TekLab

by William Shatner

  The place was dark and dank and smelled of the seashore at low tide. A few bundled-up customers sat, mostly singly, at the rickety tables. The bartender was a huge black man wearing a candy-striped tunic, a sailor cap, and a large glittering golden earring. There was a jeweler’s loupe stuck in his left eye, and he was tinkering with something green and feathery that was spread out on the ebony counter in front of him.

  “Know anything about electronics, mate?” he inquired as Gomez crossed the dim room.

  “Very little.”

  “It’s this arfing parrot, do you see?”

  Gomez leaned an elbow on the bar. “What’s the trouble?”

  “Well now, he’s a robot bird.”

  “I deduced that, soon as I got a glimpse of his circuit board.”

  “He won’t curse.”

  “What good’s a parrot who isn’t foulmouthed?”

  “Exactly, mate. You’ve hit the basic problem square on the noggin, you have.” The big bartender poked at the mechanical bird’s innards with a tiny silver screwdriver. “I mean to say, he sits on his ruddy perch all day, don’t he now, and recites moony love poetry and sentimental drivel. Once in a great while, if I swats him a good one, he’ll give out with a halfhearted ‘My goodness’ or a ‘Dear me.’ ”

  “That’s not what’s required,” agreed Gomez sympathetically. “Now then, I’m supposed to meet Mrs. Humphry Ward in your estimable bistro.”

  “Aye, she’s over in a booth. That one yonder there with its curtain discreetly drawn.” He pointed with a beefy forefinger that had several tiny green feathers adhering to it. “What about me bird, do you think?”

  “Turn him in on a new one,” advised Gomez. “Or learn to accept him as he is, but don’t tinker.”

  Mrs. Humphry Ward was an ample woman, blonde at the moment and about forty. She smiled up at Gomez as he entered and raised her mug of foamy beer in salute. “Here’s to good times, Sid.”

  He sat opposite, resting both elbows on the slightly slanting tabletop. “Tell me about Dr. Danenberg.”

  Mrs. Humphry Ward pointed at the ceiling with a puffy thumb. “The dear lady is going to be traveling to the Caribbean Colony,” she said. “That’s one of those satellite resorts for the highfaluting and them as pretends they are. She’s set to depart at four-twelve this very afternoon. Traveling, she is, under the name of Alice M. Dobson.”

  “Bueno,” he commented. “What goes on up there?”

  “The usual foolishness,” replied his informant. “They’ve got hotels, casinos, fake palm trees. Also, so I hear, that balmy Excalibur bunch has its secret headquarters up there somewhere.” She held up a forefinger. “That bloke who calls himself King Arthur II, along with his missus, is also a resident of the Colony. But they live openly, nothing clandestine or furtive about them two, in a villa on one of the simulated islands.”

  “Any Tek activities thereabouts?”

  “Well, the British Teklords own a big piece of the place,” she replied. “I don’t know if they’re in cahoots with those Excalibur loons or not.”

  Gomez nodded slowly. “I’ve been having trouble tracking down my partner,” he told her. “Have you heard anything about him?”

  She asked, “Do you know a newsman named Denis Gilford?”

  “Nope. What’s he have to do with—”

  “Gilford’s a first-class pain in the bum who works as a reporter for the London FaxTimes,” she said. “I hear tell he contacted your pal Jake Cardigan at least twice and made something of a bloody nuisance of himself. And now he’s been asking a lot of questions about Jake.”

  “Sounds like somebody I ought to chat with.”

  “I’ll provide you with a list of the dives and dumps where Gilford hangs out,” she offered. “No extra charge, Sid, seeing as how we’re such dear pals from way back.”

  32

  “... COMING AROUND,” A METALLIC voice was saying. “Yes, he’s definitely coming out of it.”

  Jake realized that the robot must be talking about him.

  He, somewhat reluctantly, opened his eyes.

  He saw Gomez looking concernedly down at him.

  “Thought you were a robot,” Jake muttered, his voice sounding weak and rusty.

  “That was the sawbones you heard.”

  A white-enameled medibot appeared beside Jake’s partner. “You’re in remarkably good shape for a man your age, sir.”

