The Omega Cage

by Steve Perry

  Then he was off in technical land again, spouting electronic language as if it were his native tongue. Maro caught about every fifth word. He understood the gist of it, though. If it worked, they had transportation.

  Red light flared behind him. Sandoz had the laser welder working. It was a small unit, about the size of a man's arm, not counting the power supply. That was strapped onto his back like a knapsack. The assassin adjusted the controls, and a bright needle a meter long stabbed out from the nozzle. Grinning, Sandoz waved the thing back and forth like a sword.

  "Saw part of an old, old flatvid once," he said to no one in particular. "Back from the nineteenth or twentieth century. Had guys running around and fighting with things like this."

  Maro turned back to his scavenging. The welder was a tool, but it would also serve just as well as a weapon. Maro was only too aware of that. He had been keeping his eyes open for something more powerful than the flare pistol; he had the feeling he would need it to stay ahead of Sandoz. In the assassin's hands, almost anything could be made deadly. Maro only had a few flares left for the pistol, and he wasn't sure of the damage he could do against a man in any event. Especially a man like Sandoz.

  The transceiver crackled, and voices went back and forth over the operations channel. Everybody stopped to listen, save Scanner.

  The talk centered on the search. After a few exchanges, however, it stopped. Maro let out a relieved breath. Earlier the channel had been alive with new voices. Stark had gotten some help, it seemed, and Commander Karnaaj's name was mentioned at one point. Not good. But at least they hadn't turned the search toward the mining camp. Yet.

  "Dain, give me a hand," Scanner said.

  Maro complied, helping the smaller man lift a capacitator onto the bench. Scanner busied himself with the heavy plastic device, and Maro stood back, watching. By tomorrow, according to Scanner, they could have one or maybe even both carts working. With luck, they could make the spaceport in another couple of days, if the projected speed of fifty klicks per hour came off. They had food—canned and bland, but nourishing—left behind by the miners. And they had enough fuel to run the carts for a week, if it came to that. If their luck held and the search didn't focus in this direction, they might make it yet.

  But as Maro watched Sandoz doing a kata with the laser, cutting down imaginary opponents, he wondered if Stark and Karnaaj were the greatest danger at this point.

  "Dead?" Stark repeated.

  The voice of his search leader said, "Yessir. We found him buried in a sand dune. Wasn't for the transponder on the cycle, we probably wouldn't have seen him; he hit the sand pretty hard. Only the tail of the vehicle stuck out, and that not far."

  "So it was an accident."

  Karnaaj leaned forward in his chair, still as stiff as he ever had been, listening to Stark's conversation. The office seemed very quiet. The tropical night was falling outside, and the dregs of a rainstorm lingered.

  "Uh, yessir, had to be. We got a call that he was having mechanical problems and he would try to make it back to base. Something must have glitched and he drilled in."

  Stark felt his stomach flutter. It sounded reasonable enough; the aircycles were usually dependable, but they had not been designed to operate in full desert. The heat, the sand, anything could have caused a breakdown. There was the call, too.

  But it felt odd.

  "How did he die? Can you tell?"

  "Well, there're no marks on him, except where the sand scraped away part of his face and shoulder. Looks like his neck and back and one arm were broken. He's got soft spots all over. I'm no medic, but it sure looked like the impact did it."

  A beat. "All his gear still there?"

  "Yessir. Pulse pistol, rations, radio, everything."

  "All right. Continue the search."

  After the discom, Stark turned to look at Karnaaj. The SIU man's face was, as always, unreadable. He asked, "Something bothering you, Warden?"

  "You heard the report. One of my men was killed in a cycle accident."

  Karnaaj shrugged. "Men die. It's part of being a soldier."

  "Something doesn't feel right about it."

  "Intuition?" The word seemed an insult.

  "Maybe. That's the wrong way for the escapees to be heading. We know they have a compass, and there's no civilization for thousands of kilometers in that direction. But I only had one man checking that way before he crashed. Now, there's nobody."

  "So send another man. It isn't likely they can hide on the desert."

