into new areas.”
Kang sneered. “Me work for you?”
“Of course not,” said Hansen. “You’d work for Chief Monitor Bock. What do you think?”
Kang glanced at Marten. Marten sat impassively. Kang shook his head at Hansen, who had watched the exchange. Hansen now looked with new interest at Marten.
Marten slid his chair back. “That spiced tea before has gone right through me. What about you, Hansen?”
It took Hansen a half-beat. “Yes. I need to use the restroom.”
Kang laughed. “Oh no you don’t.”
“Don’t worry,” Marten said. “I won’t let him call for reinforcements.”
Kang grumbled, then shrugged and waved his thick hand. “Go, go, be my guest.”
Marten and Hansen rose and headed for the restroom.
“You’re the leader of the 101st?” whispered Hansen.
“That’s right,” Marten said.
“Kang has to listen to you?”
“Yes,” Marten said.
Hansen nodded ruefully. “Yes. Wise of you to let him play me out. Now it is I who am impressed.”
Marten opened the restroom door and gestured for Hansen to proceed.
“I’m glad I can work with a reasonable man,” said Hansen as he walked in. “Our survival depends upon logic and precision, not brute force and rage.” He turned around.
Marten shot him twice as the projac made little hissing sounds.
The ice slivers penetrated Hansen’s tunic and into his stomach. The thin monitor had time to widen his eyes in astonishment and pain. Then he staggered backward as the knockout drugs took hold. Marten caught him under the armpits and shuffled into a stall. He lowered the drugged monitor onto a toilet seat. He patted Hansen down, coming up with a projac, several more clips, a wallet stuffed with credits, a communicator and a flat device with a barcode on the back. Marten took it and ran it over his tattoo. The device flashed a green light. Marten slid it over his tattoo again. The device flashed red. Green, off, red, on.
Marten debated killing Hansen instead of just leaving him drugged. He shook his head. With that decided, Marten stuffed his jacket with the loot. Then he adjusted Hansen’s clothes, put the man’s hands over his stomach and spread his feet wider. Marten locked the stall, dropped to his stomach and slid under the bottom. Disgusting, but it worked. He dusted himself and strolled into the barroom.
“Where’s Hansen?” Kang said as Marten sat down. “You said you weren’t going to leave him alone.”
“He pulled a gun on me,” Marten said. He pulled out the projac and showed Kang under the table.
“The little maggot! What was he thinking?”
Marten showed Kang his knuckles from where he’s hit the monitor in the throat before. “I took Hansen out. Set him on the toilet seat and locked the stall.”
Kang grunted.
“But I think we’d better get out of here,” Marten said.
“Because of that little maggot? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“He’s a monitor, Kang.”
“He drew a gun on you,” Kang snarled. “I’ll—” Kang half rose, but Marten put his hand on the Mongol’s massive forearms.
“I took these off him,” Marten said, slapping a handful of credits on the table, beside Hansen’s earlier pile. “Take them.”
Kang sat and started stuffing his pockets.
“We don’t want any trouble,” Marten said. “There’s no telling how the Training Master will view all this—if we get thrown into detention or found to have killed monitors.”
Kang grunted.
“So get drunk,” Marten said, “just not here.”
“What about you?”
“I should probably find Lance and Vip and tell them to be careful. Do you want to help me look for them?”
Kang snorted. Then he grabbed his latest vodka bottle by the neck, rose ponderously and headed for the door. A waitress hurried to intercept him.
Marten motioned sharply.
She looked at Kang once more and came over.
“Do you know Hansen?” Marten asked.
“He’s come in here before,” she said. “Wasn’t he with you?”
“He’s still in the restroom.”
“Oh. Yes, that’s right. I saw him go in.”
“He’s sleeping one off,” Marten said. “I don’t think he wants to be disturbed either.”
She blinked several times. “That’s kind of strange,” she finally said.
“He has strange… tastes,” Marten said.
“Oh,” said the waitress. “Then why does he come to Smade’s? There are other places for that sort of thing.”
Marten shrugged.
“Well, it doesn’t really matter to me,” she said.
“A good policy,” agreed Marten. “Hansen will pay the score.”
The waitress glanced at Kang as he exited. “All right,” she said.
“But here’s a small gratuity from us,” Marten said. He put several credits on her tray. “Put the customary fifteen percent tip on Hansen’s bill as well.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Marten patted her arm and hurried out.
8.
Nadia Pravda gasped as the three of them loped down an empty utility corridor. Sweat dripped from her waxen face as her breathing turned harsher. Her heavy magnetic boots clumped at each stride and her tool belt jingled as the tiny clamps struck one another.
Omi and Marten jogged effortlessly. They were both in peak condition and knew that time ran against them.
“Sl—Slow down,” wheezed Nadia.
Marten glanced back and then at Omi. “Hey,” he said. Omi raised an eyebrow. Marten nodded at Nadia. The two of them each took an arm and helped her run.
Marten couldn’t believe he was doing this again. Four and half years ago, he’d hidden in the Sun Works Factory like a rat. His parents had been alive and the monolith of Social Unity had ruled the four Inner Planets.
It had all started seven years ago when Political Harmony Corps had brutally suppressed the unionization attempt of the Sun Works Engineers. If he’d asked, Marten was sure Nadia could have told him a grim tale about that time. Social Unity, it was said back then, provided for all, was all. The State and its people were one, thus unionization was an absurdity, a non sequitur. Thus, the engineer’s strike had been
PHC had caught his mother and father and killed them. He’d used emergency computer codes and a special
