Tek Kill

by William Shatner

  Ogden grimaced, fisted his hands, and dropped to his knees.

  “I’m supposed to be on the roadwork gang,” said Hank, his voice dry and rusty sounding.

  “Not anymore, kid,” 14B told him. “Come on, get your clothes on. The landvan is here to take you to the sewer project.”

  A SHARP MORNING WIND was blowing through the forest area along the rutted Mississippi back road. Across the way in a small roadside clearing stood a ramshackle little neowood-and-plastiglass restaurant. Its weathered litesign proclaimed it THE BREAKFAST NOOK, and through its dusty windows you could see a half dozen or so customers scattered at its small tables. Parked in front of the place were a dented skycar, a rickety old landtruck, and two aging electrocars.

  Menken, crouched beside Jake in the brush, was using his hand voxphone to talk to Shawna, who was in the landtruck with Kipling. “Okay, the camp landvan should be rolling by at about 8:17,” he was saying. “Is everybody in place on your side of the road?”

  “Sure, I just checked them.”

  “After Kip uses the disabler on the van, Jake and I will move out and take care of the driver and the guard. Gomez and Petway will disable the follow-up car and incapacitate the two camp guards riding in that.”

  “How’s the old gent making out?” she inquired.

  Grinning, Jake borrowed the phone. “Glad you asked,” he said. “Will you have time to pop across the road and help me get to my feet just as the action starts? My back’s been acting up and—”

  “You’re not even as funny as that long-winded Latino pal of yours.” She ended the call.

  “Don’t mind Shawna,” advised Menken as he retrieved the phone. “She’s often nastiest to the people she likes the best.”

  “Then I must be the love of her life.”

  The day was gradually brightening and the wind felt a bit warmer now.

  Glancing at Jake, the leader of the Marauders said, “We do this sort of thing very well.”

  “So I’ve heard,” said Jake. “If this involved simply a Cosmos client, I wouldn’t be uneasy. When it’s my son—”

  “Hold it—call coming in.” The phone had commenced vibrating faintly in his hand. “Yeah?”

  A voice unfamiliar to Jake said, “A snag.”

  “Explain.”

  “Boy won’t be on the truck.”

  “Shit, where is he?” asked Menken.

  “Reassigned to Work Crew 7. Sewer project.”

  “Has that landvan left 30 yet?”

  “Six minutes ago. You owe me another $250.”

  Menken let the phone drop to his side for a few seconds. Then he made a call. “Shawna, we’ve got to get over to Route 57 quick. Dan Cardigan is in the camp van heading for the old Marsh Plantation.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “Nothing, except they put him in a new work gang. Move.” He was up and running to where they’d hidden their skycar.

  “Can you guys bring this off?” Jake was close behind him.

  “I think we sure as hell better try, don’t you?”

  “Yep.”

  41

  REBECCA Burdon didn’t bother to turn toward the door when it opened behind her. She remained sitting, arms folded, in the hard white armchair, absently looking at the endlessly repeating beach view on the wallscreen. The same five gulls had drifted across the screen ninety-four times since she’d seated herself.

  “Have your medical toadies arrived, Rollo?”

  A hand tapped her gently on the shoulder.

  Looking up, Rebecca saw a young woman standing there dressed in dark slax and a white medical tunic. Frowning, she said, “Aren’t you—”

  Kacey made a “don’t talk” gesture. Then she hurried over to the nearest wall, slipped a bug-disabler disk out of her pocket, and stuck it against a panel. “That’ll give us a few unobserved minutes,” she said. “Yes, I’m Kacey Bascom.”

  “Do you know what my brother’s trying to do to your father?”

  “Got a pretty good notion, yes,” she answered. “Are you willing to talk to the SoCal cops about what you know?”

  “I’ll talk to anybody who’ll listen.” She stood up. “I can’t abide what’s going on.”

  “I can get you clear of here. But we have to go right now.”

  “I’ve no reason to linger, Kacey.”

  “I came in on a Foodz skyvan. We can, with luck, get out that way, too.”

  “And why the medical outfit?”

