When she let Henry out of the closet, the robot rolled past her and pivoted around. He kept his voice low. “Marlee, what are we to do now?”
“I’m not sure. Let’s review what we know, see what our options are, maybe make a plan or two…or three…”
****
Deacon sat on his narrow bed and watched his hospital cell door open.
Henry trundled in, a med-tray in one hand. Dangling from his other appendage was a black cloth bag stenciled with a white smiley face.
The robot stopped at his bedside. “Good evening, Deacon.”
“It’s not a good evening.”
“Affirmative. Yes. Due to your present circumstances, you would conclude it is not a good evening. Rest assured, I shall not be long. I am here to change your burn dressing.”
“Swap vials is what you really mean.”
“Affirmative. Yes. Please cooperate.”
“Do I have a choice? No, don’t answer that.” He stuck out his arm and pulled the sleeve of his hospital pajamas back, revealing the cylinder.
When the robot completed his task, he removed the black bag and handed it to Deacon.
Deacon took the bag, which wasn’t heavy. “What’s this?”
“Patients often become bored when hospitalized. Since you are not permitted the stimulation or stress of a vid-link to movies, news, and other entertainments, I have brought you something.”
“I’m not bored.” He was still angry about Nick not believing him. But Henry had a point. Boredom would set in sooner not later. He reached into the bag and pulled out a glossy black and chrome tablet. “Great. I get to bore myself reading.”
“Negative. No. I personally loaded games for you that will sooth your mind and entertain. Turn the gamepad on. Try G5.”
Why had Henry emphasized G5?
Curiosity got the better of him. Deacon tapped the on icon and the screen filled with colored squares, but no start menu. He eyed Henry.
Out of Henry’s mouth came a palm-sized holographic display. Words scrolled. Marlee gift. Lower right corner. Blue, blue, red, green. The hologram vanished.
Deacon tapped the squares. The screen flashed to a menu of numbers. He tapped number one. Up came a memo from Marlee. After reading her message, hope and relief filled him. He fought back a grin and looked at Henry to give him Marlee’s code words. “Thank you, Henry. Bottoms Up looks like a fine game to start with.”
“Indeed it is.” Henry picked up the med-tray and the empty black bag, then departed.
It took Deacon less than ten minutes to check out the tools and devices Marlee had incorporated into the gamepad.
The next morning, he followed Marlee’s instructions and lied convincingly enough so the CMO believed him when he said the accident with the bomb demonstration had triggered nightmares about Yokovnin that resulted in lack of sleep and less than clear thinking—the result…drinking too much alcohol.
It irked, but before transferring Deacon to a regular room in sickbay for a mandatory two-day rest, the CMO relied on two psych tests and a scheduled meeting with one of the station’s mental-health counselors. Yet, what elated Deacon most was as long as he didn’t try to leave sickbay, he could move about at will.
That night after lights out, Deacon lay in his hospital bed staring at the mottled ceiling. All this mandatory rest and he couldn’t sleep. No, what bothered him was the light spilling in from the hallway.
Out in the corridor beyond his doorway, the brilliant overhead lighting seemed brighter than a summer’s day. A second later, feet first, a man clad all in black, slipped down from his room’s ceiling air vent.
The assassin!
Terror sent Deacon reaching for the gamepad under his pillow to pull off the little welder-weapon Marlee had installed on it.
The assassin soundlessly stepped into the room’s darkest corner and made his way down the narrow room toward Deacon.
As Deacon gripped the little rodgun to pull it free of its moorings, the intruder said in a hoarse whisper, “Relax, Deacon, it’s me, Nick.”
For a second, shock replaced terror, then anger kindled. “Go away, you bastard.”
“Keep your voice down. We need to talk.”
Deacon lowered his voice. “I have nothing to say to you, you traitor.”
“Okay, okay, I made a mistake yesterday. I apologize.”
