Tek Money

by William Shatner

  “Has Cardigan been taken care of?”

  “That he has, old girl, along with his whimsical partner,” answered the agent. “They’re going to be spending a few delightful days languishing on the island of Fayal in the picturesque Azores, LeeAnn.”

  “And he wasn’t harmed in any way?”

  “Not in the least, even though he and Gomez stungunned one of our agents.”

  She told him, “Make certain they both survive. After the coup, they’re to be set free.”

  “Like caged birds, of course. I’ll see to it,” he promised. “And I’ll locate the money for you—or perhaps for us. I may even have time to determine who did in poor Barragray. Would you like me to handle that, too?”

  There was only silence in reply.

  “LeeAnn?”

  The lights popped back on, flooding the rooftop with brightness. Munsey was alone.

  25

  GOMEZ CAME TO a sudden, rattling stop at what felt like the bottom of the dark ravine. Disentangling himself from a splash of spiky brush, he scrambled to his feet. Taking a deep breath, he tugged off his borrowed trousers, wadded them up and lobbed them off into the thick surrounding darkness. Actually, although he’d informed their captors otherwise, he was wearing his own clothes under the appropriated uniform.

  Crouching low, he moved carefully to the left along the now level ground.

  He glanced up behind him. Far off on the night trail the bunch that had Jake was moving on and away. The beams of the literods were pointing along the trail and not down into the dark ravine.

  There was no sign of pursuit.

  “Those pendejos must feel confident they can collect me at their leisure,” Gomez said to himself as he continued making his way through the tangle of foliage at the gorge bottom. “Still, it was worth making a try at escaping. And possibly the fabled Gomez cunning will help me elude them.”

  He had a rough idea of the layout of the island and he knew the city of Horta ought to be only a few miles from here.

  “If I can make it there, I ought to be able to get word to Bascom and get some troops in here to help me spring Jake from this band of cabróns.”

  Unless the entire population of this small Portuguese island was in cahoots with the Office of Clandestine Operations.

  “Nope, that’s not likely.”

  He halted for a moment, listening. Birds were calling off in the sultry darkness. Gomez could hear brush rattling, leaves rustling.

  “Apparently I woke up at least half the neighborhood fauna.”

  He yanked off the uniform coat, wadded that and flung it to the right. Then Gomez continued on his way.

  He was navigating by the stars and felt confident, well, fairly confident, that he was heading toward civilization.

  “Or at least what passes for civilization in these parts.”

  He traveled through the tropical night for another five minutes before he became aware of the new sounds behind him.

  It was a steady thumping, mixed with the crackling of underbrush. Then, growing louder, came a thin humming noise.

  Something was running down through the darkness, following his trail.

  “Would that I’d been able to keep at least one weapon.” Gomez increased his pace, but didn’t break into a run yet.

  The methodical thumping was getting closer, louder.

  “Robot hunting dogs,” he guessed. “At least two of them.”

  They had picked up his scent, then closed in on his aura. It was a good bet that they’d catch up with him before too long.

  Even so, Gomez started to run.

  “Cozy,” remarked Jake.

  “Quite cozy indeed,” agreed Agent Helton. “And, considering we’re underground beneath a banana plantation, it’s a much nicer detention cell than you’ve any right to expect.”

  The small room was laid out like a parlor, with comfortable black and white furniture, carpeting and drapery. The narrow viewindow showed a sundrenched stretch of the American Southwest.

  “Why should this bastard be comfortable?” Almita had come into the cell with them and was leaning, arms folded under her breasts, against the wall.

  Ignoring her, Helton continued, “The sofa and armchair are real. The bookcases are holos, meaning you can’t read any of those colorful old novels.”

  “How long a stay am I registered for?”

  “Only a few days, as I mentioned earlier, Cardigan.”

  “What about my partner?”

