Paradigm (30 page)

“It is, Commander.”

“Loyalty, on the other hand, receives great rewards.”

Setzen leered in a way that made Sam’s heart sink. Bast leaned in to Alma and whispered in her ear as if she were a girlfriend with a secret, then leaned back again, and sipped her wine.

“Now, dear,” she said. “The wonderful thing about our little fishy friends, here, is that you’re still in there. Locked in. So stand up.”

Alma stood up. Sam’s face felt hot. He pushed the box aside and felt for the gun in his pocket.

“Setzen, consider this a reward for your faithful service and your efforts in bringing the Bakersfield business to an end. You can do what you want with her. If she’s still alive when you’re finished, hand her over to your men. Off you go, dear.”

Alma turned and walked down the length of the table to Setzen who slipped a hand around her waist and looked her up and down approvingly.

“Thank you, Commander,” he said, pulling her onto his lap.

Alma put her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his. Setzen smiled, then grabbed her jaw, turned her face up to his and began kissing her hungrily.

Sam stopped thinking.

He kicked the grate out and jumped from the vent to the table. He didn’t hear the screams of the women, or the doors opening as the room filled with Bast’s men. He just marched down the table, crushing Bast’s fine bone china beneath his boots.

“Get your hands off her, you fucking bastard pig!”

Setzen dropped Alma to the floor and went for his gun, but he was too late. Sam’s foot crashed into his jaw and the old soldier crumpled to the floor.

It was only then that Sam heard Carolyn Bast laughing. He spun around. At least twenty guns were pointing at him. Bast raised her glass.

“Softly, softly catchee monkey,” she purred. “Welcome back, Sam.”

Chapter 31

C
arolyn Bast sank into
the chair behind her desk and held up the glass of amber liquid that Sam had noticed next to the files.

“Freshen this up for me, would you? Oh, and get one for yourself. You look like you need it.”

Sam held up his shackled hands.

“Cut him loose, Colby. Then you can go.”

“But, Commander—” began the burly guard.

“You know,” said Bast, in a matter-of-fact tone. “For a moment there I thought you were going to question a direct order.”

Colby leapt forward, unlocked Sam’s cuffs, saluted quickly and left.

“Sorry about that. All my best troops are in Bakersfield. You’ll find the scotch in the credenza. Second cupboard from the left, but you probably know that.”

Sam shoved his hands into his pockets and stood his ground.

“Where is she?”

“Who? Oh, the tiresome kiwi. In the cages. She’s fine. Well, not fine, obviously, but I haven’t given her to Setzen yet.”

“Yet?”

“He needs to be punished for allowing himself to be taken out so easily. And I suspect the young assassin will be more useful undamaged for the moment. Correct?”

Sam nodded. His head was starting to ache again and the scratching feeling in the back of his brain had begun. He needed another pill, but the box was on Bast’s desk, along with his gun. He was trying not to give anything away, but Bast was too good not to notice. She picked up the box and shook it.

“You’re looking a little peaky,” she said. “Is it wearing off?”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Please,” she said. “Don’t play games. My client told me all about your little neural suppressors.” She popped the box open. “Oh, dear! There are only two left. Shame.”

She spilled them out onto her desk, crushed them with a paperweight and smiled.

“Drugs are never the best way to deal with a problem.”

Sam stared at her. There were three. He was sure there had been three. Then he felt it, in his right hand pocket—a small tablet in among the lint and bits of string.

Bast waved her glass at him and leaned back. He took it from her icy hand and set it on the credenza while he got the bottle out of the cupboard.

“Glasses are on the—”

“I know. Ice?”

“Don’t be a philistine.”

He poured two drinks and handed one to Bast before sitting in the chair opposite her desk. She raised an eyebrow at the insolence, then smiled slightly and sipped at her drink.

“So here we are again.”

Sam didn’t say anything. He knew what she wanted but he couldn’t understand why she was bothering with the game of cat and mouse. She had the locule she’d been after and the box was sitting right there on her desk. Why didn’t she just get it over with?

“The thing is, Sam, that this little process works ever so much better when the… what shall we call it? Receptor…yes, that’ll do. When the receptor is willing. I’ve been experimenting, you see.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Do you, now? Well, haven’t you been busy? Anyway, my understanding is that if I open this box, a jack will open just behind your left ear. Shall we try it? It seems so neat. It was a bit messy with the non-locules, but it did work eventually.”