  "No. It isn't likely." Then again, he thought, it wasn't likely that anybody would ever escape the Cage at all, much less stay at large as long as this bunch had.

  An excited voice broke into his thoughts. "Commander Stark!" It was the search leader again.

  Stark looked at the com. "Yes?"

  "We've found one of them!"

  Both Stark and Karnaaj leaned toward the com. "Where?"

  The man rattled off a series of coordinates. Stark punched up a computer map as he said, "Who? Who is it?"

  "Was," the voice said. "He's dead. The animals and plants got to him pretty good, there's not much left, but the computer dentition matches the teeth to prisoner #769869."

  Stark knew the numbers from memory. Berque. The map lit the holoproj field, and the coordinates flashed a blue dot over the location.

  Southeast of the flitter.

  Toward the desert.

  Stark felt certainty building within him. "What about the others?"

  "No sign of them. We have a vector, based on a line from the flitter. They're heading toward—"

  "I know where they're heading," Stark snapped. "The desert. Concentrate your search in that direction. Half your men." He glanced toward Karnaaj, who nodded. "And half of Karnaaj's troops, too."

  "Copy, Warden. Discom."

  Stark clenched his fist. At last! They had a direction in which to look! But—why were they going that way? It made no sense.

  "Computer," Stark said, "I want references to any human or mue settlements to the southeast of the on-screen coordinates."

  It took less than a second. "No human or mutant settlements extant."

  Just as he thought. Were they crazy?

  Karnaaj said, "What about the mines?"

  "What mines?"

  "There used to be mining along the tilt of the edge plate, somewhere in that direction. We had a small detachment of men there six or eight years ago."

  Stark stared at the terminal in disbelief. "Why didn't the computer say that?"

  "Perhaps your question was not specific enough."

  "Computer, list any human settlements or mining camps ever within two hundred kilometers southeast of the onscreen coordinates."

  "None," the computer said imperturbably.

  "Dammit!"

  "A malfunction," Karnaaj said.

  "Yeah, a malfunction! That droud-head Scanner is the malfunction! He's deleted information from the files!"

  "Calm yourself," Karnaaj said. Stark came very close to telling him to go fuck a shrat, but managed to bottle it in time. "Why would they want to go to an abandoned mining camp?" the SIU officer continued. "They have to know we would check in that direction eventually."

  "I don't know, but I'm going to find out!"

  Even with power, they did not light the camp at night. Scanner had gotten a couple of battered hand lanterns powered up, and it was one of those Dain was using to search what had once been a military barracks. Raze had gone back to what had become their communal room to rest, and Juete followed Dain.

  "What exactly are we looking for?" she asked.

  Dain flashed the lantern's beam over the empty, stripped beds. The miners had left the mattresses, which had gone musty with mold, and the plastic frames, but little else in the long and narrow room. "I'm not sure," he said. "But I'll know it when I see it."

  Juete looked. He had the light beam flared so that it threw a wide circle rather than a thin spot. "It doesn't look as though they lef
t anything behind."

  Dain walked the length of the room, shining the light into the dark corners. Something chittered and scrabbled away as they approached. She moved closer to Dain.

  At the end of the barracks, Dain bent and poked the light underneath the bed there, looking under the springs and frame.

  "What are you doing now?"

  "I had a friend who was Confed Military for a while," he said. "He used to talk about things that they stashed for personal comfort. Sometimes it was a drug, sometimes other stuff."

  "Wouldn't they have taken anything like that with them when they pulled out?"

  "Probably. But it doesn't hurt to look."

  Dain searched under another three beds before Juete spoke again. "It's Sandoz, isn't it?"

  She saw him look at her in the dim reflection of the lantern where it bounced up from the floor. "Mostly, yes."

  "If it's me—"

  "It's not you, love. Sandoz is used to getting what he wants. He was willing to go along with me because I had a plan and he didn't know what it was. Now that we're out, he's getting antsy to do things his way. You're only a part of it."

