Mag Force - Hung Out Part 22

"But that will be us, if we give you our shoes," protested Blondie. He took a nervous step backward, ran up against his bunk.

"Yeah, ain't it a shame," Slovenski jeered. "But you can buy 'em back. Fifty dollars for the shoes and one hundred dollars for the sweatshirt. Real money. Not this Jango c.r.a.p."

The others gawked. Blondie went whiter than the bedsheets. Pudgy broke out into a sweat, while Cappuccino looked as if someone had mixed his coffee with green Jell-O. Xris put his socks in the drawer, along with his sweatshirt and the extra pair of shoes.

"Uh, Master, look there." One of the flunkies pointed to Xris and giggled. "I guess this one don't hear too well."

Slovenski rounded just in time to see the drawer close on the sweatshirt. Glaring at Xris, Slovenski leered down at him.

"Are you deaf, boy? Is that your problem? I guess you must be, since you're putting on those shoes."

"I heard you," Xris said pleasantly. Smoothing the Velcro strap around his ankle, he stood up. "I just didn't hear you say anything particularly intelligent."

"Yeah? Well, maybe your ears need cleaning." Slovenski lashed out with an enormous hand, aiming a blow at Xris's head.

Xris caught hold of the man's fist in his left hand, his cyberhand, and began to squeeze.

It was interesting to watch the varying expressions on the Master's face. First there was laughter, as he figured he'd easily break Xris's hold. The laughter darkened to anger when he found he couldn't. Anger increased to fury. He brought up his other fist.

"Don't even think about it," Xris warned, and markedly increased the pressure on the clenched fingers.

Slovenski crumpled. "Ow! Oooow! Hey! Aaaagh. Let the h.e.l.l go of me, you son of a b.i.t.c.h! Let go!"

"I prefer giving to a charity of my choice," Xris said, maintaining the pressure. "I'm keeping my sweatshirt my shoes. The same goes for my friends. Right?"

The Master cursed and spluttered. The flunkies stared, aghast. None of them seemed inclined to come to the rescue of his leader.

Xris increased the pressure. Something snapped. The Master gasped and gave a little gurgle.

"Right?" Xris repeated.

"Right! Right!"

Xris released his grip.

Slovenski groaned and fell back, nursing his bruised fingers, which were already starting to swell. His squinty little eyes regarded Xris with inveterate hatred.

"f.u.c.ker," Slovenski snarled. "You'll pay for this."

"But not today," Xris said, smiling.

"Hey, Master!" one of the flunkies hissed. "The guard!"

Slovenski backed out of the room, nursing his injured hand. He and the flunkies departed, the Master moving with as much dignity as he could muster, considering that four of his fingers were now turning an unbecoming shade of purple.

The guard looked in the door. "What's going on?" He cast a grim glance around. "This has always been a quiet floor. I hope you boys don't plan on being troublemakers.

One more incident like this"a"he glared at Xrisa""and you'll find yourself in solitary."

"Us!" Blondie cried. "It wasn't us! That maniaca""

"Be quiet," Cappuccino said, seeing the guard's eyebrows pull together in a frown. "You're only making things worse."

"But..."

"We're sorry, sir," Xris said contritely. "It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't." The guard departed.

Blondie collapsed onto his bunk. "What's going on?" he demanded plaintively. "I don't understand!" He pointed to the security camera. "They saw that monster try to steal our shoes! They saw him threaten us. He was going to hit you, for G.o.d's sake! And we're the ones who get into trouble."

"Welcome to Jango," Xris said, putting sheets on his bunk.

Across the corridor, Sleepy emerged from his room, wandered disconsolately down the hall in his stockinged feet.

CHAPTER 22.

Lava Quod est sordidum ... Wash what is dirty...

Stephen Langton, Archbishop of Canterbury.

"The Golden Sequence"

The inmates ate together in one large room, sitting at a.s.signed tables, twenty to a table. On entering the cafeteria, they walked down a line of steamer tables, made their selections from a variety of nutritional and unappetizing food, which was cooked by the prison staff, served by inmates. During dinner, the inmates were allowed to talk freely. The room was a hubbub of voices that all stopped when Xris entered. Word had spread fast, apparently.

