by Brian Craig
Rico might, if asked, have said that his reasons for doing this were based in generosity and morality, but that would have been bullshit too. Rico thought of himself as a human being, but sandrats like Sammy Ulinski and Kid Zero belonged, in his estimation, to some other category entirely. Neither of them, in his view, was worth an atom of moral consideration—but he had strict orders to refrain from killing the Kid if it was humanly possible, and he took that command almost as seriously as his determination not to be killed by the Kid.
Thus, it was neither cowardice nor morality which made Rico throw away the Magnum but a mixture of professional pride and cold common sense.
Rico had been unsighted and greatly inconvenienced while Sammy Ulinski was falling and squirming after being bitten by the snake, but he had had his chance to get a clean shot at the Kid before he awoke, and had not taken it. Instead, he had allowed the Kid to snatch up the flashlight and switch it on.
Now, Sammy was silent and still—not so much because of the snakebite per se but because of the tape which Rico had used to stop up his mouth and because he was rigid with fear—and the Kid had his own pistol levelled. Rico knew that the Kid was a marksman, and that he was risking his own life by not killing him, but he look the risk.
He consoled himself, as he looked down the barrel of the Kid’s weapon, that in addition to the Kid, there had been the snake to take into account. Rico didn’t know enough about rattlers to know whether they had enough poison in reserve to deliver a second fatal bite, but he wasn’t anxious to experiment. Rico told himself that even if he had succeeded in plugging the Kid before the Kid could fire off a return shot, the snake would have got him for sure. By the same token, he knew that if he had moved the pistol in order to shoot the snake, Kid Zero would probably have put him away forever.
He said again: “Take it easy, Kid—I’m with the good guys.” Then he waited, to see whether he would get shot, or bitten, or both. He tried to stay as still as possible. Only his eyes moved, his gaze flicking back and forth between the boy and the rattler.
The boy didn’t shoot—but he didn’t seem anxious to open the conversation, either.
“I hope the rumours are right about you being able to control that thing,” Rico said, when it became apparent that he wasn’t going to get shot. He tried to sound friendly.
“How did you find me?” inquired the Kid, without bothering to give him an answer.
“I didn’t,” said Rico. “The sandrat saw you ride in. GenTech gave us a little breathing-space, but the word’s well and truly out, now. I stopped this guy’s friends from using the phone, but the jungle drums and smoke signals are carrying the news right now. We both got troubles, Kid, and we both have to make tracks if we’re going to get away from here before the heavy mobs arrive. But we have to talk first.”
The Kid disentangled himself from his bedroll.
“I don’t have to talk to anyone,” he said.
“Yes you do,” said Rico swiftly. “Because you can’t imagine what kind of heat is coming down, and I can. This is important Kid—not just a matter of life and death but the whole threatened-end-of-civilization-as-we-know-it bit. If some friends of mine hadn’t stopped GenTech’s point men they’d have been here before dawn; now they’ll be lucky to arrive before the competition. We bought you that time, Kid, and we can take some of the heat away, too—if you give us one of the discs you’re carrying. Only one—you can keep the copies. We’re entitled to it, believe me.”
“Who are you?” asked Kid Zero, pulling on his boots. The nightsights had adapted now and Rico could see everything in the room with remarkable clarity. He was glad to see that the snake was quite motionless, though its stare was unwavering.
“Our people were waiting for Haycraft,” said Rico. “When they saw what happened to him they called up all the reinforcements they could, including me. We got word that you were heading up this way, and we were told to intercept—but we had to spread ourselves a little thin, with having to take care of the GenTech security men too. We were all given instructions to the effect that if we found you we were to play fair—but also to make you an offer you couldn’t refuse. The ball’s in your court, Kid. You can name your own price, and we’ll do what we can to deliver—but the real issue is that if you want to hurt GenTech, you only have to give us the disc. We’re the ones who can use the big secret. Another corp would only steal it, but we’ll use it.”
“Are you telling me that you’re a government agent?” asked the Kid sceptically.
