"Shaddup, Alley," came a growling reply. "We're gonna teach you a lesson!"
A fist came out of the darkness and slammed into his midriff. He folded, unable to fall because of the two men holding his arms. His anguished "But . . ." was interrupted by another fist hitting the side of his head, followed by a foot to his ribs. Then there was just a blur of pain as a flurry of fists and feet fell on his body. A crunch! and a flash of pain told him that his nose had been broken. A louder crack! and a flare of searing agony told him that his jaw had broken, as well. His captors released him, and he fell to the ground, moaning. Kicks rained upon his curled body as he moaned and made unintelligible pleading noises with his ruined mouth. Finally, mercifully, a seemingly huge foot swung out of the darkness onto his forehead, relieving him of both agony and consciousness.
***
Jirik sat silent in the hospital corridor, anxiously awaiting word of Valt's condition, and mentally berating himself. He should have known, he thought. He should have kept all hands on board until liftoff. Even Tomys had warned him that the Actionists might want to get someone onto the Lass, to keep an eye on the crew, and perhaps even to obtain military information to hide among the millions of legitimate bookchips. Jirik had dismissed it at the time, merely making a mental note to warn the crew to be careful.
And then things had really gotten weird. After Tomys had left, Jirik had returned to the Lass. Bran was alone aboard, the others having already gone into town for the evening. He passed Tomys' warning along to Bran, changed, and went into town for a beer. A stranger had offered to buy him a drink, sat down at Jirik's table, and begun talking with him. After some pleasantries and verbal fencing, the man had come to the point: a business proposition. Stripped of verbal gymnastics, the man "represented a group" who were interested in obtaining certain software from underground sources on Alpha, and having it snuggled back. The man was evidently well aware of the Lass' library mission, and wanted to take advantage of it to smuggle back prohibited military software, and perhaps weapon design specs.
Jirik wanted nothing more than to jump up and run, but he knew that Tomys would have a fit if Jirik didn't string him along. He'd told the man he'd think about it, and arranged for the man to call him at his office this morning for his decision.
Jirik had almost run back to the Lass, and frantically tried to contact Tomys. He mentally kicked himself again. He should have searched the town for Tor and Valt right then. He shouldn't have even bothered with Tomys until he had warned them. Instead, he'd wasted valuable time trying to track down that damned spook, He'd called the number he had several tines, indicating the urgency of the situation. He'd been just about to try again when the vidphone buzzed, indicating an incoming call. Jirik had jumped on it anxiously, expecting it to be Tomys. It was the hospital. His heart sank when they told him that Valt had been admitted in critical condition, nearly beaten to death. Completely forgetting about Tomys and his spy stuff, Jirik had hurriedly briefed Bran, called a taxi, and rushed to the hospital. That had been over two hours ago. Since his arrival, he had been questioned by the local police, but mostly he had just sat, suffering. Waiting for someone to tell him that Valt would survive. Valt was not the most likeable man Jirik had ever known, but, by deity, he was crew. He was also a damned good astrogator.
At 0300 local, the corridors of Boondock's small hospital were deserted, so when he heard footsteps approaching, he glanced up.
He straightened abruptly. Tomys! He felt anger stirring within him, and clamped down on it. It wouldn't do any good to raise hell with the little spy. It wouldn't help Valt, and it wouldn't help him.
Tomys glanced sharply around, then sat down next to Jirik. They simply sat silent for a few moments, Jirik glowering, Tomys actually looking concerned! Tomys finally broke the increasingly uncomfortable silence.
"How is he, Captain? Have you heard anything?" Tomys' tone was sincerely concerned, but to Jirik, he just sounded oily.
"No." Jirik replied shortly, "When I got here, they said that he was critical, and that he was in surgery. They wouldn't estimate his chances."
Tomys relaxed, settling back into his chair and crossing his thin legs. "Nothing to do but wait, then. Do you know what happened?"
Jirik's temper flared. "They almost beat him to death! That's what happened!" He took a deep breath. "Sorry. There was a bar brawl. When it was over, the blues found Valt near the back door, almost dead. They rushed him here. That was . . ." he looked at his ring watch, ". . . almost three local hours ago, now. He must be in bad shape if they still can't tell me anything."
Tomys looked thoughtful. "Does Willem do a lot of brawling?" At the shake of Jirik's head he continued, "Do you know which bar it was?"
"No." Jirik's tone was impatient. "It was one of those combination bars and whorehouses down near the port. Why?"
Tomys shrugged. "Excuse me," he said, "I'll be right back."
Jirik shrugged and returned to his mental masochism. He didn't bother to move or otherwise acknowledge Tomys' return A few moments of morose silence passed.
Finally, Tomys sighed. "All right, Captain. I understand that you were trying frantically to reach me. Why not tell me about it. Maybe it'll take your mind off it."
Jirik's anger flared to the surface. "Damn you! Valt might be dying in there! I don't give a ragged damn about your goddamned spook crap!"
Tomys was unruffled, his smile grim. "And you can help a hell of a lot by mentally beating yourself up, right?" He replied sarcastically.
Jirik straightened, his face reddening. "You sonofabitch!" he shouted, "It's your fault he's in there!" Jirik would have continued, but Tomys suddenly reached out and backhanded him across the face, hard.
"Shut up!" He snarled at the astounded Captain. Before Jirik could do more than curl his fists and begin to rise, Tomys continued in a venomous hiss, "You damned fool! Do you want all of you in there? or worse? Now, shut up and calm down. You're not doing your man any good, and you could do irreparable harm!"
Jirik sagged back down into his chair, wearily. "All right you revolving son of a bitch, what do you want to know?"
Tomys' smile reappeared, a genuine one this time. "First, what the hell is a 'revolving son of a bitch'? I've been called a lot of things, but never that!"
Jirik managed a small smile. "A 'revolving son of a bitch' is a son of a bitch any way you look at him." Tomys chuckled, and then began laughing out loud. Jirik's thin smile grew to a grin, then a chuckle, then, suddenly, they both dissolved into roaring laughter, and much of the tension dissipated. A nurse peered around a corner of the corridor. Jirik pointed at her, and they both dissolved into laughter again.
After a few moments, Jirik sobered again, but he had to admit he felt better.
"All right. I was trying to contact you because I was approached by a guy in a bar tonight. I think he's one of the terrorists. He offered me a deal."
"What kind of a deal?"
Jirik was looking worried. "He knew all about our trip to Alpha and back. He wanted me to buy some military software on the black market there, and smuggle it back. He didn't say, but I think he wants operations software for a battle computer. He wants design specs for up-to-date weaponry. How the hell did he find out so fast? And could it have had anything to do with what happened to Valt?"
Tomys opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by the nurse who had peered around the corner earlier calling him to the vidphone. Tomys excused himself and went to take the call. He was gone only a minute or so, then returned and resumed his chair.