Page 6 of Solomon's Ransom

Remma listened for a moment, head cocked. Then he gestured with his arm toward six o’clock.

A chill went down Sol’s back. Behind them—following them. A pinecat, or worse? Pinecats preferred to ambush from above…

He motioned to Remma to keep moving. Remma nodded and obeyed, towing the sledge behind him. Sol walked backward, rifle aimed toward whatever was on their trail, waiting for it to make itself known. There was no cover anywhere close, only trees and more trees. Climbing wouldn’t help them if it was a pinecat. Or a bear.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Remma glancing back at him repeatedly. Sol waved a hand at him:Keep going. He didn’t have any answers, but stopping wasn’t a good idea.

They kept going. Nothing moved in the forest, not even birds; not even pine needles shifting in the breeze. The day was silent and still. Sol stepped carefully backward until his calves ached with it, straining his eyes for any sign of movement, but there was nothing.

After a while, Remma said, “I don’t hear it anymore.”

Sol blew out a hard breath. “Went a different way, you think?”

“Or stopped. Hard to say. I couldn’t ever tell what it was. Just random noises.”

“Okay.” Sol exhaled again. “Fine. Let’s keep going. Let me know if you hear it again.”

They stopped briefly to scarf down some lunch. The wind shifted in the afternoon, turning east. As they walked, Sol heard nothing, and Remma didn’t give any signal that he did, either. And then, through the trees ahead—a glint of metal.

“Might be a drop ahead,” he said to Remma, his heart kicking with the anticipatory glee of it—that they might find something, that they might be able to help Loden and their colony.

“Good spotting,” Remma said with warm approval that made Sol scowl. He didn’t need or want Remma to think well of him. “A good one, I hope.”

“Let’s find out.”

The crumpled remains of the shipping pod didn’t look too promising at first, but they never did. The heat shield was charred and had split in a few places, but the contents were intact. Sol stood with his rifle at the ready while Remma crouched and opened the pod with a plasma knife. It was the size of two sledges side by side, and within was what looked to be a variety of computer chips of different sizes.

“Worth anything?” Sol asked.

Remma shrugged. “Could be. Let me check the stats.” He rummaged around in the sledge and pulled out a hand reader. When he plugged in the first chip, he started grinning. “Yeah. We aren’t rich, but these will buy a few odds and ends, I’ll bet.”

“Thank the stars. Loden will be so relieved.”

“Should we head back right away, then? Might as well, if we’ve gotten what we came out for.”

Sol shook his head. “No, we have the supplies to stay out for at least a week, so there’s no real reason to head back. You never know what we might find.”

“You’re sure about that? It’s always risky. Safer to just turn back now.”

Sol considered it. It was true there had been something else in the woods with them earlier, but that was always a danger, and not one he gave much weight. He had a gun he knew how to use, and Remma’s hearing would alert them to most trouble before it came to them. And the rewards, if they found another drop, were well worth the risk.

“Let’s keep going,” he decided. “I don’t want to miss out on something good.”

“Your call,” Remma said. He turned aside and started packing the computer chips onto the sledge.

They buried the remains of the pod before they left. There were plenty of other scrappers out searching for drops, and it was best not to advertise your success to your competitors. Loden was cautious, and she’d raised Sol to be the same. He wasn’t quite as cautious as she was, though. You couldn’t be, to go out scrapping.

The day was growing short by the time they backfilled the last shovelful of dirt into the hole and covered the disturbed earth with pine needles. “Let’s make camp,” Sol said, mopping at his sweaty forehead with the hem of his shirt. “There’s nowhere good near here.”

Remma shook his head in agreement. “That pine grove we stopped at last time, with the spring. How far is that from here, maybe an hour?”

“Probably our best bet. Okay, let’s head there.” Sol wiped his face again. When he lowered his shirt, Remma was watching him. Sol raised his eyebrows in a wordless question. Remma shook his head again and looked away.

The light faded quickly as they walked. An hour was too far, really, but Sol pressed ahead. Otherwise they’d be camping in the open scrub. They’d done it before—sometimes there was no other choice—but it wasn’t safe. Better to walk through the dusk than sleep all night with no shelter but the thin fabric of their tent.

“Turn five degrees northeast,” Remma said, looking at the compass, and Sol made the shift.

Then there it was, coming at them through the gray forest, a dark shape on all fours.