Mag Force - Hung Out Part 29

Macdonald looked disgusted. "What did you think I was doing with some of that ten million? Saving for my retirement?

We had a good thing here. Once." He laid emphasis on the word. "Private cells, furnished and decorated. Our own gourmet chef. Playing golf every day. Little vacation trips now and then. And what safer place to run our operation?

Whenever any of our plans went a little bit awry, we were never suspected. We had the perfect alibi! We're in prison!"

Macdonald grew bitter. "But all that changed. About six months ago. First that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Montieth was made warden. He began to make life miserable. He started small at first. He got rid of our cook. Then he shut down the golf course with that ridiculous tale about a snake. He forced us out of our private cells. I don't know how that b.a.s.t.a.r.d did it, but he managed to discover every guard we had in our pay and he got rid of them. Same with the inmates. They were either transferred to other facilities or given early release."

"I'm surprised that Montieth hasn't met with a little accident before now," Xris said.

Macdonald snorted. "Don't think we didn't try! He has shut down many of our lines of communication, seriously crippled our operations! He never goes anywhere near the prison facilities. He has four armed bodyguards. He doesn't eat or drink anything that's not a.n.a.lyzed first. Then, to make matters worse, that psychopath Slovenski gets himself transferred off death row and sent here!"

"He must be a rich psychopath."

"He didn't pay for it!" Macdonald snapped. "Montieth brought Slovenski here to make certain everyone stays in line. Slovenski beats people to a pulp and if you fight back, you're the one who ends up in solitary."

"Tell me about it," Xris said feelingly.

"He's beaten up both Mair and myself. I was in the infirmary three days with a broken nose and four broken ribs. Like I told you, that's the second time he's attacked poor Becking."

"It seems to me that the public would benefit if Slovenski's death sentence were carried out," Xris observed. "We tried. The fellow we sent after him was our best man and he's in the hospital with a broken spine. Everyone's scared. No one'll touch him." Macdonald's eyes took on a hungry gleam. "Except maybe you. You're not scared. You've managed to do more damage to Slovenski in a week than any of our men did in three months."

Macdonald moved closer, his hands closed over the mop handle. "I hear you're a cyborg. Those cybernetic hands of yoursa"they could crush that thick neck of his easily."

Xris shook his head again.

"What's the matter?" Macdonald demanded. "You the squeamish type?"

"Let's say I'm the doesn't-plan-to-end-up-in-the-disrupter type. I may have to kill this b.a.s.t.a.r.d, and if I do, I do. But that's between him and me. If he leaves me alone, I'm not going to go looking for trouble.

"Look, sir," Xris added, seeing Macdonald's pale corpse eyes take on dangerous life, "you hired me to break you out of here this time next week and that's what I'm going to do. What happens if Slovenski is found dead with a broken neck? Who are they going to suspect? And what's going to happen to me? I'm either going to be dead or locked up for fifteen billion years and where does that leave you? Sitting in your nice crowded cell with Montieth watching on the vidcam while his newest bully-boy uses your head to mop the floor. You can't afford to indulge in personal revenge, sir," Xris said, adding in tones low and solemn, "Too many people are counting on you."

Macdonald stood scowling, his hands white-knuckled on the mop. The blue eyes were still alive with rage and Xris was afraid that the man was too furious to listen to reason. But he hadn't become the head of a multibillion-dollar organization by having oatmeal for brains.

"You're right," he conceded, though Xris could see that it took a struggle to let go of his fantasy of Slovenski writhing on the floor with blood gus.h.i.+ng out of his mouth. "Of course, you're right. I wasn't thinking." He was silent a moment, still enjoying the fading picture, then he said, "What do you want us to do?"

"Sit tight. I'll be in touch."

"You can't do much from in here," Macdonald pointed out.

"Don't worry. You get the word to Trevor that I'm stuck. He won't let me rot here for long," Xris said.

"I wouldn't be so certain," Macdonald growled ominously.

"Trevor got me sent to Jango, didn't he? He'll find a way around Montieth."

"I hope so."

Macdonald didn't sound convinced, and after he left, had to admit he wasn't, either. He turned off the mathematics lecture and sat down on his bed to try to solve the more complex equations he was encountering here on Jango.