  “Thanks.” With Gomez’s help, Jake sat up. He discovered he was atop Marj’s bed. “This is where I made a major mistake.”

  “Don’t tell me you mixed romance with duty?”

  “Sort of,” he admitted. “How’d you find me?”

  “Oh, an hombre named Denis Gilford was most helpful in providing me with leads. He mentioned that you’d taken up with Marj Lofton,” explained Gomez. “Eventually I got around to looking for you here in her little hacienda.”

  “Gilford was helpful?”

  “After I dangled him out a high window by his ankles, sí.”

  Jake asked, “How long have I been out?”

  “Ten or twelve hours. I fetched this reliable and discreet medi-bot to give you a reviving injection soon as I found you down in that impressive hidden lab. Somebody used a stungun on you, amigo.”

  “Yeah, that I remember.”

  The robot suggested, “You’d better remain in bed for at least a day, sir.”

  “No, we’ve got to get up to the Caribbean Colony,” said Jake.

  Gomez said, “I was coming to tell you the same thing. It seems that Dr. Danenberg, as well as—”

  “Dan’s up there, that’s almost certain.”

  “Who’s got him?”

  “I think it’s a combination of Excalibur people and Teklords.”

  “They’re making SuperTek up there,” said his partner. “I imagine that’s why friend Sands was extracted from the hoosegow, to help them manufacture and distribute the stuff.”

  “What the hell is SuperTek?”

  “To put it simply, it’s immune to Professor Kittridge’s anti-Tek system.”

  “You mentioned that Dr. Danenberg is—”

  “The good doctor is pretty certainly passing along recipes concocted by the old prof himself,” said Gomez. “This Caribbean Colony sounds like it’s a hotbed of SuperTek activity.”

  “Yeah, and the Excalibur folks must be helping to fund the Teklab. They’ll use their share of the profits to topple the democracy here in England and dump that nitwit Arthur on the throne.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first revolution funded by drug money. Soon as you’re feeling chipper enough, we—”

  “We’ve got to get up there right now.” With some assistance from his partner, he left the bed and tried standing. He fought against the nausea and dizziness he felt and, slowly, it faded away. “It was Marj who used the stungun on me. I haven’t told you why.”

  “A lovers’ spat maybe?”

  “C’mon, Sid. She wanted to keep me on the sidelines for a while.”

  “What exactly is her part in this mess?”

  “She used to be an expert in robotics,” he said. “Since settling in England she built an android replica of her brother.”

  “Wasn’t her real brother enough for her?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “She sounds a trifle morbid.”

  “Her brother fought in the last Brazil War, got hooked on Tek, and ended up working for Bennett Sands in one of his undercover Tek operations down there,” said Jake. “Marj believes Sands had her brother killed.”

  “Momentito,” requested Gomez. “You’re not about to tell me that her late sibling was a lean lad with a bushy moustache and an earring made out of a chunk of Brazilian coinage?”

  “Her brother Richard—that is, the android dupe she built—is the Unknown Soldier.”

  “Madre.”

  “And by now she’s sent him up to the Caribbean Colony to find Sands and kill him.”

  “Sands nobody’ll miss. But if Dan
and Nancy are nearby, they could get hurt in the spillover.”

  “Yeah, and Marj is hours ahead of us,” he said. “We have to rush up there.”

  The medibot shook his head. “That isn’t wise.”

  “A hell of a lot of what I do isn’t,” said Jake.

  “Sure, it fits,” said Gomez confidently. Holding both arms out at his sides, he did a slow turn on their stateroom floor. “A bit snug, admittedly, across the middle.”

  “Definitely snug,” agreed Jake. Like his partner, he was wearing a dark blue blazer with the familiar Newz logo emblazoned on the breast pocket in crimson.

  “Natalie was in a hurry and had to guess at the sizes.”

  “You sure you want to collaborate with her from here on?”

  “That’s why I contacted her, amigo,” answered Gomez. “It seems to me this is a feasible way for you and I to slip unobtrusively into the Caribbean Colony.” He tugged at the bottom of his coat. “Nat’s arranged to interview the would-be King Arthur II for Newz. We tag along, posing as her colleagues, until we’re safely aboard the satellite.”

