Alan Dean Foster (25 page)

Francisco shook the suitcase and Harcourt stiffened as he heard the precious glass cylinders clinking inside.

"This? The ssjabroka is a bonus, an extra. The charge against you, Harcourt, isn't dealing. It's murder and con-00

spiracy to commit. Hubley, Porter, Strader, probably others. You got to the top too fast, Harcourt. You should have shown more patience, should not have been so ready to kill. Murder makes human police angry and persistent. I've learned what that means. It is an ethical thing with them. So they will not show you any compassion simply because you are a Newcomer who has murdered only other Newcomers. That's the wonderful thing about their system of justice. Once you join their society you find yourself subject to their laws even if you try to maintain your own. You have to live up to their standards even if they fail to themselves. -

For the first time a glimmer of concern showed behind Harcourt's icy blue eyes. Meanwhile Cassandra had joined the detective in staring hard at the Newcomer entrepreneur, but for a different reason. Francisco's diatribe had contained an unexpected shock.

- You--you killed Strader?" With both hands full Francisco couldn't prevent her from rushing forward to grab Harcourt by his jacket. "Where's Todd? Did you do something to Todd?"

Harcourt gazed down at her in irritation. "Todd? Who is this Todd?" Then he remembered, and smiled ever so slightly. "Ali yes, Todd. The unfortunate Mr. Watson."

Cassandra's eyes widened in horror as she made the obvious connections.

Meanwhile Francisco had come around the table and was nudging Harcourt with the suitcase. Together they started for the door. Cassandra watched them for a moment, then darted to her left. With his attention focused on Harcourt and the detective, Quint didn't see her coming. She moved with a dancer's speed and assurance to snatch the .357 from his holster.

She let out an unintelligible shriek as she aimed the pistol in Harcourt's direction.

Francisco let out a violent "No!" as he saw her intention and lunged for the weapon, striking it with the suitcase as she fired. The bullet slammed into the wall behind the flinching Harcourt.

It took only a couple of seconds, but that was all the time the waiting Kipling required. Striking with both hands, he grabbed the lead wires on the C-4 bomb and tore them free

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of the plastic. Quint shut his eyes and swallowed his heart, but nothing happened.

"Got it!" Kipling yelled triumphantly before throwing himself at Francisco.

The two Newcomers crashed to the floor. Quint moved on Cassandra as she pointed the gun at Harcourt a second time, yanking the Magnum from her hand and slamming her across the side of her head. As she dropped to her knees he hit her a second time.

Francisco was fighting to get back on his feet. As he started to rise, Kipling hit him hard beneath the right arm, folding the detective instantly. Taking his time and savoring the experience, Harcourt's assistant then brought his knee up into the detective's face, blasting him backward. Breathing hard, he lifted him bodily and slammed him face-first into the wall, pinning him in place.

Harcourt was as calm as ever as he straightened his suit. "Kill them both."

Kipling looked uncertain. "Here?"

"Do it!" the entrepreneur said sharply. "If you try taking them somewhere they're liable to get away. Do it here, now. We'll worry about the cleanup later."

Stepping close and raising his gun, Quint placed the muzzle against the base of Cassandra's skull and squeezed the trigger. The explosion was loud in the enclosed office, but it didn't come from Quint's weapon. Cassandra flinched, then looked up in surprise as Harcourt's henchman staggered away from her.

Sykes stood in the doorway, the Casull smoking in his right fist.

Quint stumbled hard into the window overlooking the back alley and went through, propelled by the force of the heavy slug. After that everything happened very quickly.

Before Quint hit the ground outside, Kipling had shoved Francisco aside and drawn his own weapon. Sykes saw him just in time and dove for cover inside the adjoining office. Newcomer and human alike, the three visiting drug dealers tried to press themselves into the carpet. This was not their fight.

Harcourt grabbed the suitcase and made a dash for the 182

door that led to the office on the other side of the conference room.

Kipling covered his retreat, firing rapidly and pinning Sykes down until the two Newcomers could escape to the hallway.

