Prophet of ConFree (The Prophet of ConFree) (33 page)

"Well, he surprised me, I'll tell you that," I said. "I never thought he'd agree."

"And Bird is a saint as well," the Professor said. "How did I ever come to have such faithful, loving friends?" Only the Prof could have said something like that while sounding completely sincere. He was quite a guy.

The
Voodoo Honey
was simply spectacular, a giant luxurious star yacht with a crew of fifteen and room for thirty passengers. There were several individual staterooms as well as a whole slew of criminally comfortable airchair lounges in the main cabin. Bird couldn't come, of course. He was totally involved with the alien ship, but one of his vice presidents was piloting the yacht. It was quite a yacht – it was equipped with a cloaking device that rendered it invisible for those special occasions when you wanted to be alone. It also carried a Tri-Ark in the shuttle dock. That was even more special than the starship itself.

"Prophet, let's review the ops plan," the Prof suggested. He had put me in charge of planning, perhaps worried that his personal involvement might cloud his judgment.

"All right, it's simplicity itself. Simplicity is good," I said. Arie, Smiley and Bees joined us around the table. I would have liked to bring the whole squad, but that was out. I figured five of us should be able to handle the mission. I had chosen Arie because I wanted him at my side, Smiley for firepower and Bees in case anyone got hurt. "We already have reservations in the Camarilla Towers," I continued. "That's the top hotel for wealthy interstellar visitors. We are all documented as employees of Matheson Engineering. Bird says it fits the profile for his firm; they do a lot of business with all sorts of companies associated with starports, and Rob will do some real business here if it seems necessary or advisable." Rob Crombie was our pilot. He was as wealthy as Bird, and knew his way around interstellar business circles.

"Bird has provided us with excellent, genuine documentation covering us as employees of his firm. Look over your documents and you will see you have fictitious last names but retain your given first name. This is just to make it easier for us. We're not professional spies and don't have time to learn an elaborate cover story. Just remember your last names and use only first names in conversation when anyone else may be listening. Prof, we don't want to use your real first or last name for obvious reasons. You will be Professor Juan Carlos. Everybody remember that. But 'Prof' is okay for him in conversation.

"These docs are mostly for flash purposes in an emergency. And for backup, also only in an emergency, we all have ConFree passports in our alias names – provided by Galactic Info, thank you very much. The way things work on Quatar, nobody's going to be examining our documents. And if anybody asks, Matheson Engineering's business is private and none of their business. So we all have excellent documentation, the reservations have already been made in those names, Rob has told me we all now have customs clearance and an aircar will be waiting for us when we arrive at the starport. We will arrive in the Sweet Stuff. That's the Tri-Ark. It may look unusual to the locals but Rob assures me there won't be any trouble. He already has paid port clearance fees for the yacht in orbit and the shuttle landing downside. Money is all that counts on this world. We don't have to interact with any government officials, all we have to do is show up at the starport. They make it easy for wealthy business people.

"All right, while we're checking into the hotel, Rob will take off in the Tri-Ark and send out hundreds of eyemotes. They will hover over the target and will follow all aircars or groundcars that depart from Household Industries and will note where they go. We'll be in touch with Rob, and we'll see what happens. We'll probably visit Household Industries the next day, once we have reviewed the eyemote reports."

"Simple," Arie said.

"It's clear," Prof said.

"Just tell me when to start shooting," Smiley said.

"That may not prove necessary," the Professor said. "Bird has been most generous."

"I hope my services will also prove unnecessary," Bees said.

"Yes, let's hope so." I replied.

Δ

"Hang onto your ass," Rob warned us. Then he pressed a control and the
Sweet Stuff
dropped from the
Voodoo Honey's
shuttle dock and fell towards the planet beneath us. The Tri-Ark was most impressive. It was a black streamlined torpedo-shaped structure with stubby, strangely-formed wings and a wedge tail. This particular model was designed to carry a full Legion squad, so we had room to spare, sitting at ease in butter-soft synleather seats. Wide simports lined the fuselage, which from the outside appeared to be featureless. Rob was in the cockpit, which was an amazingly well-organized and well-designed control center. The
Voodoo Honey
was in the capable hands of Rob's copilot and his crew, and they were to remain in orbit awaiting us, barring some unexpected emergency.

