That was the plan for later in the day.
For now, all he could do was wait.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Say that again,” the baron demanded.
“We were watching him in the cafeteria,” sec chief Grundwold said, “and waiting for the best time to take him because we didn’t want to make a scene so close to his victory over Mog.”
“And then…?”
“And then a fight broke out over one of the breeders. In the confusion the one-eyed outlander got out of the building.”
The baron was circling the sec chief now, like an animal going in for the kill. “Say that last part again.”
Grundwold cleared his throat. “In the confusion, the outlander got away.”
“You let him get away.”
Grundwold said nothing.
“You let him get away,” the baron repeated.
“Yes,” Grundwold said, his shoulders slumping with the words.
“So now an already dangerous man has even more reason to rally the slaves against us. He’s already their hero, but now he’s a symbol of their own imprisonment.”
Again Grundwold said nothing.
“Isn’t that right?” The baron pressed home the point.
“He won’t get away.”
“Isn’t that right?” the baron repeated, not letting the sec chief steer the conversation away from the subject of his own failing.
Grundwold lowered his head. “That’s correct, Baron.”
“If you were in my position, what would you do with such gross incompetence?”
Grundwold knew exactly what he’d do to a sec man who screwed up. He would demote him several ranks and give him the most menial job until he was aching to prove his worth again. But of course, that wasn’t even close to the way the baron would handle such things. As a result, Grundwold said nothing, knowing it was a question he couldn’t possibly answer correctly.
“You can be sure I wouldn’t send you to clean toilets,” the baron said. “That might be your style, but it’s not mine. You see, I happen to need a sec chief at the moment, more than I’ve ever needed one before. But I need a competent one.”
“Yes, Baron.”
“I believe you are a competent sec chief, Grundwold, so I’m going to give you another chance to find the one-eyed outlander.”
“Thank you, Baron.”
“But not before I impose a suitable punishment.”
Grundwold closed his eyes, knowing that suitable punishment from the baron could be anything from a slap on the wrist to the removal of a limb.
“On your knees, Grundwold,” the baron ordered. Then he turned to Norman Bauer. “My special crop, please, Number One.”
Norman Bauer, who had been standing by impassively, went to a cupboard high up on one of the walls in the office and took out the baron’s “special crop.” It was an electric cattle prod, thicker than his usual leather crop, and was fitted with rechargeable batteries. It could administer a powerful and painful electric shock with a single touch.
Baron Fox circled the kneeling Grundwold, then touched the prod to his shoulder.
Grundwold’s body jumped as the room was suddenly bathed in the warm glow of electric blue. He groaned in pain as he tried to remain upright on his knees.
“Repeat after me… ‘I will catch the outlander.’ ”
” ‘I will catch the outlander,’ ” Grundwold grunted.
Baron Fox touched the prod to Grundwold’s hip.
Grundwold’s torso jerked sideways as all the muscles on his right side contracted.
Then, as Grundwold lay on the ground struggling to catch his breath, the baron touched the prod to his thigh and watched the sec chiefs leg twitch and convulse with electricity.
The sec chief screamed in pain.
The office smelled of ozone and burning flesh.
“Say it again,” the baron said. “Louder this time, and with conviction.”
Grundwold’s words were lost in a scream.
The main building was quiet, except for someone screaming in pain in a distant part of the building. At this time of day there would be people and sec men walking the halls outside her room, and there would be sounds of the workday beginning outside.
But there was none of that this morning.
Krysty opened the door and found that there wasn’t a sec man in the hallway. The building seemed abandoned, and she sensed it had something to do with Ryan. He was somehow in mortal danger, but was at least safe for the moment.