Heads turned, men craned their necks to catch a glimpse of him. Xris wondered if he should tip his hat to the crowd, like the laser-ball players. Ignoring the stares, he took his place in the food line.

Xris watched closely and noted that his tray was shoved out just a bit too enthusiastically by the prisoner at the end of the line. Xris picked up his tray, bobbled it clumsily, and managed to spill most of the food on the floor. He earned a five-dollar fine, which was marked against his name by the guard on duty, and another tray of food.

He doubted if the meal had been poisoned, though that was a possibility. But it probably had some other nasty surprise, like ground gla.s.s in the hash or needles in the apples. Xris moved off, thinking that if he had to dump his food every night, he would soon have to file for the prison version of bankruptcy.

All eyes were on him as he walked through the hall to the a.s.signed table. Some regarded him with respect, though they shook their heads as he walked past, predicting in low voices that within a week he wouldn't be holding his head so high. Most seemed to find him amusing. He'd taken their minds off their own misery for a moment and they were grateful.

The Master entered, with his hand bound in an inflatable splint. All eyes turned his way and, at his scowl, the eyes quickly found something else to look at. One of the flunkies carried the Master's tray, since he was incapacitated. Xris felt almost friendly toward the poor Master, who had inadvertently made Xris's job in this prison a h.e.l.l of a lot easier. Everyone was talking about him, which meant that the Hung leaders would be listening and they'd be impressed Xris just had to make sure that one) they stayed impressed, and two) he stayed alive. Not necessarily in that order.

His fellow prisoners weren't the only ones talking. When he sat down, his roommate, Blondie, blurted out, "You're a cyborg! I found out! The guard told me."

"Pa.s.s the catsup," said Xris.

"The doctors did a very nice job on you," Pudgy added politely. "I couldn't tell."

Xris shoveled in food, eating rapidly on the theory that the less time the bland and tasteless ma.s.s spent in his mouth, the better.

"You're in danger," Cappuccino leaned over to whisper, under the pretense of grabbing a hunk of bread from the basket in the middle of the table. "I've been doing some listening. It seems that this Master b.a.s.t.a.r.d has already sent three guys to the infirmary. One of them had to be airlifted to a special hospital on Firma Prime. His spine was broken in three places."

"I can take care of myself," Xris muttered through the overcooked corn and lima beans.

"Yes, I know you can. It's just..." Cappuccino paused. His lips tightened. He seemed to find the words he had to say tasted worse than the food. "I've been a fool. I should have known the truth about this place, but I guess I didn't really want to. I may be a crook"a"he smiled thinlya""but I'm not a coward. If you need help ... well, I know you don't think much of us and I guess I can't blame you. We must seem pretty soft and, well, naive, to you. Though why I should care what a murderer thinks ..."

Sighing, he shook his head. "Sorry. No offense. It's just..." He glanced sidelong at Xris. "I get the feeling you're not exactly what you seem to be."

This was getting too close to the truth. Xris chewed the stringy meat, swallowed, then said, "What's your name?"

"Huh?" Cappuccino looked startled. "But you've been with us..." He stopped, smiled slightly, then said, "I'm Malcolm. This is Alan" a" he indicated Blondie a" "and Kenneth." That was Pudgy.

Xris nodded. "We'll talk later," he said and set himself resolutely to the task of finishing his meal.

During recreation time that evening, Xris sat down with his new "team" in their cell and laid out their strategy.

"The 'Master' as he calls himself won't take this lying down. He can't afford to. He'll be after me. The rest of you may come in for some hara.s.sment, especially if you're determined to stick with me."

Malcolm, formerly Cappuccino, looked determined; the other two, unhappy and resigned. Apparently it had occurred to them that they didn't have much choice.

"Okay, here's the plan. We change the code on the lock every day. You, Blon a" I mean, Alan. You good with numbers?"

Alan nodded.