"Bird doesn't want anything to happen to his baby, which is why he insisted I be the one to pilot it. If I get so much as a scratch on the paint job, he's going to be pissed. So keep me out of the action – please."

"No problem," I said. "We're all hoping for a quiet visit."

"What! I thought you folks were headed for trouble. I was only kidding about keeping out of the action. This baby has got a chainlink skysweep that kicks ass, and I'd love a chance to try it out." Rob gave us a crazy grin. He was evidently a wild man, which is what Bird had told us, but he was skilled and dependable. He had a thick head of greasy reddish hair and a scruffy little goatee.

The
Sweet Stuff
started glowing as she entered the atmosphere, hurtling along just like a meteor. We were all dolled up in civilian suits, the males in high-fashion, navy blue outfits with fluorescent ties and mirror-shined shoes, and Bees in a very revealing short skirt outfit that emphasized her legs and revealed portions of her black silk panties no matter what she did.

"Lucky you didn't wear your Legion shorts," Arie commented.

"Why don’t you shut down?" Bees suggested.

"Remember we all carry vac guns and only vac guns until I give the word," I said. "And hopefully it won't go there."

"How about knives?"

"Oh sure, help yourselves but remember when we enter the target, they'll spot both the vac guns and knives. They won't stop us, but their scanners will see them. So limit your hardware. We don't want to look like a Legion squad, but like prudent visitors."

The craft shook and bumped. It sure was pretty out there. We were overflying a huge grey ocean.

"Star City control, this is the Sweet Stuff, shuttle from the Voodoo Honey, approaching Star City and requesting landing instructions. We have paid orbit and shuttle landing fees and wish to be met on field by our aircar."

"Sweet Stuff, you are cleared for landing at Pad 32, see the landing guide. Your aircar is already there."

"Thank you, control." He grinned at us again. "Piece of cake," he said.

Δ

Our suite in the Camarilla Towers was quite luxurious – a spectacular gold on white themed lounge area with four internal bedrooms, each with its own bath. I set up the scrambler and turned it on as we all gathered around a central table.

"All right," I said. "Nobody can hear us with this on, and eyemotes are blinded by the pulses."

"So am I," Arie said. The device was emitting blinding short bursts of blue light.

"It's a little annoying, but worth it," I said. "Now. We're set. We've cut the chauffeur loose, considerably wealthier, and retained his aircar for the balance of our visit. Rob should be seeding the vicinity with eyemotes. Let's see. Rob, Prophet. Come in, please." I spoke into my comset, which was actually a disguised tacmod.

"Gotcha, Prophet. Your eyemotes are off and running. I'm going to find a nice place to hide. I'm in cloaking mode already. Believe I'll hide in a large lake that I see not far away."

"Please stay in touch."

"Will do. I'm going to be monitoring the eyemotes. You can do the same with your monitors, but I'll let you know if I spot anything."

"All right. Have fun. All right, folks. Let's set up the monitors and see what's happening. Arie, you're in charge of donuts. I'll do the dox." The suite had everything we needed.

Δ

"Prophet, Rob. Eye 445 has found an interesting compound. I'm diverting some more eyes to check it out."

"Thanks, Rob. Yeah, we already spotted it. It does look promising." We were all staring at the images, on several different screens. Eye 445 and several other eyemotes had followed a sealed airbus from Household Industries to the compound at an isolated location set deep within a forest, about 15 K out of town. The bus had paused to gain entry at a guardpost by a tall electrified fence that surrounded the compound. There was a tall traffic deflector inside the compound to warn off overflying aircars – any aircar that strayed in would receive a powerful jolt that would short out its systems. After clearance, the airbus proceeded to an extensive bloc of single-story portable building modules surrounding a large central enclosure and unloaded its cargo directly in front of the main entrance. Two young females, teen Outworlders, were escorted off the bus by two males clad in dark blue uniforms and carrying shockrods. The main doors opened and a hard-looking female wearing the same uniform showed the girls in. The doors closed. There was a blue and white sign above the door that read
HOUSEHOLD INDUSTRIES
.

