Bio-Weapon ds-2 Page 4

  Marten hid his excitement. Hansen made illegal drugs under the noses of the Highborn. He even had an engineer involved. Even better, this Nadia Pravda, this engineer, sounded as if she was in trouble with Hansen. Marten needed a way to move under security if he was ever going to steal a vacc suit in order to spacewalk to the broken-down pod. Here was his chance to find out how Hansen did it.

  “Listen, Kang,” Hansen was saying, with a greasy smile on his face. Then he peered at his slender hands and ordered an eye-bender from the bar.

  Marten stood. “I’m sorry, but I have to leave. This reunion, it’s none of my affair.” He motioned to Omi.

  “Nor mine,” Omi said, standing.

  Hansen peered at them, his features calculating. “No,” he said a moment later. “This is between Kang and me. You may go.”

  “Hey, maggot,” Kang said. “My buddies and I do whatever we feel like. We’re shock troopers, which is top of the heap around here. You’re the one who’s going to need permission to leave, not them.”

  Marten didn’t hear Hansen’s reply. He pushed Omi toward the door, and whispered, “Do you think Kang will be all right?”

  “Hansen is too scared to try anything stupid. Kang could probably clear the bar if felt like it.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.”

  Coming out of Smade’s they blinked at the glittering lights. Marten looked around and pointed at the two monitors frog-marching the engineer. They weren’t far ahead. She seemed resigned to her fate and wasn’t resisting.

  “We’d better act natural,” Marten said, thrusting his hands into his jacket pockets. He sauntered along as if looking at the sights.

  “You want to follow her?” Omi asked.

  “This is our chance,” Marten said. “But we have to hurry.”

  Omi blinked once and then laughed, immediately launching into a tourist-type gawker. He pointed at a tall spire in the distance before grabbing Marten’s arm and dragging him faster.

  The two monitors frog-marched Nadia Pravda around a corner. Marten and Omi hurried. Marten made it around the corner in time to see them march her behind two plastic trees near the wall. The monitors had taken her down a small alleyway. A hidden door behind the two fake trees swished open. Marten and Omi broke into a run. The woman finally started talking, her voice wheedling, pleading. Marten plunged between the two plastic props, through the door and into a lift, with Omi almost on top of him.

  One of the monitors had his back turned. The other jerked his head in surprise. He had a nasty scar across his forehead. “You two aren’t allowed—”

  Marten punched him in the throat as the lift closed and headed down. He grabbed the man’s hair and slammed the meaty face down against his up-thrusting knee. Teeth crunched and the monitor slumped onto the floor. When he tried to get up Marten kicked him. Omi took out the second one.

  Nadia Pravda the engineer stared at the two of them in wonder and dread.

  “They were going to kill you,” Omi told her.

  Marten looked at Omi in surprise.

  “What?” she said.

  “We heard Hansen order it,” Omi lied.

  Nadia’s eyes got big and round. She glanced at Marten.

  He shrugged.

  Omi, who searched the bodies, handed Marten a small pistol. “It’s a projac,” he said. “Shoots drugged ice needles. Knocks a person out in seconds.” Omi checked the monitor’s pocket. “Hello.” He pulled out a small clip and examined the side print. He tossed it to Marten. “Know what that is?”

  Marten shook his head.

  “Explosive slivers of glass. A perfect murder weapon for use in a space hab.”

  “You’re not monitors, are you?” Nadia asked.

  Marten stared at her, uncertain how to go about this.

  “I’m sure this isn’t about helping me,” she said, “although I do appreciate the help.”

  “The lift is slowing down,” warned Omi.

  “Look,” she said. “What…” Perspiration glistened on her brow. “You two swear that they were going to kill me?”

  “What do you think these are for?” Marten asked, showing her the second clip.

  Nadia moaned and hugged herself. “It wasn’t my fault.”

  “That doesn’t matter anymore,” Omi said.

  “I know that!” she said.

  The lift stopped and the door swished open.

  She stared at the empty corridor. Then she turned to Marten. Fear twisted her features, turning her skin pale under the shadow of her hat.

