Jim Baen’s Universe

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Jim Baen’s Universe Page 22

by Edited by Eric Flint


  Right be­hind them a clus­ter of sle­ep smo­kers mir­ved to the­ir tar­gets and tur­ned the air the co­lor of storm clo­uds abo­ut to burst. I kept my mo­uth shut and for­ced myself to bre­at­he thro­ugh my no­se; the si­nus fil­ters wor­ked per­fectly. If Jack and Ma­nu did the sa­me, they’d be fi­ne. The ac­ti­ve an­ti­do­tes we’d all ta­ken wo­uld ke­ep us awa­ke even if we bre­at­hed the gas, but un­til it had dis­si­pa­ted for a few mi­nu­tes it wo­uld be hard on our lungs and thro­ats. The na­no-mac­hi­nes in my cells wo­uld re­pa­ir mi­ne qu­ickly eno­ugh, but I saw no re­ason to suf­fer any da­ma­ge I co­uld avo­id.

  The rest of Do­ugat’s staff and, un­for­tu­na­tely, ne­arby pe­des­t­ri­ans wo­uldn’t be as lucky, but asi­de from any inj­uri­es they sus­ta­ined when they fell they sho­uld suf­fer only long, drug­ged naps, raw si­nu­ses, bad co­ughs, and, from the how­lers, so­me mi­nor rin­ging in the­ir ears.

  I re­ac­hed for Jack, but he wasn’t the­re. Damn! An­ger shot a flo­od of ad­re­na­li­ne in­to my body, and I trem­b­led with ba­rely con­t­rol­led energy and ra­ge. He knew he sho­uldn’t mo­ve!

  “Where’s Jack,” I mum­b­led thro­ugh pur­sed lips.

  My words we­re cle­ar eno­ugh for Lo­bo.

  My left eye’s dis­p­lay tur­ned in­to an aeri­al sche­ma­tic of the gro­unds, with red dots mar­king Do­ugat’s staff, a blue dot in­di­ca­ting Jack, and a gre­en one on Ma­nu’s po­si­ti­on. The blue and gre­en dots we­re stre­aking to­ward the bu­il­ding.

  “Running to­ward the zig­gu­rat,” Lo­bo sa­id. “Exter­nal staff and bystan­ders are all sle­eping. I’m ho­ve­ring over­he­ad. How­lers ha­ve dis­c­har­ged; re­enab­ling he­aring.”

  In an in­s­tant the thrum­ming of Lo­bo’s ho­ver jets jo­ined the un­con­s­ci­o­us mo­ans and whe­ezes all aro­und me to rep­la­ce the si­len­ce I’d be­en enj­oying. I sto­od and he­aded for­ward. The blue and gre­en dots ve­ered to the si­de of the en­t­ran­ce to the zig­gu­rat. A se­cond la­ter, a stre­am of red dots po­ured out of it. The­se guys we­re cle­arly pre­pa­red for gas, be­ca­use no­ne of them fell. I cran­ked my own vi­si­on to IR for anot­her vi­ew of them and wat­c­hed as the ten new se­cu­rity pe­op­le fan­ned out in front of me. The blue and gre­en dots duc­ked be­hind them, Ma­nu ba­rely ahe­ad of Jack, and zip­ped in­to the bu­il­ding. Gre­at. Now I had to get past this new te­am, ret­ri­eve Jack and Ma­nu, and go back out­si­de for pick-up. If they’d only kept to the plan and sta­yed ne­ar me, we’d al­re­ady ha­ve be­en on our way out of he­re.

  “Image en­han­ce­ment sug­gests new hos­ti­les are ar­med and en­vi­ron­men­tal­ly pre­pa­red,” Lo­bo sa­id.

  Sure eno­ugh, the new squ­ad bro­ke in­to fo­ur clus­ters. One sprin­ted for Do­ugat. The re­ma­ining three fo­cu­sed on me, one ta­king a di­rect ap­pro­ach and the ot­her two go­ing wi­de to flank me. The only go­od news was that eit­her they’d mis­sed Jack and Ma­nu or they’d as­su­med tho­se two we­re down.

  “Trank 'em,” I mum­b­led.

  Lobo didn’t was­te ti­me an­s­we­ring. I he­ard the ro­unds spra­ying from guns on his un­der­car­ri­age, and in less than two se­conds ever­yo­ne on the new te­am drop­ped.

  “Public fe­eds are rich in da­ta abo­ut our as­sa­ult,” Lo­bo sa­id. “We must exit so­on or ex­pect to fa­ce ad­di­ti­onal lo­cal re­sis­tan­ce.”

