Multiverse: Exploring the Worlds of Poul Anderson (39 page)

The first guard reached the cell door, his hand dropping to a nasty-looking shock-stick at his belt. Flandry assumed its original purpose was directing livestock, then conceded that, from the slavers point of view, it was
still
being used to direct livestock. “I open door, then you come out! Slowly!” he shouted in a heavily accented Terran.

Flandry reached up to his com unit and whispered, “Now!”

Within seconds, all five guards looked startled as they received a message from above: a Terran Imperial Heavy Cruiser had just dropped out of FTL into a high orbit above the cargo ship, flanked by two smaller ships, probably Fast Frigates or Heavy Destroyers from their energy signatures.

The guard closest to Flandry glanced away to see how those behind were reacting to the warning. Flandry shouted, “Now!”

Every man in the front hit the cage wall, and, after a brief hesitation, it gave way; the first guard was crushed under the metal and the charging men, his cries of pain stilled within seconds.

Without hesitation, Flandry took a direct path straight at the second guard on the left, launching himself into a flying kick that caught the man on the point of the jaw, spinning him completely around. Kneeling next to the prone, stunned guard, Flandry drove his fingers into the man’s windpipe. The man gasped as he brought his hands up to his throat, his eyes widening as he suddenly was without breath. Flandry reached down and deftly unholstered the man’s sidearm and pulled it out. He thumbed off the safety and shot the guard in the chest.

Laren’s guard took a step towards Flandry, and the former Marine jumped forward, wrapping his left arm around the man’s neck, while kicking backward with one foot against the guard’s leg. He took him down with a sudden kneeling motion, savagely smashing the guard’s head against the stone floor. The sound was lost in the sudden upheaval as the other prisoners swarmed the two remaining guards. Insuring that the man stayed down, Laren rose and crushed the guard’s throat with his boot heel.

The noise of discharging shock-sticks and men screaming in pain punctuated angry shouts and the sound of fists meeting flesh. Flandry was efficiency personified. He dodged through the melee, which was now firmly in hand.

The other guards were already down, being kicked to death by the prisoners. Flandry pushed quickly through the prisoners and ruthlessly shot both in the head. He considered that he was doing them a favor.

Flandry said, “Everyone wait here until we see who is left above ground. Who has military training?”

Four men held up their hands and Flandry instructed the first three to pick up the dead guards’ remaining weapons.

He motioned for them to fall in behind him and headed up the steps to the surface, slowly, not wanting unpleasant surprises. He saw two men, technicians from their garb, lingering by the open cargo hold of the shuttle. It would have been a cramped ride for that many men, Flandry thought, as he walked straight towards the two men. The first one to notice him looked surprised, but by the time he was able to speak, Flandry had his pistol leveled at the man’s nose. “How many?” he asked.

The other technician was slow to realize that this wasn’t a guard returning to start loading prisoners, and his hesitation cost him a blow to the side of the head that dropped him to his knees. “How many?” repeated Flandry to the other tech.

“One inside and the pilot,” answered the second technician. For his troubles, he was rewarded with a blow that dropped him unconscious to the dirt. Flandry then kicked the first tech in the point of the jaw.

Flandry took one step into the light cast by the open hatch and shot the remaining guard. He hurried up to the small flight deck and put his gun barrel against the pilot’s neck. The pilot was smart enough to know not to move. He slowly raised his hands.

“You got the message?”

“Imperial heavy cruiser and two escorts in orbit, yes,” said the pilot.

“What are your orders?”

“To stay here, and, if the ship is taken, it’s every man for himself.”

“Not a lot of loyalty.”

“I’m not from Alcaz. I’m just a pilot.”

“Well then, just a pilot, squawk on the emergency band and wait here until the police come and find you.”

The pilot reached out and punched a large red button to his left and sat back with a sigh. The tower would notify police security of an emergency squawk from a vehicle parked where it shouldn’t be. He shook his head as he glanced up. He didn’t have to be told that the ship orbiting above them could blow him to vapor at will. Better a stint in prison than instant obliteration.

“Women?” asked Flandry.

“None this trip. Men for the mines and arena only.”

