Mag Force - Hung Out Part 9

"It can't hurt to ask. How do you spell Amadi?"

"Like it sounds. Next," Xris continued, "tell the Bureau to reduce the charges. Manslaughter, maybe. Or murder second degree. If they do, I'll plead guilty."

"So you did kill Dalin Rowan?" Parker asked.

"In a manner of speaking," Xris said quietly, "yes, I did."

CHAPTER 9.

Lastly, even the ultimate outcome of a war is not always to be regarded as final. The defeated state often considers the outcome merely as a transitory evil, for which remedy may still be found.

Carol von Clausewitz, On War.

"Hullo, Jamil. This is Harry." "Where have you been?"

"Never mind. This line secure?"

"Probably not."

"Oh." A moment's silence. "Oh, well. This is important."

"Harrya""

"Listen, Jamil. Xris is being sentenced tomorrow. You know what that means?"

"I'm no lawyer, Harry, but yes, I know what that means."

"It means he's going into the toilet!"

"Harrya""

"We got to bust him out of there, Jamil."

"No, Harry! Absolutely not! That's an order! Do you understand me, mister?"

"Jamila""

"Listen to me, Harry, and try to get this through the cornmeal mush you term a brain. First, the security in the courthouse is tighter than Raoul's girdle."

From the background, in indignant tones, "I have never worn a girdle!"

"Second, if we went in there, as the Doc said, with guns blazing, we'd lose half the team and probably get Xris killed in the process. Third, you heard Xris's orders. Do I have to repeat them?"

"Naw, Jamil." A moment's pause. "So what are you guys gonna do? You going to show up for the sentencing?"

"No, Harry. The fact is, we're getting off this planet as soon as our pa.s.sports come through. I advise you to do the same."

"Is that an order?" Harry demanded, belligerent.

"No, Harry. It's not an order." Jamil said. "It's advice. Good advice."

"I want to go the sentencing, Jamil. I want to be there for Xris."

Jamil sighed. "Fine, Harry. You do that. We're going to Adonia. To Raoul's place. A little R&R."

R&R! With Xris in the slammer.

From the background Harry could hear Raoul's voice. "Is Harry thinking of traveling to Adonia by himself? Without my guidance and supervision? The G.o.ds of haute courtier help us! He'll never get through customs! Oh, dear. This is awful! Give me a moment. I'm trying to think what he has in his wardrobe.... I know! Let me speak to him! Harry! Harry! Wear youra""

Harry ended the transmission. He liked Raoul, he truly did. But he just didn't feel like having a discussion on menswear. Not right now. Xris was being sent to prison or the disrupter for a crime he hadn't committed and there was nothing Harry could do to help his friend.

Nothing at all.

The courtroom was ugly, cold, and sterile, designed that way purposefully as if to a.s.sert that justice was blind to everything, including a sense of style. The judge's desk, on its raised platform, was encased in plastisteela"there had been several attacks on the judiciary in the courthousea" and looked like an artillery bunker. His Honor sat behind his fortifications, lobbing judgments onto the accused below. The jurya"when a jury was empanelleda"appeared to be engaged in trench warfare, for little more than their heads could be seen peering above the high walls of the s.h.i.+elded jury box.

Those people admitted to the public viewing area were searched and questioned and generally treated as if they were prisoners of war, caught in the act of spying on the enemy, rather than citizens exercising their rights. Harry answered as a prisoner of war would, giving them nothing more than his name and the license number of his rental hover, which he'd left in the public lot across the street at the exorbitant rate of twelve credits per hour.

The audience in the gallery was at least safer than the attorneys and the accused, who sat in the middle of no-man's-land on open, level ground with no cover, other than their desks. Occasionally, if the verbal sh.e.l.ling from the front bench was heavy, the attorneys had been known to drop an electronic stylus behind the desk, duck down in order to retrieve it, and gain a brief respite from the barrage. The public gallery was s.h.i.+elded from the action by a laserproof s.h.i.+eld of plastisteel.

Harry was the only person in the gallery that day. The seats reserved for the press were empty. Had this trial gone to the jury, it might have garnered some interest, but it hadn't. The murder had happened ten years ago. The prisoner had confessed and was said to have made a bargain with the Crown. He had escaped the death penalty, though what good his life would be to him, spending the next twenty years on Sandusky's Rock, was subject to debate. He was to appear in court today for sentencing and wasn't expected to put on a show. A murder in the courtroom down the halla"a murder involving aliens, prost.i.tutes, a food processor, and the possible bribery of a high public officiala"was of much more interest to viewers of the nightly news.

Harry glanced around the courtroom, hoping that perhaps some of the other team members would change their minds and show up. The last time he'd seen them had been at the questioning. Although they'd come in together, they were all questioned separately. Harry had been extremely nervous. He was a terrible liar. Fortunately, Quong had solved his problem. Catching him in the hallway, the doctor had drawn him to one side, given him some advice along with a bottle of orange juice.