"Fine. Can you figure out a code sequence that we can change every day, but which is easy to remember?"

Alan thought a moment, then said, "Yes. We pick a five-number random sequence: 4, 96, 32, 75, 16. That's the code for the first day. The second day, the code changes to 96, 32, 75, 16, 4. The numbers move up one digit, the first number moves to the last. The third day the code is 32, 75, 16, 4, 96. And so on. After each number rotates through once we change all the numbers and start again."

"Good." Xris approved. "I take it everyone can remember that. Now, you can bet your shoes that the Master either owns one of the guards' security pa.s.skeys or he has access to one, which means that he can waltz in here any-time he pleases. We also know the guards are pretty d.a.m.n slow to respond. It won't matter so much during the daya" even the Master has to take his work shift. But it will at night."

"Do we keep watch? One of us stay awake?"

"A good idea, Ken, but we've all got to go to work in the morning. What I propose is to set up an alarm system. Something simple that would alert us to intruders."

Metal wastebaskets would have been ideal, but the cells were all equipped with trash compactors, so that was out. Eventually they ended up removing, with much difficulty, a metal slat from underneath one of the bunk beds. They balanced the slat across the seat of a chair, which they placed next to the door. Any movement of the door would b.u.mp the chair, jostling the metal slat and sending it clanging to the floor.

Xris figured the noise alone would frighten off any intrudera"the first time, at least. His cell mates agreed and went to bed feeling safe and secure. Xris didn't tell them what might happen the second or the third time. He didn't tell them about zip guns or cross-bows or knives made from the very same bed slats they'd used. Let them enjoy one night's peaceful sleep at least.

The metal slat hit the floor around 0200. Xris was up and out of his bed and across the floor before the vibrations had ceased, but there was no one in the room. The door, which was automatically shut and locked at 2200, had been pulled shut again. Xris couldn't open it to look outside.

"You see, it worked," he told the others. "Go back to sleep."

It would not work the next time. Lying in the darkness that smelled of three other bodies, listening to Malcolm snore, Xris faced the undeniable truth that he'd made a dangerous enemy. But then, he'd known that the moment he'd decided to keep his shoes. He'd also known at that moment that he was using the Master, that if the Master hadn't taken it upon himself to be a jerk, Xris would have been forced to invent one. If he was lucky, the Master would continue to play into Xris's hands.

And, before he broke out of here, Xris would probably have to kill him.

Wake-up call came at 0530. They had thirty minutes to showera"all four of thema"and shave. By 0615 they were expected to be standing in line for breakfast. Xris grabbed his food, gulped hot coffee and downed a couple of hard-boiled eggs, bacon, and biscuits. Breakfast was the best meal of the day.

The inmates were expected to be on the job at 0700.

Xris had been a.s.signed to laundry detail, a job which required heavy manual labor. The prison authorities knew he was a cyborg and had apparently decided to take of advantage of the fact. Two of his cell mates were working in the administration buildinga"the job Xris had been hoping for, since it gave him access to the prisoners' records. Xris knew the names of the Hung leaders, but he had no idea what they looked like, what cell block they inhabited, or how to gain access to them. There were over ten thousand prisoners on Jango, which ruled out a door-to-door search. He didn't want to arouse suspicions by asking around.

Amadi was scheduled to visit the prison in the next day or two. Xris would ask to be rea.s.signed. He had two weeks to the day to bust out the Hung leaders, according to Amadi's time schedule. Right now, Xris would have been happy to have moved that timetable up by about fourteen days. He had never loathed anywhere as much as he was starting to loathe Jango.

The laundry facility was located in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the dining hall. No windows, no ventilation. The washing machines took up one entire wall, the dryersa"which used the old-fashioned method of heat drying as opposed to evaporationa"lined another wall. The laundry room was hot, humid, and noisy.

Xris was given the task of loading clothing into the enormous industrial washers. Each prisoner's laundry was placed in a net bag, which was tossed straight into the washer. In addition, there were bed sheets and towels and the guards' uniforms, plus the clothes of the prison administration and hospital staff.

