He climbed to the last landing before the stairs headed up onto the roof. He wished he could simply continue to the top of the building, swing down on a rope, and cut a hole through a window with his laser scalpel—that was the way thieves and assassins sneaked into houses on the scruffy rim planets where glass was cheaper and more practical than transparent energy barriers. Alas, Sergei hadn’t seen any cheap, technologically-challenged windows on the flight into the tower.
The door to the penthouse was locked, a high-tech security lock that would require some fancy computer equipment to “pick.” He had expected as much and trotted back down to the landing below, to the floor the butler had said housed the laundry room. He paused to listen at the door. When he heard voices, he waited for them to subside before stepping into a wide, carpeted hallway full of ostentatious architectural details. Servants were out, turning down beds and delivering bottles of wine, and he had to duck into alcoves and hide above transoms several times before reaching the laundry room. By the time he made it inside, he was glancing at his tablet to check the time. He still had over an hour before he was supposed to meet Jamie, but if Laframboise wasn’t in her suite, he would have to wait there until she returned.
With the help of the butler’s remote, Sergei slipped into the laundry room. The scent of detergent and perfumed fabric softener filled the air, though there weren’t any loads running at this time of the day. Two robots that presumably did the work on a timer sat quiescent against one wall. Several chutes emptied from the walls and the ceiling, and numerous bins held clothes. Metal flaps guarded the ends of the chutes, and he found they couldn’t be pried open.
He dug out the remote again, tapped a button with a picture of a crumpled towel on it, and the flaps opened. Clothes spilled out of a couple of them, propelled by drafts of air that brushed Sergei’s face. He wasn’t sure which of the overhead ducts would lead to the penthouse, but there were only four to check. Maybe they all led to different parts of it. He hoped that would be the case. The ceiling was over ten feet high, and the ducts appeared to rise vertically into it, at least for the first few feet. Climbing up them wouldn’t be easy.
While the flaps were still open, Sergei jumped, pushed off the corner of one of the laundry machines, and thrust his hands through the duct. There wasn’t a lip or anything to grab, so he had to flatten his palms on the sides and flex his shoulders to keep from slipping out. The cool metal was utterly smooth. He shifted his weight, thrusting one hand upward a couple of inches, then doing the same with the other. As he climbed, he listened for voices in the hallway, aware of his vulnerability since the lower two thirds of his body hung out of the chute. But nobody had laundry on their minds this night. At least nobody entered the room. Maybe the other servants were also busy sharing closets and vacuum attachments.
Inch-by-inch, Sergei pulled himself upward. The shaft tilted thirty degrees, adding a challenge to the climb, but he navigated it, and was soon scooting up the slope on his belly, not making a sound as he crept along. He didn’t mind the workout, but he was aware of time passing and hoped he would luck into finding Laframboise’s suite on the first try. He found it promising that his shaft was continuing upward. It had to come out on the floor above. Unless it bypassed the floor altogether and went to the rooftop swimming pool he had seen on the flight in. He grimaced at that idea.
A crack of light grew visible ahead. Sergei sped up. This probably wasn’t it, and yet, he couldn’t help but feel the heat of anticipation flowing through his veins.
He kept his movement soundless, aware that a lit room might mean an occupied room. He paused at the flap and leaned his ear close to it. A creak sounded, followed by a soft clunk. Someone leaning back in an office chair? He inhaled slowly, as if he could identify his prey by scent, but nothing but a faint odor of sweat lingered in the shaft. He listened a couple moments longer, not wanting to pop out right in front of Laframboise. The thuds of someone with hard heels walking on wood floors drifted into the duct, then faded as the person left the room. Perfect.
Sergei pushed against the flap, intending to ease it open so he could take a look. The flap didn’t move. Of course. He shifted his weight, found the remote, and pressed the button again. But when he pushed against the flap, it still didn’t move. He sighed. The joys of technology. He touched his finger to the crack, only to find it wasn’t a true crack. Though light seeped in, there was some kind of clear seal around the flap. Probably to keep those pesky sweat odors from creeping back into the mistress’s suite.
He pulled out his compact laser scalpel, the slender handle less than three inches long, and thumbed it on. A tiny crimson blade poked out.
A faint hiss came to his ears. It didn’t originate at the flap but somewhere behind him. Someone doing something at the other end of the chute? He pressed the tip of the laser to the seal. A scent different from the sweat odor reached his nose, floating upward to him on a draft that hadn’t been there before. It smelled of bitter orange peels.
Sergei immediately stopped breathing. He knew that scent. Mandelina Toxin. A powerful sedative that could easily kill in high enough dosages.
He forced himself to remain calm, to simply cut the seal with the laser and crawl out, but a controlled fury filled him. It was possible that he had tripped some security alarm and that the laundry chutes always had the potential to be inundated with gas, but he had a feeling he had been expected. Either someone had betrayed them, or Laframboise had known the Albatross was back in orbit and had anticipated that Mandrake would send someone to track her down.
