Tek Kill (18 page)

“You're doing something now.”

Rebecca said, “Truth to tell, Jean-Paul, I guess I don't particularly care about myself. I want all this Tek business to stop. If you want to have your IDCA raid the facility here, I can provide you with floor plans, show you the location of the concealed Tek lab and—”

“That won't be necessary, sis.” Rowland Burdon came walking across the terrace, smiling at his sister.

Rebecca got up. She said, “Jean-Paul, you can arrest him right now. I'll supply you with—”

“Not likely, dear.” Berdanier smiled apologetically.

Rowland told the IDCA man, “You can take off now, J-P. Thanks for alerting me. I've been hunting all over the island for Becky.”

“Sorry, my dear.” Berdanier nodded at the woman before he hurried away.

30

HE woke up shivering. It was very early on a gray, overcast morning and Dan didn't know where he was.

In fact, he wasn't certain who he was or exactly what his name was.

He had awakened in this long, chill room a few minutes ago and very soon realized that he no longer had any clear idea about his identity.

He'd almost come up with a name for himself. Dan something … but it had faded swiftly away and he couldn't retrieve it.

He was sitting on the edge of a gray cot, hunched, fists clenched, and struggling to remember. Who he was, where he came from, how he got here. Anything.

There were exactly twenty cots in the neowood room, in two rows of ten each. All the others were occupied by sleeping young men.

Out beyond the plastiglass windows were at least a dozen other long, low buildings. A wide dirt roadway ran through the two rows of buildings and all around stretched dense, shadowy woodlands.

His left arm was aching. Rolling up the sleeve of the faded blue work shirt he found himself wearing, he saw three inflamed needle marks on his upper arm.

“Might as well get dressed, Hank. Wake-up's going to sound any minute now.”

He looked to his left. A lanky black young man of about seventeen was getting up out of the cot next to his. “You talking to me?”

“You're Hank, aren't you, cousin?”

“I don't know.” He frowned, rubbing his fingers up and down over his forehead. “I don't think so.”

The young man got into a pair of work trousers. “That's what they told us your tag was when they dumped you here last night.”

“Told you my name was Hank?”

“Yep, Hank Weiner. Where'd they transfer you from?”

The question didn't mean anything to him. He asked, “What shape was I in when I arrived?”

“Out cold, which is the way a lot of the new recruits check in.” Dropping to the cot edge, he started tugging on his neoleather boots. “I'm Ogden Whitney.”

“Ogden. Hi.” He noticed he had a pair of work boots of his own sitting on the plank floor beside his cot. “I'm sorry … but I just don't seem to have any recollection of how I got here or where I came from.”

Ogden zipped up the front of his faded blue work shirt. “More than likely, cousin, you been wiped.”

“What do you mean—a brainwipe?”

“They're not supposed to do it.” Ogden started to make his bed. Other young men were rising, getting dressed. “But with some of the tougher recruits they—”

“What the hell am I a recruit in, Ogden? Is this some kind of militia or—”

The young black man laughed, rubbing a knuckle under his nose. “You're now an official resident of Junior Workers of America, Camp 30.”

He'd heard something about the Junior Workers of America. “Wait now,” he said. “This is some kind of detention station for juvenile criminals, isn't it?”

Ogden laughed again. “Isn't that what you are, Hank?” he inquired. “You got to be what they call a juvenile offender or you can't participate in the JWA. And you got to be a pretty nasty mean-ass one to get stuck here in 30.”

Hank shook his head. “I don't know—I guess maybe I am.”

“The basic philosophy of JWA is that they never make mistakes,” explained Ogden. “You're here, you're bad. The system is never wrong.”

“It's just that—listen, I can't remember anything.” He gestured at the cot. “Not a damn thing before I woke up this morning.”

“Mindwipe for sure, cousin.”

“Where exactly is this camp?” Hank asked him.

“Mississippi Territory.” Ogden came over and stood close to him. “You got any idea where you were before?”

After a few seconds, he answered, “No.”

Ogden put a hand on Hank's shoulder. “I'll try to help you out much as I can, cousin,” he told him. “You seem like your brains are more futzed up than just about anybody else here. And that's saying something.”