Still unsteady on his feet, Francisco rose and took off after Harcourt and Kipling.

"George, wait!" Francisco ignored him, as Sykes suspected he would. Until the drug had been recovered again the detective knew his partner was unlikely to listen to him or anyone else.

Straight-arming the Casull back into the conference room, he saw the three dealers slowly rising behind the table. They had their arms in the air and the expressions on their faces were sufficient for Sykes to write them off as potential threats.

"Don't shoot, man-we're unanned-look!"

Sykes already had turned his attention to Cassandra. She was leaning against the conference table, supporting herself with one arm and holding the side of her head where Quint had socked her.

"You okay?"

"Yes-I think so."

Sykes left her to her own devices as he rushed out into the hall.

Harcourt was pounding down the fire escape, the dim light giving him no trouble. Kipling was right on his heels with Francisco barely ten feet behind and Sykes bringing up the rear. All of them could hear the approaching police sirens.

The first cruiser pulled up outside the club and disgorged two officers who sprinted for the back door, guns drawn. The car sat empty, its lights circling lazily in the night. The uniforms burst inside just as Harcourt and Kipling were abandoning the fire escape. Harcourt saw the idling cruiser and grinned, The luck that had sustained him ever since he'd regained consciousness on this world was still with him. He beckoned to his assistant.

"Here!" Kipling saw, and followed.

Throwing the suitcase into the back seat, Harcourt slid in 180

on the passenger side while Kipling climbed behind the wheel, put the car in gear, and thromped the accelerator, burning rubber as he pulled away from the curb.

Sykes saw them fleeing as he caught up to Francisco. The Casull shattered one taillight and put a couple of holes in the trunk, but his aim was too low. The car kept going.

"This way!" Francisco headed for the shiginobile.

This time Sykes made sure he reached the car first, got behind the wheel.

Another police unit screamed past them as they pulled out of the club lot.

A cursing Sykes scraped brick as he squeezed by.

They were maybe three-quarters of a block behind Harcourt. Not bad, Sykes thought with grim satisfaction, considering the head start their quarry had taken on them.

Kipling swerved wildly around a slow-moving car in the lane ahead, swearing in his own language. Staring through the rear window, Harcourt could see the slugmobile dogging their tail.

"They're right behind us. Lose them."

"I can't! There's too much traffic!" his assistant yelled.

"We can fix that." Harcourt was as composed as ever, though there was tension in his face. Leaning forward, the entrepreneur began flipping switches on the dash until he hit the fight one. The siren wailed and the roof lights came to life. Harcourt leaned back and smiled contentedly as the traffic in front of them compliantly moved to the curbs, making Kipling's task much easier.

"You see?" he explained to his assistant. "All organized societies are the same. It is simply a matter of knowing which buttons to push."

"How did they find us?" Kipling spoke without taking his attention from the road and the rearview mirror.

"I do not know. When this is over I will find out, and that particular lesion in our enterprise will be excised."

Kipling looked over at his boss in astonishment. "You still believe we can go on with this?"

"Certainly!" Harcourt was feeling much better. They'd gained another quarter block on the pursuing vehicle. "We have the drug and the fon-nula.

We will find new means of

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distribution and a new base of operations. We can still work through one of the other human tribes where dealings of the type we intend are common.

With the kind of money our initial sales will generate we will have enough power to do anything we want."

"But what about them?" Kipling indicated the rearview, where the slugmobile clung relentlessly. "What if we go to jail?"

"First they must catch us. If we can lose these two I can get out of the country for a while. I have escape routes planned for just such an eventuality. You will come with me. Everything else I can leave behind.

Much of it will run itself in my absence, and human communications are good. I will be able to keep in touch and supervise.

"As for the legal aspects of our present small predicament, I have contacts in the community I can work through. I have studied some human law. Unless the humans can bring me to trial for specific crimes within a certain time, and present evidence, the case will be dropped. I have good human lawyers and excellent character references. Without the ss'jabroka to prove their claims and without witnesses to other incidents, their legal process will forget us. I can have the particular interfering officers retired or transferred somewhere where they will not trouble us further."