  “Oh, I acquired a fake ID packet that implies I’m an assistant to Dr. Stolzer.”

  “That bastard,” observed Rebecca. “My brother’s hired him to arrange some memory loss for me.”

  “He hasn’t started working on you yet?”

  “Not yet, but soon.” She moved to the door. “Would we have time—and can you get us there—to visit the Tek wing?”

  “We’ve got exactly seventeen minutes. Why?”

  “There might be a way to throw a spanner into Rowland’s whole clandestine Tek operation here,” she answered. “When the plant was built, down in the bowels of this place, they included a destruction switch. In the case of a raid, you know. I know where it is and how to activate it.”

  Kacey smiled. “That would make a nice farewell gesture, wouldn’t it?” She reached toward the door.

  But the door came sliding open before she touched it.

  A large, wide man, dark and wearing a loose gray suit, entered the room. “I understand you work for Dr. Stolzer, young lady.”

  “I do and Miss Burdon is one of our patients.”

  The large man took another step toward Kacey, still smiling. “Odd that I don’t have any idea who you are,” he told her. “Especially since I’m Dr. Stolzer.”

  HANK WAS SITTING on the bench that ran along the left side of the Camp 30 landvan. He shared it with three other young men, and there were four more JWA boys in the other side of the chugging, rattling landvan.

  “What’d you do now?” asked the pale blond youth next to him.

  “Hum?”

  “To get yourself put on this shit detail.”

  Hank shrugged. “Don’t know. I tell you, Burt, I’m not even sure why I’m at Camp 30 at all.”

  “Yeah, Ogden told me. They mindwiped you, more than likely,” said Burt as he scratched his side and looked out at the dusty road and the woodlands they were rolling through. “They do that with the tough cases.”

  “Think that’s what I am?”

  “Figure it out, Hank. You must be or they wouldn’t treat you like this.”

  “Guess that’s right.”

  “You’ve been switched to the worst work detail you can get,” continued Burt. “And they used a shockstik on you this morning. They don’t do that with everybody.”

  Hank said, “You know, I’ve been having dreams. About someplace else—not Mississippi or Rhode Island, where they say I come from.”

  Laughing, the blond boy said, “Hell, everybody dreams about a better place than Camp 30.”

  “No, but I mean I—”

  “What the hell!” exclaimed the cyborg driver and hit the brakes.

  As the landvan came to a lurching, rattling halt, the robot guard who was sitting next to the driver started to swing up the arm that had a lazgun built into it.

  A skycar had come swooping down out of the morning sky and landed directly in the path of the van.

  “Another one!” Burt was pointing at the back window.

  Another skycar was setting down back there, directly in the path of the backup car.

  And a third skycar was skimming in across the weedy field on their right.

  “Trouble?” asked Hank.

  “For these bastards, sure,” said Burt, laughing. “But maybe not for us.”

  MENKEN SET DOWN the skycar at the edge of the road. “Going fine so far,” he observed while getting clear of his safety gear. “Kip and Shawna stopped the landvan and, looks like from here, took out the driver and the guardbot.”

 
; “Let’s hope so.” Jake went out of the car, stungun drawn, and ran to the backside of the halted Camp 30 landvan.

  Up on the road, Gomez and the husky black Petway were using stunguns to take care of the three guards who’d come diving out of the backup car.

  Sprinting, Jake grabbed the rear door of the van and yanked it open. He jumped inside, ducked low.

  And there was Dan, sitting between a blond boy and a hefty Chinese youth. “Okay, fellas,” announced Jake. “Everybody out.”

  “You springing us or is this a hijacking?” asked the blond boy.

  “You’re on your own. Get over to the crimson skyvan that’s just landing and you’ll get transported to safe ground.”

  Seven of them, laughing and shouting, went stumbling out into the morning.

  But Dan remained seated.

  Jake, grinning, approached him. “Dan, are you okay?”

  He stared up at Jake. “My name—well, at least that’s what they tell me—my name is Hank, sir.”

  “No, you’re Dan Cardigan,” Jake told him. “I’m your father.”