This warden, Montieth, risks his life to shut down the Hung's prison operation and then what does he do? He brings in his own personal attack dog. Of course. A minus B equals A+. Montieth minus the Hung equals Montieth's own profitable enterprise. Xris was willing to bet that most of the money from Slovenski's charitable enterprises was finding its way into Montieth's pocket.

Xris was divided. Part of him applauded the fact that Montieth was making life miserable for the Hunga"even if the warden did have his own personal agenda. Unfortunately, Montieth could get to be a real pain in the a.s.s. He wasn't likely to take kindly to the fact that Xris had let everyone in this prison know that Slovenski could be hurt, that he was vulnerable. Montieth and Slovenski both were bound to retaliate, if only to prove to the rest of Jango that they were still in control. Montieth was quite capable of leaving Xris in solitary confinement and forgetting about him.

Not a pleasant thought.

Presumably, "Mr. Trevor" would solve the problem. Amadi must have something on Montieth. Someone has something on everyone. That's what makes the universe go 'round. There was nothing Xris could do but wait.

And at least he wasn't loading laundry.

He laid down on his bed, put his hands behind his head, and wondered how his team was getting on with the revolution.

CHAPTER 29.

For now I see Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste.

John Milton, Paradise Lost.

Seven days. Jamil had seven days to turn grazing dremecks, who never so much as squashed a fly into what must pa.s.s on the vidscreen for highly efficient soldiers. Not only that, but he was going to have to give them a certain amount of training in self-defense, an unknown concept to the dremecks. He laid out a time schedule and a plan in his head as he descended into the depths of the burrow to his underground training center, traveling in the rickety metal cage the dremecks termed proudly their elevator.

Fortunately, Jamil was not claustrophobic. The ride down in the jolting, b.u.mping, creaking cage was not pleasant, but then neither was the fiery descent through the atmosphere in a drop s.h.i.+p, and he'd done that often enough. Jamil allowed himself to think just once about the horrific fall he would experience if one of those cablesa"which appeared to have been installed somewhere around the time of Napoleona"broke. He allowed his stomach to shrivel at the thought, then firmly put the fear out of his mind.

He had enough other, more important, worries than the possibility of ending up smashed to a pulp at the bottom of a dremeck mine. He had trained raw recruits in his days in the Army, but those had been recruits who were expecting to learn how to kill the enemy. Now he was teaching recruits how to pretend to kill the enemy.

First Jamil decided he would conduct a little experiment. If the plan for the peaceful revolution went wronga"and Jamil always a.s.sumed the plan was going to go wronga"the danger wouldn't be pretend danger and he had to know if the dremecks were all likely to turn and run shrieking for their lives at the first sign of trouble. He and Quong had spoken with several of the younger dremecks and Jamil had been pleasantly surprised. He had the impression that the young dremecks were more militant than Marmand wanted to admit.

Jamil was under no illusions, however. Not even the most radical of the young dremecks would kill an arachnid if it crawled down his neck. Jamil had proof of that, because he watched Trella, a female dremeck, gently remove a large hairy and vicious-looking variety of that genus from her shoulder and place the spider carefully upon a flat rock.

Jamil's conscience jabbed him occasionally, but he told it to shut up. He had one consolation. Marmand wanted him to make sure the training was an experience the dremecks wouldn't enjoy.

Jamil could personally guarantee that.

The mine shaft was pitch-dark. Jamil had not thought to wear night-vision goggles and he couldn't see a thinga"not the cage around him, not the walls, not the dremecks. He had an eerie sense of descending into time itself, and since he was thinking of revolutions, he wouldn't have been overly surprised if the cage door had opened up onto a bunch of old women seated around a b.l.o.o.d.y guillotine, knitting.

He was picturing the doomed aristocrats walking up the stairs when the elevator lurched to a stop with a suddenness that sent Jamil staggering. The rusty hinges of the cage door opened, emitting an ear-splitting shriek. Lights flared in his face, blinding him. He blinked, waited tensely for his eyes to adjust to the light.

"Where are we?" he asked, moving cautiously out onto a small platform of rock. "The center of the planet?"

"Oh, no, sir." Trella made a sound that Jamil had come to know as a dremeck equivalent of a chuckle. "We have to transfer to the other lift for the second descent. The cables aren't long enough to reach this far down."

