Prison Planet

by William C. Dietz

  It hurt like hell, but Amad didn't move. If he was very, very careful, he might come out of this alive. “Yyyess sir. We failed sir. We should have been running the computer cross-check weekly instead of monthly. I accept full responsibility.”

  Shinto squeezed the trigger again. Phufut. This time a dart blossomed from Amad's throat. Blood trickled down his neck.

  “Darn! There I go again!” Shinto said apologetically. “Sorry. As you can see this thing's got me very upset.”

  Shinto focused his eyes on a spot just over Amad's head. “Let me tell you what I think, Amad. I think I'll go to my country place for awhile. It's quiet there and a lot safer.” Amad knew this was a reference to Shinto's fortress-like retreat in the Olympic Rain Forest.

  “Meanwhile, I want you to find Jonathan Renn and kill him. Then you will kill his friends, the two idiots who work for him, and anyone else he's spent time with. Do you understand?” Phufut.

  Amad jerked in spite of himself as a dart pierced his upper lip. “Yyyess, sir, I understand. It shall be as you say.” The dart bobbed up and down as he spoke.

  “Good.” Phufutttttttt. Shinto emptied the magazine. Amad felt the draft as forty seven darts whipped by his ear and thudded into the target behind him. He had a feeling it was going to be a very long day.

  * * * *

  As always, Luko plowed his way through the rush hour crowds with all the finesse of a battering ram. Elbowing his way to the front rank of waiting passengers, he smiled as the transcar decelerated towards the platform. He made it a point of honor to be first aboard the transcar each evening, and this had the look of an easy victory. He was in the front rank only a foot or two from where the first door would open. Luko wins again!

  Then the old woman behind him gave a mighty shove, and Luko felt himself flying through the air. A half second later he bounced off the front of the transcar and into a duracrete wail. His death made eighteen thousand four hundred and two people late for dinner.

  Estaben didn't plan to be a shipping clerk forever. No way. And since the suits at Shinto Enterprises refused to promote her, then she'd have to promote herself. Estaben had dreams of opening her own little business someday, an escort service maybe, or a sex boutique. But that required capital, which is why she moonlighted as “Margo the Whip,” at Cicero's House of Pain, deep in the center of the combat zone.

  She was headed there when some idiot decided to dive in front of a transcar and slowed the whole damn system. As a result, her first customer was already waiting when she strode into her treatment room and arrogantly cracked her whip. Much to her surprise he didn't cringe and fall to his knees. Instead, he took her whip away from her and used it to hang her from one of the many hooks in the ceiling. She put up quite a struggle but no one noticed since screams of pain were rather common in Cicero's.

  A few hours after Estaben's death, Amad waited impatiently across from Renn's hotel. It was dark and warm. Too warm. Sweat was dripping off the tip of his nose again. Amad swore and ran his sleeve along it. Four members of his elite security force had entered the hotel ten minutes before. They should've snuffed Renn and left by now. Where the hell were they? Amad forced himself to give them another five minutes. Shit. Stepping back into a doorway he pumped a round up the spout and attached the silencer to his handgun. It's always best to be careful.

  He crossed the street with giant strides and entered through the front door of the hotel. A guest and the desk clerk lay sprawling where they'd fallen. Good. SOP for this kind of operation. Ignoring the lift tube he ran up the stairs to the third floor. He listened for a moment, opened the fire door, and slid into the hall. An elderly man stepped out of his room. Amad dropped him with a bullet between the eyes. Hugging the right hand wall he moved down the corridor while counting off the numbers. Three-twelve, three-ten, three-oh-eight, and there, three-oh-six. The door was open.

  Amad went in fast and low, gun up in a two-handed grip. It was a waste of time. His team was there all right, but they were dead. Three looked like they'd been ripped apart by some sort of animal, that damned dog probably, and the third wore a bullet hole between his eyes. A big bullet hole, like a.50, or maybe even a .75. A quick check of the bathroom confirmed his guess. No Renn, dead or otherwise. Amad shook his head in amazement. This Renn character was bad news. And his pet dog was obviously not a dog. He'd told them to check on that. Another fuck-up. Well, you win some and you lose some.

