HHarrington SS Let's Go To Prague

by Weber, David / Ringo, John

  "And now we go?" he asked. "We're out of sight; we should . . . leave. Right?"

  "Wrong," she said, looking at her watch. Outside the sound of sirens got louder and louder. There seemed to be quite a few of them.

  "They'll have picked up the signature of the engine," he pointed out. "They'll be looking all over for it."

  "You think?" she asked. She looked at her watch again and then nodded. "Time." In the distance there was a dull boom. A moment later the sirens began to fade. She leaned forward and fiddled with an almost unnoticeable knob under the dashboard then turned the car back on. It no longer throbbed or rattled.

  "Your cousin?" Mullins asked dryly.

  "He's a very good mechanic," she replied, pulling out from between the trucks and dropping back down through the hole. Turning right she pulled around a stairwell and parked beside a stripped air car. Johnny didn't recognize the model—presumably it was a preinvasion Prague design—but it was pretty and clearly made for speed.

  "Give me a hand," she said, leaning down and pulling a lever.

  Johnny shook his head as the body of the car lurched slightly then he joined her in lifting it up and away from the chassis.

  "I've really got to meet this cousin of yours," he said. The sports car body, like the clunker body, was made of lightweight plastic and dropped onto the "rattle-trap" chassis perfectly. In under thirty seconds a slightly the worse for wear sports car rocketed out of the top of the garage and into the sky.

  "My, that was refreshing," Mullins said. "Okay, Rachel, give. Your average stripper doesn't have a military grade, shielded turbine in her car. In fact, on Prague, she doesn't even have a car."

  Rachel sighed and shook her head. "I do a few things more for the resistance than I told you. I'm not an agent for them, but I do mule work and also some of what you would call 'tradecraft'; your lecture about putting a mark on a box wasn't the first time I'd heard of that. And I really do have a cousin who does conversions on vehicles; I'm the person who gets them to the resistance. And he does other work, including some sabotage. He's surveilling us and had placed a bomb on a chemical plant. When he saw us blocked in he set it off. Then the police had more important things to do than chase down a hooker who maybe had met one of the suspects they are looking for. And, of course, I'm very good friends with one of the local resistance leaders."

  "Very good friends?" he asked.

  "Is that all you can ask about?" she asked in exasperation. "If you're going to worry about each of my friends you're going to spend all your time on that subject alone. I've got a lot of friends, okay?"

  "Okay," Mullins said with a shrug. "As long as we can get you off planet before your friends can't keep you alive."

  "I've reluctantly come to the same conclusion," she said.

  "Who is this vehicle registered to?" Mullins asked as a police van swept through an intersection; it's car-comp would have automatically scanned their registration as it passed.

  "The local StateSec commander's daughter," Rachel said with a faint smile. "As long as we don't have to go through another block, we're fine."

  She pulled into another multistory car-park and placed the car in an out-of-the-way corner.

  "They were going to be tracing us as soon as they reviewed the data from the satellite," she continued, getting out of the car. "So we need to get down in the underground again."

  CHAPTER 7

  If It's Stupid and It Works, It's Not Stupid

  Johnny looked at the walls of the fumed wood elevator and shook his head. "Where, exactly, are we going?"

  The travel from the abandoned car had been short, which in general was not a good idea. They had exited the car-park in the basement, gone through a few tunnels and then entered the elevator in another basement. This one had been packed with the usual sort of industrial laundry machines found in hotels. But if this was a hotel, it was much more upscale than anything Mullins had previously found on Prague.

  "This was the VIP quarters for visiting Legislaturalists," Rachel said. "It's since been taken over by StateSec for pretty much the same use."

  "You mean, we're in a StateSec building?" Gonzalvez snapped. "Are you insane, woman?"

  "No," she said. "I have an apartment here."

  Mullins tensed for a moment then decided to let her live. "Why?"

  "Why do you think, Johnny?" she replied as the doors opened. "Let's just say I'm . . . maintained in it by a local StateSec officer."

  "And if he decides to just drop by?" the admiral asked. "We're to hide in the closet, yes?"