Jamil took a step forward and banged his head on the crossbar of the cage. He cursed, ducked, and walked into the cavern, ma.s.saging his aching forehead. He'd have a lovely b.u.mp there tomorrow.

"I am sorry, sir!" Trella gasped. "I should have warned you!"

"No harm done. These ... um ... elevators weren't built for humans. I should have watched where I was going." Jamil entered the second cage.

Trella slammed the safety door closed and pushed the control over to the down position.

"Yes, sir," she said, subdued.

Jamil could see her in the lights of the platform. She hung her head, causing her face-folds to bunch up on her neck. Female dremecks resembled males in every aspect that Jamil could see, although Quong had a.s.sured him that the anatomy beneath the concealing coveralls was quite different. Jamil had taken Quong's word for it. He knew Trella was a female only because she had volunteered the information.

The cage began its descent: the lights soared up and away and soon they were in darkness again.

"By G.o.d!" said Jamil, in sudden understanding. "You did that on purpose! You wanted me to hit my head!"

"Not you, sir! Never! I should have warned you. I am truly sorry, sir," said Trella miserably. "It's just that we don't ... I mean, with the other Uglies ... the ones who aren't nice to us, like you..."

"No, no!" Jamil rubbed his hands. "Don't apologize! This is great! What you're telling me is that when the human overseers escort you into the mines, you 'forget' to warn them to duck. You deliberately let them bang their heads! I take it the One doesn't know about this?'

"None of the elders do," Trella said, her voice small in the vast darkness. "They would be very ashamed of us."

"Do you do anything else to hara.s.s the Uglies?" Jamil asked. "Dig holes in the cavern floor for them to stumble into or loosen rocks in places so they'll tumble down and strike the Uglies on the head?"

"They wear helmets," Trella said defensively. "It doesn't hurt them ... much. And it makes us feel good, which is something we don't like to talk about, because it is wrong to feel good when someone else is in pain. The elders would be most unhappy if they knew. Unhappy and disappointed. It is a terrible thing to admit. I hope you are not very disappointed in us, sir?" she asked anxiously, having heard Jamil sigh. "So disappointed that you might leave?"

"I'm not disappointed in you dremecks," said Jamil. "I'm disappointed in us, Trella. The Uglies. We did this to you and I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

He was heartily ashamed of himself and all humans in general at that moment. They had taken gentle, peace-loving beings and taught them the sweet pleasures of revenge. He was going to take that training another step further. Maybe in a hundred years or so the dremecks would be happily flinging nuclear bombs at each other.

It was a d.a.m.nable situation. He could tell himself that it wasn't his fault, that he wasn't corrupting the dremecks; they'd already been corrupted. But he sure as h.e.l.l wasn't going to help matters any.

Do I have a choice? Jamil asked himself. Yes, of course. I can stop this G.o.dforsaken elevator, send it back up the shaft. I can walk away from this planet, walk away from the dremecks.

He could see the future clearly, as if the cage were now hurtling forward in time instead of backward.

Thousands of these people are going to die. Of course, I won't be here to see it. I won't know about it unless there's a report on GNN. And then I can shake my head and say sadly, "What a shame!"

Their innocence has already been destroyed. I can't give that back. But maybe I can teach them to use their newfound knowledge wisely.

The cage lurched again; this time Jamil was hanging on tightly to the railing, prepared for the jolt because he'd seen it coming. The cavern area was well lit with large nuke lamps, which the dremecks had probably stolen from work areas.

Trella opened the cage door and this time she warned Jamil about striking his head on the crossbar.

Stepping out, he felt as if he had truly been in some sort of time-travel machine. He was a much different person at the bottom than he had been at the top.

The two hundred young dremecks cl.u.s.tered in small groups, chatting cheerfully, eager and excited at the prospect of a holiday, for that's what this amounted to for them. As Jamil approached, they turned from their conversations to face him. A low murmur, almost a growl, went through the crowd.

"What's the matter with them?" Jamil asked Trella, who was standing beside him. "Did I do something wrong?"

"They are cheering you, sir. I guess it doesn't translate well." Trella walked over to join the rest of the dremecks, who were all looking expectantly at Jamil, their face-folds taut with antic.i.p.ation and enthusiasm.