Flandry motioned for him to get out of the chair and follow him. When they reached the two unconscious technicians, the pilot asked, “Guards?”

“Dead.” With a wave of his pistol, Flandry said, “Sit.”

The pilot complied, knowing that there was nowhere to run.

Flandry returned to the steps and shouted, “It’s all clear.”

Laren nodded, hurried down the basement stairs, then led the others to the surface. When all the slaves were above ground, Flandry said, “I expect that some of you would just as soon be gone before the police arrive. Go now.” Instantly, a dozen men started moving towards various exit routes from this old sector of the city. “The rest of you would probably be served by waiting. There’s a bounty on Alcaz slavers in the Empire, and if the police aren’t too corrupt, you’ll get your reward. If they
are
corrupt . . . just tell them you were freed by agents of the Inspector General’s Corp and that we’re still around.”

The result was instantaneous. The men started to ask questions, but Flandry cut them off with a wave of his hand.

“Laren, come with me,” he said and moved away from the warehouse and shuttle.

When he was a hundred yards away from the group, he asked the former Marine, “What do you do for work?”

“I was running a gang—work gang—out of the harbor, labor and repair. Had twenty five boys loading and unloading cargo, doing ship refitting, anything that paid and wasn’t illegal”—seeing a skeptical expression on Flandry, he added—“too illegal. I’ve had a nice little shop for about ten years.”

“How’d you end up here?”

“My son got married; after the bride and groom went off on their honeymoon, me and some of the boys went out drinking. I wandered off to take a piss behind the bar and someone hit me from behind. I woke up here.” He glanced around. “I expect that most of the boys at the party think I went home.” He glanced at the sky, still hours before dawn. “I’ll be expected at the shop an hour after sunrise. An hour after that, my boys will come looking for me.” He looked at Flandry and said, “Hell of a night.”

“It’s not over,” said Flandry. He activated his com and said, “Send it down.”

Turning to Laren, he said, “I have a job for you.”

“Already got a job,” said Laren. “I owe you and if I can help I will, but my crew needs me.”

“The Empire needs you,” said Flandry. “Consider your military service reactivated. If you want the paperwork, I can have it for you in an hour.”

Laren’s expression remained neutral, but Flandry could see from the set of his eyes that he was not happy with what he had just heard. “What was your rank,” asked the Deputy Inspector General.

“I’d just made sergeant before Vindabar.”

“That will do for now, Sergeant.” He keyed his com and asked, “You got that?”

“What size?” asked the voice in his ear.

“Bigger than me by a little.”

“Got one in back that will fit.”

Flandry cocked his head slightly, then smiled at Laren. “Relax, Sergeant; I’m only going to need you for an hour or so. After that, we’ll discuss some things.”

A few minutes later, a high-pitched humming signaled the approach of two fast police cruisers. “Wait here,” said Flandry.

He hurried over to intercept the first cruiser as it touched down next to the transport. The door opened and two police officers stepped down as Flandry held up his identification. After a moment of conversation, their body language signaled the change in attitude of the two officers. They lost their aggressive stance and became deferential to the point of almost falling over themselves. Flandry returned to where Laren stood, saying, “The boys will be rewarded for their trouble.”

Dryly, Laren said, “We don’t get our share?”

“Not to worry,” replied Flandry with a slightly crooked smile. “You’ll be taken care of, Sergeant.”

“One hour or so of a sergeant’s pay . . . that might cover the price of a drink . . . ”

A moment later, a deeper humming from above heralded the approach of a small shuttle. It was a shining new beauty, the best the Empire had produced, exactly what you’d expect to ferry high-ranking officials and officers of the Empire to and from capital-class ships.

The port side hatch dropped down, forming steps up a ramp to the shuttle. A young woman in the uniform of a Naval Ensign stepped out and saluted as Flandry hurried to the entrance. He absently returned the salute and said, “This is Sergeant Laren. Get us up!”

She followed the two men into the ship and indicated that Laren should sit in the rear leftmost seat, just before a doorway into the rear cargo area. She sat in the pilot’s seat and took the shuttle up while Flandry entered the cargo area. “Where to, sir?” she shouted.

From within the hold, he said, “Head for the Governor’s Complex.”