  “It may work.” Jake crossed to the window.

  They were aboard the Bahama Queen, a luxury shuttle that traveled between London and the Caribbean Colony.

  Gomez burnished the Newz crest on his pocket with his knuckles. “Once there, Nat’ll pretend to do the interview while we sneak off to track Bennett Sands to his lair.”

  “Keep in mind,” said Jake, turning away from the view of silent space, “that the Unknown Soldier is also hunting for him.”

  “We’re smarter than an andy,” his partner pointed out. “Therefore, even though he’s got a head start, we can beat him to the goal.”

  “This Richard Lofton simulacrum has found and killed several others,” reminded Jake. “And he’s got Marj coaching him.”

  Gomez took another critical look at himself in the wall mirror. “Too bad these blazers only come in this drab color,” he observed. “Well, let’s join Nat up on Deck 7.”

  Their cabin was on Level 5 and they rode a circular ramp to Level 7.

  “Natalie and that snide robot cameraman of hers should be awaiting us in Bob the Beachcomber’s Cafe.” Gomez tugged again at his blazer in hope of getting it to fit somewhat better.

  The corridor they were walking along was lined with a mixture of shops, offices, restaurants, and saloons.

  As they approached the Calypso Bar & Grill, the rattan doors swung open. A large, thickset man in a bright plaid suit emerged.

  Casually, Gomez nudged his partner. “Strive to look like a newsman,” he advised out of the corner of his mouth.

  The big man glanced at Gomez, took two steps, did a take, and started reaching inside his plaid coat. “Holy Hannah, it’s the Mex!”

  “Trouble,” said Gomez, “in the form of a Parisian goon.”

  The partners moved apart.

  The goon was tugging out his needlegun.

  Jake sprinted forward, then dove right at him.

  He butted the gunman hard in the stomach, sending him tottering backwards.

  “Son of a gun,” observed the big man as he suddenly sat down on his tailbone.

  “Another one,” warned Gomez, turning toward the second big man who was coming out of the bar.

  Jake meantime chopped the needlegun out of the man’s grasp. He rose deftly to his feet and then tugged the man upright by the lapels of his plaid coat.

  Jake hit him twice on the chin.

  The man sighed and fell down again.

  Gomez had used his stungun on the second assailant. Eyeing the rattan doors, he said, “That must be the entire set of heavies, amigo.”

  Nobody else came out of the Calypso Bar & Grill.

  Jake suggested, “Let’s drag these louts to a quiet spot and have a talk. This one ought to come to in a few minutes.”

  “I noticed a laundry room back around the bend.” Gomez bent, grabbed the wrists of the stunned hood, and began dragging him down the corridor. “That ought to do.”

  33

  AS SOON AS THEY’D all checked into the Nassau Palace Hotel, they gathered in Jake’s room.

  “Basically my stratagem worked.” Gomez was standing with his back to the wide window that gave a sweeping view of palm trees, red-tiled rooftops, and golden beaches. “Jake and I were able to smuggle ourselves here safely by pretending to be journalists.”

  “From what you told me about those hoodlums who jumped you,” put in Natalie from the wicker sofa, “your disguise as Newz staffers didn’t fool anyone.”

  “Those goons just happened to be journeying up here on the same shuttle,” Gomez pointed out. “We met purely by chance.”

  “I mentioned at the time that you first suggested this scheme that you weren’t alert enough looking, Gomez, to pass as a reporter.”

  “What say we can this spatting?” suggested Sidebar, who was stationed near the door with metallic arms folded. “We’re supposed to be here to plot strategy.”

  Jake, from his chair near the viewindow, said, “The lout that we persuaded to confide in us was en route here to report to a fellow named Elisha Clover.”

  “Clover manages a hostelry called the Tropics Inn,” added Gomez.

  “He seems to be tied in with the Teklords,” said Jake. “I’ll check up on him first.”

  Gomez said, “I’ve already arranged for some local informants to have Dr. Danenberg’s gadding about monitored. Soon as she lights in an interesting spot, I’ll go take a look.”

  “And you’ll go ahead with the King Arthur II interview,” Jake said to Natalie.

