Mag Force - Hung Out Part 34

Macdonald nodded. He was running easily, maintaining a good pace, his stride long and even. Xris ran clumsily. He had never run all that well; the flesh-and-blood part of his body was always engaged in a hopeless contest with the artificial. The damp was having an effect on his joints, probably a touch of arthritis. Just what he needed to make his day, a reminder that he was growing old.

"What's the plan?" Macdonald asked.

"All arranged."

"How?"

"Leave it to me."

Macdonald wasn't pleased. His corpse eyes flicked over to Xris. "Trevor says we can trust you."

"Does he? Gosh, that's sweet of him," Xris said, gulping air. "I'll have to remember to send him a thank-you card."

Macdonald apparently had no sense of humor. The two continued jogging. Macdonald wasn't even breathing heavy, hadn't broken into a sweat. Xris was already winded and wondered if he could survive another fourth of a kilometer.

"I want to know the plan," Macdonald said, his voice grating.

"Yeah, and so would every prisoner in Jango," Xris returned, loping along. "I'm not saying"a"he had to suck in a breatha""that you would let word of this out"a"he sucked in another breatha""but maybe you talk in your sleep."

Xris called it quits. Wiping his face with a towel, he stood panting at the side of the track, out of the way of the other runners. Macdonald jogged on a few paces, realized Xris wasn't with him, left the track and jogged back.

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" Macdonald was angry. "How darea""

"Look, sir," Xris said in mollifying tones, trying to catch his breath, "you're not thinking straight. Do you want it to look like the finals of a GGA tourney on the first hole Friday night? What do you think will happen if even one person found out we were making a break for it? He tells his buddy, then he tells his buddy, and pretty soon we have five thousand guys out there all trying to get on our plane."

Xris shrugged. "I know I can keep it secret. I know you can keep it secret. But what about Becking? What about Mair? Do you trust them implicitly?"

By the look on Macdonald's face, he did not.

"So what happens when they ask you what the plan is?" Xris persisted. "You say you know, but you're not going to tell them. And thena""

"Hey, you two on the track!" The guard's voice boomed over the comm. "Break it up!"

"All right." Macdonald was still angry, but he was forced to admit that Xris had a point.

The Hung leader wasn't the type to forget the insult, however. Xris would be made to pay, though not until after he had served his purpose. All a matter of timing.

"I take it you fellows can escape from your cell, sneak out of the cellblock and onto the golf course without my help?" Xris asked.

"We can," Macdonald said. His look and tone made rigor mortis seem a warm and friendly state. "Just don't ask how."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Xris smiled. "We all have our little secrets. The guard's getting suspicious. I'll be in contact. The pro shop, Friday night, 0200. We have a ten-minute window. I'm not waiting for stragglers."

"We'll be there," said Macdonald. He continued his jog.

Xris watched the Hung leader make another circuit of the track. Then, putting the longing for a hot shower firmly from his mind, Xris went back out into the rain.

He had one more hour before he had to return to his cell. Once outdoors, he brought up Amadi's diagram of the power grid, which was now a photographic image stored in his brain, available on command. Xris crouched down to tie his shoe. He glanced around. No one but himself was stupid enough to be out in the rain during rec hour. Even the guards had sought shelter inside.

Reaching under his sweatpants, he popped open a small compartment on his cybernetic leg, fumbled until he found the switch, and activated the magnetometer. This done, he finished tying his shoe, stood up, started off at a gentle lope.

One of the devices Dr. Quong had installed in Xris's lega"presumably on Amadi's advice, although Xris was certain Quong himself had foreseen that Xris might have a need for ita"was this magnetometer. As Xris took his walk around the compound, the magnetometer in his leg triggered a pulse whenever it pa.s.sed over a buried power cable.

The pulses corresponded precisely with the diagram Amadi had provided. Not surprising. Amadi must have known Xris would check things out. Xris gazed at the golf course, now off-limits to the prisoners. According to the diagram, he would find a power grid junction box just north of what was termed the "pro shop" by the prisoners. Here golf clubs and shoes were stored: for obvious reasons, it would never do for prisoners to keep nine-irons in their cells. The pro shop was locked up. No one was supposed to go near it.

Xris considered making the attempt, abandoned that idea quickly. His b.u.t.t-beeper was being monitored. The warden would very reasonably want to know what the h.e.l.l Xris was doing wandering around a golf course in the raina" particularly a golf course that was off-limits.