She removed the key from a fine gold chain around her neck, inserted it in the box and turned. The box didn’t open. She tried again. No good.

“Are you doing that?”

Sam nodded slowly. It was taking all of his concentration to hold the elements of the small casket in place without touching it. He expected Bast to be angry, but a broad smile spread across her face.

“How wonderful!” she said. “I can see that you and I are going to have such fun once the download is complete.”

“No,” said Sam.

Before Bast could reply a series of almost imperceptible moans slithered into the dead air from the room next door. She stood up and smiled again. Sam was getting really tired of the smile. Every cell in his body wanted to wipe it from her face.

“Let me show you something,” she said.

He followed her to a carved mahogany door on the right-hand wall opposite the credenza. She turned the handle and opened the door wide.

Sam thought he was going to be sick.

It was a man, his wrists shackled to the ceiling and his feet to the floor, every muscle stretched beyond endurance. He had clearly been beaten repeatedly, his face was little more than ground meat, and his body showed an angry lattice of welts and burns, with raw areas where his skin seemed to have been peeled away. Everything was the color of blood and there was a large pool of gore on the floor, slowly drying. And he was still alive.

“Who…?” mumbled Sam, barely able to form the words.

“You’ve met,” said Bast. “Though I have to admit he has changed a bit. My pet banker, Dustin Farmer.”

Sam stared at her, horrified.

“I know, I know,” she said. “I should have left it to the boys down in interrogation, but it’s good exercise and the screaming helps me concentrate.”

“How long…?”

“About two weeks. The real skill is in not letting them die, you see. That would be too easy.”

“But…why…?”

“I don’t tolerate failure,” she snapped. “He tried to set me up. So now I own his bank and he is…jello.”

She closed the door, handed Sam her empty glass and sashayed back to the desk, all smiles again.

“Now, obviously, I’m not going to do anything like that to you. You’re far too valuable and my client would never approve. But your friends are another matter entirely.”

“Friends?” said Sam. “Is Nathan here too?”

“Yes. I seem to be becoming quite the den mother, don’t I?” She sipped her scotch and leaned back. “He wanted to make a deal. Sell me the box. I gather you didn’t tell him much about me.”

“No.”

“Pity. He might have done a better job. I would have bought the box and sent him on his way, but I wanted the car too and he stuck his heels in about that.”

“Why did you want the GTO?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Sam, think!”

Of course. Bait. Just leave it in the parking lot and make sure that word went out that it was there. Sam felt like an idiot. He also knew he had to do something, anything, to stop her. But he only had one weapon and once that was gone he might never be truly alone again.

He turned to the credenza and poured her another drink, favoring his left side and retrieving the pill from his pocket with his right hand. He crumbled it into the drink and hoped that Vincent had been telling the truth about their effect on ordinary people…and that one would be enough.

He walked back to the desk, handed Bast the glass and sat down. He picked up his own glass and swirled the contents. He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t risk her reading anything on his face.

“So,” she said, taking a swig. “Are you ready to play ball?”

Sam adopted his best grim capitulation expression and nodded.

Bast stood up, inserted the key into the box and then stopped. She looked up at him, but her eyes were clearly having difficulty focusing.

“What have you done?”

Sam didn’t say anything. She staggered back into her chair.

“I’ll…kill…you…for…this…”

“Maybe,” said Sam, jumping to his feet and picking up the box. “But not today.”

She made an effort to reach for her gun, but Sam grabbed it away. She was still conscious but no longer capable of speech or movement. He took the key from around her neck and waited a few more moments until he was sure she was out, then he strode to the door, took up position just to the side of it and flung it wide.

Colby immediately stepped inside, just like the good soldier Sam was sure he was. It took the old trooper a full five seconds to realize that his boss was out cold and the prisoner had a gun to his head.

“Cages,” he said.

“I can’t. She’ll kill me.”

“She’ll do a lot worse than that if the guy in that room is any indication, so I strongly suggest you take me to the cages and then get as far away from here as you can. Deal?”

Colby hesitated for a moment, and Sam was surprised to see something other than the usual grim determination of the soldier in his face. It was a face that was old before its time, one that had seen much that its owner didn’t want to remember yet was unable to forget. But his eyes were still a young man’s eyes, hopeful of better things, and the creases around his mouth betrayed a man who smiled easily. He turned to Sam and nodded once.