  He studied Jake’s face. “That would be great, but …” He shook his head sadly. “I just don’t remember you, sir.”

  “Then just trust me, Dan. We’ve got to get the hell out of here.” He took his son’s arm, guided him out onto the dusty road.

  Gomez met them. “Bueno,” he reported. “We coldcocked all three of those pendejos back there. Hi, Daniel.”

  Dan asked, “Am I supposed to know you, too, sir?”

  “Mindwiped,” said Jake quietly.

  “You used to,” Gomez informed him. “I’m the incomparable Sid Gomez. Friend and partner of your dad and a first-class sleuth by trade.”

  “Biography later,” said Jake impatiently. “Sid, Dan and I will share your skycar. Petway’ll switch to Menken’s. Let’s go.”

  “Sí, a change of venue is definitely what’s called for.”

  The three of them ran to Gomez’s skycar.

  As they were climbing in Dan said, “Thanks for helping me, sir.”

  42

  IT was midday and the two skycars were parked near each other in a small clearing of woods in a Mississippi town that was neither Yazoo nor McClennan.

  Menken said, “Everything went damn well, Cardigan.”

  “Yeah, your Marauders were great. Even Shawna.”

  The thin woman was leaning against the door of one of the cars.

  “You hobbled around pretty well yourself,” she conceded. “What of me, chiquita?” inquired Gomez.

  “You’re nearly impossible, but at least you didn’t foul us up too much.”

  Jake put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “You understand what’s going to happen now, Dan?”

  “Yes, but I still don’t believe I’m going to turn out to be anybody named Dan Cardigan, sir,” he said. “Still it sounds like a better deal than being Hank Weiner.”

  “Involves you with fewer sewers,” Gomez pointed out.

  “Maggie Pennoyer is a friend of mine back in New England—in Connecticut,” he explained to his son. “Her specialty is working with people who’ve been mindwiped or otherwise had their memories and identities futzed up.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Shawna and Menken are going to take you there, Dan,” he said. “I’ve already set everything up with Maggie. She’ll work with you and—probably in just a few days—you’ll have your mind and your real self back.”

  “That would be terrific.”

  Jake said, “Sid and I have to go back down to San Peligro Island in the Caribbean to finish up the case we’re working on. Soon as I’m through there, I’ll join you at Maggie’s hideaway.”

  Dan held out his hand and they shook. “Good-bye, sir.”

  Jake watched while his son got into the skycar with Menken and the woman. The craft came to life, then went climbing up into the early afternoon.

  Jake sighed. “I wish,” he said, “just once, he’d called me Dad.”

  KACEY BASCOM BLUSHED. She brought her hand up to her mouth. “Gosh, don’t I feel silly,” she said to Dr. Stolzer.

  He pushed further into the room. “What precisely are you up to—and who the hell are you?”

  She giggled, pressed her hand to her chest. “Oh, it’s really a stupid sort of prank, Doctor,” she said. “See, I bet my …”

  Her hand snapped to her shoulder holster and she was holding a stungun. She pressed it into the big doctor’s chest and fired.

  Stolzer made a surprised huffing sound. His mouth snapped open as his eyes suddenly shut. Each of his hands inscribed invisible circles in the air. Then he did a few steps of a tiptoe dance and dropped to his knees.

  Kacey shut the door and booted him in the back.

  The doctor fell over flat out. “I hope he’s the last unexpected item we have to face today.”

  Rebecca was staring at her. “You shot him very calmly, Kacey,” she said with admiration.

  “Something I learned in the days I was a cop,” she said. “You still want to try to destroy the Tek lab?”

  “I’d like to attempt it.”

  Kacey moved over beside the sprawled Dr. Stolzer. “Wish I had time to give this guy a mindwipe.” She bent and dragged him across the room, leaving him behind the armchair. “We can leave now.”

  “It’s too bad you and I have such different political views,” remarked Rebecca. “Otherwise we could probably be close friends.”

  “We can talk politics later.” Kacey opened the door, took a cautious glance out. “We can make our move now.”