Commander Nicholas Asuka apologizing? The universe must have turned inside-out. Deacon let go of the little weapon and grabbed his bed’s controller, pushing the button, raising the top of the bed until he was sitting up.
Nick remained in the shadows.
“You know you could have come as a regular visitor. Why the clandestine black and dropping from the ceiling—and the whispering?”
“Visiting hours are over, and I couldn’t risk the hall monitors noting my presence. No one must know I’ve come to see you.”
“Why?”
“Forensics released the incident report on the accident that fried your arm. You were right. Insulation had been filed off a power node. Current discharged directly into a blasting cap, setting off the incendiary. Because the saboteur didn’t take off enough insulation, only one square ignited instead of all four, and you’re alive, not dead.”
“Yesterday, you accused me of deliberately tampering with it, insinuating I was acting out, crying for help because I was mentally unstable, dangerous to myself and others, and had me committed!”
“Would you use a polishing wheel to file insulation off a terminal?”
“What?”
“The lab found particles of the grit.”
“So an amateur mucked up, and now you’re willing to believe I’m not crazy?”
“There’s more. After reading the report, I admit I had second thoughts. I wanted to believe you. I went to your quarters and discovered three sensor bugs.”
“What? Where?”
“One on each exit.”
Which meant—
Deacon softly swore. “What were you thinking, Nick? Now my killer knows you were at my place.”
“Wrong. You know me. Always prepared. I considered that katachin incident of yours and brought along a few detectors. When I found the bugs on the doors, I neutralized them.”
That accounted for the two doors, two bugs.
“You said three bugs, Nick. Where was the third?”
“In the head. A vid-unit. It was aimed at the end of the counter where you keep your burn meds. The perp wanted to watch you poison yourself.”
What a disgusting thought.
“By the way, Deacon, while I was in your quarters, I went through your trash.”
“Why? What were you looking for?”
“Proof you weren’t drinking in excess.”
“I’m not an alcoholic.”
“JJ said you were hitting the sauce.”
“She’s lying!”
Although the darkness of the shadows hid Nick well, Deacon instinctively knew the man shrugged.
“Deacon, you said you met JJ a few times after you arrived on Kifel, the most recent was for dinner in your quarters, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Well, during my chat with her yesterday, she said you downed a bottle of wine and passed out.”
“That’s bullshit. Yes, we had dinner, but I didn’t drink the bottle dry.” And then he remembered. “I fell asleep.”
“Not so. You were drugged.”
“How do you know that?”
“You really ought to do a better job of housekeeping before you end up with katachins for roomies.”
“You aren’t my mother or my keeper. And what are you talking about?”
“I had the wine bottle in your trash tested. The wine contained a fast-acting sedative. It’s not logical you would drug your own wine, so—”
“You’re saying JJ did?”
“What better opportunity to inject the poison into your med-vials?”
JJ wanted him dead? Why?
N
ick had to be wrong about JJ. She might be ambitious, and once she set her mind to something, nothing could sway her resolve, but to harm him? Want him dead? No way.
And then it came to him. If she were the bomber, she couldn’t risk having a bomb expert like him analyze the bomb fragments and conclude Yokovnin hadn’t created the bomb, but some copycat had. And maybe there was something about the bomb that could be linked to her, so she figured it was too risky to let him live.
With a heavy heart, Deacon said quietly, “Are you going to arrest JJ?”
“Unfortunately, no. There’s no concrete evidence. I did pull JJ’s jacket and did some digging. I think I know who her target is.”
“Who?”
“Doctor Gregory Quaine, a renowned gynecologist-surgeon.”
“Why would she want to kill him?”
“Revenge. He’s been accused of drugging and raping women, including some of his patients. Over the past two decades, he’s been brought to trial twice but never convicted. Seems the charismatic doctor is admired and respected in the medical community. He also has a way with juries, which intimidates his victims. Some settle out of court and sign confidentiality waivers.”
“JJ was never raped.”
