by Axler, James
There was something about the way he said it that made Mildred shiver. Back in the preskydark days, when she was involved in cryogenics, many of the medics and technicians she had worked with had used such terms, and in a similar tone of voice.
"In the meantime I want you to see the facilities we have here. Just so you people know what you're up against. Now follow me."
Wallace spun on his heel and waddled out of the room. As he passed Murphy, the sec chief gestured with the Heckler & Koch he was grasping. Sizing up the other four soldiers, J.B. saw that two of them clutched H&Ks, and two were holding Uzis. All five blasters were trained unwaveringly on their captives.
There was a boastful and proud quality to Wallace's voice that fired hope in Ryan's heart. He was so keen to show them how strong he was that he might unwittingly reveal a weakness. A quick glance at J.B. and an almost imperceptible nod of the Armorer's head showed that he had had similar thoughts.
Ryan led the way out between the sec men, who were well spaced by Murphy in order to insure that any attack couldn't be focused on more than one armed man. The group fell into their normal recce pattern, with J.B. staying back while Jak took the middle, Krysty and Dean in front of him, Mildred and Doc behind.
In front, Wallace had already embarked on a long-winded lecture about the history of the redoubt, and how it had served as a research-and-development unit while still fulfilling its main purpose as part of the Totality Concept. Ryan listened with interest to this part of the lecture. Over the years he had picked up shreds of information here and there about the Totality Concept, and also about the various weapons and operations that had been part of it. He was also interested in the way that Doc fit the pattern, his interest having been piqued by the information they had discovered at Crater Lake.
In many ways, this community reminded him of Crater Lake, the old scientific complex under an extinct volcano that had housed a community of inbred, mutated whitecoats. Except these people were insane in a more dangerous way, and still had a strong military discipline that would make them difficult to best.
As Wallace led them through the redoubt, both Ryan and J.B. tried to keep a mental note of where the corridors led. It looked to be laid out in a similar way to most of the redoubts they had visited, but there were extra sections and more levels. They went down five levels, enduring the hostile gaze of the redoubt inhabitants, going about their daily business, as they passed. All the while Wallace kept up his litany of praise for the work his ancestors had started and that his people were continuing.
"…and this is where we softened you up for interrogation. There are eight obs rooms in all, each one equipped similarly. Which was quite convenient, when you think of it, as there are seven of you…" He allowed himself a laugh. "As you know only too well, the techniques developed here are far ahead of anything you outsider scum may have."
He stopped them as he reached this point in the lecture. They were in the obs room where Dr. Tricks was collecting data spilling from a chattering printer. She looked around at them and raised an elegant eyebrow. Krysty looked her up and down with a perusing eye. She wouldn't have expected to see such physical perfection in an environment where even the muscle-bound sec men and their seemingly healthy chief showed some signs of mutation or inbreeding. Was she a mutie in some way that she didn't understand?
Trick had caught the end of the lecture. "There is one thing," she purred at Wallace. "For so-called outsider scum, they've proved rather adept at traveling. I'd love to know how they've learned to use the mat-trans, especially as our people have never quite worked it out."
Wallace glared at her. "You know why," he snapped. "They have Dr. Tanner, and you know what is to be done with him."
Tricks smiled. Krysty felt a shiver ran down her spine, and her hair snapped tight to her head, coiling protectively around her. She suddenly felt very afraid for Doc, and wondered at what cost he had bought their temporary reprieve.
Wallace led them through the redoubt. They moved down another level to the R&D labs, where the advanced armory was maintained. Here he showed them the remote-control trank tank that had taken them out in the corridor, and other mobile and remote-controlled weapons. J.B. was interested despite himself at gren fixers and large-caliber blasters mounted on tracks. There were flamethrowers and laser weapons that looked as though they might, at one time, have been deadly, but were now just highly polished junk.
Ryan and Jak exchanged a look. It was easy to see how the weapons had been allowed to descend to this degree of tidy disrepair by taking one look at the maintenance techs, many of whom were slack-jawed and drooling, or showing signs of too much inbreeding. The mutie genes were less obvious among these personnel —certainly nothing like the chilled maintenance man with the stickie heritage—but there was a large degree of insularity that had led to a mechanical repetition of tasks rather than understanding what they really meant.
Ryan found that interesting. If they were used to a mechanical routine, then anything that threw them off might cause confusion rather than spur them into the same military and drilled action that he knew the sec men would be capable of. That was a good sign.
On the eighth level they passed a laboratory that was sealed off by double-glazed and reinforced fire doors with a comp coded sec lock similar to those used on the electronic sec doors in the corridors.
Strangely Wallace became reticent when they reached this point. All of a sudden he clammed up on them.
"This level is where the mechanism is maintained. It was the great work for which we were trained and for which we all live. This is the work in which Dr. Tanner can help us."
"Aren't you going to tell us what this is?" Doc queried.
Wallace shot a venomous glance at him, and Murphy stepped forward to prod him in the ribs with the H&K.
"Shut up, you old fuck. You'll find out soon enough."
"Strange that you're so quiet now, though, isn't it?" Mildred asked Wallace.
"There are things about the mechanism that must be kept secret for now," he said sharply. "We'll move on."
It didn't escape anyone's notice that the garrulous fat man had something nasty to hide. What it was, no one could guess. One thing was for sure, it was a worry as to what was in store for Doc.
Where Wallace led them next put all such thoughts out of their minds. They went up several levels, then through a maze of corridors.
"And this, people, is the armory," Wallace announced proudly.
Despite himself, J.B. whistled softly at the array of weaponry and ammunition on view. Boxes upon boxes of rifles, grens, ammunition, gren launchers and mortars were carefully stacked around the base of the armory walls. Hanging on racks were the in-service weapons—
Uzi, MP-5 K, M-60 machine guns, grens primed and ready for use, boxes of ammo for the greased and gleaming blasters and a variety of smaller handblasters.
