by Pam Uphoff
"Bundle them up. If they search, I'll have to hide them with me." His hands went to the tie, and slowed.
She snickered and hopped off the bed and pulled his suitcase out from under it. Popped it open.
"Dina . . . you are my hero. The black pants and turtleneck sweater . . ."
She helped him out of and into the top part, and stifling a giggle, left him to deal with the pants himself. She wiped the nice shoes down, peeked out, and helped him with the nice dry socks and the pants. Tucked him into bed.
"I'm going to hide things and wipe up any drips we left behind." She slipped quietly out, just a few quick moments and she was back.
He was sound asleep, curled up and quiet. She took a pile of her summer weight blouses, and layered them over the rest of the clothes she’d taken earlier. Slid the suitcase quietly back under the bed.
The big coat was dry, so she wrapped up in it and curled up in her big reading chair. She woke when her brother tried to come in quietly, and again at five, with the furious pounding on the front door. The doorbell ringing over and over.
Chapter Forty
Search Me
Friday, December 6, 3739
Vlad jerked awake at the incessant ringing and pounding on the front door. Grabbed his gun and galloped down the stairs.
"Police! Open up!"
Vlad flipped the switch to light up the porch and yelled back. "I am Senior Detective Vlad Gagarin. Who the hell are you?"
"Special task force Alpha . . ." The kaleidoscope image of the man through the patterned panes of the glass was shoved aside.
"Gagarin! What the hell are you doing here?" Agent Schweiger's irritated—and irritating voice.
Vlad flipped the locks. "I live here. If you are still hunting for evidence against Lord Axel Vinogradov," he opened the door, "you are in the wrong place." He pointed. "Try next door."
"So you know him!"
"I met him for the first time a year ago when I was investigating his uncle's death. I thought you said you'd arrested him?"
"He escaped. Now get out of the way. We're searching the whole neighborhood."
Vlad stepped back in disgust. "More of your emergency powers? No doubt, no warrants needed."
The Stuttgart cops flooded in, charging into the kitchen one way and the garage the other. tracking slushy footprints.
Melting already? At least I won't have to shovel the walk.
"Vlad? What's going on?"
Vlad looked up the stairs, at his father coming down, shotgun in hand. "Searching for a fugitive. Tell Mom and I'll get Dina." He raised his voice. "My father is a retired policeman. He has every right to that gun. Mind your manners, especially around my sister. She had a bad grow-in and . . . God damn you assholes!"
A pair of over-enthusiastic Stuttgartans shoved past his father and headed upstairs. Two more galloped out of the garage and charged upwards.
A wordless startled "Eep!" from Dina, and he was charging up the steps after his dad.
And grabbing for the gun. "Dad! Give me the shotgun, before these idiots shoot you!"
Fortunately for all concerned, Dina was being ignored. A big eyed girl in mismatched flannel jammies, standing in the corner clutching her stuffed bunny wasn't attracting half the attention he was.
Not a single Cyborg. I’ll bet no chips either.
But mostly they were searching the room, a glance in the bathroom, out the glass door to the snow covered patio, in the wardrobe, one door bouncing off Dina's chair that wasn't where it usually sat, a light shone under, clothes on hangers shoved around.
Then checking under the bed, pulling out a suitcase, opening it to show frilly pink things, shoving it back under. Then around to the narrow space between the bed and the curtained window wall . . .
Another Eep! as Dina scrambled up to stand on the bed, then as they jerked the comforter off, she climbed up on the headboard.
Vlad stalked in. "Dina, come down here! Schweiger? Why the hell do you think Axel Vinogradov would be hiding under a bed? Didn't you lot research him at all before you arrested him?" He put his arm around Dina's waist and lifted her down, stepped away, keeping her close.
"Oh? And where do you think he'd go?"
"Up Top. You know, the Research Center where his parents worked? Where if he wanted to hide, he probably knows every nook, cranny and hiding place? Or if he had no intention of hiding, he probably knows where every dangerous chemical and exotic experimental electronic gadget is?"
