Mag Force - Hung Out Part 38

A long line of dremecks, led by two overseers, was shuffling out of the building, leaving by the side door. They were herded into a large truck parked in the alleyway.

When all the dremecks were on board and the truck doors were bolted behind them, the overseers climbed into the truck cab. The truck powered up its engines, rumbled off down the street, so heavily loaded that its jets couldn't keep it floating level. The truck bobbed and dipped, its frame occasionally striking the concrete.

Jamil pictured the dremecks jammed into the back of the airless, dark compartment. The truck had been parked in the sun. It must be hot as Raoul's red leather pants. Jamil had already seen the trucks arrive at the mines, had watched them haul the dremecks out unconscious, bruised, and battered.

"And there go the wire-heads," Darlene said. "Right on time."

Two of Kirkov's secret police were leaving the building. Their s.h.i.+ft for the day was over. Their replacements would be along in a few minutes.

Jamil looked at his watch.

1505.

Quong pulled his truck into the alley. Jumping out of the cab, he walked back, unlatched the doors. There was a moment's pause. Jamil could hear Quong over the commlink, reminding the dremecks of how they were supposed to act, what they were supposed to do. Quong backed up a step, his stun-stick held at the ready.

The dremecks jumped out of the truck in single file. Their leg-irons gleamed in the suns.h.i.+ne. There were a few more wide grins than Jamil thought appropriate, and some enthusiastic and good-natured jostling. Fortunately, no one was paying attention to the routine s.h.i.+ft change.

Quong barked out a sharp command and the young dremecks fell into lockstep, hands resting on the shoulders in front of them, heads bowed submissively. Jamil heard the occasional smothered giggle over the comm, but, all in all, it was going better than he'd expected.

The dremecks, accompanied by their overseer, marched into the vid station by the side door.

"There goes the rest of the day s.h.i.+ft," Darlene said indicating a dozen people leaving the building.

"Right. Our turn," Jamil said.

"Thank you for showing us the office s.p.a.ce, but the rooms don't quite suit our needs," Darlene said to the real estate agent, who was staring in considerable astonishment at Tycho.

"That's really an ugly shade of blue on the walls," Jamil added as they walked past. "You should consider changing it."

"Yeah," said the agent, agreeing wholeheartedly. "We'll do that."

They exited the building, crossed the street, and entered through the gla.s.s doors. Equipped with sensors, the door opened automatically whenever anyone approached.

The receptionist had looked up from her work, was smiling at them expectantly.

"Welcome to Vid Del Sola"" she began as the doors shut behind them. Catching sight of Tycho, her eyes widened.

"d.a.m.n! Rock in my shoe!" Darlene exclaimed.

The three halted just short of the weapons scanners through which they would have to pa.s.s to reach the reception desk. Darlene bent down, removed her shoe, and fished out the rock. While the receptionist's attention was divided between watching Darlene and staring at a blue Tycho, Jamil touched a control on the magnetic random scrambler that was attached to his belt. Darlene straightened, shoved her foot back into the shoe, and shook her head. Her face was flushed.

"Nothing like making a suave entrance," she said as she pa.s.sed through the weapons scanner, which didn't emit a peep.

Jamil and Tycho followed. A security 'bot, its electronic eyes gleaming red, left its post and came over to inspect them. Again, Jamil touched the control. The 'bot stopped in confusion and began to pivot slowly in place, emitting a pathetic whine.

"Oh, dear," said the receptionist. "It's malfunctioning again. If you'll excuse me one moment, I'll call Maintenance. This happens all the time," she said with an apologetic smile. "It's an older model. We're supposed to be getting an upgradea" h.e.l.lo, Maintenance? This is Reception. The security 'bot's on the fritz again. Thank you."

The receptionist looked up. "Welcome to Vid Del Sola" Oh, my goodness!"

A loud thud sounded behind them. The receptionist jumper to her feet. Jamil, Darlene, and Tycho turned to see a wire-head standing in front of the automatically opening doors, which unfortunately had not opened automatically. The policeman was holding his hand over his bleeding nose, while his companion beat on the gla.s.s.

"I guess your door's not working either," Jamil said helpfully.

