The Agent Gambit Read Free

bundled up the used clothing, but a wary glance at the smoke detector convinced him to dispose of the clothing differently.
    Another quick tour of the tiny apartment satisfied him that all was in order. It was time to move on, if he intended to catch the late shuttle to Prime Station.
    He dropped tenbit on the counter for the landlord to find, gathered up his bundle of clothes, and turned out the lights.
    Three blocks closer to the Port he stepped firmly through a pool of light, to all appearances a night-guard or a shuttle-ape on his way to work. The clothes had been scattered in three separate alleys, and he felt confident that, on such a world as Lufkit, they would not remain ownerless long.
    The night was very quiet; the street he walked, empty. Abruptly, he chose a side street. His hunch had it that things were unnaturally quiet in the area. Noting that the vehicle parked at the far end of the street bore a strong resemblance to a police cruiser, he melted into the shadows and turned down the next alley, striking diagonally for the Port.
    The way was twisty and unlit, the glow from the Port cut off by towering warehouses. Relying on his ears and an excellent sense of place, the little man proceeded soundlessly, if not quickly.
    He froze at the first sound of pellet fire, sorting echoes and waiting for a repeat. It came. There was more than one shot: a fusillade, coupled with shouts. He drifted toward the ruckus, hand on gun.
    The alley twisted once more and widened into bright spaciousness, showing him a loading dock and five well-armed persons protected behind shipping containers and handtrucks. Before the dock a red-haired woman held a gun to the throat of a Terran, using his body as a shield between herself and the five others.
    "Please guys," the hostage yelled hoarsely. "I'll give you my share-I swear it! Just do like she-"
    One of those behind the containers shifted; the hostage stiffened with a throttled gasp, and the woman dropped him, diving for the scant cover of a wooden crate. Pellets splintered it, and she rolled away, the fleeing hostage forgotten, as one of the five rose for a clear shot.
    The little man's gun spat once, and the assassin slumped over his erstwhile concealment, weapon sliding from dead fingers.
    "Over there!" one of the hidden men screamed. "There's someone-"
    A pellet whined over the little man's shoulder and he jumped for cover, swearing alike at reactions and hunches. At the dock, the woman had come to her feet, accounting for another of her opponents with casual efficiency. The little man found himself the recipient of an assassin's sole attention and calmly put three holes through the container sheltering her. There was a scream-and then nothing.
    Suddenly, the two remaining assassins were up, rushing the red-haired woman and firing wildly. She dodged behind a container and fired, but they came on, though a red stain had appeared on the lead man's sleeve.
    The little man took careful aim. The leader dropped. Half a heartbeat later, the woman's shot accounted for the last of the five.
    Warily, the man came out from his cover, beginning to salute the woman.
    The blow that knocked him unconscious took him entirely by surprise.

    ONE HAD GOTTEN away, which was not good.
    The red-haired woman came back down the alley and stooped to run probing fingers over the dark head and touch the pulse at the base of the slim throat. She froze, counting the rhythm for a full minute, then settled back on her heels, hands hanging loosely between her knees.
    "Ahhh, damn."
    She stared at the dark lump of the stranger, willing him to come to, pick up his gun, and go away.
    No luck today, Robertson, she said to herself. Man saved your life. You gonna leave him here?
    Cursing herself for a seven-times fool she scooped up the fallen weapon and stashed it in her belt. Then she bent to get a grip on the stranger and heaved.

    THANK THE GODS for robot cabs, she thought sometime later, letting her burden slide to