The clear material of the seal proved irritatingly resilient. All too aware that he couldn’t hold his breath indefinitely, Sergei switched to the flap itself. It charred slightly in the dim red glow of the laser, but the beam didn’t break through. He would have growled in irritation if he hadn’t been holding his breath. Whoever had engineered this laundry system should be rewarded. He had cut through solid metal with his scalpel before.
Sergei’s lungs started to burn, and the urge to suck in air, however tainted, grew greater. He wasn’t making fast enough progress with the scalpel. Time to backtrack—and hope six armed guards weren’t waiting in the laundry room.
There wasn’t enough room to turn around, so he had to scoot back down the chute feet first. By the time he reached the vertical portion, his lungs were fighting him, almost spasming in their demand for air. He let himself drop straight down, pressing the button on the remote as he fell. He landed on the flap, the noise audible. There hadn’t been enough room to bend his knees and soften his fall. Not that making noise was the most prominent thing on his mind at the moment. He was too worried that the flap hadn’t opened. The remote that had worked perfectly well to let him into the chute didn’t do a thing now.
He groaned in frustration, unable to fight his lungs any longer. The air he sucked in was heavy with the scent of those bitter orange peels, and he tasted it on his tongue, as well. Hoping he had time before the sedative kicked in, he tried the laser on the flap below him. Maybe it wasn’t as sturdy as the one up above.
But it defied him, too, doing no more than charring under his attack. His eyes blurred, darkness creeping into his vision. The tool almost fell out of his hand. With numb fingers, he dug into his pocket, reaching for the comm unit so he could call Jamie. But he feared he had waited too long. He didn’t even know if his vocal cords still worked. He should have tried her earlier. Maybe some computer could have opened these flaps. But it was too late. All he could do was warn her.
Even as these thoughts tumbled through his mind, his hand bumped against something larger than the comm unit. The glue tube. A desperate idea formed, and he used his last seconds to grab it instead of the comm. He pulled it out of his pocket, only to fumble and drop it. He patted around, afraid he wouldn’t be able to find it in time. Utter darkness surrounded him now, and he didn’t think it was all from the poor lighting. His vision had probably stopped working.
He located the tube, squee
zed a few drops of glue onto the side of the scalpel with shaking hands, then did his best to hide the tool. He couldn’t even feel it when it touched his flesh, and he worried he hadn’t managed to attach it. His hand dropped away, too weak for a double-check.
As his eyes closed, his body too heavy to move, he hoped he would wake up again, that whatever guards waited down there wouldn’t simply shoot him. His last thought was that he was glad he had gotten to spend one night with Jamie before what might be the end.
* * *
At first, Jamie hid in the back of the workroom, tucked between two inactive robots, wincing every time a pot clanged or someone yelled in the kitchen. But she knew she wouldn’t be of any help to Sergei that way. In case he needed her, she wanted to do something.
She started by poking around in the control box behind the robots. It turned out to house a small mainframe with access to a private network just for the robots and other household computers. She didn’t have an identification chip that would give her the ability to alter settings or delve deeper into the programs running, but a holodisplay did pop out, showing all of the networked machinery in the towers. She took special note of some cleaning robots located in the penthouse where Laframboise presumably lived.
Maybe she could sneak up to the top of the tower and access the hard-wired circuits to override commands. Or maybe she could find someone who did have an ID chip that allowed access to all of the computer systems. Might someone in the kitchen have that kind of privilege? Or would it take a network supervisor? Even if Jamie knew who could get into the mainframe, how could she trick someone into coming in and pressing a finger on the sensor pad for her? It wasn’t as if she knew how to knock people out and tie—or glue—them up. Sergei hadn’t even returned her glue tube.
A soft buzz came from her pocket. Jamie yanked the comm unit out, afraid someone would hear it, and whispered, “What is it? We’re in the middle of infiltrating Laframboise’s house.”
“Sorry,” Ankari said. “I’ll keep it brief. You’re not the only one whose plans didn’t go as hoped. I wanted to warn you.”
“What happened?”
“It seems our senator was less interested in buying specimens for gut transplants and more interested in shooting us so we couldn’t sell any more of them here.”
Jamie stared at the comm unit. “What?”
“Yes, I was surprised at the violent reception. But apparently, there’s a faction of rebels downside, arranging food deliveries and medical treatments and all manner of help for the people, if you can imagine. The government isn’t happy about it.”
“Is that the faction that hired the captain?”
“Yes. It seems they stole the money to do so, or the equivalent in food items. It was hard to get the whole story between the laser beams flying across the room. They may be responsible for the people who attacked us and tried to steal my briefcase, an instance of the trigger of the rifle firing without checking to see where the barrel was aimed. Those four might not have known we came with Mandrake Company and were buddies with them.”
Buddies. That wasn’t quite the word for the relationship Ankari and the captain shared, but this wasn’t the time for such observations. “You got away, I assume? Are you still in the city over there? Or will we need to find another way back?” Maybe sending that shuttle off on its own private planet tour hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
“Given the state of the capital building here, I’m guessing we’re not welcome back in the city,” Ankari said. “Viktor and his men shot things up badly, and then there was the daring rescue by your pilot friend, Val. It also involved shooting. And cupolas catching on fire. I think a gazebo was blown up too.”
