Red knocked on the metal door. A man holding a Cpok III gyrojet-enhanced machine pistol, pulled it open. “Hi! Did you order a pizza?” Red quipped.
”Oh, shit!” the gunman grumbled. The Cpok hammered, a short burst that sprayed Red with semi-explosive slugs and knocked him back. Red grabbed the jamb with his armored fingers to keep from getting knocked clear before the door could be slammed shut.
Jay’s voice came over the radio. “Dear me, such bad manners. Does that mean I can play with them?”
”Negative, Jay. Only if one tries to escape. Red, wake ‘em up properly. Let’s take ‘em,” Scott ordered.
Red threw himself against the door and hurled it back against the man still trying to force it closed. A fresh spray of bullets ricocheted off his armor as he hurtled inside. He bit back an exclamation of pain as a steel-jacketed slug from a rifle deeper in the room punched through his armor, raising his arm and firing his suit laser at the rifleman in response.
Scott dived into the room behind him in an acrobatic roll that brought him to his feet to Red’s right. A bullet struck his ballistic suit, causing him to momentarily lose his balance. Rather than fighting for balance, he threw his weight backwards in a flip and kicked himself off the wall, repositioning himself and throwing his fully-charged stun ball in a single move. Flying across the room, it hit the second of five gunmen in the room, ricocheted off to hit a third, then rebounded back towards Scott. Taking a quick step to the side, he reached up and caught the ball. The two men struck by the ball collapsed, muscles limp under the effects of the its electrostatic charge.
”FORCE!” Scott shouted. “You’re under arrest. Drop your weapons. Now!”
Tracker crouched in the doorway, his valtan at the ready. The room reeked with the stench of old cigarette smoke and hostility.
Overwhelmed by the attack, the remaining gunman dropped his weapon and raised his hands. A sixth man bolted through a door beside the desk where he’d been sitting when they crashed in. Seconds later, Tracker heard him cry out in surprise and fear.
Scott reached into his pocket and withdrew several poly-fiber-steel binding straps. As flexible as string and several times stronger than steel, he used them to handcuff the prisoners while Red covered them. As he finished, Jay sauntered in towing the runaway like a helium balloon, dragging him down just far enough to clear the door frame before letting him go inside the room, where he floated up to the ceiling and stuck there.
Scott pulled a card from his pocket and read them the abbreviated rights settled upon by Federal and State legislators after the Bloody Years. On concluding the simple statement, he began his interrogation.
”I’m looking for the same woman you are,” he explained. “If you help me out, I won’t press charges and you’re free on the streets.”
The man on the ceiling laughed. “If we talk, we’ll live maybe all of a week. If we don’t, we get a two or three-year vacation, all expenses paid. I got nothing to say. And if any of you vacuum-for-brains talk, you deserve whatever the Boss gives you.”
”Hey, Scottie,” Jay said. “How about I take this guy outside and turn him loose. We can see how high he floats before the negative weight I put on him wears off. If he happens to change his mind about talking before he hits the street, I can always try to catch him again.”
Scott shook his head. “No, Jay. Much as I’d love to, we can’t. Even scum like these have rights.”
Red’s fists clenched. “More rights than their victims have,” he snarled.
”Cool it, Red. Jay, back outside and cover us. Red, contact Captain Jones in the hovervan. Have him call in the police and let’s get rid of this garbage. Tracker, watch them. If they so much as twitch, slice ‘em to ribbons.” Tracker put on a show of snarling and baring his fangs while Scott began to search the room, starting with the desk’s splintered drawers. After a couple minutes, Tracker’s ears caught the wail of approaching sirens. The leader smiled mockingly. Scott heard it, too, and scowled as he looked around the room. Then his face lit up. He walked over to the hard-wired telephone and picked up the digital notepad beside it. He sat down in the chair by the phone and began to write on the screen with its stylus.
Alarm flickered over the captured leader’s face.
In a few moments, Scott was under the graphical user interface and instructing the computer directly. He undeleted the last several messages and studied them for a moment, then blanked the screen and returned control to the GUI. He turned to the man on the ceiling and smiled. “Thanks for your help. I’ll be sure to mention you favorably in my report and see if I can’t get you a reduced sentence.”
”I didn’t say anything!” The man paled. Scott shrugged and turned away. Tracker’s nose picked up the man’s surge of panic.
The sirens died away as two police cars pulled up outside the building. Four officers came in, hands on the grips of their holstered pistols.
Scott nodded at the prisoners. “All yours, officers. Five counts of assault with a deadly weapon with intent to kill and resisting arrest.” Pointing at the thug on the ceiling, he added, “That one tried to flee and was unarmed when we captured him. He assisted us in finding out what we wanted to know. He helped us without any coercion, and I want it so noted in the report.”
”Fuck you, you mutt!” the man snarled, using the latest insult term for mutant.
Scott smiled. “You’re welcome.”
One of the officers looked up at the man. “Joey! Well, well. So Cartel is involved, are they?”
