“... COMING AROUND,” A METALLIC voice was saying. “Yes, he’s definitely coming out of it.”
Jake realized that the robot must be talking about him.
He, somewhat reluctantly, opened his eyes.
He saw Gomez looking concernedly down at him.
“Thought you were a robot,” Jake muttered, his voice sounding weak and rusty.
“That was the sawbones you heard.”
A white-enameled medibot appeared beside Jake’s partner. “You’re in remarkably good shape for a man your age, sir.”
“Thanks.” With Gomez’s help, Jake sat up. He discovered he was atop Marj’s bed. “This is where I made a major mistake.”
“Don’t tell me you mixed romance with duty?”
“Sort of,” he admitted. “How’d you find me?”
“Oh, an hombre named Denis Gilford was most helpful in providing me with leads. He mentioned that you’d taken up with Marj Lofton,” explained Gomez. “Eventually I got around to looking for you here in her little hacienda.”
“Gilford was helpful?”
“After I dangled him out a high window by his ankles, sí.”
Jake asked, “How long have I been out?”
“Ten or twelve hours. I fetched this reliable and discreet medi-bot to give you a reviving injection soon as I found you down in that impressive hidden lab. Somebody used a stungun on you, amigo.”
“Yeah, that I remember.”
The robot suggested, “You’d better remain in bed for at least a day, sir.”
“No, we’ve got to get up to the Caribbean Colony,” said Jake.
Gomez said, “I was coming to tell you the same thing. It seems that Dr. Danenberg, as well as—”
“Dan’s up there, that’s almost certain.”
“Who’s got him?”
“I think it’s a combination of Excalibur people and Teklords.”
“They’re making SuperTek up there,” said his partner. “I imagine that’s why friend Sands was extracted from the hoosegow, to help them manufacture and distribute the stuff.”
“What the hell is SuperTek?”
“To put it simply, it’s immune to Professor Kittridge’s anti-Tek system.”
“You mentioned that Dr. Danenberg is—”
“The good doctor is pretty certainly passing along recipes concocted by the old prof himself,” said Gomez. “This Caribbean Colony sounds like it’s a hotbed of SuperTek activity.”
“Yeah, and the Excalibur folks must be helping to fund the Teklab. They’ll use their share of the profits to topple the democracy here in England and dump that nitwit Arthur on the throne.”
“Wouldn’t be the first revolution funded by drug money. Soon as you’re feeling chipper enough, we—”
“We’ve got to get up there right now.” With some assistance from his partner, he left the bed and tried standing. He fought against the nausea and dizziness he felt and, slowly, it faded away. “It was Marj who used the stungun on me. I haven’t told you why.”
“A lovers’ spat maybe?”
“C’mon, Sid. She wanted to keep me on the sidelines for a while.”
“What exactly is her part in this mess?”
“She used to be an expert in robotics,” he said. “Since settling in England she built an android replica of her brother.”
“Wasn’t her real brother enough for her?”
“He’s dead.”
“She sounds a trifle morbid.”
“Her brother fought in the last Brazil War, got hooked on Tek, and ended up working for Bennett Sands in one of his undercover Tek operations down there,” said Jake. “Marj believes Sands had her brother killed.”
“Momentito,” requested Gomez. “You’re not about to tell me that her late sibling was a lean lad with a bushy moustache and an earring made out of a chunk of Brazilian coinage?”
“Her brother Richard—that is, the android dupe she built—is the Unknown Soldier.”
“Madre.”
“And by now she’s sent him up to the Caribbean Colony to find Sands and kill him.”
“Sands nobody’ll miss. But if Dan and Nancy are nearby, they could get hurt in the spillover.”
“Yeah, and Marj is hours ahead of us,” he said. “We have to rush up there.”
The medibot shook his head. “That isn’t wise.”
“A hell of a lot of what I do isn’t,” said Jake.
“Sure, it fits,” said Gomez confidently. Holding both arms out at his sides, he did a slow turn on their stateroom floor. “A bit snug, admittedly, across the middle.”
“Definitely snug,” agreed Jake. Like his partner, he was wearing a dark blue blazer with the familiar Newz logo emblazoned on the breast pocket in crimson.
“Natalie was in a hurry and had to guess at the sizes.”
“You sure you want to collaborate with her from here on?”
“That’s why I contacted her, amigo,” answered Gomez. “It seems to me this is a feasible way for you and I to slip unobtrusively into the Caribbean Colony.” He tugged at the bottom of his coat. “Nat’s arranged to interview the would-be King Arthur II for Newz. We tag along, posing as her colleagues, until we’re safely aboard the satellite.”
“It may work.” Jake crossed to the window.
They were aboard the Bahama Queen, a luxury shuttle that traveled between London and the Caribbean Colony.
Gomez burnished the Newz crest on his pocket with his knuckles. “Once there, Nat’ll pretend to do the interview while we sneak off to track Bennett Sands to his lair.”
“Keep in mind,” said Jake, turning away from the view of silent space, “that the Unknown Soldier is also hunting for him.”
“We’re smarter than an andy,” his partner pointed out. “Therefore, even though he’s got a head start, we can beat him to the goal.”
“This Richard Lofton simulacrum has found and killed several others,” reminded Jake. “And he’s got Marj coaching him.”
Gomez took another critical look at himself in the wall mirror. “Too bad these blazers only come in this drab color,” he observed. “Well, let’s join Nat up on Deck 7.”
Their cabin was on Level 5 and they rode a circular ramp to Level 7.
“Natalie and that snide robot cameraman of hers should be awaiting us in Bob the Beachcomber’s Cafe.” Gomez tugged again at his blazer in hope of getting it to fit somewhat better.
The corridor they were walking along was lined with a mixture of shops, offices, restaurants, and saloons.
As they approached the Calypso Bar & Grill, the rattan doors swung open. A large, thickset man in a bright plaid suit emerged.
Casually, Gomez nudged his partner. “Strive to look like a newsman,” he advised out of the corner of his mouth.
The big man glanced at Gomez, took two steps, did a take, and started reaching inside his plaid coat. “Holy Hannah, it’s the Mex!”
“Trouble,” said Gomez, “in the form of a Parisian goon.”
The partners moved apart.
The goon was tugging out his needlegun.
Jake sprinted forward, then dove right at him.
He butted the gunman hard in the stomach, sending him tottering backwards.
“Son of a gun,” observed the big man as he suddenly sat down on his tailbone.
“Another one,” warned Gomez, turning toward the second big man who was coming out of the bar.
Jake meantime chopped the needlegun out of the man’s grasp. He rose deftly to his feet and then tugged the man upright by the lapels of his plaid coat.
Jake hit him twice on the chin.
The man sighed and fell down again.
Gomez had used his stungun on the second assailant. Eyeing the rattan doors, he said, “That must be the entire set of heavies, amigo.”
Nobody else came out of the Calypso Bar & Grill.
Jake suggested, “Let’s drag these louts to a quiet spot and have a talk. This one ought to come to in a few minutes.”
“I noticed a laundry room back around the bend.” Gomez bent, grabbed the wrists of the stunned hood, and began dragging him down the corridor. “That ought to do.”