  “Let’s make a deal,” Marten said.

  “What kind of deal?” Nadia asked.

  “I want to know why a solar engineer is working for drug lords,” Marten said.

  “Not drug lords,” she said. “I work for the monitors.”

  “Not for all of them,” Marten said, guessing. “But for the corrupt ones.”

  Her shoulders sagged. She nodded. “I needed the credits.”

  “I don’t want to know your reason,” Marten said. “Tell me theirs.”

  “This is all very interesting,” Omi said. “But what are we going to do about these two? We have to move them.”

  “Well?” Marten asked her. “Why did they need you?”

  “Because the plant is there,” she shouted. “Why do you think?”

  “The plant is where?” Marten asked.

  “In the solar panels where I work.”

  Marten smiled for the first time. He bet vacc suits were in the solar panels. He needed a vacc suit to spacewalk to the broken-down pod. “Last question.” He shrugged off his jacket and showed her his barcode tattoo. “Have you ever seen one of these before?”

  “The monitors have them,” she said. “It tracks them, I think they said.”

  “That’s right,” Marten said. “Do you know how they take themselves off the tracking screen?”

  A shifty look entered her eyes. “What’s it worth you to know?”

  “Nadia,” Marten said. “Either you tell me or there’s no deal. Then you’re on your own again.”

  She glanced at the two unconscious monitors, at Omi as he shot each of them with a second projac. The monitors jerked. The one with the forehead scar and the missing teeth opened his eyes. Then the knockout drugs took over and the eyes closed again.

  “It’s a little device that Hansen keeps with him,” Nadia said. “I’ve seen him slide it over two of his guards before, when they came to… to help me. One of them said something about it making them invisible. I guess he meant invisible to the station tracker.”

  “Good,” Marten said. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

  7.

  Marten reentered Smade’s. He needed the device that would deactivate his barcode tattoo. Nadia said Hansen kept it on his person. He hoped she was right.

  Before Marten adjusted to the gloom, Kang bellowed a greeting. Marten strode in that direction and a moment later slid into his chair. Hansen had his slender hands wrapped around a frosty glass of blue liquid. He looked dejected, his thinning hair messed up at the sides as if he’d been scratching his head. The massive Kang sat at the table as if he were a king. The dim light shone off the top of his bald head, while his eyes were a little more open than usual. His pupils had started turning glassy.

  “Where’s Omi?” Kang asked.

  “He’s with a girl,” Marten said. “I figured there’s no sense in trying to find Lance and Vip. So…”

  “They’re more of you?” Hansen asked in alarm.

  Kang leered. “Poor little informer, always wants to know everything, don’t you?”

  Hansen made a peevish gesture.

  “What are you having?” Marten asked Hansen.

  “Eye-bender,” mumbled the monitor. “Do you want one? It’ll be on me.”

  “Sure,” Marten said.

  Hansen snapped his fingers and soon a waitress set a tall frosty eye-bender before Marten. He raised his glass to Hansen. Glumly, Hansen raised his and they clicked glasses
.

  “To old friends,” Marten said.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Kang said, picking up his glass and clicking it against theirs.

  Kang slurped vodka. Marten sipped, while Hansen took a mouthful of eye-bender and swallowed as if it were a lump of clay.

  “Do you know why Hansen looks so sad?” Kang asked.

  “Please,” said Hansen. “Do you have to speak so loudly? Must everyone hear?”

  Kang leered. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Is that better?”

  Hansen sighed, peered at his eye-bender and took another of his doleful swallows.

  “He thinks I’ll spill his secrets,” Kang said.

  “We’re all Sydney boys,” said Hansen in a dispirited way. “We have to stick together.”

  “That’s so right,” Kang said. “So very right.”

  Marten wondered how much vodka Kang had put away.

  “But if I scratch your back, you little maggot, how are you gonna scratch mine?” asked Kang.

  Hansen reached into his pockets and put a small pile of plastic credits on the table. “It’s all I have.”