  A large part, she thought. She had not told Dain what Sandoz had attempted earlier, and had persuaded Raze to keep her mouth shut as well. Perhaps a confrontation between the two men was inevitable, but she did not want it to come any sooner than could be avoided.

  Dain continued to look under the beds. Once he sneezed.

  "Damned dust. Anyway, whatever Sandoz wants, he usually gets. He doesn't like taking orders, and sooner or later, he'll stop. He's too dangerous to fight. Not without an edge—ah-hah."

  "What?" Juete leaned down and peered under the dusty plastic frame. There was what looked like a small circle drawn on the plastic of the frame, nestled in one corner. As she watched, Dain pried it loose. The thing he held was disc-shaped, about the diameter of a quarter-stad coin, but four or five times as thick.

  "Hold the light," Dain said.

  Juete took the lantern, and Dain held the thing in one hand and twisted it with the other. A cap came off in his fingers. Under it, a pencil-thick rod in the center of the disc protruded a few millimeters up from the surface. He turned the disc over, and there were what looked like fuzzy, hair-fine wires bunched up on the back.

  "What is it?"

  "A slap-cap. This matted stuff is adhesive. It'll stick to just about anything." He pressed the wireside of the thing against the palm of his hand. "See?" He waved his hand, and the disc stayed in place. "Pry it away slowly and it comes, but it resists sudden shear forces."

  She still didn't understand.

  "The rod, here, is the trigger. If you slap something fairly hard with this, it sets off a cone-shaped charge, equal to about a fifty kilogram punch, but concentrated into a small area. Hit a man solidly on the head or over the heart, kidney, or spleen—any place really vital—and it'll deliver a hydrostatic shock wave that will kill him."

  Juete stared at the device, feeling her stomach knot.

  "Slap an arm or leg, and it will shatter the bone and pretty much jellify the overlying muscle."

  "What does it do to your hand if you use it?"

  "If you're careless in your placement, it can break a finger or badly bruise a bone, but that's about it. The charge is newton-bleak—vents a lot of the reaction, I don't know how, exactly."

  "The soldier wasn't supposed to have it," she said.

  "Right. That's why he matched the bed's plastic for the cover. You'd have to be looking for it to spot it. I was, and I almost didn't."

  "Your edge against Sandoz?" Juete felt cold and afraid. Dain was talking about possibly killing a man, and if it came to that, he might be in danger of dying as well. She didn't want to even consider that.

  "Yes. My edge. I won't use it unless I have to, but it makes up for a lot. If he gets close enough in a fight—"

  Juete stared at the device stuck to her lover's palm. She hated it; more, she hated what it was in men that made such things necessary. And at the same time, she was glad Dain had found it.

  "Let's go back to the room," she said. It was suddenly very cold in the deserted barracks.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The radio's blare woke Maro. It took perhaps five seconds for him to make sense of what he heard. After that, all sleepiness vanished.

  Raze sat up as Maro leaped out of bed. "What—?"

  "Stark's men are on the way here! We've got thirty minutes."

  Raze rolled out from under the covers and began dressing.

  Juete said, "What's going on?"

  Maro grabbed his orthoskins and slipped into them as he told her. In less than a minute he was outside the room, yelling for the others. It took another minute for them to gather around him.

  "We've only got one of the carts fully operational!" Scanner said, still pulling on his coverall.

  "How long to get the other one ready?"

  "An hour or two—"

  "We've got maybe fifteen minutes! We have to be gone when they get here!"

  Sandoz glanced at Chameleon. The face-dancer nodded once and moved back toward the room he and Sandoz shared.

  The rest of them ran to the two small carriers. Scanner snapped on one of the portable lanterns, but Maro threw the power switch that lit the building. "Fuck it," he said. "We've got to move. If they get here before we leave, we won't have a chance. Can we all get into one of these things?"

  "It'll slow the cart down, but yeah, it'll carry us."

  "No it won't," Sandoz said.

  Maro spun just in time to see Chameleon hand Sandoz the laser welder. Sandoz shrugged into the unit's power pack and switched it on. The needle of coherent light lanced out, a hard brightness under the artificial lighting.