“Not exactly,” Rico answered. “The front-line government is in GenTech’s pocket. Every senator and senior official is bought and paid for by G-T, and a healthy proportion of them are selling their favours to the opposition as well. We represent the former owners—the people who used to own the government before we were outbid. You could think of us as the third hand.”
“The third hand?” countered the Kid, obviously perplexed. Rico suppressed a grin. It seemed to him that his adversary was going for all the narrative hooks, and could be reeled in—if only he didn’t run out of time.
“The government’s right hand never knew what its left was doing,” said Rico. “And neither of them knew that they weren’t the only two hands the organization had. You could call us the inner circle, if you
prefer –the circle of people who didn’t have to be accountable to the public.”
“The CIA?”
“Some of the old guys used to be in the CIA, but they had fingers in a lot of other pies too. None of that matters to you, Kid. All that matters is that we aren’t in with the corps. In fact, we’re the last effective org that hasn’t been absorbed by the corps, and we’re all that stands in the way of the asset-stripping of America. If we lose, the whole damn country will be carved up between GenTech, M-M and the rest—but what’s on that disc gives us a chance to fight back…a chance to neutralize GenTech’s ultimate weapon.”
“Why should I care whether your people or the corps run things?” asked the Kid. He sounded neither bitter nor sarcastic, as if the question really needed an answer.
“I don’t know,” answered Rico truthfully. “I don’t have a clue how you decide what to care about. But if what’s said about you is true, you’re no friend of GenTech’s. If you don’t give the disc to me, they’re the hot favourites to get it back again.”
Rico paused, but the Kid didn’t say anything, so he continued to spin out the yarn. “You were dumb to trust a scuzzbag like Homer Hegarty, Kid. The heavy mob had to force Harriet the Hooker to tell you how many copies she made, but Homer ratted on you voluntarily. That’s how come they’re so close. While you’re carrying that disc you’re like a dose of poison to everyone you meet. We’re the only ones who can share the heat with you—and if you want to cut a deal with one of the rival corps you’ll still have the other copy, provided that the search parties don’t find out where you stashed it.”
“They won’t,” said the Kid confidently.
“Maybe not,” Rico came back, “but I don’t think you realize just how hard they’re trying. GenTech couldn’t keep the lid on their bad news, and now everybody and his cousin wants a slice of the action. I can’t pretend to be your friend, Kid, but I’m your enemy’s enemy—and if you want to have any friends left when this business is over, you’d better stay well away from them. The only people who can help you are people like us, who dislike GenTech’s ambitions every bit as much as you do. Help us, and maybe—just maybe—we can get you out of this in one piece.”
Privately, of course, Rico didn’t think that Kid Zero had a cat in hell’s chance of getting out of this alive, but he wasn’t about to say so to the Kid. He wanted the sucker to think that there was just a tiny ray of hope—provided that he played ball with Rico. On the other hand, the longer it took to convince him, the less chance Rico had of making a run for it himself, even though his back-up was scheduled to arrive in advance of the opposition.
Kid Zero was looking down at the unconscious sandra
t, who might or might not be dead by now. The Kid was probably thinking about the tape that Rico had used to shut him up, wondering what that said about the quality of Rico’s character.
“He tried to sell you, Kid,” said Rico softly. “Not to me—to GenTech. Don’t waste your sympathy, or your time. You can ride away if you want to, with the disc still in your pocket, but that would mean that you’ll still have everybody on your tail. Give it to me, and my people will be off your back and heading back east—taking at least half the chasers with us. I ain’t pretending it’s a great deal, but you can have some promises too if you’re prepared to believe me. Anything you want—money, a job, a life. The other way is certain death.”
“What’s on the disc?” asked the Kid. He had gathered up his stuff now and was ready to hit the road. “If Haycraft is yours, you must know.”
“Not me,” said Rico. “I’m only a soldier. But they told us in no uncertain terms it’s something really big—something which presently gives GenTech a big edge in the corp war. If you give it to another corp, that might even up the war…but if we don’t have it too, the corps are invincible. You trusted Homer Hegarty with a copy, and he gave it straight back to GenTech. I won’t do that—so whatever reason you had for giving it to him should make you hand it to me. I may not be much, but I’m all there is, Kid. I’m all you’ve got.”
