Ron Goulart - Suicide, Inc

“This is not an actual authentic female,” mentioned Tomo, who was carrying the unconscious Camilla toward the house.

“Merely a reasonable facsimile,” said Cruz. “Now, Jazz, I have to see about putting through the pixphone call to Bjorn. You and the professor head on to the Museum.”

Dust swirled up when she stomped her foot. “Why don’t we all go? Then you and Mr. Smith and that polite Mr. Saint can all sit around and discuss-”

“We’re beyond sitting around,” Cruz told her.

“He’s absolutely right,” said Winiarsky. “We’d better get moving, Jazzmin.”

She hesitated, taking a slow deep breath. “Okay, I won’t let the team down,” she said finally. “But I still am convinced you’re being dippy.”

“Skinny is a better word,” said Liz Vertillion.

“On the contrary, my dear, a deucedly more appropriate one is slender.” Saint was looking back at her over the top of the passenger seat of their skycar.

Huddled on the backseat, wearing the simple dress he’d brought, Liz said, “You really are a conman, aren’t you?”

“That doesn’t mean one’s lost the ability to speak the truth,” the green man assured her. “Despite your ordeal, you are still a most attractive young woman.”

“A most attractive skinny young woman,” she said, smiling faintly. “Jared, I feel somewhat less fuzzy-headed now. Maybe you could try to explain what’s going on.”

Smith was piloting the skycar across the night city. “We found out from Boss Nast where you’d gotten to,” he said. “Then we-”

“Backtrack a moment,” Liz requested. “How the heck’d you manage to get him to talk to you at all?”

“Saint and I make a very persuasive combination.”

“In addition to my many manifest gifts, I’m also an excellent telek.”

“I helped rehabilitate a couple of them at the Mission.”

“I’m not quite ready for salvation, my dear.”

“Jared, it’s been years since we’ve seen each…although once, some months ago, I saw a hopeless derelict stumbling through our district. He looked something like you and I tried to follow. But I lost him in the fog and-”

“Probably was me,” he said. “I’m just getting over a protracted bout of self-pity.”

“Still because of Jennifer?”

“Thought I was long cured, but then she married…” He shrugged.

Reaching out, Liz touched his shoulder. “I was going to ask why you came looking for me at all. Not that I don’t sure as heck appreciate it.”

“Originally I was hired, as was Saint here, to track down five missing Horizon House kids,” he answered. “We were told that Jennifer and her mother wanted to have a reunion and were anxious to find every kid who was still alive.”

“Aren’t we all still alive?”

“Nope, but I’ll get to that shortly,” said Smith.

“The first point to grasp, Elizabeth,” said Saint, “is that our employer, the illustrious Whistler Agency, was not entirely candid and open with us. They maintain, by way of mitigation, that their client, Triplan, Ltd., was most stingy with the truth.”

“That’s the outfit Jennifer’s husband is associated with, isn’t it?”

“The same,” said Smith. “Turns out Doctor Westerland picked ten of us, you and me included, Liz, for a special sort of mission in life.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t remember anything like that.”

“Exactly.” Smith went on and explained things to her.

When he concluded, Liz said, “I’m disappointed. In Doctor Westerland, I mean. To use us like that and not even-”

“He was killed, remember, before he could do much of anything about-”

“Jared, you don’t believe he ever would’ve told us, do you?”

“I guess not, no.”

Liz said, “Are you taking me back to the Mission or do you still intend to turn me over to-”

“I intend to try and save our lives.”

“Remember, my dear,” added Saint, “that, as Smith told you, the Syndek operatives are not above killing you Horizon alumni once they’ve siphoned off what you know.”

She folded her hands. “Poor Hal Larzon.”

“What I want to do is get you to a safe hideaway,” Smith said, frowning at the control dash. “Oscar Ruiz is already there, Winiarsky should be soon. We’re in a position to make a deal with Triplan, since we’ve been used as carriers for this information without ever being asked about it.”

“I’m not sure I exactly want compensation, although I don’t fancy being hunted. And I suppose with money I could help the Mission to accomplish a lot of…what’s wrong, Jared?”

“The controls seem to have locked on me,” he said as he struggled with the drivestick and pushed at the buttons on the dash. “Saint, can you-”

“I’ve been trying to use my telek powers on them for the past couple of minutes, old boy,” he said. “Having, I fear, deuced bad luck thus far.”

“Shit, somebody’s planted a parasite controlbox under our car.” Smith kept trying to regain control of the skycar. “We’re being flown to somebody else’s destination.”

“Jove, one is sorry this wasn’t mentioned earlier.”

“You certain you can’t?”

Saint, face dotted with perspiration, nodded abjectly. “I’m not affected by being up in this skycar, old man, yet to go outside there and crawl under the ship…”

“Okay, can’t be helped.” Smith snatched the small toolkit off the cabin wall. “I’ll swing down there and-”

“Why can’t Saint use his telek gift to get rid of that parasite control gadget?” Liz asked.

“Alas, I can’t teleport anything I haven’t first seen,” he explained forlornly. “And severe vertigo makes it impossible, even in this desperate instance, for one to-”

“Take the driveseat,” Smith told him, moving to the door. “When I get rid of the damn box, be ready to get us back on our own course.”

“Yes, to be sure.”

The skycar was flying south, heading for the edge of the night city.

“Be careful,” said Liz.

“Intend to.” Even though he opened the door carefully, the rush of air outside yanked the handle from his grasp.

Giving an annoyed shake of his head, Smith stepped out onto the wing. He had the small toolkit tucked into his waistband.

The wind pushed and tugged at him. He took one wobbly step, unexpectedly sat down, and slid toward the car wing’s front edge.

His legs shot out into the darkness beyond.

Smith twisted his body, catching the edge of the wing as he fell by.

As he dangled there the wind did an even more enthusiastic job of shoving at him.

He inched closer to the body of the skycar. Then he stretched, and grabbed at the rigid landing gear.

Smith managed to catch hold just above a fender and brought his other hand over. Now he was hanging beneath the belly of the flying machine.

Down below the city was ending, few lights showed and they seemed to be flying over forest country.

Smith took a few slow, deep breaths before swinging his legs up and locking them around the axle. Turning and twisting, he pulled himself up and inched out until he was sitting, hunched, on the thing.

The skycar seemed to be losing altitude now that it had left the city behind.

From the kit Smith extracted a small palmlight. Clicking it on, he swept the underside of the machine with a thin beam of light.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he said aloud. “Where are you?”

He didn’t spot the coinsized parasite control box until he made his second sweep. The little gadget was attached to the fuselage above the other wheel.

Smith bumped his backside along the axle until he was directly under the damn thing.