  Helton’s pale blond eyebrows rose slightly. He gave a small shrug, saying, “All depends on the man’s attitude. He won’t be killed, however, if that’s what you’re—”

  “Don’t be too sure,” cut in Almita. “If I help track down that son of a bitch, he’ll—”

  “Enough, dear.” Helton took hold of her right arm, just above the elbow. “We’ve already sent the dogs to find your chum and bring him here.”

  “Bot dogs?”

  “They’re gentle souls,” assured the OCO agent. “They’re set to do no damage. No serious damage.”

  Nodding, Jake sat on an arm of the low black sofa. “How come you guys are in cahoots with a bastard like Zabicas?”

  “Oh, but we aren’t, Cardigan. The OCO wouldn’t think of collaborating with a notorious foreign Teklord whose—”

  “He’s a better man than you are, Cardigan.” Almita, angry, had pulled free of the restraining hand of the agent. She moved close to Jake, raising a hand to slap him across the face.

  As she swung, Jake caught her wrist. He levered her around, yanked the arm up behind her back and then shoved her in Helton’s direction. As she stumbled against the OCO man, Jake suggested, “Maybe you better lock her up for the night.”

  “Cabrón!” She reached for a pocket that held one of her lazguns.

  “Don’t, please.” Helton’s stungun was in his hand, the tip of the barrel touching Almita’s temple. “Say goodnight to Cardigan, dear.”

  Spinning on her heel, saying nothing, Almita went striding out of the room and into the grey metal corridor.

  “The fridge is also real,” said Helton, “should you care for a snack. If you mind your manners, Cardigan, you’ll do easy time here and things will be pleasant for us all.”

  “Including Almita?”

  Frowning, Helton said, “You know how unpleasant necessity can be at times.”

  “Why’s it necessary to help Teklords smuggle guns?”

  Helton smiled. “Your viewindow is equipped with fifty six appealing vistas,” he said, backing to the doorway. “In case you want something to do. Goodnight.”

  Gomez fell down again.

  This time he’d caught his foot in a thick twist of root. He tripped, feeling a sudden jab of pain in his ankle, and then went falling over into the darkness.

  He hit on his side, new pains shooting through his ribs. His teeth rattled and the breath went sighing out of him.

  Gasping, he dug in with his right elbow and got himself to a sitting position. He turned just in time to see one of the pursuing robot dogs launch itself at him.

  It was the size of a police dog, made of silvery metal that gave off a faint glow. Its wide jaw was filled with sharp metal teeth, many more than a normal dog came equipped with. Its plaz eyes glowed an intense red and sent two thin crimson beams of light right at his chest. The dog seemed to be drifting through the night, aimed straight at him.

  Gomez swallowed hard as he flattened out on his back.

  The heavy robot dog hound went sailing clean over him to land a few feet away.

  Gomez struggled upward, feeling new pains as he put weight on his injured ankle. He spun to face the glowing metal dog.

  Its slow metallic humming sounded increasingly like an angry growl.

  The winded detective managed to grab a heavy stone from the ground. “Scram, perro,” he suggested, “or I’ll bop you with this.”

  The creature eyed him, legs spread wide and silvery head tucked low.

  Suddenly somet
hing hit Gomez terribly hard in the middle of his back.

  He went staggering forward, arms flapping wide, dropping the rock.

  The second of the pursuing robot dogs had jumped at him. Its metal forepaws smacked him between the shoulder blades.

  Crouched, he turned to face the second hound. He held out both hands toward the thing. “Back, perro.”

  The dog lunged, leaped, caught hold of his right wrist. The sharp metal teeth dug into Gomez’s skin.

  The bot made a noise that sounded like “Yawp.” Its jaws snapped open. It let go of Gomez’s bloody wrist and dropped to the ground. The lights died behind its eyes and it lay still.

  “Still one more metallic mutt to go.” Perplexed, Gomez made it to his feet again.

  The other dog was lying stiff and still on its silvery metallic side just to the left of Gomez.

  26

  “WHAT WERE YOU expecting to accomplish, Senhor Gomez?”