"Bingo!" Arie said. "Doesn't look like they're doing much to hide their compound."

"This may not be the only compound for their guests," the Prof said. "We continue searching. But let's flood this place with more eyes. Eyes, I want labels for every individual in this compound."

"Done," the unit replied. We followed the view as Eyemote 445 shot under the door into the building and paused above the two teen girls and the female overseer. She had short reddish hair and fierce dark eyes, she was holding what looked like a leather swagger stick, and she was eying the girls hungrily. A swagger stick! What the hell? The girls were like two rabbits before a snake, hardly daring to move. They were both slender and quite attractive. One had silky, shoulder-length light brown hair and the other had shorter, sandy-blonde hair. The unit labeled the teens V01 and V02. The overseer was labeled H01. It brought us the audio as well.

"Welcome to your new home," the overseer said. "My name is 'sir'. When you address me you will say 'yes sir'." She struck one of the girls in the face with the swagger stick.

"When you address me, you will say 'yes sir'," she said again, whacking the other girl.

"Yes sir!"

"Yes sir!" They both covered their faces with their arms, tears suddenly gushing forth.

"You'll like it here, girls," the woman said. "All you have to do is whatever I say, and we'll get along fine. Follow me." She headed off down the hall, and the two girls followed.

"Go in there," she said, opening a door. It appeared to be a bedroom. They went in, and the eyemote followed.

"Take off your clothes," the overseer said. "Now."

The Professor stood. "I can't watch this anymore," he declared, and walked off. It was, admittedly, hard to watch.

"Eyes, what do V and H stand for?" I asked.

"V is for Victim, H is for Hostile," the unit replied.

"Well, good," I said. "That will make it easier to sort them out when the shooting starts."

"There'll be no shooting," the Professor said, "except maybe for that bitch, H01, if we get a chance."

We compiled a considerable dossier on that site and the inhabitants. There were quite a few female detainees. We didn't see any male detainees. Prof looked at every face but could not find his daughter. However, there were a lot of individual cubes and rooms, and there could have been many detainees locked in their rooms. We sent the eyes into every cube and room we could find, locked or not, and identified more prisoners. The girls all wore pullover pink smocks, presumably a detention uniform. There were numerous female overseers but none were as evil as that first one we saw. Some of them seemed genuinely concerned for the welfare of the girls. I even overheard the Prof whispering, "Bless you," as he witnessed a young female overseer tenderly caring for a detainee with an injured foot. The girls exercised in the quadrangle and ate meals together in the cafeteria. By the end of the day we had identified thirty-one female detainees, most of them teenagers. Either Household Industries dealt exclusively in females or the males were held elsewhere. It was getting late.

"Sorry, Professor. We may be missing some place, but – no luck so far."

"That's all right, Prophet. Perhaps tomorrow will work out."

Δ

Bees parked our aircar in the Household Industries lot right in downtown Star City. I proceeded through the darkened glass doors of the main entrance of Household Industries while the rest of the gang waited in the car. I found myself in a spacious, well decorated, softly lighted entry hall that resembled a hotel lounge, with luxurious plush, thick wall-to-wall carpeting and little islands of airchairs and low tables recessed into the floor and scattered around the hall. Several modern reception desks equipped with wide d-screens and guest chairs faced the main entrance. A hot young honey stepped forward and approached me. She had luxuriant, shoulder-length dark brown hair, a stunningly beautiful face with clear hazel eyes, light brown skin and a silken low-slung dress that revealed quite a bit of her lovely, tender breasts. She was not wearing a bra and didn't need one.