  "He won't be dropping by," Rachel replied. "He's off-planet at the moment. And everyone knows why he has the apartment, but not for whom, and he's the deputy commander for Prague. So they're not going to be questioning his mistress. Not if they want to stay off of Hades. And if you have a better idea where to hide you, I'm open to suggestions."

  There wasn't time for any as the doors opened on the corridor. Rachel stuck her head out then gestured right. A short distance led them to a door that opened at her passkey.

  The apartment was large and airy, two story with the main hall rising to the full height with a balcony overlooking it. There was a mural on one wall depicting a pastoral scene along the Prague River and furniture that looked to be mostly Old Earth antiques. A brief tour, conducted by Charles on a careful sweep for any detection equipment, revealed similar luxury throughout including a jacuzzi, a shower area large enough for a platoon of drunken Marines, a sunken bathtub, a collection of "adult novelties" that was practically a store in itself and a shower-massage.

  "Why a shower massage?" he asked when he got back to the overstocked kitchen.

  "I have to have something for myself," Rachel pointed out. She was making a sandwich which consisted of two pieces of bread, a pile of alfalfa spouts and a half a bottle of hot sauce marked with a skull and crossbones. As soon as it was done she stuffed the entire load in her mouth.

  "M g'ung sh'er," she mumbled, then cleared enough space to talk. "Nobody should come to the door. If they do, we're screwed. If there's so much as a knock, alert everyone and head out the window."

  "I'll slip some tell-tales out the door," Charles said. He gestured at her open mouth. "Unless you know something I don't, the Peeps don't normally sweep in high microwave range."

  "No, that's okay," she said after a moment. "Just don't get caught."

  "They're self mobile," Gonzalvez replied.

  "Next dibs on the shower," Mullins said, taking a bite of the sandwich. "This is really wimpy hot sauce."

  Rachel laughed and gestured around. "Raid as you wish. I'm not planning on coming back and it's less than my pig of a boyfriend deserves." With that she walked out of the kitchen and towards the stairs.

  "As long as everything's there tomorrow, we're set," Charles said. "Of course, something will go wrong. But I intend to worry about that tomorrow."

  "I don't suppose . . . ?" Mládek asked, lifting the bottle of wine.

  "Go ahead," Mullins replied. "Just don't get so drunk you can't move."

  "Well, say what you will about her boyfriend," Gonzalvez said from the depths of the refrigerator, "but he has excellent taste." He leaned out and flourished a jar. "Arellian caviar, Nagasaki shrimps in wine sauce and New Provence compote."

  "A going away party," the admiral said with a sad smile. "I suppose it's appropriate."

  "Just don't party too hard," Mullins replied.

  "The condemned man ate a hearty meal," Charles said. "I'm surprised you're eating as well as you are, frankly."

  "Why worry about it?" Mullins replied. "You guys go, I'll keep my head down and eventually we'll make contact again."

  "Sure, easy," Gonzalvez replied.

  "I'm not planning on being here in the morning," Mullins said, taking another bite of sandwich.

  "Cutting out early?" Mládek asked. "Don't get yourself picked up and blow our cover."

  "I won't," Johnny replied. "I'll probably take the window exit. Anyway, I thought
you should know."

  "Well, I would have known anyway," Charles replied. "I laced that as well as the door."

  "Just as well," Johnny said, finishing off his sandwich. "I'm planning on having another beer and maybe a few of those fish-eggs on toast."

  "It's caviar, you Gryphon barbarian," Gonzalvez said.

  "Sure, sure," Johnny replied, picking up a canister of caviar and scooping some out with a finger. "This isn't too bad. Any potato chips around?"

  John opened up the door to the closet in case there was anything that fit. He was willing to put on the sweaty prole outfit he had been running around in but if there was anything a tad cleaner it would be nice. He hadn't been able to ask Rachel after her shower because she had yelled that it was free and then disappeared into one of the bedrooms.

  As it turned out Rachel's mysterious boyfriend had plenty of clothes. He appeared to be a bit on the hefty side compared to the Manty but there was one suit that looked to be Mullins' size.