"What's this?" Harry had asked, referring to the orange juice.

"You need your vitamin C," Quong had replied. "To prevent scurvy."

"Oh, uh, sure. Thanks, Doc. I read about scurvy once. Your teeth fall out anda""

"Look, Harry," Quong had impatiently interrupted, "I want you to think about something for me."

"Sure, Doc." Harry had been pleased. People were always telling him not to think. "What do you want to know?"

"When you first met Xris, he was already a cyborg, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, Doc," Harry had replied, disappointed. "Is that all?"

"You didn't know him when he was with the Bureau, did you?"

"No, Doc. What's all this about?"

"Be patient with me, Harry. You never knew Dalin Rowan. You never met Dalin Rowan, did you?"

"I know Darlenea""

"Listen to me, Harry." Quong had frowned at him most severely, had repeated sternly, "You never did know Dalin Rowan, did you?"

Harry had considered the matter and the more he considered it, the more he liked it. He had never known Dalin Rowan. He could be completely honest about that when they asked him.

"Just concentrate on that, Harry," Doctor Quong had whispered, his frown easing, "and you'll do fine."

"Sure, Doc, but how's that going to help Xris?" Harry had asked anxiously.

"Follow his orders, Harry," Quong had replied. "That's all we can do. Just follow his orders. And drink your orange juice."

Whenever Doc was stern like that, it usually meant he was covering up because he was nervous, so the conversation hadn't been of much comfort. Harry had followed Quong's orders, however, although he didn't drink the orange juice. Scurvy or no scurvy, orange juice gave him gas. Harry had come through the questioning fine, however, perhaps because the investigating agenta"the Talisian, Rizzolia"hadn't been all that interested in what he had to say. Once she had established the fact that Harry had met Xris two years after the alleged murder, that he hadn't known Xris while he was with the agency, and that he'd never known Dalin Rowan at all, Harry had been free to go.

Harry had made an unsuccessful attempt to visit Xris in prison. Xris wasn't being allowed visitors, except his attorney. Having found out the name of the attorney from Jamil, Harry camped out in Parker's office, which he used when trying a case on this planet. Arriving wearing a new suit that he'd bought just for the occasion, Harry looked so unhappy and bereft that the receptionist took pity on him, and though she wouldn't let him see Mr. Parker, she had brought Harry replicated chicken soup and had given him what information she could.

Which was how he had found out about the date of the sentencing.

Harry had again dressed in his new suit, which, after four days of constant wear, was wrinkled and stained with mustard and looked even worse than when he'd first put it on, if that was possible. He had made the trip to the courthouse. He had found a seat in the front row, close to where he thought Xris might sit. Harry was half an hour early.

The room was empty, for this was the first case on the docket. The chairs were uncomfortable, had evidently been constructed for some alien race not blessed with a tailbone. Harry's tailbone was well cus.h.i.+oned, for he was a big man, but even he could not sit in the same position for long without his legs going numb. Despite the discomfort, he doggedly held his ground, stayed at his post.

Eventually the courtroom came to life. Technicians wandered in and switched on the vids that would make a recording of the proceedings. The prosecution entered; Harry glared balefully at the enemy and made a loud snorting sound expressive of his disgust. Prosecuting counsel gave him a bored glance and turned away.

Mr. Parker entered, accompanied by an a.s.sistant. Harry sat up quite straight and nodded his head violently several times, to let the attorney know that he, Harry Luck, was present and could be relied upon in an emergency. Mr. Parker glanced at him in some astonishment.

The guards brought in Xris.

He was wearing prison lime-green coveralls and they had permitted him to use his cybernetic leg, although they had not let him have his arm. He wore restrainers around his ankles. Controlled by a guard, the restrainers would shut down the nerves in Xris's good foot if he tried to run and at the same time short out his cybernetic leg. He wore another restrainer on his good arm. He looked grim and dangerous and the guards were taking no chances. They held the restrainer controls in plain sight.

At Xris's entrance, Harry stood up and began yelling and beating on the plastisteel s.h.i.+eld. "Xris, I'm herea""

A guard 'bot that had been hovering nearby zipped through the air and came eye level with Harry. The 'bot was dish-shaped, about twenty centimeters in diameter, and was referred to affectionately among the courtroom staff as Frisbee. It was armed with small lasers known as nerve poppers.

"You are not permitted to speak to the prisoner," said the 'bot, fixing Harry with a gla.s.sy eye. "Please sit down or you will be forcibly escorted out."

Harry was fond of robots. He could get along with any 'bot in the galaxy, generally because he didn't patronize them or treat them as nonent.i.ties, as did some humanoids.

