by P. N. Elrod
Adjust things and have a real drink, old lad.
There was an idea. Alcohol killed germs, and disinfecting things from the inside out held a certain logical appeal to him. He didn’t want to think about dying; it was too damned depressing.
He fiddled with the base codes, introduced alcohol into a formula. The experiment took his mind off the wretched state of his body. While he waited for the request to cycle through, he used the auto-healer—gently—on the bruising she’d left on his poor throat. He dialed the intensity on the device down to minimum and went slow. Folk were always in a hurry with the things. Push the nanos too fast and they got in each other’s way, adding to an injury. Can’t have that.
A chime and blinking telltale called his attention to a liquid dispenser unit. Perfect timing. He pocketed the healer and tried the sample. It suited him: hot, thick, vaguely sweet, with a warming kick after it went down. He ordered a triple measure, then returned to bed to settle in for serious therapy. The stuff did seem to ease the aches. Blanket tucked around him, he drifted into a light doze. He couldn’t go fully out because of the damned coughing.
It was a shock—a thoroughly unpleasant one—when a man walked into his room. Farron looked at the blue stuff in his cup and wondered at the ingredients. He was mildly drunk, but nowhere near the hallucination stage yet.
The stranger was average in height, and walked with the alert, controlled movements of a trained fighter. He wore a System uniform and carried what looked like a full-auto blaster. Unhappily, it was pointed at Farron. He squinted to get a clear look at the man through his swimming vision.
“Who’re you?” he asked groggily.
“Stay where you are.”
“Be glad to, I’m harmless, but don’t come too close.”
“Why not?”
“Just don’t, I’m sick with something dangerous and you wouldn’t want to catch it. I donno what it is, but it makes you feel so rotten that dying would be an improvement. Are you a med-tech, by any chance?”
The man shook his head.
“Never hurts to ask. How did you get here?”
“Walked.” The intruder checked the room’s attached lavatory, then focused on Farron. “Where did you come from?”
“The outside, up there.” Farron pointed vaguely at the ceiling.
“From the prison.”
“No, just a misplaced traveler—”
“Wearing prison fatigues and a beard?”
“It’s the latest style off-world.”
The man almost smiled, which was encouraging, but the gun didn’t waver, which was not.
Farron shrugged. “Well, I had to try, didn’t I?”
“Where’s your friend gone?”
“What friend?”
“The one who doesn’t pick up his clothes.” His head jerked toward the lounge.
“Look, it’s a bit awkward like this, why not have a seat and introduce yourself? My name’s Farron, what’s yours?”
“Alard,” he snapped, ignoring a convenient chair.
“How do you do?”
“Where’s your friend?” He adjusted the weapon’s angle. “Answer straight or I’ll blow your foot off.”
Farron’s toes curled in response to the threat. “She’s gone away, I don’t know where, I really don’t.”
“Why did she leave?”
“Well, I’m sick aren’t I? She went to look for medicine. Not for me, mind, but because she might get sick herself. She’s like that.”
“Why did you come to this complex?”
“To hide, I suppose.” His throat dried up, and he gave in to a coughing fit that left him too exhausted to move.
Alard put more distance between them. “Hide? On a military base?”
“Thought it was deserted,” Farron whispered, out of breath.
“What else are you two after?”
“I just want to get better. I don’t know what she’s looking for.”
“But you have an idea.”
Farron managed a swallow of his drink. “I’ve lots of ideas, but no one’s inclined to appreciate them. What’re you doing here?”
“This base is being reactivated, I’m with a crew sent to prep the systems.”
Farron finished the connection. If Kella had learned about a group of technicians working here she’d be after their ship. “Must be very interesting,” he commented aloud.
“How did you escape the prison?”
“I didn’t really, she did, and took me along.”
“You’re old friends?”
“She’d never admit it. . .for that matter, neither would I.”
“Then why take you?”
“I have my uses. I’m very good at opening doors, for one thing. You know, you should have something done about the security systems here. They’re terrible.”
“How long has she been gone? What direction did she take?”
“Is there a med-unit in this place?”
The man gave a curt nod and headed for the door.
Farron had meant to stall, keep him distracted with innocuous questions. “Hey! Come back here! I need help, dammit!”
“Stay where you are,” Alard repeated.
Bloody hell. I shouldn’t have reminded him of the med-unit. As with Kella, Farron watched helplessly as the man strode out, protests ignored.
The bastard probably won’t return either.
Something odd about him, though. Alard wore the black uniform with the proper equipment and trimmings, but his behavior was atypical for a System soldier. His first duty should have been to arrest Farron, then report. He’d had a comm-unit on his wrist, after all. Why hadn’t he used it?
Unless he also wasn’t what he’d appeared to be.
That particular idea gave Farron a shiver that had nothing to do with his illness.
“You’re feverish, old lad,” he said, his voice thin and small against the stark walls of the room.
