Stranglers moon, p.9
Stranglers' Moon, page 9
Before this group, like a teacher in front of a class, was a tall, thin, well-dressed man with a narrow face and harsh eyes. He sat at ease with his legs dangling casually over the edges of a pair of packing boxes placed end to end for his convenience. He had a clipboard on his lap and he was reading casually from it: "... Group Three, weekly intake of five thousand, seven hundred and sixtytwo rubles, which means Group Two's area seems to be the richest at the moment. I think we'll leave Three where it is for now and move in One to back Two up. Group Four, I don't have your numbers yet; where are they?
A man at one side of the semicircle spoke up. "Pakkan was delayed at the last moment; he'll try to be here shortly.
The man in front grimaced. "This has been a bad week for obstacles and delays. All the other sectors may get ahead of us." He stared directly at the group of Jules' coworkers.
"Your little unofficial forays have been noted and will count against you. You have repeatedly been told that we act for money only, not vengeance. We must not allow ourselves to get personally involved in our calling. Any emotion, even vengeance, will lead eventually to a weakening of will and infirmity of purpose. We must keep our minds and souls pure if we are to succeed.
"Back to business. I can't make final assignments for the week until I hear how Group Four has done, but assuming they have maintained their average I think I can tentatively shift them over to pick up the area being vacated by One. Group One then will operate near Twosay, around the Lucky Streak Casino. Two and Three will stay as they are for now....
Jules heard footsteps coming down the ramp behind him. This would probably be the member of Group Four who was late-and if so, Jules' position would be exposed. He looked quickly around for a spot that could not be seen from either the back or the front and, the instant he spotted it, he dove in that direction.
But his motion was far too late. The tardy murderer was at the point on the ramp where he could just see into the fifth level, and Jules' rapid movement attracted his attention.
For a second he froze, then realized that his mates had not known they were being spied upon. "Hey, there's somebody else in here!" he called out.
The other Chandakhari jumped to attention at his cry. They were paranoid about outsiders anyway, and this alarm set off their worst fears. Several of the men had been wearing small jeweled daggers at their belts, and their hands went automatically to their waists to remove the weapons. All of them looked around to see if they could spot the intruder, but Jules' chosen spot did provide him with a maximum amount of coverage.
The newcomer, who saw where Jules had gone, noted the confusion of his fellows.
"Down there!" he pointed. "Behind those boxes!
All stealth was useless now, Jules knew. He was up against better than thirty men who knew precisely where he was. Speed, strength and agility were the tools he would have to use if he wanted to survive beyond the next few minutes. Bracing his back against a row of heavy crates, he lifted his legs and kicked out at the series of boxes stacked in front of him. Two of the stacks teetered ominously for a moment; then, as he gave them a second kick, they toppled over onto the crowd of men that had started after him.
The effects of Vesa's gravity made the spectacle almost ludicrous, as the boxes fell in slow motion towards their targets and the men strained to get out of the path of the falling objects. Finally, after what seemed like ages, the boxes hit the floor and shattered, scattering their contents-small metal machine parts-all over the floor and making the footing treacherous.
But Jules had not stayed put to watch the results of his action. Survival depended on movement, and Jules was a veritable blur. The low gravity both hampered and helped; hampered because it took so long for objects to reach ground once they were in the air, and helped because his reflexes, attuned to gravitational pulls twelve times as strong, were like lightning compared to those of his adversaries. In fact, he had to be constantly adjusting his strengths downward, or be would have ended up overshooting each goal.
A knife flew by his head, but not too close. So slowly was it going that he could have snatched it out of midair and thrown it back at its owner had he desired. Instead, he let it continue along its flight path and bury itself two centimeters deep into a wood crate. He was not too worried about the knives these murderers were carrying; he had given them a good scan and realized that they were not properly balanced for throwing. Jules' cousin, lean d'Alembert, was an expert knife thrower, and Jules knew most of the fundamentals of that art just from observing a professional in action. The blades in evidence here were all intended for stabbing; if Jules let any of these men get that close to him the game would be up anyhow-and he knew it.
Jules quickly ducked down a cross row of crates, hoping to win access to the ramp and freedom. His way was blocked, though, by half a dozen of the crooks advancing on him with murder in their eyes. Gauging the distances, Jules decided against trying to leap over their heads; a strategic retreat would be a better tactic right here. With a quick turn, he fled back in the direction from which he'd come.
Two thugs leaped at him from atop a packing crate on his right. One of them gripped Jules' wrist while the other tried to get hold of the SOTS agent's waist. With the sheer force of his strength, Jules whipped his right hand around, pulling the attached attacker with it and banging the man's head solidly against a steel container. With a dull groan that was barely audible over the clang of the collision, the man released his grip on Jules' hand and fell unconscious to the floor.
