Up Against It - M. J. Locke [175]
Vivian tugged on her sleeve and pointed: Val Pearce and a small contingent of armed security personnel were approaching.
She gestured for Vivian to depart, and turned to the security chief. “Hi, Val. What are you doing here?”
“Jane.” Her former counterpart looked uncomfortable. “The prime minister has learned of your kidnapping, and has ordered me to take you into protective custody. I’ve been asked to escort you to a safe location.”
Jane rolled her eyes. “Come on! I’m not in any danger, and I’m not interested in being taken to a ‘safe location.’”
“Jane, don’t make this difficult. I’m sure we can work this out.”
“There’s nothing to work out. I’m no longer the prime minister’s employee, I don’t need the cluster’s protection, and I have things to do.”
A small crowd had begun to gather, and the “Stroiders” fog and mechanical cams were thickening around them. Val shook his head. “I’m sorry about this.” He gestured, and his security people closed in. Vivian had drifted out of the way by now. Val said, as if reading a writ, “I have been charged with bringing you in, for the security of the cluster.”
“Benavidez doesn’t have authority to haul people off the streets simply on his say so. He needs court authorization.”
“Which I have. You are a material witness to kidnapping and murder,” Val replied. “We’re taking you in for your own protection.”
“Material witness? I’m one of the damn kidnap victims. Make up your mind! Am I a security risk, or do I need protection?”
Val lowered his voice. “For God’s sake, Jane, just come along quietly and talk Benavidez down. He got a call from Woody Ogilvie saying the ice sale is off because of Glease’s arrest, and he’s blaming it on you. Benavidez is fit to be tied.”
“Well, that’s not my problem anymore, is it?”
He pursed his lips. “I’ll cuff you if I have to.”
“Let me see the court order.”
He handed her a legal scrip. The judge was a crony of Benavidez’s. Of course. “You haven’t got a handhold to grip on this, and you know it,” Jane told Val. “But whatever. I’ll come.”
Inwave, she forwarded the arrest warrant to Sarah and Chikuma, and then twitched her fingers and shot a quick message to Vivian, who was just then swinging up into the Nowie Spokeway: prep bms. w call u asaic. The young Viridian gave her a wave and entered the spoke.
Val and his contingent of security types took Jane to a hotel room at the Midtown Hilton, in New Little Austin. “Benavidez will be here in a few minutes,” Val told her. “Sit tight.”
He went out. Jane checked: Val had posted a guard outside the door who would not let her leave. The hotel operator would not allow her to make calls, and her waveface was strictly local mode. She called the guard in.
“I had very little to eat since early morning yesterday. Could I get room service?” she asked. The guard checked with Val inwave, and then said, “All right. What do you want?”
She ordered a lavish breakfast—this was on Benavidez after all, and she was in no mood to make gestures toward frugality tonight. After the guard left Jane used the restroom, then returned with a glass of water and propped the pillows up on the bed.
Again she pulled out the antipsychotics. It was time.
It was something, she thought at the Voice. Not fun, and not even real. I must say, you’ve got a weird sense of humor, picking a cranky old atheist as your prophet. But I guess we all have to work with the materials at hand.
She tossed the medicine back and washed it down. A bitter chemical taste stung her tongue. She tried to get comfortable. It was nearly four-thirty a.m, and she ached. A new day was about to begin. But they still had Woody Ogilvie’s military ships to deal with. And his ice. She called Vivian using Arachnid.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“I’ve reached the Badlands. We are prepping BitManSinger. What is your plan?”
“Before we go any further, you and I need to talk. Tell me what you have been doing