It was quite likely that Alard had taken off to do bodily harm or worse to Kella if he found her. But if so, then why hadn’t he shot Farron?
“Not that I’m complaining,” he mumbled. “But it is untidy.”
Farron went over his limited alternatives and decided that lying around drunk and waiting to die was the least attractive of the lot. With a groan he got up. Blanket wrapped tight around him, he stumbled forward.
Things were happening out there, somewhere, and if he didn’t shift himself he might get left behind for good.
* * *
Pressed flat against the wall, Kella edged sideways, taking her time. She’d heard at least two people talking, their distorted voices bouncing off hard surfaces. A large chamber was close ahead that had to be one of the hangar bays. She could almost smell the ship. She crept another step closer. . .
And set off a motion sensor alarm.
It was a standard security item stuck to the wall less than thirty meters away and anything but subtle in appearance. She’d simply not recognized it. She tore back down the hall, but a stocky man in a System uniform was suddenly in the middle of it with his blaster at ready. He burned a warning shot into the floor just short of her feet and swung the muzzle up to chest level.
Kella stopped short, her hands out. Behind him, a tall woman with fair hair trotted up, her weapon also held ready to fire. She shut the alarm off with a remote and stared. Kella was evidently not what they’d anticipated.
“On the floor,” the woman ordered. “Spread your arms.”
There was no room for choice. She lay flat and a heavy boot came down on the back of her neck.
“Search her, Darden.”
He slapped and prodded. “She’s clean.”
Well, Kella had found them: the System techs she’d planned on killing in order to take their ship.
“Roll on your back and stay there.”
With considerable disgust, Kella turned over, propping herself on her elbows.
“Who the hell are you?” The fair-haired one was a lieutenant and ap
parently in charge. Was it just the two of them? If there were others in the crew, they’d have come for a look by now.
“Ven Mavic,” Kella answered in an Elitist drawl. “Captain Mavic from Riganth Prison. Your zeal is commendable, but not necessary. You can let me up.”
“You’re a convict?” Her tone was disdainful.
Kella looked pained. “Obviously not. I’m attached to the maximum security section. There was an escape and I’ve been hunting prisoners.”
“Alone?”
“The rest of my unit is searching the base. We split up to cover more area.”
“Without weapons?”
“They’re not allowed. Drop your guard for half a second and even a drugged prisoner could steal it from you. Anyway, the man I’m after is unarmed and sick. Thought I’d found him in this maze until you two jumped out. Scared the hell out of me, I’ll hand you that.”
“Where’d you get the uniform?”
“The supply dispensers worked, so I helped myself. Mine was wrecked after chasing him all over topside. Is that damned fire out yet?”
“Where’s your identification?”
Kella wearily raised her left arm to show the small bump on the inside above the wrist where all citizens were chipped at birth. “It’s no good, though. A Resister attack pulsed the whole prison and mine got cooked. Have to put in for a new one. What are you doing here, anyway? I heard the System was going to reactivate the base. Is this it?”
“You don’t really need to know, do you?”
She smiled. “I suppose not. May I get up? I need to report in—if they’ve got the comms working by now.”
The lieutenant smiled back unpleasantly. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Then you contact Warden Sena. I’m Captain Ven Mavic. You can tell her one of the escapees is somewhere in this complex and—”
The lieutenant smashed her boot into Kella’s side, not holding back. Kella grunted and lay flat, breath gone for the moment.
Darden jumped. “Eily, what are you doing?”
“Shut up and look at her, do you think that’s a regulation haircut?”
“But what she said?”
“Don’t trust a glib attitude, it means she’s too smart for our own good. Get her back to the hangar while I reset the alarm, or did you forget that Alard’s still out there?”
* * *
Farron paused and tried to force air into his starved lungs. Breathing was more and more of a conscious effort as he walked, and it frightened him. He’d seen too many others drown in their own congestion and now it was happening to him.
Good thing that other fellow had turned up, even if he was System. At least he seemed to know his way around. Farron would have lost himself several times over had he struck out on his own. He’d only just managed to keep up with the man, though, and if he didn’t keep moving, that would change. It’d be stupid to wear himself out coming this far only to lose Alard and any chance for help. Even if they were System and returned him to prison, they’d have to give him treatment once he reached them.
That, or shoot me.
He gulped back a cough and plodded dizzily forward, the vast rusty patch at his feet going unnoticed.
* * *
“Is it on?” Darden called out.
“Affirmative,” came Eily’s reply.
Kella sat on her hands. Literally. They’d no ready means to tie her up, and Darden had an unexpected turn of imagination. Kella was on the hangar floor with her back to a packing case. Darden was four meters away next to the shield door that led to the rest of the complex. His blaster was level with Kella’s chest. He was haggard, unkempt, and nervy. In deference to this, Kella kept still and studied what she could see of the hangar and its contents.