"Listen, Gagarin . . ."
"Not to mention that he damn well knows where all the Fast Response Team weaponry is stored. BECAUSE APPARENTLY YOU DON'T REALIZE THAT HE'S A TEAM MENTALIST!"
Schweiger blinked. "He's not any kind of Mentalist at all, any more. They chipped him first thing."
Vlad stared at him in shock. "You arrested him yesterday. There was no trial . . . You do realize that illegal chipping is a capital offence, right? And chipping 29 Vinogradov? Whoever makes a decision like that is dead, and his entire branch removed from the line."
Schweiger sneered. "The 300 is gone. Not coming back. Stuttgart is going to scoop up every weakling world around and we'll be the capital, the nucleus of a New Empire."
Vlad shut his mouth on an injudicious comment. Took a deep breath. "Dad. Get Mom and bring her down to the dining room. We'll just let these . . . fine gentlemen . . . get on with their search."
"Hold up Gagarin." Schweiger pulled a small device out of his pocket and touched Dina's head with it.
Checking her chip.
Dina flinched and clung.
Schweiger looked at his instrument. "Dina Gagarin. Class seven impairment." He stepped away in distaste. "I'm surprised you didn't have her institutionalized. Or euthanized."
Vlad turned Dina and hauled her out of her room.
The Stuttgartans were exiting his room, he could see his wardrobe standing open, the bed tossed . . . He shook his head and kept an arm around Dina all the way down.
Strange suitcase under the bed—or did she take that from Axel's house yesterday?
Playing mute.
Chair moved so the wardrobe was just a bit harder to search . . .
His mom scurried down after them tying her robe, eyes worried, but still huffing indignantly.
Schweiger stalked down the stairs, phone to his ear.
A pair of men trotted in from the back and shook their heads. Shedding half melted snow and mud.
"Yes, sir." Schweiger clicked off. "All in. Let's go!"
He scowled at Vlad but walked out the door without a word.
They looked at each other silently for a minute.
Vlad stepped over to the living room window and watched them climb into military-looking vehicles, and drive away.
"Well. I might as well get dressed, and put the guns away. Mom? How about some breakfast?"
He started at the top, searching his parents’ room for a lurker. I ought to have counted how many entered the house.
Racked the shotgun. Searched his own room, noting a strange pair of pants and shoes in the closet. Then Dina's room. A quick glance around. Shifted her chair. Grabbed the tottering figure that nearly fell out of the back of the wardrobe, blocked a punch, almost tripped over the bundle Axel had dropped and hauled him over to the bed.
"Quiet. I think they're gone, but . . ."
He got a nod in return.
"Did Dina get you her medicine?'
"Yes . . . 'm still . . . off . . ."
"Right. Sleep."
Well, guess this makes me an accessory. An outlaw.
I'll go check on Forty-one . . . and he's already shared that stuff around with his buddies. I wonder if he could get it to the Fast Reaction Teams? Their barracks are Up Top . . . but they do meet when they have portal duty.
He grabbed his computer on the way down and set it where his father could see it, as he brought up the non-public police site.
Axel was the top news . . . apart from the minor detail of not being named.
A major search on for the escapee who'd murdered the Chief Surgeon at the Cybernetics Center . . . The dangerously deranged man's chip had gone horribly wrong . . . A public danger . . .
Vlad gulped. Murdered the surgeon. He must have incredible resistance to the anesthesia they use . . . And I've got a killer sleeping off drugs in my sister's room.
Dad stirred uneasily. "Son . . . Axel . . ."
Vlad shook his head, slowly. "I fail to see how Lord Axel Vinogradov, who is a Fast Reaction Team Mentalist employed by the Imperium could be arrested and chipped so quickly at all. And since he is 29 Vinogradov, it ought to have involved an Official Executioner. If Stuttgart is ignoring those legal requirements, they are in rebellion against the Alliance and the 300, and we'd better not expect any restraints on their behavior."
"We're in deep trouble, aren't we?"
