Trickster (8 page)

 
"Yes, Mistress," he said quietly. "Yatt said you need a runner?"

 
"I do. Jerry, are you new to Sunnytree Farm?"

 
He glanced up at Gretchen in puzzlement. "Yes, Mistress. I haven't even been here a month. If you want someone else as a runner, someone who knows the farm better, I can go get--"

 
"No, that's all right, Jerry," Gretchen said. "Let me see your hands, please."

 
Even more puzzled, Jerry held up his hands, palm up. Blisters mixed with calluses, and his nails were broken and dirty. Gretchen took hold of both his wrists for a moment, then let him go. No Silent jolt, but she hadn't been expecting one. The Despair had robbed her of that.

 
"Walk with me, kid, and quick," she ordered, and headed back toward the equipment barn. The boy hurried to keep up.

 
"Mistress?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

 
"I don't have a lot of time to explain," she said, "so listen hard. I stuck a chip to your shackle when I grabbed your wrists. It broadcasts a silence loop to the farm's computer so it can't monitor what we're saying."

 
"Mistress?" the boy said hesitantly. "I don't understand."

 
Gretchen reached into her jumpsuit and fished out her gold medallion. It was a risk to wear it, but experience had taught Gretchen that the medallion often convinced suspicious slaves faster than mere words. "Do you know what this stands for, Jerry?"

 
The boy halted and stared, forcing Gretchen to stop as well. Awe mixed with excitement on his face. "Everyone knows what that is. You're a Child of Irfan."

 
"That's right," she said, tucking the medallion away again. "I'm here with a couple other members of our order to get you out of here. You game?"

 
"But--but I'm not--" he hesitated, clearly afraid of her reaction "--not Silent. Not anymore. That's why they sold me."

 
Gretchen's heart twisted in sympathy and she struggled to keep her voice steady. "Your Silence doesn't matter to us, Jerry.
You
do. Are you in or out? I need to know now."

 
"In," the boy said to Gretchen's relief. She wouldn't have to bring up his mother to convince him. Kendi had told her to save Harenn for later, if possible. No sense in overwhelming the boy.

 
"Then let's get moving," Gretchen said, hurrying down the path toward the equipment barn again. "We don't have a whole lot of time."

 
"How are you going to do it?" the boy asked. "Do you have a plan? Are you going to kill the master?"

 
"Never mind the details," she said, "and no, we aren't planning to kill anyone."

 
"Oh." The boy looked disappointed. "Will it take long? Are we going today?"

 
"No, it won't, and yes, we are. Now come with me and don't ask so many questions. We'll tell you everything you want to know, but later."

 
They rounded the corner of the barn--and came face-to-face with Joe. Gretchen only barely managed to avoid slamming into him. The boy dodged behind Gretchen with a gasp.

 
"What are you doing out here?" Joe demanded. "And what's with the kid?"

 
Gretchen's heart thudded hard, but she managed to keep her face expressionless. "We need a runner, one who knows the farm," she said. "So I co-opted one of your hands. We didn't figure you'd mind."

 
Joe frowned. "We run a tight ship here, lady. This kind of thing needs to be--hey! Aren't you the tech that came by to fix the sprinkler glitch in the first place?"

 
"That's me," Gretchen said. She drew her flashlight from her belt and tapped herself on the chest with it. "Corporate HQ says the fix-it program had some bugs--a glitch within a glitch. What are the odds, hey?"

 
"I don't like this," Joe growled. "That man and that woman coming here to ask about a hand we just bought, then this glitch pops up and I catch you running around with the same kid those two were asking about. I better call Mr. Markovi."

 
Adrenaline sang in Gretchen's blood. "You don't have to call him," she said, pointing with her chin to a point past Joe's shoulder. "Here he comes now."

 
Joe turned to look and Gretchen slugged him with the flashlight. The man staggered in surprise but didn't fall. Gretchen hit him again, and this time he went down. Gretchen glanced quickly around. The main house was blocked from view by the equipment barn and no other workers were in sight. A small bit of luck to balance out the big chunk of bad.