  "I'm taking the cart," Sandoz said. "Chameleon goes with me."

  Maro glanced at the mue. Chameleon shrugged. "Sorry. He's better at staying alive, and that's what I want to do."

  "And the albino goes with us," Sandoz added. He grinned at Raze, moving the laser beam back and forth in a lazy arc. It hissed in the quiet air.

  Scanner pulled a small box out of his coverall.

  Sandoz spun and aimed the tip of the weapon at Scanner's throat. He was three meters away, but two quick steps and he could skewer the smaller man easily.

  "Whatever you've got there," the assassin said, "drop it."

  Scanner grinned tightly and thumbed a control on the button. There was a pop! and spark from the laser welder's power pack. The red needle winked out.

  Sandoz wasted no time trying to restart the laser. He shrugged out of the pack and dropped the ruined device. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you, wirehead?" He settled into a wide, low stance.

  Maro reached into his pocket for the flare pistol. It wasn't there. He realized that it was still laying on the floor next to the bed, where he'd left it in case of an emergency.

  "Never mind. I don't need the laser," Sandoz said softly. He smiled. It was the expression of a man who was about to enjoy himself to the fullest.

  Maro knew the assassin could take all of them. Raze was strong and the smuggler was a fairly good fighter, but Sandoz was a master. Juete and Scanner would only get in the way.

  The slap-cap, covered against accidental discharge, still adhered to his right palm. He twisted the cap off slowly and extended his hand to the side, palm facing Sandoz. He let the man see the cap, could tell by Sandoz's expression that he knew what it was.

  "Where did you get that?"

  "It doesn't matter. I have it and you know what it can do. You might kill me, but I'll take you with me. Or a big enough piece of you to keep you from leaving here under your own power."

  The moment stretched. If Sandoz attacked, they were all likely to die. Maro knew it, and he knew that Sandoz knew it. They didn't have time for this.

  Sandoz said, "Into the cart, Chameleon."

  "Huh?"

  "Do it. You drive. Move."

  Chameleon moved.

  Sand
oz backed toward the cart behind him, holding his hands in a defensive pose.

  Maro's gut twisted. He couldn't attack—it would be much more dangerous than defense, and if he committed himself, Sandoz could probably kill him without taking a hit from the slap-cap.

  Sandoz continued moving backward. Maro edged forward in a shuffle step, the cap held ready.

  Chameleon started the cart. The engine whined into life and rumbled unevenly for a moment, then smoothed out.

  Sandoz's legs touched the back of the cart.

  "Go," he said to the mue. "Punch it!"

  Chameleon obeyed. The slunglas tires screeched on the plastcrete of the shop and the cart moved. Sandoz twisted and dived into the back.

  Maro lunged after him, his palm raised to slap. Sandoz came up holding something in his left hand. He threw it at Maro. It was a food container; the heavy plastic carton slammed into Maro's upraised arm, just above the elbow, and the force of it spun him away. His feet tangled and he tripped. He tried to turn the fall into a dive, half-managed it, and hit hard on his shoulder. He squeezed his hand shut on the slap-cap, a stupid move. Fortunately, it didn't go off.

  As he rolled over, Maro saw Raze sprinting after the speeding cart. Sandoz laughed and hurled another can. Raze swerved to avoid being hit in the face. It slowed her long enough so that the cart reached the exit. There was no way to catch it now, not unless Chameleon blundered into a wall or one of the rusted machines—which he didn't.

  They listened to the engine fade into the night.

  Maro came to his feet. "Can you get this one going?" he said to Scanner, pointing to the other cart.

  "The ground drive already works," the circuit-rider said. "I can maybe get the GE machinery partially done so we can get some lift. We'll have to have it on bad ground."

  "Whatever you can do in ten minutes," Maro said, looking at his watch. "After that, it won't matter."

  "How long?" Karnaaj asked.

  Stark looked at the clock in the guard tower. The two men stood on the wall, staring out into the night. "Five more minutes. If they're still there, we've got them."