It was likely that the shadower also carried weapons. Should violence ensue, Gillian was prepared. He slid his tongue along the rubber pads fastened to his bicuspids and molars. A snap of his jaw would activate the circuitry, and the device strapped to his waist would instantaneously ignite. The near-invisible crescent web would shape itself to the contours of his body, provide a defensive field capable of stopping all but the most powerful laser weapons.
It was a first-rate web, too. Sirak-Brath’s black market offered an excellent selection.
There was also the Cohe wand, now mounted in a slip holster beneath his right sleeve. A flick of the wrist would launch the weapon into his waiting palm.
Naturally, the Cohe could be used only as a last resort. The telltale evidence of the wand would scream Paratwa to every law officer in Sirak-Brath. Gillian had no intention of making this colony a focal point of the investigation.
Risk everything? Off-colony work available. Fee negotiable.
Three times yesterday and twice this afternoon, he had rendezvoused with parties responding to one of his discrete ads. The ads had been placed through a personnel agency and were accessible via Sirak-Brath’s major trade channels.
He reasoned that the wording, vague and unusual, should attract an interesting cross-section of people. Thus far, the ad had attracted only those who were vague and unusual themselves. He hoped tonight would be the exception.
Abruptly, Gillian stopped. The footsteps beyond the hedgerow halted just a fraction of a second later. Good. The tracker was fast and alert.
About eighty yards to his left, off the path and away from the hedge, lay a trio of overlapping hills. Today’s ad response, relayed through the anonymous machinations of the personnel agency, had instructed Gillian to be waiting at the eastern base of those hills shortly after dusk.
If I were a suspicious person, he thought humorously, I might believe I’m walking into a trap.
Still, tonight’s rendezvous was worth the risk. He might get lucky and find some recruits with the qualities he was looking for. At the least, it offered a needed diversion from bar hopping.
All senses were alert now. He fell into a slow shuffle, allowed tension to drain from his body. Tense muscles locked the system into patterns; the calm physique was able to respond with greater flexibility to a wider range of threats. He walked the last few yards to the base of the hills in a state of complete ease.
A skinny figure came into view. The man stood framed against the distant lights of Alpha sector, on a small rise off to the left. Gillian heard movement from behind. He turned his head slightly. The man who had been shadowing him emerged from a cut in the hedge.
“I never risk everything,” hissed the skinny figure on the hill. A third man, a squat hulk, eased out from behind a gnarled tree, twenty yards to the right.
Gillian answered softly. “The work requires it.”
“Does it, now?” The man hopped down the sharp embankment, came close enough for Gillian to see his face.
Bloodshot eyes and a hungry twisting of the mouth betrayed the man’s intentions. Gillian suppressed his disappointment. At best, the trio was bottom-line smugglers, looking for a way off the colony. A likelier possibility was that they were a mug team who used the personnel agency to set up their victims.
A sudden uncertainty touched him. My last battle was a defeat.
I escaped with my life, yet even that was a near thing. Reemul—the Ash Ock liege-killer—destroyed my team and almost destroyed me.
I made a mistake. Not the battle itself. The Jeek had come upon them without warning; the team had fought well. No, the mistake was in allowing E-Tech to put us into stasis. I should have assembled another team and gone after that Jeek. I was knocked down and I chose to stay down. Now, two centuries later, I suffer uncertainty—the consequences of my error.
The man halted five feet away. “So what have you got for us, putty?” The hulk moved to his partner’s side. His fat cheeks formed a brittle grin.
Laughter sounded from the other side of the hills. The hulk spit on the dirt.
“Scudclowns,” the hulk muttered. “Probably comin’ this way.”
The skinny man nodded slowly, then smiled. “Nothing to worry about. Aye, putty?”
Gillian matched the smile. “The more the merrier.” Over his shoulder, he heard footsteps. The shadower was approaching from directly behind.
The skinny man laughed. “More the merrier, huh? I like that. Pretty sharp putty you are.” The grin turned vicious. “You got money, putty?”
