Mag Force - Hung Out Part 15

Xris swung his leg. His foot connected with the man's hand, sent the gun flying across the cell. It landed on the floor somewhere behind Xris.

"Guard!" Xris shouted again.

The a.s.sa.s.sin dove for the gun.

Xris had a split-second decision to make. He could either go after the gun or his crutch. He could see his crutch, which was right in front of him, and he had no idea where the gun had landed. From the scrabbling sounds and muttered curses, the a.s.sa.s.sin wasn't certain himself.

Still on his back, Xris lunged across the floor, propelling his body with his good leg. He grabbed the crutch by the toe, hefted it like a club.

The a.s.sa.s.sin had found his gun. He turned, aimed it at Xris.

Xris swung the crutch, hit the a.s.sa.s.sin in the jaw.

The man fired; his shot went wild. A bolt slammed into the floor next to Xris's head.

The man staggered backward, blood running from his mouth. But he wasn't stunned, as Xris had hoped. The a.s.sa.s.sin raised the gun again.

Xris lashed out. The crutch smacked the gun from the man's hand and this time the gun was gone for good, skittering underneath the bed.

The attacker reached for something under his arma"a backup weapon, probably a knife.

Rolling onto his side, Xris leveraged himself up on his right arm. He used the crutch like a battering ram, thrust forward. The toe of the crutch smashed into the man's groin. Xris jabbed and twisted, making sure.

The a.s.sa.s.sin had only one thought and that was to try desperately to ease the white-hot pain spreading up from his groin and flaming out the top of his head. Clutching at himself, he dropped the knife and toppled to the floor rolling in agony.

Xris struggled to his feet. Make that foot. Thinking it was only right to put the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d out of his misery, Xris punched him.

The man's head struck the hard concrete wall. He slumped to the floor and didn't move.

Silence, throughout the cellblock. No more grunts and coughs. He couldn't even hear anyone breathing. They might have all died in their beds.

"Any more of you?" Xris shouted between gasps for air.

His shout echoed through the hushed corridors, came back to him.

Xris drew in a breath. "Guards!"

Again, no answer. He didn't step out of his cell, even though the force field was shut down. He knew better than to try to escape. They'd be waiting for him.

"Guards!" he yelled, and when again no one came, no one responded, Xris picked up the bolt gun, aimed, and fired at the security cam in the corridor.

Shattered gla.s.s rained down on the concrete floor.

Xris tossed the bolt gun onto the pile. Someone in another cell laughed.

The guards came then. On the run. Red lights glared in the cellblock. Alarms sounded. Now the prisoners were up and talking, yelling and shouting and tossing objects against their force fields to make them sizzle.

Guards filled the corridor.

The head guard arrived and everything quieted.

He came to stare at the shattered cam. Reaching down, he picked up and pocketed the bolt gun. At his orders, another guard held a beam rifle on Xris, who was sitting on the bed, waiting for his heartbeat and his breathing to return to normal. His cheek stung. Putting his hand up to it, he felt blood and realized just how close the bolt had come to smashing through his head.

Two more guards bent over the a.s.sa.s.sin, decided to call in the medics.

The head guard entered the cell, glanced around coolly. "So... what happened here? A lover's quarrel?"

"You know what happened," Xris returned, wiping blood on his uniform. "You saw the whole d.a.m.n thing. And what took you so long to get here? Firing that bolt gun must have set off every security device in this building!"

"Malfunction," said the head guard impa.s.sively, shrugging. "System's always malfunctioning."

"Yeah, right. I want to talk to the warden."

"Sure. In the morning."

"Now," Xris grated.

"In the morning," the guard repeated. "Believe me, you don't want to wake up the warden. Puts him in a real bad mood. And why'd you shoot the cam out?" He sounded personally hurt by the incident. "Now I got to activate a guard 'bot, all 'cause you shot out the f.u.c.king cam."

"I don't see that it'll make all that much difference," Xris returned. "You weren't paying any attention to the cam anyway."

He glanced up at the man. "Or maybe you were. Maybe you were watching and enjoying the show. Except it didn't end like you'd planned. So who gave you the popcorn, huh? Who paid you to sit there on your fat a.s.s and do nothing while this creep puts bolts into me?"

"You were a cop. Everyone knows it." The head guard shrugged.

