluence, it still retained more than a little of the feel of a Tradertown. Gaily costumed miners and gamblers rubbed shoulders with conservatively-clad businessmen, grim-faced bounty hunters and killers inhabited the bars and drug dens, entrepreneurs of all types were constantly scheming to share in some of the billions that sat in the vaults of two dozen major and minor banks.
"This is some place, this Olympus!” said the Silicon Kid as he and Lomax rode a slidewalk down one of the main thoroughfares. “Look at these buildings, Gravedancer!"
"They're just buildings,” said Lomax with a shrug.
"You aren't impressed?"
"They blot out the sun.” Lomax paused. “It looks like any other gateway world."
"Gateway world?"
"Between the Inner Frontier and the Democracy,” answered Lomax. “There are about fifty of ‘em."
"Well, I've never seen anything like this."
"One world's pretty much like the next,” replied Lomax. “This one's a little warm for my taste. Could use a touch more gravity, too."