 
"Fuck," Gretchen muttered, looking down at Joe's motionless body. "Now what?"

 
"There," the boy said, pointing to a clump of ornamental bushes next to the equipment barn. "I'll help you drag him."

 
"You're quick on the uptake." Gretchen said as she grabbed one of Joe's wrists. The boy took the other. Together they dragged him toward the bushes.

 
"Faster on it than him," the boy said. "That was a really old trick."

 
"Still works," Gretchen pointed out, her calm voice belying the tension she felt. Someone could come by at any moment, might even be watching them now.

 
Once Joe's limp form had been stuffed into its leafy hiding place, Gretchen bent down and extracted his earpiece. Then she took the boy's hand and all but sprinted back toward the barn, only remembering at the last minute to slow down to a brisk walk when they came into sight of the house. Once they were in the equipment barn, however, they ran all the way to the equipment bay where Ben and Lucia were waiting. Computer parts and sprinkler equipment were scattered over the floor.

 
"Complication," Gretchen said as loudly as she dared above the noise. "Joe got suspicious. I had to hit him to keep him from calling Markovi, and I don't know how long he'll be out."

 
"Vik!" Lucia swore. She opened the nearly-empty equipment crate. "Get in, Jerry--hurry!"

 
The boy needed no further urging and jumped into the crate. Ben and Lucia carefully piled equipment on top of him while Gretchen kept a lookout, then they shut the lid and maneuvered the crate out of the bay.

 
Gretchen felt like a big sign hung over her head and flashed "Guilty! Guilty!" as they emerged with the crate into the bright sunlight and steered it toward the van. Ben tapped his ear and muttered to empty air while Gretchen and Lucia opened the van doors.

 
An alarm sounded just as they got the crate inside.

 
Douglas Markovi sat in his office and fumed. This stupid glitch had so far cost him an entire day's work, and it would show on the weekly statement. No doubt HQ would blame him for the whole thing and it would probably cut into his bonus, all because that goddammed bitch of a technician hadn't done her job right. He'd have to talk to legal about that, see what damages they could recover from Compulink. Meanwhile, maybe they could set up some lights in the cacao groves, get the hands off their lazy asses this evening and get some honest labor out of--

 
An alarm blasted through the room. Markovi jumped.

 
"Attention! Attention!" barked the computer. "A hand has left the boundaries of Sunnytree Farm. Attention! Attention! A hand has left--"

 
Markovi waved a frantic hand over his desk computer and the holographic screen popped up. The alarm continued to blare. "Billy, close down the exits and show me which hand has left the farm. And shut off that goddammed noise!"

 
The alarm instantly shut off. "All hands are accounted for," the computer said.

 
"What? But you just said someone had left."

 
"Please restate request."

 
Markovi ground his teeth. "Billy, explain the inconsistency in the last two reports."

 
"No inconsistency found. All hands are accounted for."

 
The vidscreen chimed and flashed the words
Incoming Call.
Markovi tapped his desk. Alex appeared on the wall looking worried.
"What's going on boss? Did someone go AWOL?"

 
"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Markovi snarled. "Get your ass down to the quarters with Joe and do a physical head count. I want everyone--"

 
He was cut off from another blast of alarm noise. "Attention! Attention! A hand has left the boundaries of Sunnytree Farm. Attention! Attention!"

 
"Billy, shut the fuck up!" Markovi yelled, and the computer obeyed. "Billy, run a count of all hands."

 
"All hands are accounted for."

 
"Billy, did any shackle bombs go off?"

 
"Negative."

 
"What the hell?"
Alex said.

 
The vidscreen flashed another incoming call, and a moment later, one of the Compulink techs--the wimpy one who Markovi had yelled at earlier--appeared on it.

 
"Sir,"
said the tech,
"we've been tracking the glitch, but it isn't exactly a glitch."