  Kang leered at Marten. “Do you think that’s enough?”

  “For what?” asked Marten.

  “To buy the 101st’s silence.”

  Marten studied the credits and then Hansen. “Isn’t it dangerous what you’re doing? This entire setup?”

  “No more dangerous than your profession,” said Hansen.

  “Are you trying to say you’re as brave as us?” growled Kang.

  “The saints forbid that I dare claim that,” said Hansen. He studied his eye-bender and a grin twitched. “But my profession does pay better and there are more perks.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Kang said. “At least about the better pay.”

  Hansen winced, shook his long head and finished his eye-bender. “I must be leaving,” he said.

  Kang dropped his hand onto Hansen’s wrist. “Going to get reinforcements are you? Maybe have them take me out somewhere quiet and work me over?”

  “Do you think I’m insane?” asked Hansen. “The HBs would come flying to your rescue.”

  “That’s right,” Kang said. “Then you’d all be in the pain booth. And then one of you would talk, would break under the pressure. It would be over for you. You’d take a space walk in your skivvies.”

  “I know, I know,” said Hansen, sweat beading on his tall forehead.

  “You little maggot,” Kang said. “You don’t know at all. You think you’ve finally got me drunk, got me stupid. You really think you can outsmart me. You, a little informer—” Kang spat on the table.

  Hansen closed his eyes. When he opened them, the man and woman monitor-team that had been watching them stood at the table. The woman was taller than the man and had long black hair. Although short, the man had wide shoulders and seemingly no neck, and there was something odd about his eyes. They were gray and seemed empty, devoid of emotion.

  Kang leaned back, eyeing the pair. “Are they yours?” he asked Hansen.

  “Is everything all right, boss?” asked the man.

  Hansen pursed his lips. “Have either of you spoken to Dalt or Methlen?”

  “No, boss.”

  Hansen glanced at Kang as he spoke to his team. “I think you two should check on them.”

  Kang grunted his okay.

  “Yes,” said Hansen. “That’s what I want you to do.”

  “What about you, boss?”

  “I’ll be fine,” said Hansen. “These are old friends.”

  “Are you certain about that?”

  Hansen slapped the table. “I said I would be all right, didn’t I? Now do what I ask, Ervil.”

  Ervil darted his dead eyes at Kang and Marten. Finally, he dipped his thick head.

  “Report back when you find them,” said Hansen.

  “Like you say, boss.” Ervil took the black-haired woman’s hand and they left.

  “There,” said Hansen. “Satisfied?”

  Kang poured more vodka.

  “But I must tell you that if I press a switch or don’t report to HQ in another half hour that monitors will descend upon me,” said Hansen. “Then it’s detention for both of you.”

  “And then your secret is out,” Kang said.

  “Not necessarily,” said Hansen. “As I said before, Chief Monitor Bock runs the secret police.”

  “All the monitors help make dream dust?” asked Kang.

  “No,” said Hansen. “But enough.”

  Kang nodded and slurped more vodka. “Not a bad racket, you little maggot, not bad at all. I’m impressed.”

  The thin monitor sat a little straighter and he even adjusted his collar. “If you can make it in Sydney’s slums then you can make it anywhere.”

  “That’s right,” Kang said.

  Hansen smiled ruefully. He turned to Marten and noticed his eye-bender. “You’ve hardly sipped your drink.”

  “It’s not really what I expected,” Marten said. “Would you like it?” He slid it over.

  Hansen peered at him, shrugged. He took the tall glass and took another of his measured swallows. Kang slurped more vodka.

  Marten waited, wondering just how big a bladder each man had.

  “Maybe this is all for the best,” said Hansen. “I’m looking for more sellers I can trust and Bock wants to break into new areas.”

  Kang sneered. “Me work for you?”

  “Of course not,” said Hansen. “You’d work for Chief Monitor Bock. What do you think?”

  Kang glanced at Marten. Marten sat impassively. Kang shook his head at Hansen, who had watched the exchange. Hansen now looked with new interest at Marten.