The receptionist ran to the doors, tried in vain to shove the heavy plastigla.s.s panels apart with her hands.

"I'm terribly sorry!" she shouted through the doors to the injured policeman outside. Holding a reddening handkerchief to his nose, he was being helped into a taxi by his companion.

Two more wire-heads, having seen the situation, approached the door.

"Out of service!" the receptionist yelled, motioning with her hands. "Go around to the side entrance!"

Human nature being what it is, the two attempted to enter the doors anyway. After banging on them ineffectually, the two left.

"You should post a sign," Darlene suggested.

"That's a good idea." The receptionist headed back to her desk.

Before she could reach it, thirty dremecks swarmed into the lobby, moving at double quick time, with Quong trotting along behind them.

"Where do you want them?" Quong demanded.

"Not here!" The receptionist gasped. "Are you crazy? They're never permitted in the front lobby! Take them around to the back!" She gestured down a corridor.

"Sorry, lady. I'm new," Quong mumbled. "C'mon, you b.u.g.g.e.rs."

The dremecks halted, wheeled, and milled about in confusion, tangling themselves in their chains. Quonga"with threats and shoutsa"attempted to sort them out and get them moving again. Three people were now banging on the door, one of them red in the face and irate. The receptionist was feverishly writing the sign, all the while trying to raise Maintenance, who wasn't responding. Having met Quong on the way in, Maintenance was now in a closet, slumbering peacefully under the influence of hypnospray.

The three people who had been hammering on the door departed.

"Coast clear," Jamil announced.

"Where's the ladies' room?" Darlene demanded, leaning over the receptionist's desk.

The hara.s.sed receptionist lifted her face. Darlene sprayed her with hypnospray. Jamil caught the woman as she slumped backward, sound asleep. He lifted her in his arms, placed her in a comfortable position on a couch in the reception area. Tycho s.h.i.+fted the couch so that it couldn't be seen from the doors. Darlene taped the out of service sign to the doors.

"Right. Move out."

Jamil gestured to Tycho. The three departed down the corridor on their right; Quong was marshaling the dremecks down the corridor to their left.

The Del Solian Public Records computer had provided Darlene with everything the team needed to know about the building, including a detailed blueprint, whose information was enhanced by the vids taken on the tour. Vid Del Sol was a small operation, funded and operated by Dictator Kirkov. All content was controlled. The nightly news always included a tirade against the Starfire monarchy, which tirade ended by praising Kirkov for saving Del Sol from being swallowed up by an unfeeling galactic empire.

It was difficult to control minds in an age when any kindergarten child could operate the family's satellite uplink. The people of Del Sol didn't need their minds controlled. They knew very well what was going on in the galaxy. Kirkov was quite clever in his rule. He trampled on no liberties and freedoms except those of the dremecks.

The economy was healthy, people were well fed. They lived in good houses, had good jobs. Their streets were safe, their kids were receiving an adequate education. The humans living on Del Sol were safe and they were prosperous, two words that many would have included in their descriptions of heaven.

Vid Del Sol was something of a joke. All broadcasts were censored. Kirkov himself wrote the script for the news reports, which no one watched, since they didn't tell the truth an. Vid Del Sol's highest-rated program was the local evening weather forecast. The next-highest ratings went to an early morning kiddie show featuring an oversized, hairy, and lovable tarantula whom preschoolers adored, for no reason any adult could fathom, providing the local psychoa.n.a.lytical community with fodder for publications for years to come.

Station personnel records indicated only a skeleton crew of humans and dremeck slaves was on duty at night. The human crew included two wire-heads, who kept an eye on proceedings. The broadcasts were all prerecorded. The dremecks had been trained to run most of the electronic equipment, under human supervision. The news anchors were computer-generateda"thereby saving a lot of money on highly paid and temperamental personalities.

Rumor had it that Vid Del Sol was sick and tired of being known as the home of Hairy the Airy Arachnid.

"Tycho, you cover the side entrance." Jamil pointed toward some stairs leading down to the lower level. They could hear pounding on the doors, which Quong had thoughtfully locked on his way inside the building. "That will be the wire-heads. Open the door, gas 'em, drag them inside, and clamp the restrainers on them. Don't give them a chance to report in! Got that? Then lock the door. When all's secure, join us in the studio."