 
"What do you mean?" Markovi demanded. "Does this have something to do with the alarm system?"

 
"I think so, sir,"
the wimp said.
"Your system doesn't have a glitch--
it has a virus. That's why our original fix didn't work. I think it's spreading to other systems in your mainframe, including the alarm system. That's why it keeps going off, just like the sprinkler."

 
"How the hell did we get a goddammed virus?" Markovi barked. "Our goddammed system is isolated."

 
The tech shrugged.
"We can try to track it down for you, sir, since we're here."

 
"How much is this going to cost?"
Alex asked from his half of the vidscreen.

 
"It won't be our emergency rates, sir," the tech said. "We're already on the premises, so--"

 
"Attention! Attention! A hand has left the boundaries of Sunnytree Farm. Attention! Attention!"

 
"Shut up, Billy!" Markovi screamed. Then to the tech, "Just fucking fix it!"

 
"We'll have to shut off the alarm system for a while,"
said the tech.

 
"No way!"
Alex said.
"What if someone runs off for real?"

 
"Your hands won't know the system is off-line unless you tell them,"
the tech said.
"And it'll only be for about ten minutes while we clean and reboot the computer system. How far could they get even if they found out?"

 
"Attention! Attention!"

 
Markovi had had it. "Billy, shut up and take the hand alarm system off-line for ten minutes. No more."

 
"Acknowledged."

 
"Now get off your ass and get to work," Markovi ordered. The tech nodded and vanished from the screen.

 
Ben poked his head into the van. "Go!"

 
Lucia dePaolo muttered a quick prayer to Irfan and set to work, her white-scarred hands moving with swift, serene efficiency. The boy watched with both interest and trepidation as Lucia forced open the control panel on his wristband with a tiny pick and started on the electronic lock within. He stood inside the crate while Gretchen kept a lookout through the van window. His bands were newer than the ones she was used to picking, and they were going to take longer to work than she had thought.

 
Serene must you ever remain,
she thought.
Serene like Irfan herself.

 
"What if you make a mistake?" the boy whispered.

 
"I won't make a mistake," she told him quietly. "Just hold--" She broke off and stared at the band.

 
"Hold still?" the boy asked.

 
"Seven minutes left," Gretchen said.

 
Lucia's face remained expressionless, belying the pang of fear that temporarily overwhelmed her usual calm. The wristband contained a small detonator--another new feature. These shackles would do more than shock. Any slave who left the boundaries of the farm would probably lose a hand and a foot--easily repairable if he were found quickly enough, and a one-footed slave wasn't likely to be running anywhere. The bombs would doubtless also go off if she didn't get the bands removed before the alarm system came back on-line and detected tampering. Lucia spent several precious seconds debating whether she should first remove the shackles or disarm the bombs.

 
Remove the shackles
, she decided.
Once they're off, the bombs won't matter
.

 
Lucia took a deep breath and murmured a short mantra to restore her peace of mind. This was a simple puzzle, one she could solve with Irfan's help.

 
Grandmother Irfan, grant me speed
, she thought, and tried to hurry without making any time-wasting errors. The boy was counting on her. Father Kendi was counting on her, too, and Lucia would have been hard-pressed to decide which one put her under more pressure. When Harenn had told her that Father Kendi was looking for a pilot on a new ship, Lucia had jumped at the chance. Father Kendi--touched by Irfan herself and a hero of the Despair. How could she refuse such a chance?

 
"Five minutes," Gretchen said, then gasped. "Oh shit--it's that Alex guy. He's coming over to the van."

 
Wasting no movements, Lucia pushed the boy down into the crate and slid in after him. She fumbled around in the dark for a moment, pulled a flashlight from her belt, switched it on, and put it in her mouth. The boy huddled, scared and unhappy, on the floor of the crate as Lucia grabbed for his wrist again. Dim light, cramped quarters, time running out. Another deep, calming breath. Irfan was with her, everything would be fine.