With an athlete's disdain for wasted motion, Jules continued with the follow-through on his toss. His body spun around counterclockwise, and the crook who bad been grasping for his waist slipped away and started falling to the floor. Jules did not allow that fall to continue unassisted, though; as he spun, he jerked his left foot backwards and clipped the murderer under the chin with his heel. The man was out cold before touching ground.
Leaping nimbly over his two fallen foes, Jules continued along his chosen path, even though each step took him that much further away from the ramp. Over to his left, a group of four men were cutting diagonally across the floor in an attempt to intercept his path. Running at top speed, Jules deliberately rammed his body into another stack of boxes, which fell slowly but hard into the middle of that group. The men had all been running too fast to be able to stop and dodge. Most of them were able to lift up their arms to fend off the falling boxes, but the sharp edge of one container caught one of the Chandakhari squarely across the top of his head, cutting open a large gash. The man fell to the floor under the weight of the box, blood oozing slowly from the cut.
His intentional collision with the stack of boxes had also affected Jules' balance. He staggered a bit from the impact and was just about to recover when his foot slipped on one of the metal pieces from the first stack of boxes he'd knocked over. Trying desperately to recover his balance, he stumbled into another stack of boxes and got the wind knocked out of his lungs. He had to stand still for a second to recover from the blow.
As he stood there for a moment, three more of the thugs came charging at him. He was able to sidestep one completely, and the man went running right past him into the same stack of crates Jules had just hit. The second man received a karate chop down on the back of his neck, and it snapped his spine; Jules was fighting for his life, now, and had no time to pull his punches. When be hit, it was with the full power of an angry DesPlainian.
The third man just happened to tackle Jules' bad left leg, sending a stab of pain through the agent's body. The two men fell hard to the floor, but Jules quickly recovered from the initial shock of the encounter. Bringing up his right knee, he clipped his assailant under the chin and the man fell backwards. Jules rolled over and got quickly to his feet again, ready for more action.
Although he had significantly reduced his opposition, he was still vastly outnumbered.
Now that the initial surprise of his presence was wearing off, these Chandakhari were beginning to react as fighting units once more. Jules had had one taste already of how efficient they could be; he bad no desire for further demonstrations. They were traveling in packs now, circling in slowly and hoping to get the chance to use their special techniques on him. He bad to keep away from them as much as possible, for each second they slowed him down gave the mob that much more time to close in. He would never be able to escape from twenty determined stranglers if they all got their hands on him at once.
The killers were coming toward him from three sides now-from the direction of the ramp and the direction exactly opposite it, and from the front where the group had been seated. That left him only the back wall to retreat to-a move which the enemy obviously expected. Not wishing to disappoint them, Jules made his way through the aisles of boxes to the back wall, then turned to face the attackers.
They were moving toward him a bit more slowly now, confident of the final outcome and not wanting to spoil things by tipping their hand too quickly. Overreaction could be disastrous; they had their quarry boxed in and could afford to take the time to do it right.
Jules faced slightly to his right, away from the direction of the ramp, and seemed to be giving that third of his attackers the majority of his attention. With his peripheral vision, however, he was keeping close tabs on the advancement of the group in front of him and to the left. Suddenly, when the positions were exactly right, he made his move.
From a standing start, he began running straight at the group coming from his left. They were a bit startled at this direct assault, but they held their line firm and prepared to meet the onslaught. Jules built up as much speed as he could and, when he came within five meters of the killers, suddenly bent his legs under him and leaped through the air in a low arc over the heads of the startled group. One of the killers, a bit faster on the uptake than the rest, tried to jump up as Jules passed overhead and grab some part of his clothing to at least slow him up; all he received for his efforts, though, was a kick in the face as Jules used his aerialist's skills to twist about in midleap. The jumper fell violently back into the midst of his fellows, creating more pandemonium.
The powerful muscles of Jules' legs acted as springs when he landed again, absorbing much of the shock of impact. He rolled over forward once to absorb most of the rest of the momentum, then, in one continuous motion, sprang to his feet and began running toward the ramp. There was no one to block his way now, no obstacles to overcome; Jules could concentrate purely on speed.
And speed he did. On DesPlaines, Jules in his best form would have been considered a fast runner, though perhaps not a record holder. The recent injury to his leg slowed him down more. But on worlds with lower gravities, there was just no comparison. Jules was far and away the fastest man these crooks ever had or ever would see, a blur in human form. He had reached the ramp before any of the Chandakhari could even think to pursue him in that direction.
They did try to give chase, of course. To a man they raced in the direction of the ramp and upward to the next level. But Jules had had too much of a jump on them and was moving far too fast, tired though he was from all the fighting. By the time the first ones reached the fourth level, the only trace left of Jules d'Alembert was the sound of his receding footsteps as he raced upward and out of the building.
Garst was not pleased. Lessin, the man who had been Conducting the briefing in the warehouse before the interruption occurred, had gone straight to his boss with the news of the intruder. Now he was not so sure it was the safest thing he could have done.