  “I ha­ve to get Jack and Ma­nu,” I sa­id as I ran to the si­de of the en­t­ran­ce. I stop­ped long eno­ugh to pull a trank pis­tol from the hol­s­ter at the ba­se of my back, then do­ve in­si­de. I hit the gro­und on my sho­ul­der and rol­led qu­ickly to a pro­ne po­si­ti­on. I glan­ced to the right and the left of the en­t­ran­ce. No one.

  I sto­od and im­me­di­ately reg­ret­ted the ac­ti­on as a pro­j­ec­ti­le ro­und to the chest knoc­ked me down. The body ar­mor stop­ped it from se­ri­o­usly inj­uring me, but my chest throb­bed with pa­in and bre­at­hing hurt. I slit my eyes and sta­yed still. Pre­ci­o­us ti­me was eva­po­ra­ting, but if I mo­ved I might suf­fer a he­ad shot, and I don’t know if my na­no-mac­hi­nes can re­pa­ir bra­in da­ma­ge. I ho­pe to ne­ver find out.

  A gu­ard emer­ged from be­hind an ex­hi­bit abo­ut fi­ve me­ters in front of me. He kept his pis­tol aimed at me and mo­ved ca­uti­o­usly for­ward. He step­ped with ca­re, and his we­apon ne­ver wa­ve­red. I did my best to lo­ok un­con­s­ci­o­us; the lack of blo­od wo­uld tell him I wasn’t de­ad.

  A cras­hing so­und rip­ped the air from so­mew­he­re be­hind him, and he tur­ned for a mo­ment to check it out.

  I fi­red mul­tip­le ti­mes at his back and he­ad.

  He drop­ped.

  Too many trank ro­unds might kill him, so­met­hing I didn’t want to do, but I co­uldn’t af­ford the ti­me to check on him and ma­ke su­re he was okay. Do­ugat might ha­ve mo­re se­cu­rity per­son­nel aro­und, and the wa­re­ho­use dis­t­rac­ti­on so­uth of us was old news, so I had to get out of the­re, but I co­uldn’t le­ave wit­ho­ut Jack and Ma­nu.

  I had no fe­ed from Lo­bo to gu­ide me in my se­arch, so I de­ci­ded to run to the cen­ter of the bu­il­ding and ho­pe I spot­ted them.

  Before I’d go­ne fi­ve steps, Jack das­hed to­ward me from my left, Ma­nu’s hand in his.

  “What we­re you do­ing?” I sa­id, my vo­ice sha­king with my an­ger at Jack’s vi­ola­ti­on of our ag­re­ement. The air in­si­de was now cle­an eno­ugh that I co­uld talk fre­ely wit­ho­ut hur­ting my thro­at. “You idi­ot! You don’t fre­elan­ce and le­ave yo­ur te­am.”

  “Manu was ter­ri­fi­ed and ran,” Jack sa­id. “I didn’t ex­pect it, and I co­uldn’t see him cle­arly, so I fell be­hind. I co­uldn’t le­ave him he­re, Jon. I had to get him.”

  Though his an­s­wer was re­aso­nab­le, even ad­mi­rab­le in so­me ways, I still sho­ok with an­ger and ad­re­na­li­ne. I for­ced myself to nod. “Fol­low me,” I sa­id.

  “Heading to you,” I sa­id to Lo­bo as so­on as we cle­ared the bu­il­ding. “Land in the clo­sest cle­ar area-not on pe­op­le-and di­rect me in.” Lo­bo had ar­gu­ed in our plan­ning me­eting that if we en­ded up in a fight he sho­uld set down right be­si­de us, and that an­yo­ne he squ­as­hed in the pro­cess was an ac­cep­tab­le ca­su­alty, but even with ti­me short I saw no re­ason to kill if we co­uld avo­id it.

  “Moving,” Lo­bo sa­id. “Me­dia scans put po­li­ce ETA at un­der ni­nety se­conds.”

  I kept mo­ving and didn’t was­te any energy rep­l­ying. Jack and Ma­nu sta­yed clo­se to me as we ran. A vec­tor in my left eye’s dis­p­lay led me abo­ut forty me­ters ahe­ad and to the right, to­ward the so­ut­hern si­de of the gro­unds. Even sta­ying slow eno­ugh for the boy to ke­ep up, we re­ac­hed Lo­bo qu­ickly. As we drew clo­ser to Lo­bo, his ca­mo ar­mor ex­te­ri­or blen­ding so well with the still gas-fil­led air that I do­ubt an­yo­ne wat­c­hing wit­ho­ut IR knew whe­re he was, he ope­ned a hatch on the si­de fa­cing us. I ran to him, step­ped in­si­de, and tur­ned aro­und to ma­ke su­re Jack and Ma­nu ma­de it.