  THE LAB WAS long and low and mostly white. Forty white-enameled robots were working at rows of tables and desks, manufacturing Tek chips. The air was faintly scented with lemon.

  Rowland Burdon escorted the android Deryk into the facility. “I think you’ll enjoy seeing this”—he stopped immediately inside the doorway—“since you’re involved in working with the mind. It’s the best and most efficient Tek laboratory outside of Europe.”

  “Very impressive,” commented the andy.

  “And our chips can be manufactured at a much lower cost than those of most of the Tek cartels.”

  Deryk moved further into the room, watching the nearest bots at their work. “Dr. Stolzer and I have found that most of the criticisms of Tek—the claim that it’s so dangerously addictive and that it can cause seizures and brain damage—are considerably exaggerated,” he told his host, smiling. “Dr. Stolzer has long been an active supporter of the campaign to legalize Tek.”

  “If Tek were legal, it would really screw up this part of our business.” From his pocket Burdon took a small NewTown needlegun.

  “What’s that you’re using?”

  While he searched for a place on his lower arm to place the tip of the gun, Burdon replied, “New product we’re testing. Delivers a dose of euphoria serum that’s completely effective yet totally non-addictive.”

  “I notice, though, that this is the third time you’ve used it since we began our little tour of your plant,” mentioned Deryk. “Could it be, if not addictive, at least highly habit forming?”

  “No, perfectly safe,” he said, dropping the gun back into his pocket. “I’m simply interested in giving it a very thorough test.”

  “Are you more euphoric now than you were an hour ago?”

  “Most certainly, of course. In fact, I feel—”

  A faint tremor had begun underfoot. The lab floor had started vibrating.

  “What’s wrong?” Deryk was scowling down at the floor.

  Burdon tugged out a handphone. “Central Control,” he demanded.

  The floor increased its shaking and now the white walls of the lab were rattling.

  The robots kept on working, even though the lab tables and the desks were shaking with increasing violence.

  “Central Control, goddamn it!” shouted Burdon into his phone.

  “Hadn’t we better get out of here?” suggested the android.

  �
��Not until I find out what the hell is going on.”

  Instead of a voice, a harsh squealing sound was coming out of the earpiece.

  Rumbling explosions began on the other side of one of the walls. Then a huge hole was blown in the wall and a gust of roaring flame came shooting in. It ate across tables and robots, burning up everything, turning everything black and crusty.

  “Jesus!” cried Burdon. “Somebody’s activated the destruct system.”

  He turned and tried to run.

  43

  “MAY BE, possibly,” said Lieutenant Drexler, “I was wrong about you, Walt—or partially wrong, anyway. It’s just possible you’re not a conniving murderer after all.”

  “I’m touched,” Bascom informed him.

  “Maybe.”

  They were in Lieutenant Drexler’s large office at the SoCal Police Center in the Santa Monica Sector of Greater LA.

  “My version of what happened to Dwight Grossman is starting to sound a shade more plausible, Lieutenant?”

  The policeman gave a grudging nod. He was behind his desk, hand poised over a control panel. On the wall, one of the compscreens showed a head shot of the late Avram Moyech. “I’m ready to agree that this guy had the ability to turn out forged tapes good enough to fool us,” he said slowly. “And the information you got from that henchman of Zack Excoffon seems to make it clear that they did hire Moyech to do something for the Excoffon Tek cartel.”

  “Drexler, old pal, I also showed you copies of Moyech’s Banx records—decoded ones that indicate he did get dough from them.”

  “Records don’t say for what.”

  Bascom, who was perched on the edge of the policeman’s desk, said, “The gent was blown to glory last night—just before arriving at Cosmos. That ain’t just a coincidence.”

  “No, that’s one of the things that makes your story convincing,” admitted the lieutenant. “Even you aren’t duplicitous enough, Walt, to blow up a van full of people to frame Excoffon.”

  “I’ll come to you next time I need a character reference.”

  “But this other stuff you’re trying to pass off on me,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, the Burdons are—”

  “Yeah, upright citizens, pillars of society, a credit to the GLA community. Even so, Rowland is in cahoots with Excoffon to turn out Tek.”