Tycho nodded and departed, clattering down the stairs.

Darlene and Jamil proceeded along the hall. The studio itself was located at the end of the corridor.

"Twelve hours from now, the dremecks will be a free people," Darlene said. "You've done a good job, Jamil."

"We're not there yet," Jamil replied, pausing to peer in the offices they pa.s.sed. "A lot could go wrong."

The station was closed for the day. Presumably the office staffa"secretaries, advertising, scheduling, and administrationa"had gone home. Jamil kept an eye out for stragglers or extremely dedicated employees who might be staying on after hours.

Apparently no one at Vid Del Sol was that dedicated. The offices were empty. Voices could be heard, but they were coming from the studio.

"Nothing's going to go wrong. It's a good plan," Darlene said, smiling at him rea.s.suringly. "Especially the abduction of the president."

"It's Raoul's plan," Jamil amended. "In my worst nightmare, I never thought I'd be carrying out an operation dreamed up by an Adonian Loti. And I do mean dreamed." He paused, activated his external commlink. "Time to check in with Rizzoli. Alpha One, this is Beta Two. Are you in position?"

"Beta Two, this is Alpha One." Rizzoli's voice. "I'm in position."

"Anything happening there?"

"People coming and going. Business as usual."

"Yeah, well, the s.h.i.+t won't hit the fan until Vid Free Dremeck starts broadcasting. With luck, I'll be there by then. Keep in touch."

"Right. Good luck, Alpha One."

Jamil ended the link. "I hope you and Rizzoli are right about this," he said to Darlene.

"So do I," said Darlene somberly. "For Xris's sake."

Jamil and Darlene rounded the corner, met Quong and his troop of dremecks marching down the hallway. At a signal from Jamil, Quong entered the control room. The dremecks filed in behind him.

Jamil and Darlene entered the studio.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," Jamil said to the startled faces turned toward him. "We're here to inst.i.tute a few programming changesa"changes that I guarantee will increase your ratings one hundred percent.

"Tonight, Vid Del Sol is going to make history."

CHAPTER 37.

We may live without friends; we may live without books; But civilized man cannot live without cooks.

Owen Meredith, Lucile.

"Welcome to Hernandez Valentino's. Ah! It is you, sir.

So pleased. Madam looks charming tonight as usual. Your table is ready. Alfonse will seat you. You are in for a treat this evening. Monsieur has heard?" the maitre d' murmured.

Monsieur had indeed heard. The elite of Del Sol were talking of nothing else. Madam was overjoyed that they had been invited. Monsieur was highly sensible of the honor. When was Mr. Love expected? And was it true that His Eminence was to dine here tonight, as well?

Mr. Love was expected at 1800, but when he would arrive, the G.o.ds alone knew, Mr. Love being an Adonian. It was to be hoped devotedly that he would actually arrive this evening, and not two evenings from now.

This gloomy outlook rather dampened Madam's spirits, but Monsieur mentioned that no doubt Mr. Love had a social secretary who took care of these things, and if His Eminence Kirkov had been invited, surely Mr. Love would not wish to offend the leader ofa"slight cough from Monsieur, who was himself in the banking businessa"this influential planet.

The maitre d' nodded and the two looked knowingly at each other. Rusty Love could tell the vid reporters that he was coming to Del Sol to investigate a possible location for a vid shoot, but the populace of Del Sol knew better. Del Sol was absolutely useless as far as local scenery, unless you happened to enjoy looking into vistas of gray buildings filled with even grayer suits that all smelled of money.

"His Eminence is indeed dining with us." The maitre d' went on to favor Monsieur with his attention. "Mr. Love sent him a most elegant invitation, so I am told. His Eminence is not a fan of the vids." The maitre d' emphasized this. "Not a fan. The dictates of his high office preclude such frivolous pursuits. He devotes every hour of his life to his people. Mrs. Eminence, however, is said to have persuaded him."

Monsieur and Madam understood completely. They themselves were not fans of the vids. Merely curious, could not turn down the invitation without offending, it would be something to tell their grandchildren.

Besides, to eat a meal prepared by Mr. Love's personal chefa"the renowned Caligula Fox!