A loud, shrill hooting commenced blaring out of the voxboxes up in the rafters.

Hank flinched. “What the hell is that?”

“Wake-up,” answered Ogden. “Time to rise and shine and greet a new day at 30, cousin.”

SIDE BY SIDE, Jake and Kacey walked along the glaring white beach. The morning sea was a deep crystal blue and it came rushing in at them across the wet sand.

A silvery robot in a floral shirt and realstraw hat came walking from the opposite direction. He was pushing an ebony portable bar. “Tropical drinks, mister and lady? Legal drugs? Tour maps?”

“None of those,” Jake told him.

“You're not enjoying San Peligro to the fullest,” observed the bot, rolling on.

“I've noticed that.”

After a moment Kacey pointed skyward. “There. See?”

Flying low overhead was a lemon yellow skyvan with the word FOODZ printed in large magenta letters on its belly and side.

“How often do they bring in the meals for the NewTown caféterias?”

“Twice a day,” she answered. “This time every morning, again at three in the afternoon.”

“And your contact at Foodz is?”

“A very loyal supporter of J. J. Bracken.”

“I don't know if I trust a political loon.”

“His name is Edwin Temmerson and he heads up the whole Foodz operation in the Caribbean area,” she said, nose wrinkling. “We can trust him.”

Uphill on their right sat the NewTown Pharmaceuticals complex, the trio of squat plastiglass-and-neowood buildings protected by the glaring metal fence. Gunmetal robots, five of them on the beachfront side, stood at intervals along the fencing.

“Is this Temmerson guy fond enough of your boss to go up against the Burdons?”

“I'd say yes,” she said, “especially after I con him into believing he'll be helping J.J. by helping me. And if, which I doubt, he won't let us slip inside by way of one of his delivery vans, he'll at least help me get detailed maps of the interior of the whole NewTown setup here.”

“I already have those,” Jake informed her.

“Well, I'm having lunch with Edwin today. I'll work out—”

“Do it deftly and subtly, huh? Otherwise he's liable to warn the Burdon twins that we—”

“Jake, sooner or later you're going to have to accept the fact that I am not a nitwit.” She halted on the warm sand and stood looking toward the NewTown buildings.

A light wind was coming across the sand from the sea, and the fronds of the palm trees that rose up behind the drug plant were flickering.

Taking hold of her arm, Jake headed them back the way they'd come. “Couple of those guardbots are commencing to eye us.”

“You're overcautious.”

“Helps in my work.”

31

THE reception room of Dr. Stolzer's establishment had a strong metallic smell. Each pale green wall held a small, noncommittal landscape painting. The aircirc system kept the temperature just below the comfort level.

When the tall blond android in the spotless pale yellow suit came into the room, Molly Fine stood up and smiled. She was wearing a skirtsuit that made her, she hoped, look two or three years older.

“Miss Eshler?” inquired the andy.

“Xena Eshler, from the Young Adult Psychiatric Overlook Committee of Greater Los Angeles.” She produced the very convincing fake ID packet that Rex/GK-30 had provided her with.

“I'm Evelyn. That's E-v-e-1-y-n.” He took the identification materials and, frowning, sifted, slowly, through them. “These all seem in order, Miss Eshler. What do you require of us?”

“You'll find this in order, too.” Molly handed him the spurious but nearly foolproof court order. She'd had to rely on a fake order because her attorney uncle, the nearly honest one, had informed her last evening that it would take him at least four days, if not more, to arrange for a real one.

Evelyn's very plausible pink forehead furrowed. “Miss Grossman is not supposed to have visitors,” he said. “None at all at this stage of her therapy.”

“Obviously Judge Maxon doesn't agree. She feels that the YAPOC/GLA needs to clear up at once, and as soon as possible, the charges of malpractice and mistreatment that have arisen concerning Miss Grossman.”

“What charges?”

“Here's a copy.” Another expert fake document was passed from Molly to the mechanical man.