“Deal.”

Sam closed the door and stepped back.

“Okay,” he said. “You can start by emptying everything you’re carrying and handing the rounds to me. Slowly.”

“Oh, c’mon, kid.”

“I’m going to have to play your prisoner. I’d be really disappointed if you shot me in the back. Hand ‘em over.”

Colby emptied his weapons and passed the rounds and cartridges to Sam, who stashed them in his pockets.

“Right,” he said. “Now I’m putting this gun away, but if you try anything funny I want you to know you’ll be the first one I shoot.”

“You’d be dead before it cleared your pocket.”

Sam stared at him. He was right, of course.

“Well, then…”

“Look, kid,” said Colby. “I’m not going to give you up, okay? Bast is seriously psycho and I reckon the longer I stick around the more likely I’ll end up in her cross-hairs. She’s offed three of my buddies just this week, playing around with that box.”

“Three?”

“Yep. One of them’s still alive, but I don’t think you can really call it living. He’s in the cages now, too. Just sits there, drooling.”

Sam marveled yet again at Bast’s ability to use people as if they were her own personal property.

“Have you seen the guy in the next room?”

“No.”

“Take a look. It’s her banker. The Bakersfield thing was his idea. She thinks he was playing both ends against the middle.”

Colby strode across the room and opened the door. Sam turned away. He didn’t want to see it again.

“Jesus!” whispered the soldier.

There was a moment’s silence and then a single shot. Sam spun around and pointed his gun at the door as Colby emerged.

“I couldn’t leave him like that. It’s not…okay, kid, calm down.”

“Hand it over!”

“You’re gonna have to trust me. I’m not giving you my sidearm.”

“Trusting people hasn’t been working well for me recently.”

“You trust the girl.”

“That’s different.”

Colby chuckled and shook his head.

“Hormones are a bitch,” he said.

“She has honor. Her people believed in it.”

“Riiight. So, are we gonna do this, or what?”

Sam looked at the soldier’s open face, then nodded, lowered the gun and shoved it in his pocket.

“Yes,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 32

E
verything Sam had learned
in his years alone told him this was a stupid move, but he couldn’t think of a better one. He had drawn the line at putting the shackles back on, though. If Colby turned out to be lying, Sam wanted at least the chance of fighting back. On the plus side, he didn’t need to do much acting—he was just as tense and nervous as he was trying to look.

They marched along the corridor, unnoticed by the people around them. Sam was just another prisoner on his way to pay the price for whatever he had done to piss off the Commander.

“Stop!” barked Colby when they reached the elevators.

The doors slid open and several people walked out. Most were technicians who didn’t give them a second glance, but one was another soldier who grinned at Colby.

“Hey, Sal!” he said. “What’s up? Who’s the kid?”

“Just some jerk tried to steal that box the Commander’s so big on.”

“No, shit! The one that crashed the party?”

“That’s him.”

“Huh. You are so dead, kid. Where you taking him?”

“Cages.”

“Figures.”

“Yeah. Catch you later.”

Colby gave Sam a shove into the elevator and hit the button. Sam relaxed as the doors closed and half-turned to speak to Colby, but the soldier gave him a sharp jab in the ribs with the barrel of his gun and looked up. Sam followed his gaze to a small camera in the upper left corner and kept his mouth shut.

The elevator stopped two floors below the cells where Sam had been held last time and they emerged into a dark cavern of a room, punctuated by small stand-alone cages, each about eight feet from the next and each lit by a single greenish light.

“Yikes,” whispered Sam. “What’s this for?”

“Pre-interrogation holding,” said Colby. “You can relax, there’s no cameras down here.”

“How come?”

Colby shrugged.

“People don’t usually leave. It’s the last stop, if you know what I mean. She doesn’t want it broadcast.”

“Keys,” said Sam, suppressing a shudder.

“I don’t have the keys. The guard has the keys.”

Sam looked around, there was no sign of anyone.

“Does this seem weird to you?”

“Yeah,” said Colby. He picked up a clipboard and scanned it quickly. “The girl’s over there. Cage nine.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Colby led the way, but they hadn’t gone far before Sam heard a familiar voice.

“Sam! Hey, Sam! It’s me!”

He spun around. It was Nathan. Looking slightly the worse for wear, and very uncertain of the reception he might get from his old friend.

“Nathan!”