"This morning's workload is light," said the foreman, after showing Xris how to load and operate the machines.

"Only one blockhouse sends their laundry in on Mondays.

This afternoon will be busy, 'cause we get the stuff from the dining halls and the infirmary. Tomorrow is sheet day."

Xris faced a mountain of bags and more were being trundled in on carts. He couldn't wait to see a heavy day.

He grabbed the first bag and it was then that he realized he'd hit pay dirt, so to speak. Each bag was marked with the prisoner's name, cell number, and bunk number. Xris didn't need to ask to be rea.s.signed. All he had to do was keep a lookout for the Hung leaders' dirty shorts, and he'd find out everything he needed to know.

The physical labora"hefting the bags, tossing them into the machine, reaching for another baga"was mind numbinga"'bot work as it was known in the industry. Robots could have performed the task, but that would have deprived the prisoners of something to do. Xris wondered just exactly how loading washing machines was going to help a hardened criminal such as himself lead an honest life. Probably it had something to do with the symbolism of cleansinga"washing the soil from his darkened soul.

In the meantime, he bent and lifted, swung and threw until the machine was filled. Closing the door, he hit the soap and water b.u.t.tons and watched as the giant machine started its cycle. Moving to the next machine, pushing the cart filled with bags, Xris blessed the need to look for names on the bags. If he hadn't had that diversion, he would have soon been as empty-headed as any ordinary work-'bot.

Twenty other inmates were on laundry detail, some shifting the wet clothes into the dryers, others helping to load. Conversation was permitted, but it was futile. The huge metal washing machines knocked against each other when they were in operation, water splashed and frothed. The dryers made a high-pitched whining sound, similar to an artillery sh.e.l.l in flight. Those inmates who needed to talk did so by shouting. Xris finally turned off his augmented hearing, and occupied himself by reading name tags.

The routine continued all morning. Xris was accustomed to physical exertion, but not the constant, repet.i.tive movement required by this job. By lunchtime, his back muscles were ready to stage a revolt, while his shoulder muscles were seriously considering dissolving parliament and calling for new elections. On the good side, he was too tired and too hungry to notice the taste of the food.

He was delighted to find, on his return, even more laundry than when he'd left.

According to the tags, the load in this cart contained laundry from Blockhouse Five. Gritting his teeth against a shooting pain which had developed in his right shoulder, he grabbed a bag and automatically glanced at the name tag.

"By G.o.d," Xris said, catching hold of the bag in the act of tossing it. MACDONALD was the name on the tag.

Macdonald was one of the names of the Hung leaders.

Macdonald was also a fairly common name. There were probably kilos of Macdonalds in Jango. Xris glanced around to see if any of the guards was watching. Apparently it was time for their afternoon naps, for there were nowhere in sight. He set the bag aside, reached for the next. MAIR. This was better. There couldn't be MAM and, according to the tag, this Mair was in the same cell as Macdonald. The third bag clinched ita"BECKING.

Xris started up the washing machine. Under the cover of its splashing and banging, he ducked behind the half-filled laundry cart, knelt down, and dumped out the contents of each bag onto the cement floor. Macdonald's clothes showed him to be a man of nearly two meters in height, on the thin side, to judge by his waist size, but with a heavy upper body, to judge by his shirt size. Becking was about one point eight meters, and a little stockier. Mair was the shortest, at about one point six meters. Lifting Mair's T-shirt, Xris whistled in surprise.

Blood, Blood stained the front of the T-shirt and the front of the sweatshirt which was also in the bag.

Either Mair was the clumsy type or he wasn't a regular contributor to the Master's shoe fund.

Xris committed the cell number to memory and was about to start shoving the clothes back into the bag when he felt a heavy hand grab hold of his sore shoulder.

Checking the reflex that had his cybernetic hand grappling for the man's throat, Xris pivoted to his feet.

The guard was glaring at him. "I'm talking to you, 97602!"

"Sorry, sir," Xris said and tapped his left ear. "Hard of hearing. What did you want with me?"