The ship wasn’t special, a standard courier vessel large enough for a few people and a moderate cargo. Some of the present consignment littered the area in a haphazard way. Several monitoring units had been unpacked and jury-rigged together, their screens displaying empty corridors. Presumably, it was part of Eily’s defense against Alard, whoever that might be.
One unit in particular held her attention. The top was off and the guts had been smashed by something heavy. A few undamaged plastic and metal pieces lay scattered over a worktable along with a variety of repair tools and replacement parts. Because of her conditioning, Kella couldn’t be certain, but it might have been part of a comm-panel.
Eily slipped past the shield door, shut it, and sighed. She looked like a woman with too many headaches, with Kella accounting for at least five or six of them.
She checked the screens at length before turning her attention back to her prisoner. “How long have you been hiding here?”
Kella decided to answer; the truth would do well enough this time. Besides, her side still hurt. “Six or eight hours.”
Darden glanced at Eily. The time meant something to them, though Eily gave nothing away. Kella had no idea how long she’d slept but made a conservative estimate in case they wanted to try linking her with the two-day-old bloodstains in the outer hall.
“Where have you been hiding?”
“In an officers’ wing, presumably. There weren’t any signs posted, but the food was good and the beds comfortable.”
Eily tapped a few buttons below a screen and brought up a simple overview of the base with a dot marking their own location. “Show me. You may use one hand. The left, I think.”
Kella flexed her fingers and pointed. “About there.”
“And why did you venture into this area?”
“I wanted to be sure I was alone.”
“Are you?”
“Not anymore.” It seemed prudent to be vague on that point.
“How did you get inside?”
“I found a surface hatch. The lock wasn’t difficult.”
“Evidently, but they don’t put mere lock-breakers in Riganth. Why were you there?”
“Something political. You wouldn’t find it interesting.”
“Treason?”
Kella shrugged with one shoulder. “Depends on your point of view, doesn’t it?”
Darden scowled, shifting on his feet to express his revulsion. Apparently he was too well trained to spit. Treason was the worst crime you could commit, as far as the System was concerned, and he looked like he believed in the System.
“Trace the route you took from the officers’ wing,” said Eily, pointing at the map.
“If you want to know if I saw the bloodstain, the answer is yes. Was it this Alard’s work?”
Eily was amused, Darden was not.
“Who is he?”
“A fellow officer until he went brainwarp and murdered our captain.”
“How’d that happen?”
Eily ignored her. “The bastard’s loose somewhere in this complex, probably not far away. You’re lucky we found you first. At least you’re still alive.”
Kella’s gratitude was thin at best. “Oh, yes. I’m so happy.”
“Or have you met him already?”
“Obviously not. What caused this brainwarp?”
“Who knows?”
Kella watched Darden as though he made her uneasy, but her chief interest was to observe his reaction to what Eily was saying. She was lying about Alard’s brainwarp; the glint in his eyes said as much.
“Why haven’t you called for help?” Kella asked.
“We have, it’s on the way.”
His gaze flicked once at Eily.
Another lie.
“Notify Riganth you’ve found me,” Kella suggested.
“Anxious to return?”
“My cell is preferable to being murdered by an armed brainwarp case. Call them, they’ll lend aid.”
“First we secure Alard. No need to have civilians on the base and getting in the way.”
Kella had trouble keeping her face straight; that quick and ridiculous answer confirmed that they had no outside communications. She was careful not to let her gaze stray to the scattered
pieces of the comm-panel.
There was a practical method to Alard’s madness. He’d isolated the crew from immediate help, exactly what she would have done. Her next move would have been to take out the leader. Alard apparently accomplished that as well, though clumsily to judge by the mess. He must have hoped to get all three at once, but had missed. As she’d feared, the survivors were on high alert with defenses and warning systems in place.
“Put your hand back where it was,” Darden ordered.
“What happened to your captain?” Kella asked, obeying.
“Why do you want to know?”
She shrugged. “There was so much blood, I wondered what kind of weapon would do that much damage.”
He lifted his gun. “One exactly like this; the blast hit his neck artery. Like a demonstration?”
She shook her head, as if in sympathy. “The rest of the crew must be having fits.”
“They’re looking for Alard.”
Kella grunted understanding, not trusting her voice. Eily would never have sent techs to hunt an ambush killer, but keep her people close and safe.
Right. Two survivors, both with combat training, with Darden as the greater threat. Eily was too distracted watching for Alard to keep her guard up all the time. She’d holstered her hand weapon and forgotten it. A bad move. Now if Darden’s attention could be drawn away just long enough. . .
Eily watched one of the screens intently. “You said you were alone. Who the hell’s that?”
Farron’s unsteady figure—barefoot, wrapped in a blanket staggered into view. The idiot.
“He’s a convict—one of your friends?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite that way,” Kella growled.
“What’s the matter with him?”
“She said he was sick,” Darden put in. “What’s he got?”
Kella shrugged.
The cameras tracked Farron from one section to another. Kella’s caution had been for nothing. They’d seen her long before the alarm went off.