  Marten slid his chair back. “That spiced tea before has gone right through me. What about you, Hansen?”

  It took Hansen a half-beat. “Yes. I need to use the restroom.”

  Kang laughed. “Oh no you don’t.”

  “Don’t worry,” Marten said. “I won’t let him call for reinforcements.”

  Kang grumbled, then shrugged and waved his thick hand. “Go, go, be my guest.”

  Marten and Hansen rose and headed for the restroom.

  “You’re the leader of the 101st?” whispered Hansen.

  “That’s right,” Marten said.

  “Kang has to listen to you?”

  “Yes,” Marten said.

  Hansen nodded ruefully. “Yes. Wise of you to let him play me out. Now it is I who am impressed.”

  Marten opened the restroom door and gestured for Hansen to proceed.

  “I’m glad I can work with a reasonable man,” said Hansen as he walked in. “Our survival depends upon logic and precision, not brute force and rage.” He turned around.

  Marten shot him twice as the projac made little hissing sounds.

  The ice slivers penetrated Hansen’s tunic and into his stomach. The thin monitor had time to widen his eyes in astonishment and pain. Then he staggered backward as the knockout drugs took hold. Marten caught him under the armpits and shuffled into a stall. He lowered the drugged monitor onto a toilet seat. He patted Hansen down, coming up with a projac, several more clips, a wallet stuffed with credits, a communicator and a flat device with a barcode on the back. Marten took it and ran it over his tattoo. The device flashed a green light. Marten slid it over his tattoo again. The device flashed red. Green, off, red, on.

  Marten debated killing Hansen instead of just leaving him drugged. He shook his head. With that decided, Marten stuffed his jacket with the loot. Then he adjusted Hansen’s clothes, put the man’s hands over his stomach and spread his feet wider. Marten locked the stall, dropped to his stomach and slid under the bottom. Disgusting, but it worked. He dusted himself and strolled into the barroom.

  “Where’s Hansen?” Kang said as Marten sat down. “You said you weren’t going to leave him alone.”

  “He pulled a gun on me,” Marten said. He pulled out the projac and showed Kang under the table.

  “The little m
aggot! What was he thinking?”

  Marten showed Kang his knuckles from where he’s hit the monitor in the throat before. “I took Hansen out. Set him on the toilet seat and locked the stall.”

  Kang grunted.

  “But I think we’d better get out of here,” Marten said.

  “Because of that little maggot? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “He’s a monitor, Kang.”

  “He drew a gun on you,” Kang snarled. “I’ll—” Kang half rose, but Marten put his hand on the Mongol’s massive forearms.

  “I took these off him,” Marten said, slapping a handful of credits on the table, beside Hansen’s earlier pile. “Take them.”

  Kang sat and started stuffing his pockets.

  “We don’t want any trouble,” Marten said. “There’s no telling how the Training Master will view all this—if we get thrown into detention or found to have killed monitors.”

  Kang grunted.

  “So get drunk,” Marten said, “just not here.”

  “What about you?”

  “I should probably find Lance and Vip and tell them to be careful. Do you want to help me look for them?”

  Kang snorted. Then he grabbed his latest vodka bottle by the neck, rose ponderously and headed for the door. A waitress hurried to intercept him.

  Marten motioned sharply.

  She looked at Kang once more and came over.

  “Do you know Hansen?” Marten asked.

  “He’s come in here before,” she said. “Wasn’t he with you?”

  “He’s still in the restroom.”

  “Oh. Yes, that’s right. I saw him go in.”

  “He’s sleeping one off,” Marten said. “I don’t think he wants to be disturbed either.”

  She blinked several times. “That’s kind of strange,” she finally said.

  “He has strange… tastes,” Marten said.

  “Oh,” said the waitress. “Then why does he come to Smade’s? There are other places for that sort of thing.”

  Marten shrugged.

  “Well, it doesn’t really matter to me,” she said.

  “A good policy,” agreed Marten. “Hansen will pay the score.”

  The waitress glanced at Kang as he exited. “All right,” she said.