Jamil cleared his throat, shouted to be heard over the low growling. "Thank you! I am glad to be here."

He had forgotten he was in a cave. The echoes that thundered back were quite startling, even to the dremecks, and he paused to allow the rebounding sounds of his own words to dissipate.

"We don't have much time, and so we are going to start work immediately," he said, speaking in a normal tone. "Can you all hear me? Good. Now, if you'll all gather around, everyone sit down, I'll explain the plan of action...."

Half an hour later, he asked the dremecks if they understood what they were supposed to do.

Two hundred heads and innumerable face-folds nodded and flapped in answer. He asked for questions. There were none, probably because this was all so completely new and foreign to them they had no idea what to ask.

"There will be no killing," he said, and he repeated it. "No killing. I know that you don't believe in Killing and I want you to understand that I respect your beliefs. I don't want to do anything to cause you to change those beliefs or to doubt them. More important, I don't want any of you to get killed. I intend to strike so swiftly that the humans will not even consider fighting back.

"But if something goes wrong, you dremecks have to have confidence in yourselves. You have to know that you can handle the situation, even though all h.e.l.l's breaking loose around you. That's what I'm here to teach youa"that and a few military-type maneuvers which will convince the Uglies that you mean business.

"If you don't remember anything else about what I'm going to teach you today, I want you to remember one fact and I want you to concentrate on that fact. It is this: The Uglies are afraid of you."

The young dremecks made sounds expressive of disbelief.

"No, I mean it," Jamil insisted. "Think about it. The humans chain you together. They post guards to watch over you. They carry weapons when they're around you. Isn't that true? Why would they do those things if they weren't afraid?"

The young dremecks discussed his logic, turning to each other and talking in loud, excited voices. The babble ceased almost immediately and Jamil realized, when the eyes all turned back to him, that they all agreed and were pleased with themselves.

"We are going to use their own fear against them. Their fear will be our greatest weapon," Jamil said.

A ripple of doubt sent the face-folds twitching.

"Yes, what's the matter?"

Trella responded. "But we are afraid of the Uglies, sir. Won't they use that fear back on us?"

"They will if you let them." Jamil lowered his voice, crouched on his haunches, and made himself one of the group. "Look, I know about the 'fun' you've been having with your overseers. Rocks. .h.i.tting them on the heads, holes for them to fall in. Don't worry"a"a murmur of alarm had swept through the groupa""I won't tell the elders. You're afraid when you make these b.o.o.by traps, aren't you? Afraid that the humans will catch you? Afraid of what they'll do to you? You're also afraid of what the elders will say if they catch you, aren't you?"

The dremecks hung their heads, face-folds sagged. "But you do them anyway. You overcome your fear. Fear is good. Fear is healthy. Fear keeps us alive. Fear gives us all sorts of benefitsa"I'm not sure how your anatomy works, but for us humans fear makes our heart pump faster, we get more blood to our limbs. Fear even releases a chemical called adrenalin that makes us stronger. Fear can work for you, but it can also work against you. That's called panic.

"I want you to be afraida"that'll keep you alive. I don't want you to panic, which is as good a way of getting killed as I know of. Now, are you afraid of me?"

Jamil looked around. The dremecks, round-eyed, all nodded yes emphatically.

"Why?"

"Well, sir, you are bigger than we are and your weapons are not toys." Trella pointed to the lasgun in Jamil's holster. "Your human weapons will kill us. We have seen it."

"We've brought you some body-coverings called armor that will help to protect you against our weapons. As for physical advantages, some of us are taller than you are, but we're not necessarily stronger and we don't have your endurance. The humans have made you feel inferior because that's how they're controlling you. You're not, and I'll prove it to you."

At least, I hope I'll prove it, Jamil silently amended. This was the test. This was where he found out more about the dremecks than they knew about themselves. Unfortunately, if the test proved positive, he would be teaching them things about themselves that it might be best if they never learned.

"Trella. Come here." Jamil motioned.

Trella, looking worried, but also a little pleased by the attention, came to stand beside him.

Jamil put both hands on the young dremeck's shoulders. "Now, put your hands on my shoulders, too." He bent forward so that she could reach him.