Free Outland by Alan Dean Foster Page B

person face to face with you and say what I'm about to say. I just couldn't.
    "If you were in front of me right now, I would change my mind. And I don't want to change my mind."
    A yellow light winked above the screen, accompanied by a high-pitched beep. O'Niel picked up the closed-channel audio receiver nearby, automatically activating it. His eyes never left the monitor.
    "O'Niel here." He listened. "What? How bad?" At the other end of the thin glass thread a voice was talking too fast. "I'll be right there."
    He let the receiver slip back into its socket, moving rapidly now. Near the door a small riot gun hung in a loop support. It looked a lot like an old sawed-off shotgun save for much smoother lines and some complex instrumentation. Automatically he checked the velocity setting, made sure it read INDOOR—CLOSE QUARTERS, then opened the door and rushed out of the apartment.
    Behind him the video screen, left unattended, continued to spill its recorded trauma.
    "I love you. Please know that." Pause. "Look at me. I'm asking for your approval."
    The voice rambled on, alternately crying and declaiming, pleading to an empty room . . .

V
    O'Niel rushed through the corridors, down swaying access tubes. Workers and administrators got out of his way without having to be asked. They watched his retreating back and conversed in low tones until he was long gone. None of them had the slightest idea what was going on, but they all knew no security personnel ran like that without a damned good reason. And there was the riot gun held firmly in the Marshal's hands.
    At the end of the corridor mentioned in the call O'Niel found a pair of deputies waiting for him. He couldn't give them names, but that didn't matter right now.
    "He's in the West Wing, Marshal," the woman informed him. She looked worried, angry, and a little frightened. Not for herself—for someone else. If she were frightened for herself she didn't show it.
    O'Niel nodded a cursory thank you and entered the passageway beyond the check point. Behind him the two deputies kept the curious turned away.
    Further on he found Montone and another deputy, both carrying weapons similar to O'Niel's. They held them tightly and not with the easy grip favored during routine patrol.
    Montone nodded down the corridor. It was lined with closed doors. At the far end was the central Club. Faint music from it drifted up the corridor.
    "He's in a leisure compartment," the sergeant explained in a low, tight tone. "He's with a hooker. All we know is that the guy is roughing her up. She pushed the alarm."
    "Who answered?"
    The deputy replied. "When I responded to the alarm and tried the door, the man told me he had a knife. He said he'd kill her if I didn't leave immediately." Her expression never changed. "There's no video inside. Privacy circuit's engaged. But I didn't have to see it to know he has it. All you have to do is listen to his voice. So I backed off."
    O'Niel nodded approvingly. "Who is he? Were you able to find out?"
    She nodded again. "He was seen going in and the girl registered him on entrance, as per procedure, recorded his marker to her account, and had it verified for a plus balance. He's a crane operator. Been here almost eleven months, Personnel says."
    "Eleven . . . hell," Montone muttered.
    "Never caused any trouble," the deputy continued. "No record of any kind, no previous mention of anything like this. I checked for instability, perversion . . . the usual. He's clean. His shiftmates like him. At least, those I could contact said they did. Foreman said he's a good worker, gives a hundred percent when he's on the job. Name is Sagan. When I told them what was going on, none of 'em believed me."
    "How's the girl?"
    It was Montone's turn to comment. "She's still alive. You can hear her moaning over the com. Beyond that . . ." He shrugged meaningfully.
    They turned, walked down the corridor and halted before the specified door. Four more armed deputies awaited them there,