Free Outer Bounds: Fortune's Rising by Sara King Page B

starting to get concerned that she had.
    The Camp Director’s eyes
narrowed.  “I heard you earlier.  You want to claim your lover and her little
sister as your only witnesses.  You expect me to believe you?”
    Joel slumped forward, dropping
his forehead to the table.  “Yes,” he said to the scratched and worn metal. 
“That’s exactly what I want.”
    The Camp Director’s creaking
chair made him look up.  She was leaning forward, her eyes narrowed.  “Your
story isn’t making sense, Joel.  You were in the B-Block?  That’s ten minutes
into the female side.  What were you doing in there?  Seems like you could’ve
found a more convenient place to screw your girlfriend than right smack in the
middle of Shrieker territory, especially since she just made foreman.  There’s
something you’re not telling me, and we’re not leaving this room until you
spill your guts.”
    Remembering what Anna had said
about being drawn and quartered, Joel felt an uncomfortable uneasiness.  Time
for Plan B.
    “I want my lawyer.”
    The Camp Director frowned. 
“What?”
    “Under the United Space Coalition
penal code, you can’t hold me here without access to legal representation.  I
haven’t done anything wrong and I want my goddamn lawyer.”  He jangled his
handcuffs loudly against the metal bars holding them in place and gave her a
smug grin.  “Now, please.”
    The Director glared at him.  Over
her shoulder, she said, “Ferris, are you trained in legal affairs?”
    “Yes, Director,” the robot said
immediately.  He had a pleasant male voice, deep and calm.
    “Good,” the Director said.  She
waved a dismissive hand at Joel.  “Read this two-bit egger scum his rights.”
    “Screw that,” Joel said,
interrupting the robot.  “I want a human.”
    “You’ll get what I goddamn give
you!” the Director snapped, slamming her glinting hand, open-palm, down upon
the table with a reverberation that sounded as if a thousand pounds of metal
had hit it from a fifty-foot drop.  Joel grew cold looking at the individual
dents her fingers left when she pulled them away.  “Now read him his rights!”
the Director snapped at her AI.
    Somehow, Joel found the courage
to say, “I want a human.”
    For a long time, the Director
simply stared at him.  Then she glanced over her shoulder at the AI.  “Ferris? 
What the hell is taking you so long?  Read him his rights.”
    “Sorry, Director.  Unless the
planet is in an active state of rebellion, a human representative must be made
available upon request.  I am no longer within my jurisdiction.”
    “Goddamn it.”  The Director
continued to glare at Joel for long minutes before she said, “Fine, pisswad. 
We’ll do this the hard way.  Ferris, did you just see him hit me?”
    The AI blinked.  “No, Director. 
I didn’t see—”
    The Director lunged forward and
slammed her forehead into Joel’s face.  He reeled backwards, but because he was
still attached to the table, it went with him.  He landed flat on his back,
with the heavy metal desk overturned and squeezing down on his chest.  Above
him, the Director stood and leaned on it.  Suddenly Joel had to struggle to
breathe.
    “So,” the Director said, “You
think you can hit a United Space Coalition officer, do you?”
    “No,” Joel gasped.  Bitch.  
“I never hit—”
    “Gayle Hunter was a United Space
Coalition undercover agent,” the Director snapped, leaning down further on the
table, so that it felt like his ribs were going to snap and it was an agony
just to breathe.  “She was here investigating the illegal smuggling of Yolk off
of Fortune, and she had been very close to nabbing the guy responsible.”
    “The guy?” Joel whispered.  Oh
shit.  Oh shit.  Oh shit.
    “Yeah,” the Director said,
smiling, now.  “She said he was tall.  And had a permanent leg wound.”
    As she spoke, she ground a booted
foot into Joel’s bandages, making him bite down a