"Oh, hullo there, little fellow." Harry was polite. "I just want to say a few words to my frienda""

"You are not permitted to speak to the prisoner," the 'bot repeated, and a grinding sound in its workings gave the words a menacing tone.

"But I justa""

"Sit down," said the 'bot, "or you will be forcibly escorted out."

"Now, looka""

The 'bot was finished arguing. It emitted a brief but brilliant burst of laser light and Harry sat down in his chair, sucking the back of his wrist where a red welt was forming, and trying to force his fingers to stop twitching. The 'bot hovered near him a moment, making certain he had seen the light, so to speak.

"All right," Harry muttered. "I'll be quiet."

a.s.sured that the malefactor would cause no further trouble, the 'bot returned to its post. But it was definitely keeping its optics on Harry.

Xris must have heard the altercation; Harry was certain of it. The attorney, Parker, turned back around to stare, then leaned over and spoke a few words to his client. Xris shook his head, did not turn around. Parker went back to his notes.

Harry hunched down in his seat, his rumpled and ill-fitting suit collapsing around him. He was desperately unhappy. Harry knew Xris had seen him. Xris had looked straight at him when he'd entered the courtroom. Looked at him. Then looked away without apparent recognition.

"All rise!" A bailiff 'bot brought everyone to their feet. The near empty courtroom echoed with shuffling sounds and the sc.r.a.ping of chairs.

The 'bot alerted the combatants to the arrival of the judge at his bunker. Everyone sat back down. The judge began to talk, shooting them with big legal words. The lawyers for both sides took turns standing up in the line of fire and, as nearly as Harry could make out, were almost always gunned down. There was some talk about "waving"; Xris was doing a lot of waving, apparently, which Harry found difficult to credit since Xris was missing a hand and the other was clamped down tight in a restrainer.

Harry sought refuge in a small nap, indulging in a pleasant dream. Jamil was driving a Devastator into the courtroom. The tank was crunching up the chairs; Quong was firing his beam rifle at the guard 'bot, who was hunkered down behind the judge; and he, Harry, had just picked up Xris in one strong arm (Xris being conveniently comatose at this juncture), while firing a lasgun. Harry was carrying his friend out the doora"

"Sentence you to twenty years' penal servitude on Sandusky's Rock. Case dismissed."

A gavel slammed down with a bang like an exploding mine and jolted Harry awake. He jerked upright in his chair to see Xris rising painfully and awkwardly to his feet. His attorney was saying something, whispering in his ear. Xris wasn't paying attention.

The guard 'bot, antic.i.p.ating trouble, hovered near Harry. He didn't care. It could pop every nerve in his body.

Standing up, Harry bellowed out, "Xris!" in a battlefield shout, meant to be heard over the whine of lasguns, the crunch of cannons, the cries of the dying.

Everyone turned to look, including the judge, who stuck his head up out of the bunker.

Xris looked, shrugged, and smiled wanly. Then he looked away.

The guards led Xris out of the courtroom, guiding his shuffling, hobbled footsteps. His attorney followed.

Harry remained in the room, alone and unhappy, until the guard 'bot, who had a vengeful nature, zapped him in the rear end, burning a hole in the new suit.

Wounded, outnumbered, and outgunned, Harry was forced to retire from the field.

CHAPTER 10.

It is quite a three-pipe problem.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, "The Red-headed League"

Petronella Rizzoli leaned against the pliant backrest of her office chair and regarded her computer screen in perplexity. Automatically, without thinking about it, she hooked her foot under the leg of her rolling chair to keep the chair in place. She'd done this ever since the time one of her kinetic s.h.i.+fts had sent her chair rocketing backward out into the hallway, where it had run down a pa.s.sing secretary. Petronella had just risen from the chair prior to its unexpected performance, and so had escaped injury herself. The secretary had not been quite so fortunate. She was off work for three days with bruised s.h.i.+ns.

Petronella came from the planet Talisia, which had been colonized by humans in the midyears of their explorations into s.p.a.ce. Talisia was rich in minerals, ores, particularly iron and uranium, as well as gold and silver and diamonds. The planet's value was such that its inhabitants overlooked the strange fluxes and s.h.i.+fts that occurred in the kinetic energy, completely defying Newton's Three Laws of Motion and sending physicists scurrying to the planet to investigate.

Objects at rest did not necessarily stay at rest on Talisia, but whizzed through the air, rolled along the ground, or tumbled from the skies. Scientists eventually discovered that the problem was not with Talisia itself but had been brought to the planet by its human colonists. Their own small energy fields clashed with the Talisian fields, resulting in eddies and whirlwinds that swirled around the humans, doing little harm to thema"in the eye of the storm, as it werea"but wreaking havoc on the world around them.