  A few minutes later Amad was a mile away, ensconced in a public com booth with the privacy shield on. His wife had a smudge of dirt on one cheek. Probably out grubbing in the garden again. He cut her off. “This is it, honey. Here's the code; Alpha, Beta, Alpha. Grab the kids and the satchel. You know where to go.”

  The smile faded from her face. She nodded once and cut the connection. She knew what to do. A few years back she'd been one of his top operatives. Within ten minutes she'd be out of the house, within twenty it would have burned to the ground, and soon thereafter she'd be in his arms. A few days later they'd lift and start a new life somewhere else. They were still young, and the satchel full of cash would ease the way. Shinto would be incredibly pissed when he found out, a thought which made Amad smile. He was whistling by the time he hopped into an autocab.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was raining on and off, a fact which wasn't too surprising in a rain forest, but did nothing to make Renn more comfortable. He and Marla were taking a break under the branches of a huge cedar tree. He bit off another mouthful of protein bar, and winced as cold rain drops hit his face. “Damn. And we thought Swamp was bad.”

  Maria looked up from her resting place on the ground beside him and grinned wolfishly. “He's been on Terra for only two weeks and he's already getting soft.”

  Renn made a face and took another bite of protein bar. Much to his surprise it tasted pretty good. Kind of nutty. Which also described their situation. Two against hundreds. They'd left the air car in a clearing a few miles back, and were now just inside the boundaries of Shinto's land, about fifteen miles from his mountain hideaway. Things should be easy at first. Although already on Shinto's land they wouldn't encounter much in the way of defenses until the last five miles or so. Otherwise, Shinto's private army would be shooting lost hikers and causing all sorts of problems for the PR department. Besides, a fifteen-mile-deep defensive perimeter would cost a lot more money without adding a lot of protection.

  But the last five miles would be real tough. Besides the naturally rough terrain, they'd be up against crack security troops and homicidal genidogs. They'd learned about the genidogs through Marla's cyborg computer expert.

  “Machine” is a somewhat unusual name, but what the heck, to each his own. In any case, Machine had managed to locate both a blueprint and a security plan for Shinto's fortress. Two years earlier, Shinto hired a general security contractor to update his defenses, and afterwards the contractor squirreled away a copy of the plans in his personal computer.

  It was a naughty thing to do, and in clear violation of professional ethics, but the contractor thought the plans might come in handy someday. After all, a man like Shinto had enemies, otherwise he wouldn't have a security plan, and they'd pay handsomely for a way into Shinto's fortress.

  Renn grinned. Not that Machine had paid the contractor a single Imperial! No, he'd stolen the plans right out from under the contractor's nose while that unfortunate individual sat at his keyboard, and worked on another file. All of which justified Machine's rather exorbitant fee.

  Among other things the security plan specified a force of genidogs. While the plan didn't include specs for the dogs, it didn't take a lot of smarts to figure out they'd be formidable opponents, on top of which there'd be human guards, electronic sensors, and a variety of traps.

  So, while getting into Shinto's fortress wouldn't be easy, they had a chance. Thanks to his own research, and Machine's added input, Renn had enough information on Shinto to write a book. He knew Shinto liked eastern music, hated mushrooms, ado
red children, and was slightly claustrophobic.

  “Know your prey, lad,” Boater always said, and it was good advice. It gave you an edge. In this case, however, the edge was somewhat dulled, since the prey knew the hunter was coming.

  It still seemed strange to Renn that Shinto's security was lax enough to hire him and then efficient enough to identify him a few days later. But Machine's research revealed lots of strange incidents in Shinto's life—so many, in fact, it almost suggested some sort of precognitive ability. But one thing was for sure, Shinto knew Renn was back. The four killers were proof of that. He was alive, and they were dead, but it could have easily gone the other way.