The shadower halted about ten feet away. Gillian turned slowly, saw a bearded man in black clothes, with a sandram clutched in his palm.
“I have money,” Gillian replied. It was good that they did not intend robbing him with killing weapons. Skinny and the hulk probably carried low-power, legal thrusters, but they would use them only as a last resort. A few cracks to the base of Gillian’s skull with the hammerlike sandram would suffice to part a normal person from his moneybelt.
The men probably wore crescent webs, too, but it was considered cowardly to ignite a defensive field unless you were under attack. And from the way these three handled themselves, it was obvious that they had never run into any serious opposition.
Until tonight.
At any rate, he would not have to risk using the Cohe.
The sounds of laughter came closer. A moment later, a fat woman in a shapeless blue dress marched around the base of the hill. Two boys were with her. They appeared to be about ten years old. Each boy carried a huge plastic bucket.
Gillian smiled, began moving toward them. “I really have to be going.”
Skinny held up his arm. “I don’t think so, putty!” The shadower edged closer. The hulk hunched down, gearing for action.
“Why don’t we all just stand right where we are,” warned Skinny. “Allow these scuds to pass us by.”
The fat woman stopped twenty yards away and glared suspiciously. Then she led the two boys to a pile of nearby trash. Both youngsters bent down and began scooping the refuse into their buckets. One of the boys muttered something and the two of them burst into hysterical laughter.
“Hush!” snapped the woman. Both boys were yanked backward as the woman reined in their leashes. The chains were fastened to dark fabric collars around the boys’ necks.
“Move along, scud!” yelled the skinny man. “You’re interrupting a business discussion!”
The fat woman sneered. “Vomit and swallow!”
The hulk pointed a thick finger at her. “You better do like we say.”
The boys looked at each other and broke out into another fit of uncontrollable laughter.
“Swallow my dildo!” The woman dragged the boys closer. She halted ten feet away when one of the boys fell to the ground in a convulsion of giggles.
The skinny man hissed, was about to speak when the shadower interrupted.
“It’s Miss Vitchy,” said the shadower. Gillian felt the man moving closer.
“How do you know me?” the woman barked.
The shadower halted beside Gillian. He spoke soothingly. “Everyone knows you, Miss Vitchy. You’ve got the best little scuddies on the Zell strip. Now it just so happens that this fine gentleman here”—the shadower laid his palm on Gillian’s shoulder—“is out looking for a junior scuddie. Aye, putty?”
Gillian nodded. If he played along, there was a chance he could walk away from here without the bother of a fight.
The boy on the ground sat up and rubbed his belly. His face betrayed pain. “I want another swallow,” he said weakly.
“Hush!” crowed the woman. She glared at Gillian. The second boy burst into laughter.
Skinny frowned at the shadower. “Hey, what the hell is this? We don’t gotta share this putty with her.”
The hulk nodded in agreement.
The shadower released Gillian’s shoulder. “No sense in being greedy, is there?” He smiled. “By the way, Miss Vitchy, how’s your good f
riend, Urikov?”
Miss Vitchy wrapped a fat palm around the standing boy’s neck. “He’s one of my best customers!” she exclaimed. “He gets first crack at my young scuddies.”
At the mention of Urikov, Skinny and the hulk fell silent. Gillian had heard the name, too. It was usually spoken in fear. The black marketer was not to be trifled with.
Miss Vitchy glowed with pride. “And Urikov likes the way I keep my scuddies busy, cleaning up the park.”
“And you do a good job,” mumbled Skinny.
Gillian smiled. Skinny was terrified by the idea that he might have offended a friend of Urikov’s.
The woman dragged the boys closer.
“Is it true?” Her eyes wavered between Gillian and the shadower. “You lookin’ for a young scuddie?”
“I’m looking for one,” Gillian answered. Skinny and the hulk sighed with relief.
She smiled, used her leash hand to reach into a small handbag. The boy on the ground winced as he was pulled up by the neck.
“It just so happens,” began the woman, “that I have my listings with me.” She withdrew a bright red book and handed it to Gillian.