  Johnny contemplated it balefully for a moment then dropped his towel and tried on the shirt. It fit. So did the cummerbund and pants.

  He looked in the mirror and sighed.

  "Okay, I guess there have to be some studs around here somewhere."

  When he came down from the shower he felt a bit better about his outfit; Rachel had changed into an electric blue Beowulf pantaloon set. The material was semitransparent, responding oddly to reflected light; when the light was shining directly at it the material was opaque, but in shadow or with glancing light patches it would go completely transparent. As she moved it revealed and covered seemingly at random, always covering far more than it revealed. Try as he might, Mullins couldn't determine if she was wearing a cat-suit underneath or absolutely nothing at all.

  It was frankly hypnotic and went remarkably well with the archaic tuxedo that was the sole clothing Mullins could find that fit.

  "Well, aren't you the pair?" Gonzalvez said with a laugh.

  "I thought that might work for you," Rachel said, lifting a glass of champagne in his direction. "I picked it up for Bonz hoping he could get it around his fat middle. No such luck."

  "Well, it fits," Mullins admitted, shooting the cuffs and rolling his shoulders uncomfortably. "But I'd rather be wearing prole clothes; if we have to run this is going to stick out like a sore thumb."

  "Well then, we'll just have to avoid making a run for it," Rachel replied, handing him a glass of champagne. "To a flawless escape," she said, raising the glass.

  "To a flawless escape," Mullins replied tapping his glass to hers and taking a sip. "That ain't half bad."

  "It's an excellent vintage," Mládek said reaching past for a glass. He was back in his own prole outfit and still drying his hair. He took a sip and sighed. "I'll miss New Rochelle grapes."

  "You should try some of the Copper Ridge sparkling wines," Charles responded, working the wine around in his mouth. "This seems a tad raw."

  "Raw? New Rochelle's one of the finest vintages known!" Mládek responded hotly.

  "I think we can leave them to this," Rachel said. "I seem to remember that you actually can dance."

  "Well, my mother never admitted that I had gotten any good at it," Mullins said, as he set down the glass. "But mom had two left feet."

  "Darling, your only problem as a dancer is that you're too tall and refuse to follow where I lead," Rachel said, her hips thrusting from side to side.

  "You took the words right out of my mouth," Mullins replied, completing a complicated twist that ended with his ankles locked behind hers and his hips following her in time. "When did you learn to suvala?"

  The had been dancing for over two hours, the tunes segueing through a dozen styles. From the mirror-dance to the minuet, from the suvala to the Hyper-Puma Trot, the two of them had been trying to best each other. Rachel was far and away the more natural dancer, but Mullins, if anything, knew more styles and was more precise in each.

  "I know a girl from New Brazil," she replied, her lips inches from his cheek.

  "You know this dance is illegal on Grayson?" he asked in a whisper, leaning in to her ear, his hips grinding against hers.

  "Silly people," she husked back then disengaged. "Charles? Admiral? We're going to bed."

  "Ah, really?" Charles asked. "So soon? The Admiral and I were just about to come to a conclusion in regards to the superiority of the Tancre strain of grape bacterium."

  "I'm afraid not, old boy," Mládek replied. "Dautit is still the superior bacteria."

  "But only for higher sugar content! My God man . . ."

  "No, I mean we're going to bed; you guys can stay up as long as you'd like."

  "Oh."

  "Since you're sacrificing yourself for me tomorrow, it seemed the least I could do," she said, taking John's arm.

  "Well, I'd get all huffy," Mullins replied. "But what the hell; take what you can while you can get it is my motto."

  "See if you get anything with a motto like that," she said with a chuckle.

  But she relented after suitable persuasion.

  Mullins rolled over and patted the bed beside him then opened his eyes to a pallid dawn light.

  Rachel was gone.

  "Charley?" he called, rolling to his feet and grabbing his head. "Ooooo."

  "I see you're bloody up," Gonzalvez said, staggering in the door. "I think your girlfriend slipped us a mickey. According to my sensor logs she slipped out the window about three A.M. local time. Of course, I was sleeping the sleep of the dead."