  There he was sitting fat dumb and happy in his room, while out in the hall, killers were preparing to break down the door. Fortunately, Marla chose that particular moment to return. Having dismissed Cap at the back door, she entered the hotel and stepped out of the lift tube just in time to see the killers approach Renn's door. Mistaking her for a dog, they ignored her. That was a serious mistake. She killed the fourth one just as the first three hit the door.

  Thanks to a strong door, and Marla's attack, Renn had time to grab his .75. It was still close. The second time they hit the door it crashed open. Marla killed the third assailant, a woman, as Renn turned towards the door. The .75 roared, slamming the first assassin backwards into the second, who quickly fell victim to Marla's slashing teeth. After that it was a matter of dragging the bodies into the room, gathering up their belongings, and slipping out the back way.

  The rest came naturally. Denied the advantage of surprise, and lacking the funds for a more sophisticated approach, they decided to attack rather than run. Perhaps they could seize the initiative through sheer audacity. Where would Shinto least expect an attack? And where would an attack do the most good? The answer to both questions seemed obvious ... Shinto's fortress-like home in the Olympic rain forest. If only Shinto would be there. But even if he wasn't, someone would be, and that's all they needed. Once they had access to Shinto's computer, Machine would take care of the rest.

  So, armed with a loan from Machine, a loan which the cyborg had pointedly made to Marla and not to Renn, they rented an air car and headed north. Stopping only to purchase back-packing equipment and other gear, they'd arrived the day before. Dropping their air car into a forest clearing, they'd headed for Shinto's fortress. According to Machine's information, they'd run into the outermost ring of Shinto's defenses in another ten miles or so.

  Renn stuck the protein bar wrapper into a pocket and stood. The forty pound pack made it awkward. The pack contained food, gear and ammo. While some of the explosives were a little exotic, parting presents from Jumo, they were quite legal. Rather than support the expense of an interstellar police, the Imperial government relied on a patchwork quilt of local police, combined with bounty hunters and legal assassins to keep crime under control. As a result citizens were allowed a wide variety of weapons. Renn was armed with the same array of weapons he'd carried on Swamp, and while Marla was a weapon herself, he'd found ways to protect her more effectively.

  For one thing she wore two small packs which were fastened together to make twin saddlebags. They were constructed of a tough bulletproof fabric which would not only provide her with additional protection, but would also allow her to carry some extra explosives and ammo. In addition he'd made a metal collar to protect her throat. All the gear gave her an exotic look. He laughed as she got up.

  “What's so funny?”

  Renn struggled to maintain a straight face. “Nothing. You look a little strange that's all.”

  “Strange? I'll show you something strange, a grown man running up the trail with my teeth in his butt.”

  She growled and lunged towards his rear end. Renn laughed as he ran up the trail. As Marla made a half-hearted attempt to catch him she suddenly realized how natural their relationship had become. Instead of hiding what she was, now she could joke about it, and even take pride in it. The truth was that she loved Renn, and deep down she felt sure he loved her in return, although she knew he had difficulty reconciling his emotions with her appearance. But appearances can be changed. Suddenly she was very frightened. What if Renn was killed? She hurried to catch up.

  Shinto flicked a switch, and an entire wall of his cavernous bedroom became a vid screen. Deep in the electronic bowels of his retreat a descrambler took the seemingly random bits fed it by a small geosynchronous satellite, organized them into a coherent picture, and sent it upstairs. Colors swirled briefly before locking up into a shot of the Westerplex spaceport. It wobbled a bit as the camera operator shifted his weight from one foot to another. In the distance, Shinto saw a shuttle warming up on one of the many smaller pads circling the perimeter of the main complex. “OK, Garvin. I'm looking at the Westerplex spaceport. So what?”

  Garvin was nervous. As Amad's first assistant supervisor, he wasn't used to dealing with Shinto one-on-one. What if something went wrong? Mistakes could be fatal, as Amad was about to find out. The camera panned over to him, and his voice cracked slightly as he answered. “Amad and his family went aboard twenty minutes ago, sir. The pilot has requested permission to lift in about three minutes.”