“I’m sorry, Sam, I really am.”

“You stole my car.”

“I know…I know. I was scared, I…I don’t know…I was scared.”

“This guy a friend of yours?” asked Colby.

“I used to think so.”

“Huh.”

“Oh, c’mon, Sam!” Nathan’s voice sounded a little more desperate. “Please. Get me out of here!”

“Where’s Alma?”

“Over there. She’s off her head, though. The guard said she’d eaten some of the Tahoe fish, but I don’t get that. Those things aren’t that strong.”

Sam stared at him.

“The guard?”

“Yeah. He’s over there now seeing if he can get his rocks off before it wears off.”

Sam forgot about Colby and the gun and just ran.

“Hey!” yelled Nathan. “What about me?”

The cage door was open and Sam could just make out the guard groping Alma, who seemed to be responding enthusiastically. He reached the cage just as the man uttered a blood curdling yelp of pain and doubled over, his chin meeting Alma’s rapidly rising knee as her clenched fists crashed down on the back of his head. It was over in seconds.

Alma retrieved his keys and weapons, then glanced up at Sam, who was standing by the door open-mouthed.

“I thought…”

“Which part of “I metabolize drugs quickly” didn’t you get, porangi?”

“What?”

Alma nodded toward Colby.

“I’ll take your stuff as well,” she said. “Now.”

“Not a chance, sweetheart.”

Alma looked surprised.

“It’s okay,” said Sam. “He’s with us. You mean you were never…? But you kissed Setzen!”

“I know. That was kind of gross. I had it under control, though.”

“Had it
what
? You were unarmed and even if you weren’t under the influence, Bast had just handed you over to him and his men for playtime!”

“So you
had
to ride in like the 7
th
cavalry,” she said, pulling her hair back and braiding it quickly. “How d’you feel that went for you?”

Sam watched as she strapped on all the weapons, concealing the smaller ones and measuring the heft of the larger ones until she found a balance that worked.

“Anyway,” he said. “I got to kick Setzen.”

“Yeah,” said Alma, flashing her sideways smile. “That was kinda cool. Great entrance, too.”

“Thanks.”

“Cut the dialog and let’s get out of here,” said Colby. “Sooner or later someone’s gonna find Bast and all hell’s gonna break loose.”

“Right,” said Alma.

“Hey! Over here!”

“It’s Nathan,” said Sam.

“Yeah, I know. Bast told me. He was trying to make some deal with her. You’d better let him out.”

Sam took the keys and went back to Nathan’s cage. He’d spent most of the last weeks cursing Nathan and coming up with imaginative scenarios of exactly what he would do to him if they ever crossed paths again. But now that the moment had arrived he couldn’t help feeling that the right thing, the mature thing, would be to accept his apology.

Nathan stepped out of the cage slowly.

“I’m really sorry, Sam.”

This was the moment where he was supposed to say that it was okay. That all was forgiven. Sam started to turn away.

Sod that.

He turned around and decked him with a roundhouse crack to the jaw.

Nathan yelped and clutched at his face as he fell, then stared up at Sam resentfully.

“I should knock you into the middle of next fucking week!” growled Sam.

“I know,” said Nathan, miserably.

Sam sighed and helped him to his feet. “Come on.”

Nathan managed a smile, then winced and rubbed at his jaw again. “So…what’s the plan?”

“Get out of here. Disappear.”

“Sounds good to me. Who’s the big guy?”

“His name’s Colby. He’s our ticket out, so be nice.”

Nathan grinned as Alma strode up.

“Hey, Alma.”

She glared at him.

“If you’d betrayed me like that, you’d be a stain on the floor.”

Nathan’s smile vanished and he moved as far as he could from the scary girl.

“There’s an exit on this level,” said Colby. “Follow me. Alma, can you disable the elevator? Could buy us some more time.”

Alma nodded and disappeared back into the dark. A few moments later there was a short, muffled burst of automatic weapons fire followed by a thud.

“I can see the attraction,” said Colby, grinning, as she marched back.

He turned and led the way through the maze of cages and over to a black door in the far wall.

“She has these bolt holes all over the place,” he explained. “She thinks we don’t know, but after what happened in Mazatlan, we keep each other informed.”

He kicked the door in and ushered them into a long, dark corridor that Sam soon realized was actually on a slight grade.

“Why’d you keep working for her if she treats you like disposable parts?” he asked.