“You might be lying through your teeth,” the Kid pointed out, without undue rancour. “You might even be GenTech.”
“If I were GenTech,” said Rico, “the game would already be over. And I might be telling the truth. Figure the odds yourself, Kid. You have nothing to lose but a copy of the disc which they’ll take off your dead body when they catch you—and if you’re dead, it won’t matter a damn whether they Find the other copy or not. What you have to gain is a chance to get away. Weigh it up, Kid, and tell me how it feels.”
The Kid bent down to pick up the snake. It curled itself around his neck, dangling from his shoulders. It held its head up, and its eyes were still fixed on Rico’s face. Rico stared back at it for a moment before transferring his gaze back to the Kid.
The Kid put his gun away, and pulled a small package out of his pants pocket.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll buy it. Pity about Homer—I thought the guy had guts.”
“If he had guts of his own,” Rico observed, as he took the disc and put it away in his jacket, “he wouldn’t have to make a living out of other people’s. Good luck, Kid.”
“Same to you,” said the Kid equably, and disappeared into the dark corridor, taking his flashlight with him.
Rico gave him a minute or two to get clear, while his nightsights adjusted again. Then he went to pick up the forty-five. As he slid it into its holster the heard the Kid’s bike start up.
Give the bastards a good run, Kid, he said, silently. He needed the Kid to give them a good run, in order to maximize his own chances of getting clear. He didn’t want to deflect any more of the heat in his own direction than was strictly necessary.
Because he wasn’t a coward, it didn’t even cross Rico’s mind that he was now in a position to cut his own deal. The thought of going against the family in favour of a possible payoff from GenTech was simply not on the list of possibilities. There were other benefits to not being a coward, but not being tempted by stupidity was probably the most important, and he knew it. He judged that Kid Zero was no coward either, but he didn’t really care one way or the other about that; he had no lime for the kind of hero-worship which was Homer Hegarty’s stock-in-trade. The Kid’s role in this, as far as Rico was concerned, was just to do and die—and by the manner of his dying, to buy time for Rico and those whose soldier he was.
Rico honestly believed that the men whose soldier he was were the last true dreamers of the glorious American Dream. He wasn’t a coward, but in his heart of hearts he was a bit of a sucker.
6
At first Pasco thought that Carl Preston was dead, but it turned out that all the blood had belonged to the Atlas Boy who’d fallen on top of him. Once the mercy boys had hauled the huge corpse away the paramedics had no trouble bringing him round.
Meanwhile, Pasco watched the sun rise from the cradle of the Great Western Desert. It was a sight which had urged lesser men to poetic description, but to Pasco—who had just had a long radio conversation with his Division Head—it was just the beginning of another bad day.
The paramedics gave Preston a cup of water, advising him to sip it slowly and give himself time to collect his scattered wits. Pasco waited patiently while this advice was followed—over-scrupulously, he thought—and didn’t speak until he was spoken to.
Finally, Carl squinted up at him, and said: “Did we get them all?”
“Not all,” Pasco told him. “Enough. Seven or eight hightailed it into the desert when the birds swooped. Charlie Atlas got his but Ace the Ace is still out there. It isn’t the first time the Low Numbers have been reduced to low numbers, and as long as there are supersteroids on the black market there’ll be Atlas Boys to lap them up, but for the time being the two gangs are extinct. We have to get going, Carl—we’re late, and even with the birds to carry us we might not be early enough to get to the worm.”
Preston came slowly to his feet, looking disgustedly at his blood-caked jacket and pants.
“I need a change of clothes,” he observed.
Privately, Pasco thought that they hadn’t time to waste in stating the obvious, but he felt that he had to make allowances; he knew only too well what a difficult night Preston had had.
“In the bird,” he said tersely, and pointed to where they had to go. The copter’s blades were already whirling, ready for lift-off.