Kipling's thoughts were churning. Sometimes it was hard to keep up with his boss. Harcourt was always two steps ahead of everyone else, human as well as Newcomer.

"What about the murder charges, like that damn cop said?"

"Once we are in a place of safety I can make certain no one with any knowledge harmful to us is capable of informing on us. Don't worry about that. Such things are surprisingly simple to take care of. Silence one potential talker and it serves as a sufficient object lesson to any others.

"And remember that the formula is always safely with us because I carry it here." He tapped his forehead. "That is the key to everything. As long as the formula exists, its owner has power." His gaze rose to the rearview. "But we need time to reorganize. We must not be taken by these 185

stupid police. They know too much, can make too many connections if we are taken into their custody. Once safely away I will see they are taken care of. "

"Won't eliminating them make their superiors suspicious?"

"Suspicions count for naught in a human court. You must be able to prove things. I will arrange it so that nothing can be proved." He smiled contentedly at his assistant. Yes, he was feeling much better now.

"Everything is going to work out in spite of this little setback.'

His confidence was contagious. Kipling found himself beginning to smile as he worked with the wheel. His boss was going to see to it that the two cops who'd caused all the trouble were eliminated. If everything worked out well, perhaps Harcourt would allow him to be a part of that.

Francisco focused on the oncoming traffic, patiently pointing out potential trouble spots to Sykes, letting his partner do the driving while scouting ahead for him as he'd been taught to do at Academy. No matter how close they came to another car or truck, the Newcomer's voice never changed.

Cool, Sykes thought, then corrected himself. No, not cool. Relentless.

"Slow traffic coming up on the right," Francisco announced evenly. "You're clear at the left rear. Careful, red light ahead, but you can make it."

Sykes shot through the intersection, toying with the changing light and the squalling horns of oncoming drivers. "Big rig at three o'clock." The sergeant made sure to avoid the eighteen-wheeler.

With his partner's help, Sykes diced his way through the cross-traffic without so much as scraping a single civilian paint job. It was easy to keep track of their quarry since they'd been thoughtful enough to turn on their siren and lights. The reason for doing so was clear, just as it was clear that Harcourt didn't realize running the siren would have done the job just as well without making himself half so visible. Sykes wasn't about to pick up the radio and inform the Newcomer of his mistake.

Kipling was having an easier time of it now that he believed they were running to something and not merely away from the pursuing cops. In the rearview he saw to his

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delight that the same traffic which had swung over to let the wailing police cruiser pass was edging back out into the street and making pursuit increasingly difficult. They were going to make it with ease, lose their pursuit and then abandon the police vehicle before others could join in the chase. After that Harcourt would see that they slipped safely out of the country. Harcourt was smarter than the humans. Harcourt was unstoppable.

Kipling knew that swearing allegiance to the entrepreneur was the smartest move he'd ever made.

Sykes clung grimly to the wheel, using his hom frequently to clear a path through the converging, obstructing traffic ahead. Francisco continued to serve as copilot.

"Yellow light ahead turning red, oncoming traffic both directions." Sykes ignored the instructions this time and floored the accelerator. The police cruiser was getting too far ahead.

Francisco abruptly lost his cool. "Red light, red light!"

Sykes swung around the merging traffic and cut through the intersection to continue the chase. Oncoming cars let loose with their homs, scattering in all directions as the detective sliced across lanes and barriers. The slugmobile bashed across concrete dividers and kept going. Sykes patted the wheel. She was as tough as she was ugly.

The wild ride finally brought them parallel to the cruiser, but in the wrong lane. Sykes kept one hand on the wheel and drew the Casull with the other, bringing it up and around to ping through the passenger-side window.

Francisco tried to shove himself into the back seat as Sykes fought to balance the huge pistol a few inches from the Newcomer's nose.

Kipling happened to glance to his left. His eyes widened at the sight of the huge bore bobbing in his direction.