Remint backhanded Flomel, and the sound of the blow was shockingly loud. Flomel fell back, mouth bloody and eyes huge.
He handed the leash to Corean. “Shall I see to renting a brainpeeler now?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “But be careful with the peeler — I don’t want them damaged. Where’s Lensh?”
“He allowed himself to be captured by the pen security forces. I killed him before they could take him away.”
When Remint was through with the brainpeeler, the Pharaohans were led away to a cage set up in one of the guest bedrooms. Remint came to Corean and made his report.
“We were both wrong, in my judgment,” he said. “Ruiz Aw intends to return for them. He told them he was putting them in as safe a place as he could find, that he would find transport for all of them offplanet. They’re not entirely convinced that he will return — not even the woman is completely sure of him — but I don’t doubt he will be back for them.” Remint paused, then spoke on. “Ruiz Aw has become infected with soft feelings. They will be his downfall, as they were mine.”
Corean studied his expressionless face, fascinated and repulsed. Remint betrayed no scorn or self-pity; apparently his brother had permitted Remint to keep no human feelings except the hatred he bore Yubere.
“What do you advise?” she asked.
“I left misleading clues at the pen; these will allow us to be traced to a remote location. I will keep this location under surveillance.” Remint drew back his sleeve, to reveal a small flatscreen vid strapped to his massive wrist. “When the pirate lords arrive, I will permit them to continue down a false trail. When Ruiz Aw traces us, I will attempt to capture or kill him.”
Corean nodded, impressed by Remint’s scheme. “A reasonable plan. How long must we wait?”
“He put a one-week prepaid hold on them. Therefore we should wait no more than six days, as he left them yesterday. He might come for them at any time, but my guess is that it will take several days, under the worst of circumstances. He’ll have no easy time finding a way out of SeaStack, at present.”
She laughed delightedly. “Good, good. I should have time to get them processed at Yubere’s before he comes for them. How nice. You take them to Yubere now, then pursue your plan.”
Chapter 14
“What now?” asked Publius.
“Troops,” said Ruiz.
Publius nodded agreeably. “You can take your pick of my security barracks.”
Ruiz snorted. “Oh, sure. No, you’ll have to let me choose my own people. I’d feel insecure, surrounded by your henchmen — and that would reduce my effectiveness. Take me to the Spindinny and bring lots of money.”
Publius argued, but without great heat. Eventually he called for a slave collar, which he locked around Ruiz’s neck. “I can’t risk you giving me the slip before I get you sealed into your sub. You might have an opportunity while we’re wandering about the city. I’m sorry to be so suspicious… but you started it, Ruiz.”
Ruiz settled the collar in place as comfortably as he could. It seemed a great deal heavier than it really was. “Give me a high-necked tunic, at least. The people I want to hire would be unwilling to work for a slave; slaves get sent into hopeless situations more frequently than free folk do.”
“As you say.”
When they emerged from the labyrinth, Ruiz saw that his little speedboat had indeed been stolen. He had expected it, and however his job for Publius turned out, he wouldn’t be needing the boat, but for some reason it still angered him.
Publius had brought two Dirm bondguards with him, and now these herded Ruiz toward the armored airboat that Ruiz had admired only yesterday — though it seemed as though much more than one day had passed in the monster-maker’s stronghold.
Publius was tense and uncommunicative. Ruiz deduced that the monster-maker felt exposed, away from his safe lair. He took a certain pleasure in Publius’s discomfort, though he was careful to show none of it.
The Dirm sealed the boat, and one of them took the pilot’s seat and drove carefully out of the anchorage. In a few minutes, they were easing into the Spindinny’s moorage.
“I’ll send Huey here in with you,” said Publius, indicating one of the Dirm. “Huey, you’re to act as though you belong to Ruiz, unless he tries to get away, in which case you blow his head off. Understood?”
The Dirm nodded solemnly.
Publius held up the controller of Ruiz’s collar. “And remember this, Ruiz. I won’t hesitate to take your head, if I get even a little nervous. Don’t make me nervous.”
Ruiz took a deep breath. “Let’s go, Huey,” he said.
On the other side of the inner lock, Huey returned Ruiz’s weapons; no free person would enter the Spindinny unarmed. Then he opened the outer door and they stepped onto the Spindinny’s dilapidated dock.
The Spindinny was a joyplex frequented by unaffiliated mercenaries, and it functioned as an unofficial hiring hall. Ruiz and Huey entered, unquestioned by the two killmechs stationed by the doors — apparently they looked dangerous enough to be on legitimate Spindinny business.
Inside, Ruiz was briefly assailed by nostalgia. The air seemed so familiar, thick with the stinks of his trade: sweat, alcohol, smoke, gun oil, ozone. Harsh voices drifted from the various curtained openings along the entryhall. He heard sudden ugly laughter, curses, off-key song, the clink of glasses, the bubble of pipes, sighs, and moans.
He shook his head. It seemed strange to him now that he had ever lived that life… though it wasn’t so long ago.
“Let’s go down to the message room,” he said, and Huey followed obediently.
The message room was an island of hygienic technological calm in the steamy depths of the Spindinny, full of chrome and glass and the soft hum of machinery. Ruiz sat at a dataslate and entered his requirements and payscale. When he was done, he rented an interview room and went there to wait for his troops to crawl out of their revels.
Four hours later he had five mercenaries he judged competent, out of almost a hundred applicants. Publius had allowed him six choices, but he was growing discouraged. And he was exhausted; every session with the verifier — the limited brainpeeler he was using to assess the skills of his applicants — had taken a little more out of him. The holomnemonic oceans of the mercenaries who frequented the Spindinny were murky dangerous waters.
His squad so far consisted of: a much-scarred graduate of the downlevel bloodstadia, a cyborged clone of the famous emancipator Nomun, two solemn women from Jahworld who were expert pinbeamers, and a beaster-addict who favored the wolverine persona. The beaster might have been a mistake, Ruiz thought, brought on by exhaustion and frustration with the poor material from which he’d had to choose. The beaster was ferocious, no doubt about it, and skilled at killing — but could he be relied on to control his murderous alter ego in situations calling for more detachment than ferocity? Ruiz was unsure.
While they waited for Ruiz to find his last recruit, the three men played a card game in the corner. The women held hands and watched Ruiz with wide golden eyes.
When he was about to close up and make do with what he’d already found, a familiar figure stumbled into the interview room, a tall gangly individual who wore his silver-plated hair in a stringy ponytail. His lumpy face was embellished with random slashes of blue-green beauty paint, and he was dressed in a worn-out unisuit, decorated with souvenir patches from a number of Dilvermoon tourist attractions.