  Garvin's head was round like a melon and filled the whole wall. He had thin blonde hair, green eyes, and a visible tick in one eyelid. Shinto smiled. “Excellent. All is ready?”

  “Yes sir. As you requested.”

  “And you're sure he doesn't know?”

  Garvin shook his head. “He suspects nothing, sir.”

  “Excellent. It seems you're due for a bonus, Garvin. A rather large bonus. Your two-year vigil is about to end.”

  “Yes sir.” Garvin knew Shinto was referring to the fact that while he'd worked for Amad, he'd also been paid something extra to keep an eye on him, submitting regular reports to company headquarters. So when Amad slipped out of Renn's hotel, and contacted his wife, Garvin was right behind him.

  “And Garvin?’

  “Sir?”

  “Pay attention to this. It's the reward for treachery.”

  “Yes sir.” At a nod from Garvin the camera panned back to the duracrete pad. Seen through waves of heat the shuttle seemed to shiver for a moment and then rose towards the sky. Shinto began to worry. What if something went wrong and Amad escaped? He gritted his teeth as the seconds ticked by. Then, just as the shuttle reached five thousand feet, there was a sudden flash of light and it was gone. Gone with it were Amad, his family, and the shuttle's crew. Pieces of burning wreckage were still falling from the sky as Shinto flicked a switch and the wall went gray.

  The duraplast doors slid open at Shinto's touch, and he stepped out onto the veranda. He should've felt good, cleansed by Amad's death, but he didn't. For one thing, he hated to kill children, and for another, he liked Amad. The little bastard had guts. But business is business. You can't let the hired help get away with treachery and stay on top. He'd seriously considered allowing Amad to escape but decided against it. Such an act would be widely interpreted as weakness, and that would be very, very bad. No, it was sad but necessary. He had a hollow feeling in his gut like something bad was coming his way. A premonition? No, probably not. He was getting sentimental, that's all. Garvin would find Renn and that would end the whole thing. He looked up, but the light was fading, and more gray clouds had moved in to block the sun.

  They had little difficulty locating the outermost edge of Shinto's defensive perimeter. First Marla started picking up routine radio transmissions and then they ran into a large duraplast sign located right next to the trail. It bore an ominous looking skull and crossbones, below which were the words: PRIVATE. KEEP OUT. INTRUDERS WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT.

  Renn looked at Marla and laughed. “That's what I like about Shinto. The man says what he means.”

  From that point on security would become tighter and tighter until they reached the fortress itself. Assuming, of course, that they managed to live that long. Even though it was getting dark Marla had little di
fficulty finding the hidden sensors. They weren't much different from those Jumo had used on Swamp. Coarse, stupid things, they'd been scattered around as Shinto's first line of defense. The warmth of their power paks popped out from the cooler background of the forest, making them easy to spot, and once spotted they were easy to avoid.

  Renn wondered why they hadn't used more. A thick band of sensors would've been almost impossible to penetrate without setting some off. Stupid though the sensors were, if twenty or thirty went off in one particular section of the perimeter, that would be a pretty good indication of trouble. But the folks in charge of such things had chosen to scatter them widely, instead. Almost as if the sensors were a mere formality. To Renn's way of thinking, that meant they were either very stupid or very confident about whatever defenses lay ahead. He hoped for the first, but feared the second.

  Meanwhile it was pretty tough going. Renn figured they were still about four miles from Shinto's retreat, which doesn't sound like a lot, but it is when it's almost straight up. The easiest going was on the trail, but it would inevitably lead them into a series of traps and ambushes, so it was best to stay off it as much as possible. Yet the thick forest to either side made travel there almost impossible. The vegetation did start to thin out as they went higher, but that meant less cover too, and increased the possibility that someone would spot them. So they used the trail when forced to do so, but moved slowly, checking for traps and potential ambushes every inch of the way. Then, whenever things opened up a bit, they went cross-country, occasionally fighting the underbrush, but feeling safer. But either way they had to keep going. If they tried to camp for the night, chances were they'd be discovered. No, tired or not, they'd make their assault on Shinto's fortress tonight, and trust darkness to cover their approach.