After a moment of scanning it, Evelyn said, “Dr. Stolzer is out of the country at the moment. I've been left in charge.” His sigh was very believable. “Very well, Miss Eshler. We don't want any trouble. Although I can assure you Miss Grossman, as all our patients, is being very well treated.” Turning his back, he went walking across the chill reception room toward a black door.

Molly followed.

As they stepped into a long, cool corridor that smelled of metal and medications, the blond android told her, glancing back over his broad shoulder, “You're aware that this particular patient is seriously ill. That she also suffers from delusions. Most of what she says, therefore, is little more than that fantasy of a very disturbed young woman.”

“I've dealt with a great many patients of this sort.”

“You are, I might mention, quite young yourself and I wonder if—”

“My organization feels that youth best understands youth.”

“Not a theory I subscribe to myself, but I acknowledge their right to hold it.”

They went through another doorway, along another corridor. At its end, Evelyn touched his palm to an ID plate. The door recognized his whorl pattern and rattled open.

Evelyn moved along the new corridor they'd entered, stopped at a door, and pressed his hand to another ID plate. This door opened more quietly and he started across the threshold.

“I have to see her alone,” said Molly, not following him.

Evelyn came back into the hall. “That could be dangerous to—”

“You apparently didn't read the court order as thoroughly as you should've, Evelyn.”

“I'll give you ten minutes.” Stepping aside, he gestured for her to enter Susan's room.

Molly did that. She put her finger to her lips as Susan looked up from her bed, about to speak.

The door slid shut behind her. Molly put her finger to her lips again.

Then from a pocket in her jacket she took a bug-disabling disk and stuck it to the nearest wall.

“It'll take them a few minutes to realize they're not getting a darn thing from their eavesdropping gadgets.”

Susan left the bed, ran over to Molly, and hugged her. “I'm glad you're not dead.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw—I had another vision. This was about Dan.”

Molly took hold of both her friend's arms. “He's not dead?”

“No, I don't think so. But the bald man—the one you saw at the Tek joint—he stungunned Dan last night and took him away from his apartment.”

“Do you know where they took him?”

Susan shook her head. “No, I didn't see that.”

Molly said, “I knew Dan was missing and I've been trying to find him. No luck so far, though. What you saw should help. Now—what about you?”

“That bitch—she had me stuck here.”

“I'm working with one of my lawyer uncles to try to get you clear of this place,” she said. “But it may take a few more days. I faked my way in today so I could see how you were. What's wrong?”

Susan went backing away from her. She started to shiver violently. “It's … another …” She stumbled, sat on the edge of her bed.

“Another vision?”

Susan doubled over, arms pressing into the stomach. “They're using stunrods on him … hurting him,” she gasped.

“Dan? You're seeing Dan?”

“Yes, he's at—”

“What are you up to, Miss Eshler?” The door had snapped aside and Evelyn was back in the room. “Why have you blanked our surveillance system?”

THERE WERE NO WINDOWS in any of the rooms. But the wallscreen in the stark black-and-white parlor provided a view of a stretch of San Peligro beach and ocean. It was a looped view that took four minutes and thirty-seven seconds to unfold. The same palm trees fluttered in the same way in the same gentle ocean breeze, the same five gulls swirled and dived through the glaring sky, the same stray dog barked silently at the same beached crab.

Rebecca Burdon left her hard white armchair, began pacing aimlessly on the black carpeting.

The white door whisked open and her brother stepped in. “Comfy, Sis?”

“Even for a fool like you, Rowland, this is excessive,” she told him. “Locking me up in the innards of this NewTown facility—once I get out of here, I'm going to my attorneys.”

Perching on the arm of a white sofa, he smiled. “You came here voluntarily,” he informed her. “I'll testify to that. And so will several of our top executives. People who witnessed your unfortunate breakdown in the Exec Dining Room this morning at breakfast.” He shook his head, sighing. “Sad, but then you've always been exceptionally high strung.”

“I've had a nervous breakdown, have I?”

“Long ago, Becky, I should have realized that you were hopelessly addicted to several illegal drugs, both electronic and old fashioned. My fault, really, for not noticing sooner.”