“Well, that’s what they get for messing with you, right?”
“Hm, perhaps. I may be wrong, but I got the impression that Microbacteriotherapy, Inc. was simply going to be asked to leave the planet—and to return the money the hospital paid us—but the fact that Viktor walked in at my side is what caused things to escalate. Apparently, the senator recognized him and was well aware that there’s a bounty on his head. That’s what started the little battle.”
“Uh oh.”
“Yes. Hence my warning. We didn’t give anything away in regard to your mission, but if the senator and Laframboise know each other, she may have sent word that Viktor has been spotted and that his shuttle is nearby. We’re flying around the city now, avoiding some police fighters that were sent to drive us out of the atmosphere, but Viktor has called down the Albatross for backup. We’re not planning to leave without you, but if you haven’t already made your move, you may need to soon. Laframboise is going to know Mandrake Company is in the area, and she’ll be able to take security measures, if she hasn’t already.”
“I understand.” Jamie would have to end this conversation quickly so she could warn Sergei. “Thanks.”
“Call me when you’re ready for a pickup. We’ll find a way to get you. But—” the sound of curses came through the channel, “—we are a little pressed here, so the sooner you’re ready, the better. Viktor said that if you have to abort, it’s fine. He’ll find another way to deal with Laframboise.”
“I understand,” Jamie said again.
“Call back when you can.”
“I will.” Jamie hung up, then immediately called Sergei’s comm unit. She bounced from foot to foot, waiting for him to answer.
How had this night turned so crazy so quickly? For both parties? They had underestimated their enemies, that was for sure, especially how closely connected everyone seemed to be down here.
She nibbled on her lip. Sergei wasn’t answering. He was probably hiding within hearing range of someone. She might need to find another way to communicate with him. Too bad she didn’t know what floor he was on. Maybe she could search for him with the computer system. If she could access the network.
Jamie stepped out of her tiny cubby and grabbed a few tools from the workbenches. Before long, two of the robots were powered up, turned on, and ready to cause some mayhem—or at least fumble around and bump into things. In the pot-rack and cabinet-filled kitchen, that was bound to attract attention.
Before she unleashed her unwitting helpers, she hunted around for someplace to hide. This room had plenty of open shelves, but nothing in the way of closets or even cabinet doors. Where would Sergei hide? He would just appear out of nowhere behind some unsuspecting soul. Or…
Jamie looked up, considering the ceiling. A small vent in the corner marked a heating duct. She didn’t think she could fit through it, but those utility shelves by the door nearly reached the ceiling. Because of their location, a person might walk in without glancing toward them. Walking out was a little more questionable, but she climbed up, anyway, checking out the top. She moved a couple of boxes to lower shelves and carved out a spot where she might curl up. She tossed a drop cloth up there, too, though she didn’t know if she would have time to artfully arrange herself before someone burst in.
She returned to the robots, put them into idle, and rolled them to the door. She listened for a quiet moment, then waved at the sensor to open it. When she released the robots, they rolled out into the big kitchen and began the floor-buffing program she had manually switched them to. She had also disabled the object sensor. They were soon crashing into racks and counters in their eagerness to clean the floor.
Within seconds, someone was shouting.
Jamie closed the door and climbed up the shelving unit. In her haste, she almost upended it. So much for finding inspiration from Sergei—he wouldn’t crush himself under a heavy rack of boxes and painting supplies. She slowed down and made it to the top, curling onto her side on the shelf. She tugged the drop cloth over her body, trying to make her form look more like paint containers than a person lying on her side.
The door opened before she had arranged everything as artfully as she would have liked. She froze.
Heavy footsteps clomped in, audible over the clatter of malfunctioning
robots arising from the kitchen.
“I said hold it,” someone out there growled.
“I’m trying. These things weigh half a ton, and I have cake batter all over my hands.”
“I don’t want to know about your personal kinks; just keep it from knocking everything—” The words transitioned into curses.
A clank came from one of the benches in Jamie’s room. Someone grabbing a few tools? The footsteps sounded again, this time racing out of the room. She grimaced. If someone figured out that the robots could be fixed manually, her ruse would have been for naught. Not only that, it might make people start looking around to see who had tinkered with the machinery in the first place. If she ended up doing something that got Sergei in trouble…
She bit her lip. He had almost replaced her with a more experienced engineer and fighter. Maybe that would have been a better choice.
Footsteps sounded again, these the pinpoint clacks of heels. They entered her room and stopped near the far wall. Near the control box? Jamie couldn’t see with the drop cloth draped over her. She risked lifting up the flap high enough to peer out.
It was hard to see much from her elevated perch, her back pressed to the wall, but she could make out the back of a head full of long black hair. Yes, the woman had opened the control box, and she had breezed past the security measures to call up the program that controlled the household robots.
“Did that do anything?” she called over her shoulder.
Jamie lowered her flap, afraid she would be all too noticeable from the control-box side of the room.
The Assassin's Salvation (Mandrake Company) Page 24