robert Charrette - Arthur 02 - A King Beneath the Mountain by Robert N. Charrette
Authors: Robert N. Charrette
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loading dock by the door. The ones inside are all males. One stayed in the lobby. The other two are searching the lower floor."
He could see that. "What do you think they're looking for?"
"You."
Somehow, the answer wasn't a surprise. "Anyone they can find, or me specifically?"
"You specifically."
"How do you know that?"
"One of the searchers said, 'This Tall Jack's gonna be easy money.' "
Some of the locals called him Tall Jack. Easy money? Bounty hunters or ordinary hunters? "Did they let slip why they're hunting me?"
"No."
Of course not. "Are they streeters or corporate?"
"Streeters, by their look and talk."
"Even the woman?"
"I haven't heard her say anything, but she looks it."
John was indignant about the intrusion. This was his place, his domain, as Faye would have it. These intruders had no place being here. He was even more incensed because they had come seeking him for money. He shifted catwalks, keeping the two intruders in sight. The searchers were still working the north corner; they showed no signs of noticing his move. He had half a dozen escape routes planned; he could be gone before they got off the first floor. He could be, but he didn't want to be; he was tired of running.
"Guns?"
"I didn't see any," she said.
Fine. If they didn't have guns, any fighting would be more even. From the searchers' awkward pattern, John could tell that he knew the place better than they did. Another advantage. Maybe he wouldn't have to run. If he could catch them one at a time ... They were already cooperating by keeping half their numbers at the doors.
"Comlinks?"
"No."
Better still. If they couldn't talk to each other easily, it'd be harder for them to call for reinforcements.
John moved along the catwalks, passing over the two below. He stopped near one of the taller machines. Carefully, he climbed over the rail, and lowered himself until he was hanging, gripping the walk with his hands. His feet dangled in open air. He waited until his body stopped swaying before dropping. He landed silently, but awkwardly, on the uneven surface of the machinery, and almost lost his balance. He had to grab a stanchion to steady himself and avoid an uncontrolled plunge to the floor, still a good twenty feet below. The maneuver wrenched his defense stick out of its snugged position. The stick started to shift, to fall. John twisted, knowing he'd be too late to keep the heavy bronze head from gonging on the machine but trying anyway. The stick never struck. It hung in the air, head hovering less than an inch from the metal surface.
"Thank you, Faye," he whispered as he closed his hand on the wooden shaft.
"You're welcome," she whispered back.
Climbing down the machine was harder with the stick in his hand than it would have been otherwise, but he didn't want to risk having it slip again; he couldn't count on Faye's being close enough to catch it. He reached the floor without attracting the attention of the searchers. John crept closer.
"Hey, Roscoe, how come we're doin' all the work?" one of them complained in a whining voice.
"Cause we're gettin' paid, stupid," Roscoe answered absently.
"Yeah, I know that."
The two of them continued their probe of the darkness around the machines. They were not very thorough; they missed more than a dozen places where someone even of John's height could have hidden. Flashlights would have made their search more effective, but would have made their movements more obvious as well. Despite their talking, stealth seemed to be part of their plan.
John crept closer, hoping they would soon find it necessary to separate.
"Hey, Roscoe."
"What now, Flake?"
"How come she's waitin' out back doing nothin' while we're doin' this?"
"The geek might go out that way."
"Yeah, I knew that."
Flake tripped over something and stumbled into one of the machines. John used the opportunity to cross the aisle. By what he was observing John guessed that Roscoe would be the more dangerous one; he'd have to be
He could see that. "What do you think they're looking for?"
"You."
Somehow, the answer wasn't a surprise. "Anyone they can find, or me specifically?"
"You specifically."
"How do you know that?"
"One of the searchers said, 'This Tall Jack's gonna be easy money.' "
Some of the locals called him Tall Jack. Easy money? Bounty hunters or ordinary hunters? "Did they let slip why they're hunting me?"
"No."
Of course not. "Are they streeters or corporate?"
"Streeters, by their look and talk."
"Even the woman?"
"I haven't heard her say anything, but she looks it."
John was indignant about the intrusion. This was his place, his domain, as Faye would have it. These intruders had no place being here. He was even more incensed because they had come seeking him for money. He shifted catwalks, keeping the two intruders in sight. The searchers were still working the north corner; they showed no signs of noticing his move. He had half a dozen escape routes planned; he could be gone before they got off the first floor. He could be, but he didn't want to be; he was tired of running.
"Guns?"
"I didn't see any," she said.
Fine. If they didn't have guns, any fighting would be more even. From the searchers' awkward pattern, John could tell that he knew the place better than they did. Another advantage. Maybe he wouldn't have to run. If he could catch them one at a time ... They were already cooperating by keeping half their numbers at the doors.
"Comlinks?"
"No."
Better still. If they couldn't talk to each other easily, it'd be harder for them to call for reinforcements.
John moved along the catwalks, passing over the two below. He stopped near one of the taller machines. Carefully, he climbed over the rail, and lowered himself until he was hanging, gripping the walk with his hands. His feet dangled in open air. He waited until his body stopped swaying before dropping. He landed silently, but awkwardly, on the uneven surface of the machinery, and almost lost his balance. He had to grab a stanchion to steady himself and avoid an uncontrolled plunge to the floor, still a good twenty feet below. The maneuver wrenched his defense stick out of its snugged position. The stick started to shift, to fall. John twisted, knowing he'd be too late to keep the heavy bronze head from gonging on the machine but trying anyway. The stick never struck. It hung in the air, head hovering less than an inch from the metal surface.
"Thank you, Faye," he whispered as he closed his hand on the wooden shaft.
"You're welcome," she whispered back.
Climbing down the machine was harder with the stick in his hand than it would have been otherwise, but he didn't want to risk having it slip again; he couldn't count on Faye's being close enough to catch it. He reached the floor without attracting the attention of the searchers. John crept closer.
"Hey, Roscoe, how come we're doin' all the work?" one of them complained in a whining voice.
"Cause we're gettin' paid, stupid," Roscoe answered absently.
"Yeah, I know that."
The two of them continued their probe of the darkness around the machines. They were not very thorough; they missed more than a dozen places where someone even of John's height could have hidden. Flashlights would have made their search more effective, but would have made their movements more obvious as well. Despite their talking, stealth seemed to be part of their plan.
John crept closer, hoping they would soon find it necessary to separate.
"Hey, Roscoe."
"What now, Flake?"
"How come she's waitin' out back doing nothin' while we're doin' this?"
"The geek might go out that way."
"Yeah, I knew that."
Flake tripped over something and stumbled into one of the machines. John used the opportunity to cross the aisle. By what he was observing John guessed that Roscoe would be the more dangerous one; he'd have to be
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