  “From the way you pronounce señor, I’d judge you to be Portuguese.”

  “Sim.”

  “Wellsir, I saw a chance to get away from some goons and I took it,” said Gomez. “Which side are you on in this fracas, by the way?”

  The lean young man was about thirty, wearing dark trousers and a black pullover. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Pax International.” He was standing a few feet away, an odd-looking gun dangling in his left hand.

  “Privately funded bunch of do-gooders.”

  He laughed. “You ought to be grateful I was around to do you good, Gomez.”

  “I was saving the gratitude until I was dead sure you’re not simply an OCO yunkus posing as a do-gooder,” said the detective. “Or maybe a Teklord heavy. How come you know my name?”

  “I have a good memory.”

  “We’ve met?”

  “No, but I study a lot of dossiers. That was Jake Cardigan up there with you, wasn’t it?”

  “Sí. And who are you?”

  “Jose Silveira.”

  “A local lad?”

  “No, I’m from the continent. Lisbon.”

  “And just hanging around the jungle waiting for a chance to be helpful?”

  “Tell me why you’re here, Gomez,” countered Silveira.

  “We had not much choice.” Gomez, while he wrapped his bloody wrist in a plyochief, explained the events leading up to his being hounded through the night jungle on this particular island in the Atlantic. “And you?”

  “I’m with the branch of Pax that’s devoted to discouraging the spread of illicit arms,” he answered. “There’s a temporary way station here on Fayal. I’ve been keeping an eye on it for the past few weeks.”

  “Do you hole up hereabouts?”

  “Sím, I have a hideaway nearby.”

  “Might I suggest, amigo, that we adjourn there now?” He looked beyond the other man and at the surrounding dark jungle.

  “That’s probably a good notion, Gomez. They’ll be getting curious as to why their dogs haven’t reported in lately.” He gestured with the gun in his left hand. “We have to cut through the brush over that way.”

  “What’d you use to discourage those hounds?”

  “It’s a new type of sonblaster.” Silveira started moving into the brush. “Once in a while I keep a sample from a batch of weapons we’ve confiscated.”

  “Handy.” Nodding, Gomez followed him.

  Jake was finishing up his second circuit of the cozy cell. He’d located two hidden monitor cams so far, one up in the simulated stucco ceiling and one behind the holographic floor-to-ceiling bookcases. There was also a backup audio bug under the holo endtable.

  Tongue poked in cheek, he sat on the sofa and gazed upward. Getting out of here was going to be tricky.

  The door of the cell suddenly whispered open.

  Almita, dropping an electrokey into her trouser pocket, slipped into the parlor.

  The door shut behind her.

  “I thought you were forbidden to drop in,” he said.

  “They don’t know I’m here, asshole.”

  “Sure they do.” He pointed a thumb at the concealed overhead cam.

  She smiled, coming closer. She jabbed her right hand into her jacket pocket. “I jammed the secsystem for this whole section.”

  “Won’t take them long to find that out.”

  “I only need a couple minutes to take care of you.” Her hand came out clutching one of her lazguns. “There’s no reason to keep you alive, Cardigan.”

  “I can think of several.”

  “So can these OCO mariposas.” The gunhand came up.

  “You don’t want to make the OCO unhappy. They—”

  All at once Jake was no longer on the sofa. He had dived to the left of Almita, hitting the floor about five feet from her.

  “Cabrón!”

  As she swung around to get a shot at him, he dived.

  He tackled her waist high, at the same time smacking her wrist with the side of his hand.

  She cried out, fingers splaying, dropping the gun.

  It hit the holographic endtable and fell right through it to the floor.

  Almita struggled to get her second gun out.

  The two of them fell back toward the bookcases. Almita hit first and seemed to blend into the rows of bright-covered books.

  Jake broke free of her, then caught hold of the front of her jacket.

  He pulled her toward him with his left hand and dealt three hard jabs to her approaching chin.

  Her teeth made a grinding sound. She groaned, lost consciousness. Almita fell back against the holographic bookcase again, slid down through the images of books.