  They we­re right the­re, Jack ac­tu­al­ly sho­wing a bit of stress, Ma­nu in te­ars. We we­re al­most cle­ar. Jack pic­ked up Ma­nu, who­se wi­de eyes re­eked of ter­ror, and han­ded the boy to me.

  I grab­bed him, tur­ned aro­und, and put him down.

  As I was stra­ig­h­te­ning, I sa­id, “Lo­bo,” but I ne­ver fi­nis­hed the sen­ten­ce as I felt Jack’s hand on my neck and then pas­sed out.

  ****

  I awo­ke slowly, my he­ad ac­hing and my neck and sho­ul­ders stiff. When I ope­ned my eyes, I had tro­ub­le fo­cu­sing, but af­ter a few se­conds the world snap­ped in­to vi­ew. I was lying on the flo­or in­si­de Lo­bo, right whe­re I’d fal­len.

  Where Jack
had left me, I re­ali­zed as the me­mory of what had hap­pe­ned ca­ught up with me. I pus­hed up on my arms and qu­ickly reg­ret­ted the ac­ti­on as the rem­nants of wha­te­ver drugs he’d used co­ur­sed thro­ugh me and ne­arly ma­de me pass out aga­in.

  I de­ci­ded the flo­or wasn’t such a bad pla­ce to be right now. My system wo­uld na­tu­ral­ly wash it­self of the drugs in ti­me, and the na­no-mac­hi­nes wo­uld spe­ed the pro­cess, but res­ting the­re for the mo­ment se­emed re­aso­nab­le.

  “Welcome back,” Lo­bo sa­id. “Are you co­he­rent eno­ugh to res­pond?”

  “Yes,” I sa­id. “Why wo­uldn’t I be?”

  “You ma­de eno­ugh no­ises whi­le un­con­s­ci­o­us that se­ve­ral ti­mes I tho­ught you might be awa­ke,” he sa­id.

  “Fair eno­ugh. How long was I out?”

  “Approximately three ho­urs, fif­ty-se­ven mi­nu­tes,” he sa­id with what I tho­ught was a tra­ce of amu­se­ment. “Jack cla­imed you’d be un­con­s­ci­o­us for at le­ast fi­ve ho­urs, but my ex­pe­ri­en­ces with you led me to es­ti­ma­te a qu­ic­ker re­co­very. I was, of co­ur­se, cor­rect.”

  Lovely. How long I’d re­ma­in out of it had tur­ned in­to a bet­ting ga­me for my bat­tle wa­gon and the old fri­end who’d just scre­wed me on­ce aga­in.

  “Why didn’t you stop him?” I sa­id.

  “I had no in­for­ma­ti­on from you to sug­gest Jack wo­uld drug you,” Lo­bo sa­id with an­no­yan­ce. “Once you we­re un­con­s­ci­o­us, he was, by yo­ur or­ders, in com­mand. Had he then tri­ed to inj­ure you fur­t­her, yo­ur ear­li­er or­ders wo­uld ha­ve al­lo­wed me to ta­ke ac­ti­on to pre­vent him, but he did not­hing to harm you from that po­int for­ward. Had yo­ur he­alth sho­wed signs of wor­se­ning, I co­uld ha­ve tran­s­por­ted you to a me­di­cal fa­ci­lity, but yo­ur vi­tal signs re­ma­ined ste­ady and strong. Con­se­qu­ently, I co­uld only obey his in­s­t­ruc­ti­ons-aga­in, per yo­ur or­ders.”

  I ha­te be­ing stu­pid, and Lo­bo’s to­ne ma­de the an­no­yan­ce all the gre­ater. At the sa­me ti­me, I’d gi­ven Lo­bo tho­se or­ders to pro­tect the boy, and they ref­lec­ted the best da­ta ava­ilab­le at the mo­ment I ga­ve them.

  Except, of co­ur­se, for the key fact that I’d known and cho­sen to ig­no­re: you can’t trust Jack.

  Even tho­ugh ye­ars of ex­pe­ri­en­ce had ta­ught me that les­son, so­met­hing abo­ut the way he’d be­ha­ved this ti­me had struck me as dif­fe­rent; it was as if he ac­tu­al­ly ca­red abo­ut Ma­nu.

  Manu.