The medics entered, examined the a.s.sa.s.sin, and after a brief consultation they rolled him onto a stretcher 'bot, ordered the 'bot to haul him to the infirmary.

"Some of the boys don't like cops," said the head guard.

Xris opened his mouth, shut it again. Might as well save his breath. One of the medics came to examine Xris's cheek.

"It's pretty deep. You better come to the infirmary. I'll seal it for you."

Xris shook his head.

"It'll leave a scar."

Xris looked up at the man.

The medic glanced at what was left of Xris's body, muttered something unintelligible, and left Xris's cell. The head guard stepped outside, reactivated the force field.

"Excitement's over, fellas," he called harshly. "Go back to bed. You know 0500 comes pretty d.a.m.n early."

The guards departed. A robot trundled over to stand in the ruins of the security cam. The light of its optic sensors glowed yellow, while a red beam moved from left to right and then back right to left. Xris was familiar with the model. Its armor could supposedly withstand a direct rut from a Devastator cannon. It was armed with electronic stunners that could fell a man in nanoseconds, leave him writhing on the floor in nerve-jangling agony. The 'bot could also release sleep gas, enough to flood the entire corridor in less than five seconds.

"Where were you when I needed you?" Xris asked the 'bot.

It looked disdainful, didn't reply.

Xris laid back down on his bed. At least, with the 'bot standing right outside his cell, a 'bot who couldn't be bribed or threatened, he felt relatively safe. But sleep would be a long time coming.

Someone had tried to murder him. And not because he'd been a cop.

That attack had not been made by a prisoner with a grudge. A prisoner with a grudge uses crossbows made from the bed springs. He doesn't have access to the codes that operate the force fields. He doesn't have the cash needed to bribe the guards. He doesn't use a new model eighteen-micron all-plastic bolt gun, a weapon that had to have cost several thousand credits. Specifically designed to be smuggled inside secure areas, the gun would make no blip on a routine metal scan. It was obviously a piece of a well-planned-out puzzle.

Whoever ordered this had money and clout and access.

"Amadi," Xris said to the darkness.

But that didn't quite feel right. Why would Amadi go to all the trouble of coming to meet Xris, setting up this job with the Hung, if he just wanted him dead? Why wait until now?

Whoever wanted him dead had decided to see to it after his talk with Amadi and before he left for Jango.

The Hung?

No, he was going there to help their beloved leaders. Sure, Amadi had claimed that this was a trap, but Xris didn't believe it and he was certain that the Hung wouldn't believe it, either. Amadi was in their pocket and had been for so long he'd never be able to climb out.

If not Amadi and if not the Hung, who?

"Oh. h.e.l.l, it had to be Amadi!" Xris muttered, and, rolling over, he made a determined effort to get some sleep.

But before he dozed off, he'd ruled Amadi out.

CHAPTER 15.

Expect poison from the standing water.

William Blake, "Proverbs of h.e.l.l"

Petronella set the autopilot of her rental hover to take her to the address she had been provided, along with the round-trip ticket to Adonia. She had traveled to Adonia before, once to a convention and once on a.s.signment. The first time she'd visited the paradise planet, she'd been moved to tears by the beauty. After she'd been there twenty-four hours, she'd been moved againa"this time in another part of her anatomya"by the ugliness she'd seen lying, rotting, beneath the surface.

Petronella was not at all surprised, therefore, that her mysterious correspondent had chosen Adonia for a clandestine meeting. No one on Adonia gave a d.a.m.n about what anyone did on the planet, as long as they did it with style.

The graceful palm trees, the azure sky, the pink-tinged clouds, the rainbows over the green mountains, the glistening black cliffs, the white sand beachesa"none of these could tempt Petronella from her serious musings. Neither could the incredibly gorgeous women and the equally beautiful men of Adonia, who were seated beneath colorful umbrellas in quaint cafes, drinking chocolate coffee and shading their faces from the sun.

Adonian laws against ugliness are strictly enforced. Adonians do not permit ugly people to live on their planet. Ugly people are allowed to visita"tourist money is life's blood to the Adonians, who deem all other kinds of work as being bad for the complexion. Ugly people were therefore welcome, provided they wore masks over their faces, so as not to offend the sensibilities of the populace. The unfashionably dressed were often held in quarantine until their wardrobes could be adjusted.