  “It seems to me, and keep in mind that I’ve been expertly ferreting out important secrets for a good long while now, that I’d be of more use tagging along with Gomez.”

  “Chiquita, this is a team,” reminded Gomez. “Your chore during this important initial phase of our joint operation is to create a small diversion.”

  The robot inquired, “When did I volunteer to be part of this half-baked combo? I’m a star, not a mere—”

  “Control your pride,” Natalie advised her cameraman. “If I can demean myself, so can you, Sidebar.”

  Jake stood. “Let’s try to meet back here in, say, two hours.”

  “None of you,” mentioned the robot, “may be in any shape for a rendezvous by then.”

  A simulated breeze was blowing across the bright sunlit patio of the villa. It caught at the genealogical chart that King Arthur II was holding up, rattled the paper for several seconds before lifting the chart completely free of the king’s pudgy fingers.

  “Jove, that’s annoying.” Arthur hopped clear of his wicker chair and went dashing across the mosaic tiles to snatch at the fleeing chart. “Gwenny, my dear, mightn’t we turn down that beastly wind a bit, do you think?”

  “I find the breeze most refreshing,” said his wife, a plump blonde woman who was seated on a wicker settee. “As I’m sure Miss Dent does.”

  “Well, I mean to say, my dear,” he said, catching the chart and clutching it to his chest, “a breeze is one thing, but a ruddy typhoon is something else altogether, eh?”

  “I imagine,” said Gwenny, “that Newz didn’t ship one of its leading reporters all the way up here simply to hear you natter on about the weather, Arthur dear.”

  “Deuced unpleasant having a hurricane blowing across one’s patio,” murmured the man who claimed to be the rightful ruler of Great Britain. Settling into his chair again, he frowned out at the simulated ocean stretching away beyond his patch of real-sand beach. “I assume, Miss Dent, that you’ll be able to edit this inane badinage between my dear spouse and myself out of our delightful little interview, eh?”

  “We’ll make certain you don’t look foolish,” the reporter promised, nodding at Sidebar.

  The robot was standing amidst a grove of authentic palm trees, his camera aimed at King Arthur II. “That’s going to take some doing,” he muttered.

  Arthur, gripping the genealogical chart tight
ly, held it up to Natalie. “Now then, let’s go over this whole jolly thing once again, shall we? These facts and figures make it perfectly clear that I, and I alone, am the rightful heir to the throne of England, if there still were such a thing, don’t you know.” He traced a line down the middle of the page with his pudgy forefinger.

  Natalie asked him, “How far are you prepared to go to see that the monarchy is restored?”

  “I intend to pursue my rightful claim.”

  “No, what I’m talking about is violence,” said the reporter. “Would you condone a revolution?”

  “I’d prefer, dear girl, to rule England as the result of a bloodless coup, don’t you know.”

  “But do you approve of bloodshed and revolution?”

  “I wonder what’s become of our tea,” said Gwenny.

  “I say, my dear, you ought not, really, to intrude these little domestic inquiries into an interview of this magnitude,” complained Arthur.

  “You know we always have tea at this time each day, Arthur.”

  “Well, then, old girl, trot off and see what’s delaying Rollo.” He made a dismissing gesture. “You’ll edit out all that last bit of foolishness, eh?”

  “Nobody will ever view it,” Sidebar assured him, moving closer to the seated pretender to the throne.

  “If you’ll forgive me for a moment, dear little Miss Dent, and you, too, Mr. Sidebar,” said Gwenny as she left her chair, “I must go see what’s detaining our servant.”

  To King Arthur II Natalie said, “What about the Excalibur Movement?”

  “One can’t always control one’s more fanatical followers, what? Obviously, dear child, I don’t believe in any sort of violence,” he assured her, tapping his knee with the rolled-up chart. “Should, however, overzealous monarchists succeed in getting rid of the current unworkable democratic system that blights my native land, why, I’d be a ruddy fool not to step forward and assume the crown.”

  “Are you in contact with people from Excalibur?”

  “Absolutely not, my dear. I mean to say, a chap in my position can’t fraternize with hotheads of that ilk,” replied the would-be king. “Frightfully harmful to one’s reputation and all that.”

  “And you have no idea what their agenda is?”