Xris could only hope that Amadi's diagram was accurate, that the junction box was where he said it would be. He was fairly certain now that on this, at least, Amadi was playing straight. Amadi knew and respected Xris's abilities. h.e.l.l, as Xris's boss, Amadi was responsible for Xris possessing those abilities. If Amadi planned to double-cross Xris, planned to wipe out Xris in a "botched" escape attempt, he would wait until Xris had served his purpose. It was all a matter of timing.

He headed back for his cellblock.

He arrived there in time for lights out, too late for a hot shower.

He was cold all night.

CHAPTER 34.

Depend upon it, sir. When a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully.

Samuel Johnson, from James Boswell, Life of Johnson.

"Something bad's happened," said Darlene. "Something's wrong. I finally got through to Harry anda""

"What did he say?" Jamil interrupted.

"I'm telling you," Darlene said shortly.

Not only was she worried, her nerves frayed, but she hadn't taken a proper shower or washed her hair since their arrival. The dremecks bathed in underground streams that were icy cold. Quong maintained that they were invigorating; Darlene pointed out caustically that she hadn't seen him jump in yet.

"Harry couldn't talk. When I said we'd heard that Xris might be in danger, Harry said, yes, he knew, and he hung up on me. That's not like Harry. Something's gone wrong."

"You know how screwed up Harry gets things. Maybe he was just confused."

"He didn't sound confused," said Darlene. "He sounded scared. I've never heard Harry sound scared before."

"All right, so maybe something has gone wrong," Jamil conceded impatiently.

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his fatigues, he paced irritably about the small subterranean room provided for their use by the dremecks. The room served as communications room and sleeping quarters for everyone except Jamil, who was still bivouacking with the dremeck army, and Raoul, who was establishing his guise as an advance member of Rusty Love's entourage by occupying the best hold in the city and drinking champagne with the showgirls.

"There's something else," Darlene said.

"What? The sun going to go nova?" Jamil glowered. "We have ten minutes to evacuate the planet?"

"Close. The deadline's been moved up."

Jamil stared, his jaw going slack. "What? How? Whoa""

"There was a message. Our anonymous employer. Intelligence has discovered that Kirkov has moved up the operation. The transports will be coming for the dremecks this Friday night."

Jamil said every swear word he knew and added a few exotic ones he'd learned from Tycho.

"Is it just me," Darlene added, when Jamil's supply of expletives was exhausted, "or has it occurred to the rest of you that someone is using this revolution for his own personal benefit, that to him it has nothing to do with saving the dremecks. And somehow Xris is involved and in danger."

"It's occurred to the rest of us," Jamil said gloomily.

"We could fly to Jango," Tycho suggested. He was learning to keep his translator turned on. "Rescue Xris."

"And do what once we get there? Go in with guns blazing? Maybe blow Xris's entire operation? Remember, we don't know exactly what he's doing there! We could mess things up good." Jamil halted his pacing. "This puts us in one h.e.l.l of a spot. Are we working for the good guys or the bad guys? Will saving the dremecks help save Xris? Or harm him? And who is this other person and what is his private agenda?"

"I think Agent Rizzoli has the answer to most of these questions," said Darlene. "We shouldn't make any decisions until we meet with her."

"Which is when?"

"Noon today. At the shopping mall. The scarf counter at Bergdorff's. Lots of people and lots of noise to distract the wire-heads."

"The scarf counter!" Raoul cried, ecstatic. "They carry the most exquisite silk scarves. You must see them, Darlene. A scarf would add a softening touch to your jawline...."

The Bayside Plaza on Del Sol was located at one end of an artificial lake named Lake Kirkov. The lake had once been blue and lovely, when it was first built. Since then, however, the underground systems that were supposed to feed fresh water into the lake kept clogging up with some sort of local fauna. The lake had gone stagnant, with green gunk and dead fish floating on its surface. Kirkov was furious over this. He guessed that comparisons were being made between himself and this unfortunate body of water and he had declared all-out war on the fauna, which was, however, withstanding the a.s.sault with remarkable tenacity.

The shopping center itself was a gathering place for the people of Del Sol, mainly, as Darlene had said, because the wire-heads couldn't listen in on the conversations of a thousand people, though they did their best to try.

After reconnoitering, the team decided the best place to hold a conversation with Agent Rizzoli was a table in the outdoor cafe, which had been built directly overlooking the stagnant lake. As one can imagine, the cafe was not particularly popular and there were plenty of empty tables where they could hold at least a semiprivate conversation.