“Correct, but her younger sister was. The sister was sixteen and so traumatized by the doctor she was committed to a psychiatric hospital. Even after counseling, she had problems and wouldn’t face the man in court or testify. A year later, she committed suicide.”
“I knew the sister committed suicide, but JJ never gave me any details. Where is this rapist now?”
“He’s heading home to Zwolli. His ship docks here, at Kifel, at 0300 hours this morning. He’ll be in sickbay at 1300 hours for a treatment before he boards a flight that leaves Kifel at 1900 hours.”
“What’s he being treated for?”
“A rare cancer that’s eating up his insides.”
“How long does he have to live?”
“A decade or more if he gets treatments. He has his heart set on spending the rest of his life on his home world, in his hometown, with his mother doting on him.”
“Which means, JJ has a tiny window of opportunity to kill him. That is, if she is planning to kill him.”
“Don’t shield her, Deacon. Tell me where you found the bomb.”
“You don’t have to worry about the bomb. I took care of it. It won’t go off, but it’s rigged to let me know when it’s activated.”
“Still playing Big Brother Hero?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m serving you notice. In case JJ stops by to kill you or Quaine, I’m assigning Guardians to sickbay, starting tomorrow morning.”
“She won’t risk coming here. If she visits me, maybe I can talk some sense into her. As to Quaine, she won’t tip her hand and see him because all she has to do is set the bomb off remotely.”
“I disagree. I think she’ll want the satisfaction of telling the bastard he’s going to die a violent death so he’ll squirm not knowing when his end will come.” Nick stepped out of the shadows and closer to Deacon’s bed. “You know I have to stop the bomber, don’t you?”
Deacon nodded. “Yes.”
“Promise me you won’t interfere.”
He lied. “How can I interfere? I’m confined to this room.”
Nick backed into the shadows. “Be sure you stay put. Let me and mine handle this.”
“Sure,” Deacon replied. “No problem.”
Nick soundlessly exited up into the air vent.
****
Marlee glanced at the clock on the wall of her repair bay. It took her twenty minutes to fix the PicPak, setting a new record to replace a multi-system micro pulley unit. But best of all, it was the last job for the day. She was free to head home, maybe treat herself to a relaxing sauna.
Marlee’s sleeve comband pinged. RUMMY flashed on the screen, then the call ended.
“Rummy” was the contingent code she’d given Henry if he was trapped in sickbay and his situation was more dire than dire.
She grabbed and pocketed two hand-sized welders. Then she took a wand welder, a ten-five, and slapped it against the hook-and-loop patches of her coveralls, which held it snugly in place. She jogged to the nearest maintenance lift and rode it to sickbay. When the lift doors opened, she found herself at the deck’s center hub, a few steps from the entrance to sickbay.
No one was in sight, and the admission and nurses’ kiosk weren’t manned.
Henry, or someone, was always on duty, every hour of every day. So where was everyone?
She listened for voices.
None.
She tugged her earlobe to amplify sounds. All she heard was the shush and whup-whup of medical machinery and the wheezy sounds of other devices, all coming from the far side’s treatment center. She warily entered sickbay, glanced at the blank screens of the kiosk, and headed for the treatment rooms.
When she passed the CMO’s office, with its door open, she looked inside. On the floor, two bodies lay on their sides, facing each other. Both wore medical uniforms.
Were they dead?
Tamping down her rising fears, she dashed into the office, halted between the bodies, and dropped to one knee. Checking for vital signs, she was relieved both men, one the CMO and the other a male nurse, were breathing quietly, their pulses steady.
She upped her vision to look for a reason why they were unconscious. Spotting a dot of blood near the top of the male nurse’s blue pants, Marlee used her optics to magnify the area. The serrated edges of the ring impressed on the cloth around that dot of blood could have come from only one thing—Henry’s Gatling-gun hyposprayer. A quick scan of the CMO revealed a ring-spot on his buttocks. Both men had been tranquilized.