“Do you know where Kid Zero is?” asked Preston, raising his voice as they approached the roaring blades.
“Not exactly,” Pasco shouted back. “But everybody and his cousin seems to be heading for a place called Melendez in New Mexico. That’s where the mobmobiles are going, dragging half a dozen independent Ops and other assorted chancers in their wake.”
It wasn’t possible to add any more until they were loaded up and the doors were closed, so Pasco shut up. It was, he knew, conceivable that the Melendez run was a red herring, but every GenTech ear in five states was glued to the ground, and if anything better came in the bird would be ready to change tack.
Once the bird was in the air Preston went out back to change and tool up, while Pasco sat beside the pilot, taking up the radio-mike.
“I want everything up in the air,” he said, broadcasting on an open channel. “Never mind collecting heads—I’ll make sure that your bounty bonuses are made good. We have to cover all the exits from this freakin’ ghost town as best we can.”
The squad-leader in charge of the mercy boys leaned over his shoulder, and said: “When we get there, how much iron hand do we use and how much velvet glove?”
“We use just enough iron hand to get in ahead of the competition,” said Pasco grimly. “But remind the boys that they aren’t chasing motorpsychos now. It ain’t good for public relations to start shooting indiscriminately at decent citizens like Ops and the mafia. We don’t hurt anyone unless we have to—but until we have our discs back, nobody gets out of that town without being put through a scrambler. If necessary, we put every damn vehicle through an electromagnetic field strong enough to wipe everything they’re carrying—we can always apologize for the mistake later.”
“What if we run into mercy boys from the other corps?”
“Same rules. This isn’t a shooting war—yet. Just make sure that if the opposition shoot first, we shoot last. Any sign of Chromicon or M-M presence in the area?”
The squad-leader shook his head. “No birds in the air yet,” he said. “If they’re going in, they’re doing it under cover.”
Pasco felt a brief and belated pang of regret about shooting Cyril Atlas. He knew only too well that he and Preston ought to have been going in under cover, swiftly and silently. He tried to tell hi
mself that it was okay, because the cat was out of the bag now, and come the end of the day it might be handy to have half a hundred mercy boys to help him mop up, but he couldn’t convince himself. His Division Head had not been openly hostile or angry when the two of them had talked, but Pasco had got the impression that his boss was apprehensive about something. Being a buckpasser from way back, of course, he was always apprehensive about something—but Pasco had the impression that news of this sad affair had now reached the upper echelons of GenTech’s command structure, and that someone Way Up There was very upset.
“Keep me informed,” he said to the bird’s radio-man brusquely, and went in back, where it was a little quieter. Carl Preston was cleaned up now, and though he was dressed as an ordinary mercy boy he looked better than Pasco felt.
“Okay Carl?” he said.
“Sure,” said Zarathustra’s man, not too enthusiastically. “You think the Kid will make a run for it when the heat comes down, or will he try to hide out?”
“If he’s still in town,” said Pasco, “he’ll hole up until nightfall. What we really have to worry about is whether he got any kind of advance warning. If he did, he’ll be way out of town already, holed up somewhere that the heat won’t reach—in which case we’ll have to wait for another sighting.”
Preston laughed shortly. “And when we go after him,” he observed, “We’ll have a freakin’ circus trailing in our wake.”
“Either that or we launch our own decoy operation,” Pasco confirmed. “I told your boss it wouldn’t be easy, didn’t I?”
“You did,” admitted Preston dolefully. “But it won’t be you that has to explain to him how it all went wrong.”
Pasco actually felt a slight pang of sympathy, but he managed to scowl anyway. “We’ll all have to do our fair share of explaining,” he said sourly, “Including Doc freakin’ Zarathustra. I get the feeling that there’s more to this than a little bit of mislaid data. My boss just handed me a line about desperate necessity—and though he talks like that all the time, this time I think he means it. We could be in big trouble, if we can’t pull the chestnuts out of the fire. Are you sure you don’t have any idea what all the panic and double-dealing is about?”