"Yes. So . . . we'll just keep a low profile and see what happens." He pointed at the screen. "I suspect the Stuttgartans are going to be really sorry they got Igor mad at them."
***
Nothing else happened so he checked the weather forecast, then grabbed a raincoat and headed for the office.
Where the Chief of Police was trying to calm down a three sided yelling match in the elevator lobby.
Two sided. The third man, Director Rasputin, Axel's "Boss" had his arms crossed and was staring daggers at the unknown man in the suit.
". . . give me the zivvy!"
The man in the uniform snarled. "We need it to maintain civilization!"
The Boss's stare was getting colder.
"If you would all please calm down . . .
All three had flunkies hovering, not quite ready to grab their respective superiors and haul them away.
Vlad detoured way around the confrontation, and found some other detectives. "So . . . they're fighting over the last scraps of zivvy?"
Detective Devin nodded. "Or at least the last scraps the Cybernetic Center had. The fat guy's the Head of the Cybernetics Center, Dr. Jenner. The Fast Reaction Teams raided the Center this morning and removed every capsule of zivvy they had. They claim they have the right. That's the Director of Imperial Intelligence, Rasputin, keeping his mouth shut. Colonel Lehr, there, wants all of it that the Research Center has Up Top. Nobody's saying quite what triggered the raid in the first place."
Vlad bit his lip. "According to the Stuttgart Agent I spent much too much time with yesterday, they snatched a top Bureau Agent off the street and sent him straight to surgery and got him chipped. He's that anonymous fugitive who escaped the Center, killing the Chief Surgeon on the way out."
That got a low whistle from Devine, and uneasy looks from the rest.
"Exactly. No arraignment, no trial. And if that's the way they're going to proceed, I'd just as soon there was no zivvy available at all."
"Do you know who they chipped?"
Vlad was opening his mouth when the Doctor threw himself bodily at the Director of Intel. Whose rather thin Exec stepped forward to block a man who was probably triple his weight and was flattened. But did serve to trip the Doc, as Rasputin sidestepped, turned and twisted the Colonel's arm upward.
Lehr had a pistol in his hand and half the cops in the room leapt . . . the gun flew across the room as the Colonel was flattened like the bottom layer of a cake with a frosting of cops.
Director Rasputin stood back as the cops stood up, then grabbed the Colonel, hauled him up and slammed him into the wall.
"I realize, as a soldier, that you cannot simply pick up and leave against orders. So I suspect that means we're going to have to kill every single one of you. I'm tempted to start right now, but I'm going to leave you one chance to talk to your superiors and persuade them that this is a really bad World to try to take."
He gave the officer a really nasty looking smile. "You personally? You're a dead man walking. Because. You. Chipped. Igor."
Two of the Doctor's following helped him up and Rasputin stooped to help his Exec up. "Thank you, Mr. Matveev. You've got good reflexes. Let's go find a real doctor to take a look at that wrist. And perhaps your ribs."
He turned his back on the room and walked out, shooing the Exec out ahead of him.
A young Stuttgart officer had retrieved the gun and looked like he was contemplating using it.
"Don't," the colonel snarled. "He's got shields up."
The Chief of Police cleared his throat noisily. "Quite apart from murder being illegal. All of you go away. Colonel . . . you're getting a warning this time. Do not ever draw a gun in my building again."
He turned to the fat man. "Dr. Jenner. We will be investigating two serious crimes in your Center. Since you are here, why don't we go talk to the Chief Detective?"
"What's to talk about? How can you not find an addled murderer? The first twenty-four hours are past, the wires are getting into his brain now, you should be able to find him and control him."
"Indeed. If he weren't a trained soldier and agent. Whose trial and conviction totally escaped my notice. In fact, judging by the security recordings at the store where he was ambushed, he must have been taken straight from the store to the Cybernetics Center, stunned. You didn't even bother with a show trial.”
“There were papers from the court . . .”
"And we will be looking at them. So let's just go have a little chat about this." The Chief's head turned at a movement of the Colonel's. "You, why are you still here?"