“Aye, sir.”

The shuttle arched into the sky, heading eastward, toward the rising sun. It would be just after breakfast when they reached the capital.

Flandry emerged from the rear of the shuttle, and Laren saw him clean-shaven and looking fresh, wearing a spotless and smartly fitting service uniform, the traditional khaki worn by all navy ranks when not in full dress or fatigues. As he sat, he said to Laren, “There’s a sonic shower back there and a set of service fatigues that should fit you.”

Laren didn’t need to be told twice. Less than fifteen minutes later, he emerged cleaner than he had been in two days, in a service fatigue uniform.

Flandry nodded once in approval. “As there are no non-commissioned ranks in the Intelligence Corp, you’ve been promoted. So you jump a couple of pay grades. An ensign’s pay for an hour or so should buy
two
rounds.”

Laren could only smile.

Flandry motioned for him to sit. “I don’t have much time. As I said, you’re only working for me for an hour or so. I am not really going to press you into service. I just needed you aboard to talk.”

“You just could have asked.”

“You might have said no,” said Flandry with a faint smile.

Nodding once, Laren said, “You’re right.”

“How would you like to work for me?”

“Doing what?”

“This cold war we’re in with the Merseians is as deadly in its own fashion as the old shooting war was, just with not as high a body count, not as many things get blown up.”

“That’s a good thing, I guess.”

“Maybe,” said Flandry. “Time was, you’d have never heard of Alcaz slavers in this sector, let alone see them boots on ground, taking citizens for bounty.”

“Time was, there was an Imperial fleet guarding this sector,” said Laren. “The regional militia is a joke and the planetary police are worse. Seems like the Empire has cut back on a few things.”

Wryly, Flandry laughed. “True. Still, we’re attempting to set things right as best we can. And we need reliable men.”

“We just met in a slavers pen, Deputy Inspector General Dominic Flandry,” said Laren.

“Flandry will do.”

“You know I’m reliable in a brawl, but what else do you know?”

“Not much, but I don’t have time to conduct interviews and run deep background checks. Still, Imperial Marines means that you’re tough—and LURPS means that you’re self-reliant and able to improvise when needed. I’ve seen you fight; running your own business means that you’re not stupid. Having a boy who just got married means that you’re stable. I’ll have a full background check run on you before we’re done, but unless something seriously felonious comes up, I’m going to offer you a position.

“The IG’s office needs someone here, and if you do the job, you’ll be paid very well. Enough so you can turn your business over to your son as a wedding present, and retire in due course on an officer’s pension, at least commander, perhaps even captain. If you don’t do it well, I’ll replace you. If you go rogue or corrupt, I’ll come back, shoot you, and then replace you.”

“You’re not joking,” said Laren.

“I don’t joke. Ask my friends.”

From her seat, the pilot said, “Respectfully, sir, you don’t have any friends. But I can tell you, Ensign, he doesn’t joke.”

Laren sat back to think a long moment, then said, “Well, I was going to give my son half the business when he returns from his honeymoon. All of it is better. I guess he can run things while I run errands for you, sir.”

“It’s a little more than that, but we’ll get into details later.”

“Governor’s complex ahead, sir,” said the pilot.

“Thank you, Celia.”

Flandry stood up and opened an overhead locker, removing a side arm. “Energy or slug?”

“Pistol. LURPS don’t use blasters. They’re fine for urban fighting, but in the wild tend to set things on fire at the worst possible moment.”

“Yes,” said Flandry, feeling that he should he anticipated the answer.

He handed him a brand new semi-automatic pistol and holster, which Laren wrapped around his waist as the shuttle landed in the quad. Broadcasting Imperial Navy codes had cleared the air around the plaza of police interceptors, but there were still armed guards waiting just in case someone was threatening the governor or the legislature.

Flandry strode out of the shuttle, Laren a half-step behind, and went to the guard who was sporting officer’s insignias on the shoulder of his battle armor, and held out his identification.

He allowed him five seconds to take in what was occurring then said, “Have your men fall in behind me, Captain.”

The captain said, “Yes, sir!” snapped off a salute, then shouted at the encircling guardsmen, “Fall in behind the Deputy Inspector General!”