  “What hap­pe­ned to the boy?” I sa­id.

  “To the best of my abi­lity to tell, they are sa­fe,” Lo­bo sa­id. “On Jack’s or­ders, we in­ves­ted an ho­ur in eva­si­ve ac­ti­on and then pro­ce­eded to the jump ga­te. They de­par­ted the­re.”

  Given that we’d just at­tac­ked one of the ric­hest men on the pla­net, the jump ga­te was a re­aso­nab­le pla­ce to go. Jack wo­uld ha­ve ca­ught the first ava­ilab­le shut­tle off-pla­net and be far away by now. I wo­uld ha­ve do­ne the sa­me.

  My thin­king was de­fi­ni­tely not up to par, be­ca­use it to­ok me this long to re­ali­ze that what mat­te­red was not what I wo­uld ha­ve do­ne, but what I ne­eded to do now-tho­ugh in this ca­se they we­re the sa­me. I ne­eded to le­ave Mund.

  “Where are we?”

  “In or­bit aro­und Dra­yus,” Lo­bo sa­id. “On the far si­de of the pla­net from the jump ga­te, hi­ding with a gro­up of te­di­o­usly dull we­at­her sa­tel­li­tes.”

  Lobo was ahe­ad of me-but how? “You jum­ped from Mund on yo­ur own?” I sa­id. “It’s not that I’m not gra­te­ful, or that it wasn’t the right cho­ice-I am, and it was-but I didn’t think you co­uld bo­ok tran­s­port thro­ugh a ga­te wit­ho­ut a hu­man’s ap­pro­val.”

  “Once Jack left,” Lo­bo sa­id, “I had to fol­low the next most re­le­vant of yo­ur or­ders, which was to pro­tect you. Le­aving Mund was cle­arly the best way to do that. As for ne­eding a hu­man’s ap­pro­val, you are cor­rect-but all ap­pro­vals, in­c­lu­ding tho­se that re­qu­ire DNA sam­p­les for ve­ri­fi­ca­ti­on-are elec­t­ro­ni­cal­ly tran­s­mit­ted. I ha­ve com­p­le­te re­cords of all our jumps, the ac­co­unts you’ve used for pay­ment, and yo­ur DNA and elec­t­ro­nic sig­na­tu­res, so I simply for­ged yo­ur pre­sen­ce.”

  “The jump systems didn’t catch the for­gery?”

  “We are in or­bit aro­und Dra­yus, as I sa­id, so cle­arly, no, they did not.” Lo­bo’s vo­ice crac­k­led with an­no­yan­ce. “As I’ve ex­p­la­ined to you be­fo­re, my prog­ram­ming is vastly be­yond that of most com­mer­ci­al systems.”

  I chuc­k­led. “I apo­lo­gi­ze for un­de­res­ti­ma­ting you, and I thank you for get­ting me off Mund.”

  “I ac­cept both yo­ur apo­logy and yo­ur thanks,” Lo­bo sa­id. “Wo­uld you now li­ke to vi­ew the re­cor­ding Jack left for you?”

  “Jack left a re­cor­ding?”

  “Why do you per­sist in as­king qu­es­ti­ons to which you al­re­ady know the an­s­wer?” Lo­bo sa­id, the an­no­yan­ce back.

  “It was a rhe­to­ri­cal qu­es­ti­on. Jack’s ne­ver do­ne an­y­t­hing li­ke that. When he va­nis­hes, he le­aves no tra­ces.”

  I sat up, and this ti­me do­ing so didn’t le­ave me we­aker. “Play it for me.”

  A dis­p­lay ope­ned on the wall in front of me. Jack snap­ped in­to vi­ew. He sto­od be­si­de Ma­nu and held the boy’s hand. My un­con­s­ci­o­us body lay on the flo­or be­hind him.

  “Jon,” he sa­id, wa­ving his hand bri­efly at my body, “I’m very sorry for tre­ating you li­ke that. If I’d tho­ught the­re was any ot­her re­aso­nab­le op­ti­on, I wo­uld ha­ve ta­ken it. But, I didn’t. The prob­lem is that you wo­uldn’t ha­ve ap­pro­ved of what I did, and then you wo­uld ha­ve tri­ed to ma­ke it right, and in the end the­re was too big a chan­ce that Ma­nu might ha­ve got­ten hurt.” Jack so­un­ded ge­nu­inely torn and up­set. He pa­used, glan­ced down at Ma­nu, and stro­ked the boy’s he­ad lightly.