The colonel glowered, but turned and stalked out, junior officers at his heels.
Vlad exchanged glances with the other detectives. "Surely there's something we can investigate away from here."
Devin looked after the departing soldiers. "They chipped Igor?"
"Yeah . . . why the hell? And how did they know who he is?"
Vlad chewed that over. "If they want to either keep the status quo, or even start a small empire of their own, we must have been an irresistible temptation, once brought to their attention."
"How'd they know we still have zivvy?"
"Those two Stutties we rescued, they were here long enough to have heard about the Governor's address, ordering a stop to chipping, until June, when we'd really find out if shipments were dependable. So they know we have a six month supply on hand. Just for our small population . . . but are they actually out of zivvy? I wonder if Stuttgart has enough zivvy to replace Portalmakers as they age and die? Keeping the portal network working should be high priority."
Devin nodded. "And if the Alliance is really gone, there's a chance they can figure out how to manufacture their own.
Zhabin winced. "And to tide them over, here's a world with a supply of zivvy, three portals, and a research center. And no army. Just some fast response teams, cops . . . and Igor."
"And they took him out immediately."
Chapter Forty-one
Up and At 'em
Friday, December 6, 3739
Axel slept off and on all day. A bit of a hangover. Eating, staggering into the bathroom, back to bed to watch Dina in foggy amazement as she took scissors to the wavy blonde wig she'd worn to get him past the watchers, and turned him into a . . . well, after the last two days he looked his age. A handsome middle-aged blond fellow. A better tan than most True Men, but not all that noticeable.
She's not missing a thing! Damn this culture that steals the mentalist power and intelligence from so many women.
He stretched carefully, and by evening everything appeared to be finally back to normal. He looked up as Vlad walked in. "I'll leave early tomorrow morning. I need all of you to just go on as if nothing happened. I'll take everything with me. Lose it where it probably won't ever be found."
"Probably?" Vlad looked skeptical.
"I doubt a feral will relinquish a nice warm coat. Might pawn it, though."
"Pretty untraceable at that point. I can drop you off somewhere."
Axel shook his head. "No. I've risked you enough, already. I've left as small a footprint as possible. And I'll try very hard to le
ave no trail."
"What are you going to do? Or try to do?"
He grinned. "You'll see."
As usual, he ate in Dina's room.
Took his second dose of the wine, while she was out of the room helping her mother with the dishes, and fought his way through the aphrodisiac effect before she returned.
Collected everything that needed to disappear. The suitcase had to stay—the Stuttgart goons had seen it. But he'd accepted a gym bag from Vlad and stuffed his boots with everything he could, and got them into the bag with his fancy suit and an extra pair of pants. A few things for his pockets—Dina had even snatched his little tool kit.
And tonight he stretched out on the floor and told Dina it was her turn for the bed.
Dina looked indignant but he refused to budge. He could hear a TV upstairs, faint as she closed the door and locked it.
"You almost died, and I realized that I'd have had to live the rest of my life without ever having had you." She folded up on the floor beside him. "And now you're going back out alone . . . where I can't help you. But if you don't come back, you're going to at least leave me with one less regret."
***
He left at two in the morning. Silently retracing his path out the side door. Easing the gate latch down. Reaching high into the mental frequencies, he spotted the two watchers. Doubtful they'd see him, but he waited until a car drove past and darted further around the curve as it was passing. The big brown coat was good against the bushes favored by the cliff house dwellers. But three blocks on he cut across the road and down a side street, with newer stone and stucco houses. So he shed the coat and let the mixed gray sweater camouflage him.
He kept moving steadily, zigzagging toward his goal, south of the west end of the Malta Massif, an old run down area. Dropping strands of artificial blonde hair where the breeze would blow them further. A woman and child shivering in a corner, out of the wind . . . he tossed them the coat and hat, kept moving. The pants were dropped in a shadow. The shirt hung on a fence. The white lab coat down a drain, the tie and various items from the doctor's wallet down other drains, and finally the wallet itself, keeping nothing but the cash cards.