"See if the waiter can give us a table as far from the water as possible, Doctor," Darlene suggested. "I'm just going to show dear Aubrey the scarf I picked out."

"I do not think finding a table will be a problem," said Dr. Quong wryly. "Don't be long."

Tycho and Quong headed for the restaurant. Jamil and Darlene sauntered off in the direction of the stores. Raoul and the Little One were already inside, the Little One listening in on the thoughts of those nearby while Raoul reveled in the feel of silk against his skin. "This is a test," Jamil said, using their implanted commlinks. "Everyone reading me?"

"I am here," said Quong.

"And myself," said Tycho.

"I keep hearing voices," said Raoul. "Oh, ouch! I remember!" he said huffily, presumably speaking to his small companion. "There's no need to strike me!"

"I'm on," said Darlene.

"Anyone following us, Doc?"

"Not that I can see."

"Okay, everyone. We're on our way. Stay in touch."

"The vibrations make my scalp itch," Tycho could be heard complaining.

"Your brother had the same reaction. You'll get used to it. Come along, my friend, and keep your translator turned on."

"Aubrey?" Jamil demanded in a scandalized tone. "Where'd you come up with a silly-a.s.s name like that?"

"Aubrey has always been one of my favorite names," Darlene returned. "I think it sounds very distinguished."

Jamil grunted. "Sure thing, Dagmar. It's one of my favorite names," he added with a grin.

The two entered the mega-department store, where they were immediately set upon by sales 'bots. Having barely escaped with their lives, they made their way through a veritable maze of women's clothing. A wrong turn brought them to shoes, not scarves, but they doubled back on trail and eventually discovered the right department. Here they found Raoul, standing at the corner of a display case, lapping up praise from a fawning mannequin.

"Such lovely eyes and hair," the mannequin was saying in its mechanized voice. "Try on the orange silk. There!" The mannequin's robotic hands fussily draped the scarf around Raoul's shoulders. "It looks adorable on you. Simply adorable."

"I don't wear orange near my face as a rule," said Raoul, peering intently into a mirror as he arranged the scarf picturesquely on top of his green chiffon blouse. "It fades my complexion. What do you think?"

"With those golden tones in your complexion you should wear orange all the time," the mannequin gushed. "Observe the effect when we add this cunning little green pillbox hat."

Darlene glanced around for the Little One, found him seated on the floor at Raoul's feet. The Little One had his head buried in his arms. Even the fedora looked bored.

"The place is empty," said Jamil in low tones, speaking over the commlink.

"No wonder," Darlene replied. "Did you see the prices?"

"Too empty." Jamil glanced around. "Not even any wire-heads. What have you spotted?"

"A salesman in the men's department to our right, a saleswoman in lingerie to our left, and two men riding down the elevator. One hundred sold eagles for a scarf!" Darlene exclaimed. "A scarf, for G.o.d's sake! Look at this red one, darling."

"I don't like it," said Jamil. By his grim tone, he was not referring to the scarf. "Any sign of Rizzoli?"

"Let me show you the cutest new way to tie a knot," the mannequin offered. She leaned over the counter, put her hands on the scarf, which was around Raoul's neck.

The Little One leaped suddenly to his feet, waving his hands in alarm. Whirling, the raincoat whipping around him, he pointed frantically to the two men on the elevator.

"Down!" cried Jamil, grabbing hold of Darlene's shoulder and pushing her bodily to the floor.

"That's scarf's a little too tight, my dear!" gasped Raoul.

A blast from a lasgun shattered the plastigla.s.s case where Darlene had been standing. Jamil crouched over her, his lasgun in his hand, returning the fire, which had come not from the men on the elevator but from the lingerie department. The saleswoman was no longer in sight. Another blast came from that direction. A second shot, from the opposite directiona"men's weara"took out a display of silk ties.

"Behind the counter!" Darlene shouted, crawling on her hands and knees.

Jamil dove headfirst over the counter, just seconds before it exploded in a flash of iridescent light, showering them both with hot plasma, bits of plastic, and melted silk. Darlene drew her lasgun, kept low. Another shot smashed into the display directly overhead.

"Where did that come from?" she cried.

"The two on the elevator. You hit?"

"No, I'm okay. You're on fire, though!" Darlene used her hand to extinguish a small flicker of flame on Jamil's shirt.