He opened it. There were at least thirty pages, each pasted with a dozen photographs of children.
“I’ve got a big operation,” bragged the woman. “And my youngies are treated good! I don’t overdo them and I don’t starve and beat ’em.” She tugged gently on the leashes. “Ain’t that right?”
The standing boy laughed. The one on the ground whined. “I want another swallow.”
Gillian felt sorry for the two boys, and for the others pictured in the book. Most of the children were probably runaways; a few would be kidnap victims, or simply abandoned offspring. This woman, and others like her, took them in, promising affection or money or whatever it took to gain their confidence. After the young victims had been treated to enough drinks secretly laced with scud, their addiction made them easily controllable.
The boy on the ground grabbed at his leash. “Please! I want another swallow!”
Miss Vitchy sighed loudly. “Oh, all right.” She withdrew a plastic bottle from her handbag. The boy opened his mouth, waited obediently for the nipple to descend. He sucked greedily. Within seconds, he began to laugh. Miss Vitchy withdrew the bottle, wiped it off, and replaced it in her bag.
The woman shook her head and pointed to the book in Gillian’s hand. “You just imagine how much it costs me to feed all my little scuddies. And when I take a pair of them out to clean the park, I gotta have babysitters at home for the rest of ’em.”
“Sounds tough,” said the shadower.
“It is. Yes, it is.” She eyed Gillian. “Found one that you like?”
He paged through the book quickly, feeling anxious to be away torn this sickness as quickly as possible. His eyes froze on the last page.
The picture showed a handsome boy with a mop of tangled brown hair drooping almost to his eyebrows. Last week, Gillian had watched a video made by Pasha Haddad’s people, of Paula Marth and her son. The video had been produced when the woman and the boy were in E-Tech’s custody, shortly after the first Paratwa killing.
If the boy in this photo was not Jerem Marth, it was his twin.
It couldn’t be the same boy, he reasoned. What would Jerem Marth be doing in Sirak-Brath?
Then again, Paula Marth and her son had been missing for over a week. And the photograph of the boy was on the last page of Miss Vitchy’s book, which meant he was probably a recent addition to her stable.
He showed her the picture. “I like him. What kind of shape’s he in? I don’t want a scuddie who needs the nipple every ten minutes.”
The two boys giggled. Miss Vitchy smiled. “Oh, no, that’s one of my newest boys. Why, he’s hardly been trained properly yet.” She corrected herself quickly. “Of course, he will listen to orders. But he only needs the bottle three or four times a day.”
It has to be Jerem Marth. A disturbing thought occurred to him. Could this be a setup of some sort? Could these people know who I am?
He allowed the paranoid feeling to wash over him, dissolving its energy. If the boy is Jerem Marth, then this is a coincidence—nothing more.
He came to a decision. “I want the boy. How much?”
Miss Vitchy licked her lips. “Well, now, he’s a good-looking scuddie, isn’t he? He’s one of my prettiest.” She yanked the book from Gillian’s hand and showed the picture to Skinny and the hulk. “A pretty boy, isn’t he?”
Skinny and the hulk wagged their heads.
“I’ll let you have the boy,” she said, “for seven hundred and fifty.”
Gillian sensed that bargaining was not expected of him. Carefully, so as not to alarm Skinny and his friends, he reached beneath his jacket and slipped off his wide moneybelt. He opened a pouch and slid seven-fifty worth of cash cards into his palm.
Skinny and the hulk eyed the fat moneybelt with unabashed greed. The bearded shadower stepped back two paces, just out of range should Gillian try to swing the belt as a weapon.
He’s the most dangerous, Gillian thought. I’ll have to take him out first.
For a moment, he considered the idea of trying to recruit the shadower. The man possessed some of the basic qualities that Gillian sought: a quick mind, reactions based more on experience than training, a natural alertness.
But the shadower used his talents to beat and rob—he would not be trustworthy. And any man who teamed himself with the likes of Skinny and the hulk betrayed other weaknesses.
