William C. Dietz The Prison Planet

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was the longest, and therefore the best for hunting. So most hunters were out
in the bush. Which reminded Renn of their own situation. Looking down at
Marla, he said, "Damn, we'd better get a move on or we'll miss the whole
season."
"There's no hurry," Marla cautioned. "You need time to regain your strength.
Besides, Fred'?, loaded and ready to go-"
And it was true. During his month-long recovery, Marla had taken charge of his
affairs, selling the boat he'd taken from Trap, and appropriating everything
found in Cyclops' quarters.
Two men had tried to stop her, and both wound up dripping blood on Fesker's
new rug. The doctor was still grumbling.
The stolen skins had already been sold, but Marla found a hoard of money and
other valuables hidden under a loose floorboard in Cyclops' quarters. She gave
the valuables to the
Hunter's Association in hopes they could be returned to their owners, but kept
the money. A quick tally showed there was more than enough to fund a hunting
season. In fact they could've taken a year off, but Renn wouldn't hear of it,
insisting they couldn't afford it.
By then he was sitting up in bed, while she was curled up in a nearby chair.
"We need to get off this slime ball, Marla. I want to clear my name, and you
want a new body. Yeah, yeah, I
know. It can't be done and all that stuff. Maybe. But money talks . . . and
that's why we're going hunting as soon as we can. If there's some way out of
here we're going to find it and money will help."
Marla disagreed, gently suggesting that he should be more realistic, and put
his energy into building a life on Swamp.
Renn heard her out, but finally shook his head, saying, "I just can't agree,
Marla. But let's back up for a moment. First, we've been talking like we're
partners. Are we?"
Marla felt a lead weight drop into her stomach. Was he hoping she'd say "no?"
Should she say "no" for her own sake? After all, where the hell was this
relationship going? Where could it go? She knew she wanted something more than
friendship, but that was impossible, so why prolong the torture?
As though reading her mind, Renn reached out to stroke her fur. Marla hated to
have people pet her, but there was something about the way Renn did it that
was different, that made her feel good. "I'm sorry, Marla. That wasn't fair.
Let me rephrase the question. I'd like you for a partner ... so how 'bout it?"
For some reason Marla found she couldn't speak, and nodded instead.
"Good. And while we're on the subject of 'us,' there's one more thing I'd like
to discuss.
My last medical bill."
"Damn it," Marla said, her eyes flashing as she sat up, "Doc promised me he
wouldn't tell."
"Whoa," Renn said holding up a hand. "He didn't. I finally figured it out for
myself. And if I wasn't so incredibly stupid, I wouldn've figured it out a
long time ago. Doc doesn't do anything for free. You indentured yourself to
Skunk in order to pay for my treatment. And while you were living with that
bitch ... 1 sat around feeling sorry for myself."
"Jonathan ..."
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"No, I'm not finished yet. I was an idiot and I apologize. There. Now I'm
finished."
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Although she had accepted his apology, and his gratitude, she was left with
one nagging question, did he really want her around? Or was it his way of
paying a debt? She couldn't be sure.
Nonetheless, there was a chance that he did and a chance was better than
nothing. With that decision made the rest was easy. She accepted his dream of
escape outwardly at least and worked to make it real. And in return he gave
her affection and friendship. Perhaps it wasn't perfect, but it sure beat hell
out of nothing at all.
So they were partners and folk heroes to boot. Maxwell had incorporated the
killing of
Cyclops into his mural, Renn had become a living legend, and people took pride
in talking with
Marla. Her explosive collar now hung over the bar where it would fuel
conversations for years to come.
So as Marla and Renn made their way down the boardwalk, everyone had a kind
word to say, and everyone hurried to get out of the way. This was partly out
of respect, and partly out of fear. Gaunt though he was, the .75 still hung
low on Renn's right hip, and no one would ever forget the way Marla had killed
Skunk.
Moving carefully, his legs still a bit unsteady, Renn followed Marla down a
short flight of stairs into the street. It seemed strange to stand where water
usually swirled and rushed. Now, instead of the boats Renn was used to, a
rusty old crawler stood rumbling in the middle of the street. Whatever its
original power plant, it now boasted a diesel engine, and looked old enough to
date back to the first survey. Marla had hired it to save him the hike to the
river, which was as close to Payout as Fred could come during the dry season.
With Marla anxiously looking on, Renn climbed slowly into the crawler's cab,
and took a seat. Marla followed with a single leap and took the seat beside
him. There was a horrible grinding as the driver found and then engaged first
gear, followed by a sudden roar as he stepped on the accelerator, and they
lurched into motion. Then, with worn treads squealing in protest, and noxious
black smoke belching from the mouth of a rusty pipe, they moved down the
street and out of town.
As the crawler jerked and bumped along, Renn marvelled at the swamp's
magnificent transformation. Healthy new growth had sprung up to replace that
which had died and rotted away during the rains. Exotic blossoms had appeared
turning the normally drab jungle into a riot of color. Like the flowers of
earth, these played a role in the parent plant's reproductive cycle, though a
slightly different one. Here the flowers were used as decoys, luring insects
and birds away from tasty reproductive parts, thereby helping the species
survive. Whatever the reason, the flowers were pretty, and lifted Renn's
spirits.
The crawler jerked to a halt a few minutes later. "It's just a short ways from
here,"
Marla said, "How do you feel?"
Renn smiled. "A helluva lot better than I look. Let's go."
As Renn climbed down, Marla thanked the driver, and asked him to wait for a
few minutes.
By prior arrangement he would be paid from their account with the Hunter's
Association. It was a complicated way to make a simple payment, but paws
aren't much good for handling money, and Marla didn't want to focus Renn's
attention on her obvious shortcomings. Besides, she told herself, it's what
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you do that counts. It sounded good. But as Marla jumped down, and hurried to
catch up with
Renn, she wished she believed it.
To Renn's amusement he found himself slipping into the ways of the swamp. His
hand hung near the .75, his ears listened for unusual sounds, and his eyes
took nothing for granted. Good. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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