She returned her sight to normal and left. Fearing the unknown, and with her pulse quickening with each step she took, she proceeded to the other side of the hall to the row of treatment rooms. She peeked in the first. No one. She went to the next room. No one.
In room five, she discovered three Guardians laying on their backs, out cold. The three looked like they’d been dragged into the room after being rendered unconscious.
Woodridge didn’t strike her as big enough or strong enough to handle these men. Did Woodridge have an accomplice?
Skom, what if she did?
A noose of anxiety tightened about Marlee’s throat. She willed herself not to panic. Think, woman, think!
But no thoughts came, no ideas. Then above the noise of the machinery in the next room came the murmur of a woman’s voice, the tone one of emphatic defiance…and, was that a man’s voice replying?
She reached up to activate her hearing implant and stopped. With so much machinery noise, if she enhanced the sounds, she might damage her auditory canal.
Another fragment of speech—a man’s voice—the words even and entreating. Definitely not Henry’s voice.
Skom, where was Henry?
Heart pounding with sledgehammer ferocity and every sense heightened, she tiptoed to room six. Once beside the door, she squatted, took a fortifying breath, and peered around the doorjamb.
The first thing she saw was Henry, his Gatling-style hyposprayer aimed at Deacon’s left thigh.
Deacon, wearing hospital pajamas, had his hands raised to show he was unarmed. He faced Woodridge who held a snubbed-nosed rodgun aimed at Deacon’s chest. The tiny light on the top of the barrel indicated the gun was set to kill.
Woodridge, her face livid with rage, momentarily pointed the index finger of her other hand at the treatment table.
On the table lay a dark-haired man tethered down by wrist straps so as not to disturb the many tubes attached to his arms, legs, and chest. Above the rim of his oxygen mask, terror made his eyes appear three times their size. His gaze held, transfixed, on Woodridge and Deacon.
On the floor, beside the treatment table’s pedestal, was a black cylinder—the little welder she’d put in the gamepad for Deacon.
“Enough!” Woodridge yell
ed above the machinery’s noise. “Henry, protocol override six, six, nine, six. Execute, one, two, three!”
Henry’s treads engaged. He headed toward Deacon. The light on the hyposprayer frame changed from yellow to green, ready to inject.
Marlee’s mind shifted into hyper-awareness, seconds seemingly halved.
Henry was about to tranquilize Deacon.
No, wait. Woodridge couldn’t afford a witness. The dose was likely a killing one. Deacon would be dead.
No, no, no! She liked the man. Really liked him.
The shock of that thought shook her to the core.
She couldn’t let Deacon die.
Her mind raced at light speed.
She rose to her feet, grabbed the hilt of the wand welder, and turned it on. With adrenaline-fueled muscles, she pulled the welder free of her coveralls, raced into the room, and extended the tool in front of her like a sword.
Flicking her ocular implants, she magnified her target, and aimed the welder’s glowing tip.
As she sprinted between Henry and Deacon, she elbowed Deacon, shoving him aside with all her might.
He slammed shoulder first against the fiberboard wall.
As time passed in slow motion, Marlee focused on the flash of the energy pellet exiting the rodgun and met the pellet with the welder’s tip.
A flare of brilliant white energy blinded her.
She felt the impact and sting of Henry’s hyposprayer on her thigh, stumbled, and fell forward.
Darkness and silence enveloped her.
****
Deacon stood at the vending kiosk, hands in the pockets of the hospital-issue robe covering his pajamas, trying to decide between getting a soda or a cup of coffee. About to make his choice, he heard Henry approach and glanced over his shoulder at the robot.
Henry stopped and said, “Monitors confirm Marlee is coming around.”
Joy entwined with relief. “It’s about time.”
“Affirmative. Yes. Deacon, please remember to calm her so she does not panic.”
“Does she usually panic when she comes to?”
“Negative. No. She usually panics because she recalls other accidents and is concerned she may have hurt herself irrevocably. Do not delay if you wish to be with her when she opens her eyes.”
Hearts Akilter Page 6