  Jake knelt on one knee, grabbing the lazgun from her pocket and thrusting it in his belt. Then he took the electrokey she’d used to get into his cell.

  After collecting the second lazgun and slipping that in his belt beside the other one, Jake sprinted to the door.

  There wasn’t going to be much time left before they got the secsystem working again.

  He used the key. The door whirred and slid open.

  Standing in the grey corridor with his lazgun aimed directly at Jake was Agent Helton. “I was coming to rescue you from Almita, Cardigan,” he said, smiling. “Apparently that won’t be necessary.”

  27

  THE SECOND ROBOT guard came tumbling down. His gunmetal body slammed into the ground with a rattling thud.

  “It also works pretty well on humanoid robots,” mentioned Silveira, holstering the sonblaster.

  “So I noticed.” Gomez was standing beside the first of the fallen bot guards. “These lads look as dormant as the hounds that were on my tail.”

  A warm wind was drifting through the jungle. Up in the dark tree branches overhead some unseen birds began to cry mournfully.

  “We’ve got about ten minutes or less to get in and out.” He nodded at the immense plastiglass dome that rose up a dozen yards away, covering the sprawling plantation.

  From his side pocket Gomez slid the palmtop monitor the Pax agent had loaned him. “According to this spyscreen of yours, Jose, there’s still somebody in detention cell 6 on Level C,” he said after scanning the small rectangular screen. “I’m betting it’s Jake.”

  Silveira had two small darkmetal discs in his hand. “Wear this, amigo.” He fixed a disc to the front of Gomez’s jacket, the other to his. “A little gadget that’ll confuse the secmonitors down in the tunnels.”

  “What’ll they think they’re viewing as we wend our way to Jake?”

  “Robot guards.”

  “Something else you confiscated?”

  “No, this one we came up with ourselves.” He took hold of Gomez’s arm. “The entry to the underground passways is over here. We’ll pass under the domewall and come out two levels under the plantation buildings.” He moved quietly through the brush. “It’ll take us at least five minutes to get to where they seem to be keeping your partner.”

  “Which means we’ll have less than five more to spring Jake and get the h
eck out of there.”

  “Sim.” Halting and letting go of Gomez, Silveira crouched beside a large flowering bush. “While we’re in the corridors, don’t say anything. Even with these gadgets, the monitors will detect an unfamiliar voice.”

  “Caramba, I don’t know if I can go that long without uttering a single pithy remark.”

  “Try.” He touched a large metal panel embedded in the damp ground.

  The panel slid silently aside, revealing a dimlit metal stairway quirking down into the corridors below.

  Gomez, very carefully, coughed into his hand.

  Walking single file, he and Silveira stepped through the doorway to the section of Level C where the detention cells were located.

  They’d been in the underground passway exactly six minutes now. Thus far they hadn’t encountered anyone, robot or human.

  The Pax agent was walking, rapidly, two paces ahead of the detective. He slowed, inclining his head very slightly to the left.

  The number etched on the coppery metal door was 2.

  Gomez wrinkled his nose. The aircirc system down here on Level C didn’t seem to be working exactly right. There was a very strong odor of ripe bananas everywhere.

  Or maybe, reflected Gomez, that was what they intended. This was, after all, supposed to be a banana plantation and nothing else.

  They passed a door numbered 4.

  Silveira halted at the next door. This one was designated 6.

  He took out a master electrokey.

  Gomez, casually, eased his right hand into the jacket pocket that held his borrowed stungun.

  The door slid open.

  There was a bright cozy parlor across the threshold, furnished in black and white. There was a comfortable sofa, an armchair and wallhigh bookcases.

  But there was no sign of Jake, or anyone else, in the cell.

  28

  BASCOM WAS LOOKING rumpled again. He was sitting on the edge of his desk, legs dangling, and noodling out a chorus of a twentieth-century bop tune, “Un Poco Loco,” on his saxophone.