"To be spied on is one thing, but to have discovered the spy and let him get away is rank incompetence!" Garst's short, corpulent body was trembling with rage. Lessin knew those rages-in fact, had seen them directed at other people. The results were never pleasant, and he mentally braced himself for the punishment he knew would come.
"We all tried," he began to apologize. "I've never seen a man move like that before. He was like a wild animal....
"And you only outnumbered him thirty-three to one," Garst sneered. "Panna-cats have been caught barehanded at smaller odds than those. Your men are all well-trained and good at their jobs; most of them have been with us for years, yet you could not catch one simple person." He banged his palm with his fist in frustration.
Lessin waited in silence for Garst's rage to blow over. Anything he could say would only add to the fury the other felt.
At length, Garst's temper subsided a little. He turned his back on Lessin and walked around behind his large desk. "The question now is, who was that man? What kind of threat does he represent? Was he acting on his own, or are there others with him?
"The men from my Group Two know him. He started working at the docks with them a couple of days ago. He calls himself Georges duChamps and he's originally from DesPlaines. They had a bit of a problem with other workers in their outfit and this duChamps intervened a couple of times-both for and against them. They can't figure him out.
"A DesPlainian, eh?" Garst settled himself behind his desk and drummed his fingers impatiently across the top. "Well, that may excuse some of your bungling; I've heard some pretty impressive things about them. But still-thirtythree to one...." His voice trailed off and he shot Lessin a meaningful glance.
The subordinate decided to leap into the conversational breach before Garst had much chance to contemplate further on the mishap. "I think he was just working on his own.
He'd had a few brush-ups with my men, and was curious about them, that's all. After all, he couldn't be with the police they wouldn't dare interfere with us....
"But we can't be sure!" Garst banged a fist down hard on the solid wood desktop. "In this business, Lessin, we can't afford to take any chances at all. Take nothing for granted. There are other constabularies than our own, you know. So far, I grant you, they have not seen fit to intercede in our business, because we've been careful not to be too greedy. A little trickle diverted from a wide stream is never missed. But there is always the possibility that we slipped up somewhere and alerted someone. We must take great pains to find out the truth and, if that is the case, to rectify our error as quickly as possible.
Garst stood up once more and came around the desk to face his minion. "We must capture this duChamps fellow-alive. We have to question him to find out how much is known about us, so that we can assess the danger. If he is just a man on his own, well and good; he can be eliminated with no one being any the wiser. But if he is part of a larger force, more drastic measures will have to be taken. I hate to even think about that, but I know I'll have to.
He glowered sternly at Lessin. "Since it was you who bungled this matter, I'll let you be the one to straighten it up. You will direct the search operations. I want every single man we've got to have a description of duChamps. I want every single hiding place searched beginning, of course, with his hotel room, though I doubt he'd be fool enough to return there. We'!! scour every centimeter of Vesa if we have to, but I want that duChamps found and brought to me alive. Is that understood?
It was indeed understood. Lessin was actually glad Garst had put him in charge of the search. It had been duChamps' fault that he'd had to come to Garst with this problem in the first place, and he had that debt of honor to pay off. He would find the DesPlainian, all right-and when he was finished, the spy would wish Garst had allowed Lessin to kill him right away.
Chapter 8
Vanished.
Yvette got only about three hours' sleep following her chance meeting with Dak Lehman, and even that was spent fitfully sitting up in a chair, facing the door and starting at the slightest noise in the hall that might herald the return of the three men who had ambushed her on the starliner. They had caught her by surprise once, and she vowed that would never happen again. But this night was a false alarm; nothing untoward occurred.
At 0930 she finally dragged herself out of the chair to get ready for her rendezvous with Dak. She had neglected to wipe off the makeup from last night and it bad gone gritty on her face. Added to that were the dark circles under her eyes and flyaway hair from sleeping in an awkward position. Taking a good look at herself in a mirror, she said, "Dak must be crazy; nobody in his right mind would ever want to marry someone who looks like that.
She gave serious consideration to calling him at his hotel and breaking off the date, or even just standing him up without telling him anything. She hadn't told him where she was staying; he might never be able to find her again, and all their mutual problems would be solved. But, with a sigh, she realized she could never do that. She had promised to meet him, and promises were sacred things to a d'Alembert. Her family pride would not permit her the luxury of breaking this one.
She spent an extra amount of care in making up her face this morning, and by the time she was finished much of the depression bad left her. The face that stared back at her in the mirror was no longer haggard, and she declared herself satisfied with the results; a less modest person would have realized that she was devastatingly beautiful. A quick look at the clock beside her bed told her that she'd spent entirely too much time on her makeup, though-it was just past 1030. Dressing quickly, she hurried out to the elevator tube and up to the lobby level to grab a jit. There would be no breakfast for her this morning, though perhaps Dak and she could go for lunch somewhere.