Petronella had pa.s.sed through customs quite easily, with only a hint from the customs agent that cuc.u.mber cream would help deal with the unsightly bags under her eyes.

The bags came from not sleeping well. Petronella hadn't slept well since she'd taken this a.s.signment. I should be used to it, she admonished herself. I should be used to the idea that some people, who look so fine on the outside, are filled with maggots on the inside. A person loses her innocence fast in this job, her innocence, and her illusions. I've become cynical, even paranoid. I can never trust anyone.

Petronella had once discovered herself thinking about McCarthy, dear honest-to-a-fault McCarthy. How much would it take to buy you? she had wondered, and she knew for certain that he would have his price.

Everyone had a price. Sometimes she felt nervous about herself.

The hover broke in on her gloomy musings with the announcement that she had arrived at her destination. The hover lowered itself to the landing pad, tucked in its legs, and settled down carefully onto the ornamental rock set in a mosaic pattern.

Petronella climbed out of the hover.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" she asked the hover.

The hover rattled off the address. Petronella checked. Yes, this was it.

She stared at the magnificent chateau on the picturesque cliff overlooking the stunningly beautiful ocean. The view was gorgeous, but then every view in Adonia was gorgeous. Expecting a back-alley rendezvous, she wasn't sure how she felt about this.

Petronella took her time walking to the front of the mansion. She admired the hanging gardens, the swimming pool, the white columns of the porch against the pink marble of the chateau, the red-tiled roof, black shutters, clinging ivy, splashing fountains. Admired them and looked the locale over carefully, marking exits in case she needed to make a quick getaway.

Ascending the stairs, she entered the shade of the ornate portico. Delicate scents of hibiscus drifted over her.

The doorbell played a few bars of a Mozart concerto. The carved wood double doors, decorated with a sun's beaming face, were opened by a man so handsome, elegant, and refined that Petronella a.s.sumed he must be the owner of the mansion. She was nonplussed to discover he was the butler, Hoskins.

Hoskins ushered her inside. Cool shadows washed over her, soothing after the brilliance of the sun. She had an impression of green marble, huge, wonderfully colored vases, whispering silken curtains.

"Petronella Rizzoli," she said. "I'm here to see..."

She paused, looked suitably helpless. Presumably, she had no idea who she was here to see. During the pause, a vase teetered on its stand. Hoskins, acting quickly, steadied it with a hand.

"I'm terribly sorry," Petronella began.

"No need to apologize," Hoskins said smoothly. "It b not Madam's fault. This area is subject to tremors. If Madam will accompany me, they are waiting to receive you on the patio."

The house was charming, the decorations perfect. She stopped to examine a particularly fine statue of a nude woman and a swan, until she saw what it was the two were doing. She had considered herself past the age of blushing, but apparently not. She moved on, carefully avoiding looking too closely at the rest of the statuary.

French doors opened onto an exquisite patio. Several people were seated at a table beneath a large umbrella.

"Ms. Petronella Rizzoli," the butler announced.

The people rose to their feet. Petronella blinked in the bright sunlight, tried to focus. And here they all were, just as she'd expected. She located an exit, put her hand over the lasgun hidden in the pocket of her suit jacket, and waited.

One of them, the woman, came to meet her. The woman kept her hands in plain sight. She wasn't carrying a weapon, that Petronella could see. The woman extended her hand.

"How do you do, Ms. Rizzoli?" said the woman. "My name is Darlene Mohini."

"Yes," said Petronella coolly. "I recognize you from the files. I recognize the rest of your gang, too. What is it you people want with me?"

"Only a little talk," said Darlene, squinting up at Petronella in the bright sunshine. "Won't you sit down? Raoul, I think our guest might be thirsty."

"I have never been referred to as a 'gang,'" said Raoul. Smoothing his black hair, so black that it glistened in the sun with rainbow hues, he remained seated. "The term has such a very common quality about it."

He glanced at her, glanced away. "I don't believe I like her."

"I'm sure Ms. Rizzoli didn't mean gang in a negative sense," Darlene said in soothing tones. "She's just a bit nervous. New surroundings. She doesn't know us, after all. Perhaps one of your pink flamingos. They are so refreshing...."