Miles, Mutants and Microbes - Lois McMaster Bujold [96]
"Look, you," Ti began. "Theory was, I was going to get out of this with a whole skin 'cause GalacTech would think I was kidnapped, and had jumped you out with a gun to my head. A nice, simple, believable scenario. This is getting too damned complicated. Even if I could pull off a stunt like that, they're not going to believe I did it under duress. What would keep me from flying downside—and just turning myself in? That's the sort of questions they'll be asking, you can bet your ass. No, dammit. Not for love nor money."
"I know," Leo growled. "We've offered both." Ti glared at him, but ducked his head to evade Silver's eyes.
A thin young voice was echoing down the corridor. "Leo? Leo . . . !"
"Here!" Leo answered. What now . . . ?
One of the younger quaddies swung into sight and darted toward them. "Leo! We've been looking all over for you. Come quick!"
"What is it?"
"An urgent message. On the com. From downside."
"We're not answering their messages. Total blackout, remember? The less information we give them, the longer it's going to take them to figure out what to do about us."
"But it's Tony!"
Leo's guts knotted, and he lurched after the messenger. Silver, pale, and the others followed hot behind.
The holovid solidified, showing a hospital bed. Tony was braced against the raised backrest, looking directly into the vid. He wore T-shirt and shorts, a white bandage around his left lower bicep, a thick stiffness to his torso hinting at wrappings beneath. His face was furrowed, flushed over a pale underlay. His blue eyes shifted nervously, white-rimmed like a frightened pony's, to the right of his bed where Bruce Van Atta stood.
"Took you long enough to answer your call, Graf," Van Atta said, smirking unpleasantly.
Leo swallowed hard. "Hullo, Tony. We haven't forgotten you, up here. Claire and Andy are all right, and back together—"
"You're here to listen, Graf, not talk," Van Atta interrupted. He fiddled with a control. "There, I've just cut your audio, so you can save your breath. All right, Tony"—Van Atta prodded the quaddie with a silver-colored rod—what was it? Leo wondered fearfully—"say your piece."
Tony's gaze shifted back, to the silent vid image Leo guessed, and his eyes widened urgently. He took a deep breath and began gabbling, "Whatever you're doing, Leo, keep doing it. Never mind about me. Get Claire away—get Andy away—"
The holovid blacked out abruptly, although the audio channel remained open a moment longer. It emitted a strange spatting noise, a scream, and Van Atta swearing, "Hold still, you little shit!" before the sound cut off too.
Leo found himself gripping one of Silver's hands.
"Claire was on her way over," Silver said lowly, "to be in on this call."
Leo's eyes met hers. "I think you'd better go divert her."
Silver nodded grim understanding. "Right." She swung away.
The vid came back up. Tony was huddled silently in the far corner of the bed, head down, hands over his face. Van Atta stood glaring, rocking furiously on his heels.
"The kid's a slow learner, evidently," Van Atta snarled to Leo. "I'll make it short and clear, Graf. You may hold hostages, but if you so much as touch 'em, you can be swung in any court in the galaxy. I've got a hostage I can do anything I want to, legally. And if you don't think I will, just try me. Now, we're going to be sending a security shuttle up there in a little while to restore order. And you will cooperate with it." He held up the silvery rod, pressed something; Leo saw an electric spark spit