"That is not to say," Monsieur added hastily, seeing the maitre d' frown, "that Chef Valentino is to be found lacking. Far from it. His Haricots Verts avec Almondine and his Veau Flambe are not to be equaled. Still, there is a lot to be said for trying something new."

At this juncture, the maitre d' withdrew his favors, rather coldly, and said that Madam and Monsieur's table was ready. The maitre d' summoned an attendant lord with a slight lift of his left eyebrow. The attendant lord, who was watching for the signal, launched into action. He apprehended the couple and, keeping them in strict custody, marshaled them through the candlelit landscape. Legions of other attendant lords bowed from their black c.u.mmurbunded waists, murmuring welcomes.

The instant the couple was seated in the crimson leather booth, they were set upon by hordes of underlings, who filled water gla.s.ses and placed Madam's napkin upon her lap, evidently under the impression that Madam was too weak to lift the bit of cloth to perform this duty for herself.

When the couple had been napkined and watered, the underlings melted into the shadows, hovering, waiting in tense antic.i.p.ation to pounce upon the least crumb that might fall from Monsieur's roll or to refill Madam's water gla.s.s the moment she had taken a sip. The attendant lord summoned the wine steward, who conferred with Monsieur, and the brief eddy of excitement, which had sent ripples through the kingdom, smoothed out and vanished. All was again hushed, expectant, and exceedingly nervous. Chef Caligula Fox had not yet arrived.

The maitre d' beckoned to one of the gentlemen-in-waiting.

"Is the table prepared for His Eminence?" the maitre d' murmured.

He always murmured. He had never been known to speak aloud except on one dread occasion when His Eminence had refused a bottle of wine with the p.r.o.nouncement that it was "corked." The maitre d', on hearing of this, had said, "Ahem," in an extremely loud and violent tone, adding in a murmur that the wine steward was to be relieved of his duties on the spot.

Hernandez Valentino's was known to be the favorite restaurant of His Eminence, Dictator Kirkov. He dined there whenever his busy schedule permitted, preferring its dark, warm ambience to the vast, echoing gold-leaf-adorned and crystal-plated dining room of the palace.

His table overlooking the garden was always kept for him, even on those nights when he wasn't expected, even on those nights when it was known that he was off-world. If another party sat there, the maitre d' was convinced that His Eminence would sense their emanations and be displeased, as the true princess in the children's tale had sensed the pea tucked beneath the very bottom of the twenty-five plastifoam mattresses.

Tonight the usual preparations had been made for both His Eminence's comfort and his security. Reservations for Hernandez Valentino's had to be madea"by the ordinary people, at leasta"six months in advance. This permitted background checks to be run on all prospective diners. Food for the restaurant could be purchased only from local companies, who were first cleared by the secret police, and who then underwent periodic surprise inspections. All food served at the restaurant was sent through scanners that checked for everything from the occasional confused fly to a.r.s.enic and salmonella.

A portion of each dish prepared for His Eminence was pa.s.sed around before his arrival to all the other diners. Not only were they much honored by this attention, but they were watched carefully by the wire-heads to make certain that they partook of the food. Anyone who refused a portion was whisked away to a back room and interrogated. The interrogation was not pleasant, and worse was yet to come. The offensive diner was not permitted to eat at Valentino's ever again. Consequently, everyone ate something of everything, with the result that all of His Eminence's food was tasted in advance by his loyal subjects.

No food left the kitchen but that a portion was first eaten by the cooks, under the watchful eye of the secret police.

As patrons entered, the maitre d' greeted them with his customary aplomb, but he was seen to glance nervously at the doors to the kitchen. Chef Fox had yet to make an appearance. Dictator Kirkov and Rusty Love were expected within the hour and there was nothing to eat! Chef Valentino, who had stated loudly and emphatically that he had never heard of this Caligula Fox fellow and that he wasn't at all surprised the Adonian was late, was preparing to rush to the culinary rescue.

An elegant figure, draped in furs and saturated in expensive perfume, his fingers sparkling with jewels, glided into the restaurant. The figure was accompanied by a smaller figure clad in a battered fedora and a raincoat that was rather the worse for wear.