Miss Vitchy urged the standing boy forward. With a bright laugh, the youth snatched the money from Gillian’s palm. Immediately, the boy handed the prize to his mistress. She counted it twice.
“And now, Miss Vitchy,” began the shadower, “we would appreciate it if you would allow us to finish our business with this gentleman.”
Miss Vitchy grinned and tucked the cash cards into her handbag. She withdrew a tiny computer slab and handed it to Gillian. “This is your receipt. You come along to my place anytime and your scuddie will be there waiting for you.” She wagged her finger at him. “And you take a good look at that program.” She beamed. “I wrote it myself!”
Gillian took the slab from her. The label said: keeping our beautiful parks clean, by miss vitchy.
“Come along, boys.” She yanked once at their chains and the youngsters burst into another volley of laughter.
Miss Vitchy waddled away with her charges in tow. They stopped several more times, so that the boys could reach down and put litter in their buckets. Finally, they vanished behind the base of the hills. Laughter continued to punctuate the cool night air.
Skinny licked his lips and smiled viciously. “Well, putty. Looks like you’ll have a scuddie to keep you company after you get out of the hospital!”
The hulk laughed. Gillian feigned fear and stepped away from the shadower. The shadower grinned, swung the sandram up onto his shoulder. He closed to within striking range.
Good. He believes I’m afraid.
Gently, Gillian threw the moneybelt to the hulk, who caught it with a look of complete surprise. The hulk was slow. He would use precious seconds thinking about the moneybelt draped across his palms and considering his next move.
Gillian took one more half-step away from the shadower, compressed his weight, and attacked.
The shadower never had a chance. Gillian’s leg whipped up and the side of his weighted mushboot crashed into the man’s windpipe. The sandram spiraled into the air. The shadower fell backward, gasping for breath.
Gillian came down easily, pirouetted, and brought his other boot up into Skinny’s side. The force of the blow split ribs. With a loud moan, Skinny collapsed to the dirt.
The hulk dropped the moneybelt and fumbled under his jacket. A soft hum filled the air as the hulk’s crescent web ignited. Gillian leaped in front of the man, raised his arms overhead, and smashed his fists down through the weak side portals of the deflective energy field.
&nbs
p; A normal man would have collapsed under the force of Gillian’s double blow, but either the hulk wore armor under his shirt or else his sides were incredibly tough. The face turned ugly with rage. Ape hands reached for Gillian’s neck.
Gillian snapped his jaw shut and back-pedaled as his own crescent web came to life. The energy fields touched, interacted with a flash of red lightning, then repelled one another. Gillian, in motion, managed to stay on his feet and ride out the invisible force that was hurling him backward. The hulk obviously had little experience with web fighting. He lost his balance and crashed to the ground.
Gillian regained his footing, stepped forward, and kicked. His boot entered the side of the hulk’s web and sank deep into the man’s flesh. The hulk gasped. Gillian rammed his arm through the side of the invisible field and flipped the hulk’s belt switch, deactivating his opponent’s web. The hulk, now defenseless, attempted to raise his head at the same moment Gillian was lowering his arm. Fist met jaw. The hulk’s eyes glazed over and he sank into unconsciousness.
In a flash, Gillian came to his feet and surveyed the arena. Skinny lay in a fetal position, arms clenched around his smashed ribs, moaning and crying in agony. The shadower had recovered somewhat, though he was still on the ground, gasping loudly and clutching his neck.
Gillian took no chances. He kicked the shadower in the hip to make sure the man was not faking, then yanked him upright and chopped him on the base of the neck. The shadower collapsed, out cold.
Quickly, Gillian replaced his moneybelt and sprinted after the woman and her charges. It took only seconds to catch them.
Miss Vitchy looked mildly astonished as he jogged by and halted in her path. She reined in the boys while attempting to slip a fat hand into her handbag. Gillian wagged his finger in warning.
“I just came to get my scuddie,” he said calmly.
She withdrew her hand and glanced uneasily over her shoulder. “Should we be in a hurry?”
Liege-Killer Page 23