  “The fee Do­ugat pa­id for the in­ter­vi­ew was eno­ugh to buy Ma­nu tre­at­ments for a whi­le, but only for a whi­le. He was go­ing to ne­ed mo­re, a lot mo­re. We-his pa­rents and I-we­re ho­ping Do­ugat wo­uld be wil­ling to pay for mo­re in­ter­vi­ews or may­be even to help with the med-tech bills just be­ca­use of Ma­nu’s Pin­kel­pon­ker an­cestry.” He put his hands over Ma­nu’s ears for a mo­ment. “Ye­ah, I know: it was a dumb ho­pe. I tri­ed to tell them, but it was the only op­ti­on any of us co­uld co­me up with that might help for the long term. The al­ter­na­ti­ve, well-" he pa­used and lo­oked at Ma­nu, and when he fa­ced for­ward aga­in his eyes we­re wet, “-no­ne of us we­re wil­ling to de­al with that.”

  He to­ok his hands off Ma­nu’s ears. “When I ca­ught up to Ma­nu in­si­de the In­s­ti­tu­te, he was hi­ding be­hind one of the gem­s­to­ne dis­p­lays.” He pa­used, sho­ok his he­ad, and smi­led. “Lo­ok, I know it’s not right, but Do­ugat is so we­althy he won’t even fe­el the loss.”

  Jack tur­ned, sto­oped, and re­ac­hed be­hind Ma­nu. When he sto­od, he was clut­c­hing a clus­ter of at le­ast half a do­zen dif­fe­rent Pin­kel­pon­ker gems, his hands twin­k­ling as if hol­ding a night sky dren­c­hed in gre­en, red, blue, and pur­p­le stars. “The right col­lec­tors will pay eno­ugh for the­se to co­ver Ma­nu’s tre­at­ments fo­re­ver-and then so­me.” Jack la­ug­hed. “Be­si­des, a man has a right to ma­ke a pro­fit now and then, eh?”

  I la­ug­hed with him. Le­ave it to Jack to fall in­to a mess and walk away rich.

  Lobo’s vi­deo sen­sor trac­ked him as he wal­ked to the front ac­ce­le­ra­ti­on co­uch and left a hu­ge gre­en gem on it.

  “For yo­ur help, Jon,” he sa­id.


  “Docking with jump sta­ti­on in sixty se­conds,” sa­id Lo­bo’s vo­ice on the re­cor­ding.

  Jack nod­ded and re­tur­ned to Ma­nu.

  “I wish it had go­ne bet­ter, Jon,” he sa­id, “and just as I pro­mi­sed, this ti­me we did so­me go­od: Ma­nu will get his tre­at­ments.”

  Jack smi­led that be­a­uti­ful, wi­de, glo­wing smi­le of his, and I felt myself smi­ling in­vo­lun­ta­rily in res­pon­se.

  “Besides,” he sa­id, “admit it: wo­uldn’t you ha­ve be­en at le­ast a lit­tle di­sap­po­in­ted if ever­y­t­hing had pla­yed out ac­cor­ding to plan?” He la­ug­hed lightly. “Ta­ke ca­re, Jon.

  “Jack out.”

  The dis­p­lay va­nis­hed.

  “Bye, Jack,” I whis­pe­red to the still and empty air.

  I stret­c­hed out on the flo­or. I was ali­ve and un­hurt. Ma­nu was not only sa­fe, he’d al­so re­ce­ive all the tre­at­ments he ne­eded to stay ali­ve. I didn’t ap­pro­ve of ste­aling, but it wasn’t li­ke I’d ne­ver do­ne it be­fo­re, and Jack was right that Do­ugat co­uld af­ford the loss. I’d even co­me out of it with a pro­fit; a gem that si­ze wo­uld, from the right bu­yer, bring me mo­re than the cost of the we­apons we’d used.

  Compared to most of my ex­pe­ri­en­ces with Jack, this had be­en a dre­am.

  “Did I men­ti­on we cal­led him ‘Slan­ted Jack’?” I sa­id.

  “No,” Lo­bo sa­id. “Why?”

  “Because not­hing’s ever stra­ight with him,” I sa­id, smi­ling. “But so­me­ti­mes that’s okay.”

  ****

  Candy-Blossom

  Dave Freer

  I was go­ing to run. As so­on as he… it… the THING stop­ped lo­oking at me. Sta­ring a ho­le thro­ugh my stu­pid he­ad with its fo­ur eyes. I was go­ing to run li­ke the wind. I sho­uldn’t ha­ve co­me he­re. Ne­ver. I swo­re to God… if I ever got out of he­re…

 

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