  "Blast," Mullins snarled. "Probably that damned champagne."

  "I thought it was a tad bitter," Charles said.

  "All the gear is set up for her. I still can't get off-planet!"

  "Oh, I don't know about that," Mládek said, entering the room with a large package in his hands. "This was on top of my clothes."

  Mullins rubbed his head as the admiral opened up the package and laid out the contents.

  "Two sets of male clothing, one set of female," Charles said, picking up the documents. "I need to run these through my scanner, but they look good. And you're the female, Johnny my lad." He tossed the appropriate ID over to the admiral with a chuckle.

  "Ooooh!" Mládek said with a snort. "Uggh. You make a terribly ugly female, Major Mullins."

  "Thanks very much," Johnny said snatching the document out of the admiral's hand. "You're right, I do," he continued, looking at the documents.

  "I do not care to be set up, John," Charles said.

  "Neither do I," Mullins replied. "But so far she's been helping us. I mean, if she wanted to hand us to StateSec, she could have last night."

  "So we just go with the modified plan?" Gonzalvez asked. "That doesn't feel right, Johnny."

  "If you have a better suggestion, lay it out there," Mullins snapped. "I just had a great night, barely remember it and have one hell of a headache."

  "And you're about to be dressed up as a very ugly woman," the admiral interjected, somewhat cruelly Mullins thought.

  "Thanks. I needed that," Mullins replied. "And we're short on time. We need to get into character and get out of here. Now."

  "Okay," Gonzalvez said. "As long as I don't have to be the ugly woman."

  CHAPTER 8

  Beauty and the Beast

  The airtaxi trip was uneventful, but when the taxi pulled up to the curb, the shuttle port was crawling with security.

  "Get the bags Manny," Mullins said querulously as he lifted himself out of the cab with the aid of a cane. "These Haven barbarians don't have skycaps!"

  "Yes, Mother," Gonzalvez said, paying the driver then lifting the massive set of luggage out of the boot. "We have to hurry or we'll miss our lift."

  "They had better hold it until we arrive or their captain will live to regret it," Mullins said loudly as one of the local Prague cops arrived with his hand outstretched.

  "Papers," the security man said, looking away. The woman was obviously Solarian and you'd think she would have taken advantage of a f
ace-lift. Or, hell, a full biosculpt.

  "Manny! Give this idiot our papers!"

  "Mother!" Gonzalvez replied as Mládek silently handed over the papers for the whole group.

  "We're on the 1550 shuttle," the admiral said deferentially. "Mistress Warax is a Solarian trade delegate and must not be delayed."

  "She will be," the cop grunted, scanning the paperwork and then remotely scanning the threesome. "There's a one hundred percent increase in security; it's bound to slow you down somewhat."

  "Whatever for?" Gonzalvez said, marshaling the bags.

  "We've got three or four Manty spies running around," the cop replied with a nod. He handed back the paperwork and gestured into the terminal. "Sooner or later they'll either make a break for the spaceport or we'll run them to ground."

  "Well, that's not our problem!" Mullins snapped, leaning on his cane. "I warn you, if you delay my departure, Rob Pierre himself will hear about it! You understand me, sonny?"

  "Yes, Mistress Warax," the cop said. "If you'll please proceed into the terminal. Will you need assistance? A float chair can be arranged."

  "Yes, of course I need assistance, you moron!" Mullins replied. "Do you think I use this damned stick as an affectation?!"

  The float chair was hastily summoned and Mullins rode into the port in semi-regal fashion. It was a well-known fact that without the covert support of members of the Solarian League, the Haven/Manticore war would have been long over, in Manticore's favor. So it was no surprise that their cover as Solarian trade representatives was a key to favor. It would not, however, keep them from being intensely scrutinized on the way to the shuttle.

  Gonzalvez confirmed their reservation on the Solarian liner Adrian Bayside then led the group towards the long line for the final security scan. As he did, an overly abundant blonde, obviously a local and gorgeous in a trimly cut suit, cut in front of him.

  "It looks like they're choosing every fifth person for a full-body search," Gonzalvez said. "That's . . . new."