Michael stared wide-eyed at the woman. “Not complete animals?” he snarled. “You are fucking joking.”
“I am not in the habit of saying things I do not mean, Helfort. And watch your language.”
You are such a pompous asshole, Michael thought, all his good intentions flying out the window. If the woman wanted a fight, he’d give her a fight. “You’re a colonel in planetary defense, am I right?” he asked.
K’zekaa frowned, clearly puzzled by Michael’s sudden change of tack. “Yes, I am. But I don’t see what that’s-”
“I’ll tell you what it’s got to do with things … sir,” he said, using the pause to make certain K’zekaa did not miss the calculated insult.
K’zekaa didn’t; her face flushed with anger.
“So far as I know,” Michael continued, “planetary defense has not seen much combat against the Hammers, so I’m guessing that means you haven’t either.”
“I don’t like your tone, Helfort.”
“Like I give a shit, Colonel. You are yet another rear-echelon motherfucker, so don’t talk to me about the Hammers. I know them, I’ve fought them, I’ve been wounded by them, I’ve been tortured by them, so you can trust me when I tell you that you are wrong. They are animals, and they will come for me. So you can either get off your ass and do something to help keep me alive or piss off and leave me to take my chances. Your call. Which is it to be?”
K’zekaa sat staring at Michael, her mouth working as his angry tirade washed over her. It was a while before she could speak.
“I will ignore all that. You are in enough trouble as it is, so I will put it down to the stress you must be under …”
“Thank you so much,” Michael muttered, his voice all acid.
“… but it does not change my view. The chances of the Hammers coming for you are remote, so you have nothing to worry about. And that’s not just my opinion. It’s the embassy’s opinion as well. But I will do one thing, Helfort: I will pass your concerns on to the people responsible for security around here. Provided they are not insulted by your lack of faith in their ability to protect you-and I wouldn’t blame them if they were-maybe they will take steps to address those concerns, however ill considered they might be.” K’zekaa stood and pushed her chair back. “And don’t talk to me about what I have and have not done, Helfort, because I have always done my duty … which is more than I can say for you.”
With that, K’zekaa turned, banged on the door to be let out, and was gone the instant the door opened.
I do like it when things go well, Michael thought, the anger-pumped adrenaline in his system ebbing fast. Now what would he do? The Hammers would come-of that he was certain-and he did not want to find himself alone and cornered in his cell like a rat when they did.
But just how he could avoid that fate, he had no idea.
Friday, May 24, 2402, UD
Kovak Remand Center
Michael cringed as he stepped into the sunshine to cross to the slab-sided mobibot waiting to take him to court.
He could not help himself. To the north, the remand center was overlooked by a park that rose to a ridge and by commercial buildings to the west and south. A hit team in any of those places would see him. They’d have to be blind not to; the fluorescent orange jumpsuit he was forced to wear as a dangerous, high-flight-risk Category 1 remand prisoner would make sure of that.
And the bad guys would know what time he would be returning after his hearing: the minute the mobibot left Kovak’s courts complex. The Hammer hit team would plenty of time to set up.
Michael stepped up into the mobibot’s coolness. He allowed the guard to push him into his wire-mesh cage. As usual, the man used more force than he had to. Michael did not complain; not only was it pointless, it provoked the guards. Today he was the last one in, the cages around him full of prisoners headed for their day in court, his arrival greeted as always with a mix of abuse and welcome. Michael ignored it. It was the same old bullshit, and it took a while for him to realize that the prisoner next to him-like Michael, a Cat 1 prisoner in orange-was trying to get his attention, the man’s face hard up against the micromesh between their cages.
“Helfort,” he whispered. “For fuck’s sake, talk to me.”
“What do you want? Who are you?”
“I’m Max Hardy. I’ve got a message for you. I-”
“Who from?”
“Don’t know; doesn’t matter, so listen up. There’s to be an attack on the bot-” Michael’s heart began to pound; he wondered how he’d survive handcuffed inside a cage. “-just before we get to the court, as we approach Shanghai Boulevard.”
“Thanks for the heads-up, but what am I supposed to do?” Michael demanded. “I’m not going anywhere.” He rattled his wrist and ankle chains to reinforce the point.
“Pull your chains apart. Pull hard.”
Mystified, Michael did as he was told. To his surprise, the restraints fell away. “What the hell,” he hissed. “How did-”
“Don’t ask,” Hardy said. “Now, one of the guards will unlock the doors before we get to Shanghai. The moment we’re hit, wait for my word, then kick your cage door open and follow me out. And stay close.”
“What then?”
“I’m going to run. Unless you want the bad guys to blow your brains out, you should do the same.”
“See the orange jumpsuit, sport?” Michael hissed. “I won’t get 5 meters.”
“Better than having your brains blown out. When the bad guys get inside, it’ll be a bloodbath, so I know where I’d rather be. Just follow me out and run like hell. You’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” Michael said, “and thanks.”
Hardy did not respond, so Michael sat back. His mind reeled. Hope flickered into life, but only for an instant. The whole thing smelled wrong. It was all too pat, too neatly packaged, too convenient. It was a Hammer setup; it had to be. But why would they want him out of the mobibot? If they wanted him dead, why didn’t they just blow the bot apart? They wouldn’t give a shit about the collateral damage; they never did.
Then it came to him.
The Hammers wanted him alive. That was why they wanted him outside. They couldn’t risk trying to extract him. The ever so helpful Max Hardy had been right. It would be absolute pandemonium: smoke, gunfire everywhere, prisoners running around like headless chickens, guards trying to contain the situation until reinforcements arrived. And Michael wasn’t the only Cat 1 prisoner onboard. The Hammers would have to pick him out of the eight other Cat 1s, and that would be difficult in all the confusion.
Now it all made sense to Michael.
The Hammers could force their way in to get him, but that would be time-consuming, and the chances of his being killed would be too high. It was all too uncertain, too hard to manage, so the Hammers needed him to get out of the bot under his own steam, and that was the job of Mr. Hardy.
The second Michael appeared, the Hammers would scoop him up and be gone before the Jamudans even had time to think, let alone react.
High risk but high return, and it would have worked if he’d gone along with Hardy’s plan.
For a moment he thought he’d found the way out of the trap that had been laid for him: He would stay in the mobibot and keep his head down until it was all over. But it was only for a moment. That would not work. If he failed to show, the Hammers would come in after him. They had to, and they would, guns blazing. That way Michael would die sooner rather than later and a lot less painfully, but that was scant comfort.
He’d rather not die at all.
Much faster than he wanted, the clock ran off the last few seconds. His strategy for survival was little more than a half-baked idea when, with a violent crash, an explosion lifted the front of the mobibot up into the air and dropped it back down with a crunch of torn metal. The impact smashed Michael’s head against the side of the cage and tore his scalp open. Blood ran hot down his face and neck.