Fortunately, I had a solution standing rightthere.
“You may need to carry him for me, then,” Isaid. “Don’t worry, he’s not a big man.”
“After all those years in there, I’ll bethe’s not.” He glanced around. “Carry him where?”
“Anywhere I can get a cab.”
He looked baffled. “You’re taking him awaywith you? Why? He’s a dreamer, nobody’s going to ransom him oranything.”
“I know that.”
“Does he know something you want? Are youplanning to question him? Because there might be some memoryloss…”
“You ask a lot of questions for someone beingheld at gunpoint,” I said. “Just get him out.” I pressed a buttonon the HG-2, and it made a threatening whine, as if the targetingmechanism were adjusting.
The real targeting mechanism was completelysilent, of course; the button was just sound effects.
The sound effects worked, though; Mis’ Singh,if that was his name, stopped asking questions and got busy withthe panel on T4 R6 S31. A moment later there was a hiss, then awhir, and then Station 31 opened and a bed slid out.
And there was my father, lying naked in thebed-not on it, but sunk down into it, surrounded by worn brownplastic. He was curled into foetal position, lying on his leftside, but going by the wear on the plastic, and the condition ofhis skin, he had been turned every so often. Tubes ran into botharms, his mouth, nose, anus, and urethra; a visor covered his eyes,and a heavy-duty cable was plugged into the back of his skull andsecured with a clamp around his throat. He was shriveled andshrunken, his skin dry and flaking, his hair long and ragged; theonly part of him that still looked healthy and normal was the wirejob on his neck and one side of his head.
I hadn’t seen him in years, and when I did hehadn’t looked like this, he’d been healthy and alert, but all thesame, I recognized him immediately. This was Guohan Hsing, allright. This was my father, genetically if not legally.
“Get him out of there,” I said again. Themaintenance guy tapped the control panel; the throat clamp releasedwith a sharp click, and tubes started withdrawing. I decided Ididn’t need to watch that, and focused my attention on the paunchyman’s face, but I could hear the tubes sliding from theirplaces, which was almost as bad.
“Do you want him awake?” Singh asked.
“Waking Mis’ Hsing is a violation of hiscontract,” the room said. “Please wait for Security before takingfurther action.”
“I just want him alive,” I said. “Awake orasleep doesn’t really matter right now.”
“Waking Mis’ Hsing is a violation of hiscontract,” the voice repeated.
“Can you shut that thing off?” I asked Singh.I gestured with the gun. “It’s annoying me.”
“Not from here,” the maintenance workersaid.
“It’s not very bright.”
“It doesn’t have to be, to watch over a bunchof dreamers.”
The hiss and gurgle of retracting tubesstopped, and I heard the rasping as my father began breathingunassisted for the first time in years. I hesitated before lookingat him, though; I wasn’t sure I really wanted to see him.
“They didn’t give it much authority, didthey?” I said, putting off the inevitable. “You didn’t need to doanything to override it.”
“You just said it’s not very bright, Mis’.Would you trust it with anyone’s life?”
Then Dad coughed, a harsh, choking cough, andI turned to help.
So did the maintenance guy. Between us we gotmy father into a sitting position as he choked and gasped, hislungs struggling to work unaided. He coughed uncontrollably forwhat seemed like half an hour, but which my symbiote told me wasonly about twenty seconds, and when he was finally able to stop hewas wide awake, sitting in his plastic bed. He raised one tremblinghand and lifted off the visor, then looked up at us.
He tried to talk, but all that came out was awheeze, and that started him coughing again. I decided not to wait.“Pick him up,” I told Singh. I had lowered the gun while we movedmy father; now I pointed it again.
He hesitated, glancing at Dad. “What are yougoing to do with him?” he asked.
“I’m going to get him off Epimetheus beforesunrise,” I said. “Pick him up!”
“Security will arrive in approximatelyeighty-five seconds,” the room said. “Please stand by.”
“Off-planet? How?” Singh asked.
“I have a ship,” I said. “It’s waiting at theport. Unless you want to get caught in the crossfire, I suggest youpick him up and get him out of here before those eighty-fiveseconds are up.”
Singh took maybe half a second to think itover, then nodded. He bent down, tugged the loose clamp out of theway, unplugged the cable from the back of Dad’s neck, then slid hisarms under shoulders and knees and picked my father up. Either themaintenance guy was stronger than he looked, or Dad weighed aboutas much as a cup of tea. He put up about as much resistance as atea cup, too.
“Which way?” Singh asked.
“Out,” I said. “Wherever Security isn’t. Youshow me.”
He nodded and began walking, and said, “Whatkind of ship?”
“A yacht,” I said, following him. I had totrot to keep up. “Not mine.”
“Room for another passenger?”
I should have expected that. “If it won’t getme arrested, there might be.”
“Hey, getting me out isn’t anywherenear as illegal as kidnaping this poor guy I’mcarrying.”
“Stop right there!” a new voice called.
I turned, the HG-2 in my hand, but before Icould say anything Singh called, “It’s okay, guys!”
I didn’t point the gun at anyone after all;instead I just looked at the two cops who were coming down theaisle toward us. They had guns, too-nothing quite as big as theHG-2, but probably more than enough to kill me several times over.A floater was hanging just above and behind them, scanning thescene.
“What’s wrong?” I said, trying to soundconfused.
“The surveillance system here reported ahostage situation,” the lead cop said, keeping his gun trained onme. The second cop, I noticed, was pointing his gun atSingh.
Singh had been telling the truth aboutSeventh Heaven’s security; these two were in charcoal-gray suitswith the Ginza logo on the breast and security badges on theirsleeves. Casino cops-that was both good and bad. Good, because theydidn’t really care about the law, only about what was good forbusiness, and shooting potential customers was pretty much nevergood for business. Bad, because they not only didn’t care whetherI was breaking the law, they didn’t care whether theywere, either-they could play rough.
“The surveillance system is an idiot,” Singhsaid. “There’s a maintenance problem, that’s all-I had to get thispoor loser out before his tank poisoned him.”
“Who are you?”
Singh sighed. “I’m Minish Singh, second-shiftmaintenance.”
“Who’s she?”
“Hu Xiao. She wanted me to check on thisguy-he’s a potential witness. Good thing she did; he’d have beendead in an hour.”
I thought that was pretty good improvisation;I wondered whether they’d buy it. I didn’t think I wouldhave, but I’m not a casino cop. Casino cops don’t like trouble.
“Surveillance, can you confirm?”
“Minish Singh, confirmed. However, thisperson does not match city records of Hu Xiao.”
“I told you, rejuve,” I said. “My files needupdating.”
“She’s Officer Hu,” Singh said.
“She threatened Mis’ Singh with what shecalled a heavy-gravity handgun loaded with homing incendiaries,”the room said. I thought it sounded… miffed, maybe. Or pettish.One of those strange old words that shouldn’t apply to ahalf-witted piece of software.
“Fine, my weapon isn’t standard issue,” Isaid. “Is that any of your concern?”
“You threatened him?” the lead cop asked.
“What?” I tried to look innocent. “No, Ididn’t threaten him, I just told him to hurry.”