“Money,” said Colby. “She pays real well, and aside from one or two times—Mazatlan being one of them—she always wins.”

“So why today?” asked Alma.

“Your friend, here, slipped the boss some kind of mickey while I was on the door.”

“But that’s not your fault,” said Nathan. “You weren’t even in the room.”

“You think that’d matter? You’ve got a lot to learn, kid.”

“I don’t get the whole armed forces thing, anyway,” continued Nathan, unfazed. “I mean, following orders, uniforms, yes-sir-no-sir, what’s that about? And who gets to pick who’s in charge? You wouldn’t find me taking orders from some chick, I’ll tell you that for free.”

“Oooh, Sam,” wheedled Alma. “Please let me kill him. Please?”

Sam laughed. It was kind of good to see that Nathan was still the same.

After about half an hour in the tunnel, they emerged into one of the alleys near the main entrance. The great city was still dark, its population cradled within its walls, secure and silent. The only sound that intruded on the empty streets was the distant, rhythmic throb of the oil pumps and the deep hum of the refinery as it spewed out the fuel that drove Bast’s war.

“Right. What’s the plan?” whispered Alma. “Oh, wait, look who I’m talking to.”

“Get to the garage, get the goat, go,” said Sam, grinning. “D’you see what I did there?”

“Give me some rounds,” said Colby.

“What?”

“The garage is across town. If we meet any trouble I want more than a pop gun.”

Sam glanced at Alma, then retrieved the hardware from his pockets and handed it over.

“Huh,” she said. “Not as stupid as you look.”

Sam grinned, then flinched, reaching for the wall.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine. Just a headache. Let’s get out of here.”

Alma looked concerned, but nodded and led the way up the alley and through the back streets of the financial district. Sam followed without really being aware of what was going on. His head was pounding like never before, as if some giant fist were slamming against a door, demanding entrance.

They crossed the main plaza, trying to avoid the pale pools of light created by some of the signs that covered the buildings. Colby glanced back at Sam.

“You sure you’re okay, kid?”

“I’m fine. I’ll be…that is, I’ll be fine once we get out of here.”

He glanced at the big muthascreen on the far side of the square. If he could just get past that without the thing lighting up and saying hi, he’d be alright. At least, he thought he would. He hoped. There were no more pills. He
had
to be okay once they were out in the Wilds.

The screen stayed dark, but the pounding continued. The others were talking, making some kind of plans, but he couldn’t hear them. It was taking all his concentration to keep moving forward.

It seemed to be taking forever. Had it really taken this long to cross the city before?

And then they were there. The parking lot with its stupid sign and locked elevators. Though, this time it didn’t slow them down—Alma and Colby simply blew the doors off the stairwell and they all clattered up to the fourth floor.

“This is your car?” said Colby. “Sweet!”

“Just get in,” said Sam.

Colby and Nathan squeezed into the back as best they could considering how much junk Nathan had accumulated between taking the car and losing it. Alma took the box and slid into the passenger seat as Sam replaced the lighter.

“Are you okay to drive?” she asked.

He didn’t respond—he just turned the key and smiled. The engine snarled.

“Is that a beautiful sound, or what?”

“Just get us out of here.”

He steered the car down to the entrance, where the great iron gate was securely in place.

“I got this,” said Colby, handing Sam a card. “Pass card. We’ve all got them. Just in case.”

Sam thanked him, swiped the card and pointed the old car away from Century City and into the outlands.

“So, Sam,” said Colby. “Alma was telling me you’ve got another set of wheels.”

“If you can call it that,” said Sam. “Old Vega. She’s steady, but has trouble with the hills. And by hills, I mean ant hills. It’s yours if you want it.”

“I reckon it’ll do until I find something else. I’m thinking I’ll take a look at what’s left of the country.”

Sam pulled up to Kate ‘n’ Al’s and led the way to the Vega.

“You’re right,” said Colby, grinning. “Wow. Piece of shit.”

Sam smiled and handed over the keys. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the feral-looking owner of the store step outside and drop a coin into the digivend. There was no time to prepare—it hit him just as hard as it had that first day he and Nathan had driven to the city. A searing pain, followed by the cacophonous chattering of a thousand voices.

“Sam!”

Running feet. Real or…?

It receded. He was on his hands and knees in the street, Colby was helping him up and Alma was staring at him as if half-expecting to find him gone.