It was rare for an armory to still contain such an array of blasters and grens, let alone in such perfect working order and condition. The armory was a credit to Murphy and his forefathers.
Jak tried to move forward to get a closer look inside the armory, but he was nudged back into place by the barrel of an Uzi. He glared at the sec man with his good eye, hatred flashing across his scarred features.
"Watch it, mutie," the sec man growled.
"That's enough," Wallace snapped.
The sec man clicked his heels to attention and looked straight ahead. "Sir, my apologies."
"Very good," Wallace murmured before turning his attention to J.B. "Mr. Dix, I understand from Sarj Murphy's report that you are the weapons expert in this little band."
"Mebbe," the Armorer replied guardedly.
"Come now, there's no need for modesty. A good man with a gun is always needed."
J.B. raised an eyebrow. It was a long time since he'd seen or heard anyone refer to a blaster by its preskydark name.
"You notice my use of the term gun." queried Wallace. "I find it less crude than blaste
r, the scum outsider term for weaponry. Too basic, too all-encompassing," he mused, shaking his head.
J.B. caught a glimpse of Jak out of the corner of his eye. The albino had an expression on his face that spelled out his opinion of Wallace. It wasn't good. Ryan, on the other hand, was seriously considering the possibility that Wallace was so far gone into insanity as to just wipe them out where they stood.
The big man seemed to taper off, lost in thought. Then suddenly, as though snapping back from worlds unknown, he said, "Okay, Sarj, take them back to the dorm and contain them. I'll consult the techs on the mechanism and inform you when I require Tanner."
He looked at them with a detached disdain that bordered on contempt. Then, without another word, he spun on his heel and left them standing in front of the armory.
Ryan watched the man waddle around the corner of the corridor, then turned his head to Murphy. The sec chief was also watching Wallace with a look of bemusement. He caught Ryan watching him, and immediately blanked his face.
But not quickly enough for Ryan to wonder about his loyalty to Wallace.
"Right, people, move out like the Gen said," Murphy barked, gesturing with his blaster.
They turned and allowed themselves to be marched back to the dormitory. All kept their eyes wide for any sign of slack on the part of the sec men, any opportunity, no matter how slight, that might enable them to mount an escape bid.
There wasn't even the whisper of a chance. Murphy's men marched them efficiently back to the dormitory and locked them in.
"HOW CAN THAT GUY Wallace be so stupe?" Dean asked in amazement. "He's shown us the layout of the entire redoubt and where the armory is."
"It doesn't really appear to make sense," Krysty mused. "It's hardly great sec."
"It doesn't, but then why should it? Wallace is crazy. This whole redoubt is riddled with stupidity. You know that, even if you don't know why," Ryan said to Krysty. The blue of his one eye burned into her.
Krysty screwed up her face. "You're right there, lover. I've got a really bad feeling about the whole situation."
"So better do something," Jak added.
Mildred moved over to the door and looked up at the sec camera that surveyed the room.
"Yeah, but what?"
"YOU, SOLDIER, get that damn door open."
The soldier on guard outside the dorm snapped to attention as he heard Murphy storming toward him.
"Sir?"
"Don't you ever pay attention when you're at your post, soldier? What does the good book say, son? Vigilance is the sacred duty of the Sons of Sam. If the old fart is dying, then the Gen will have the both of us on a fuckin' charge. And I'm not patrolling the rad-blast wastes for a month just because you're a fuckwit."
"Sir," the soldier replied uncertainly to the stream of vitriol, "but what is it, sir?"
Murphy was carrying a Heckler & Koch, which he cranked up level with the door.
"Monitor, son," he said shortly. "The old bastard is writhing on his bed and the medic isn't getting far. Might have a better idea if the friggin' sound worked properly, but all I can make out is friggin' static. If the old fart dies, I'm dead meat, and without anyone to succeed me yet. Open the bastard door, boy."
"Sir…"
Leveling his Uzi, safety off, the guard punched the lock code into the door and turned the handle. He flung the door in and adopted a combat stance, rapidly counting the figures standing in front of him.
Six…and the old man was lying on one of the beds, moaning softly and clutching his guts. Damn, why hadn't he heard anything? He didn't want Murphy on his back.
Seeing that all of the captives were in plain sight, Murphy rushed into the room, sweeping his blaster in an arc to cover them.
"Okay, what's going on here? What's the matter with Tanner?" he asked, barely keeping the panic from his voice.
Mildred turned slowly from where she had been leaning over Doc. "Appendix, I think. Unless you have the right medical facilities and allow me to operate immediately, then he'll probably die."
Murphy focused on the last three words and panicked.
"The hell you'll operate," he shouted. "We've got our own medics. Think we'll trust some outsider?"
Ryan shrugged. "Okay, you get one of your inbred muties to do it and kill Doc off. Doesn't bother me."
Murphy opened his mouth to snap back a sarcastic answer, then considered his options.
"Let me take a look at him," he said, the nervousness now apparent in his voice.
The sec chiefs indecision infected the guard standing in the doorway. Twitching slightly, and training his blaster on the largest grouping of prisoners—the trio of Krysty, J.B. and Dean, who stood to the left of the bed—the guard ignored Jak.
An upbringing in the swamps hunting nervous and sensitive wildlife had given Jak the ability to move without seeming to do so.
Murphy's attention was locked on the bed, where Ryan and Mildred stood over Doc. The guard had his attention focused on the trio clustered to the left-hand side of the room. The forgotten silent albino teen glided around the room until he was just behind the guard, in the man's blind spot.
Ironically it was the sudden awareness of something being out of place that made him look around.
Too late. The plates from their last meal were still piled on a plastic tray, with the plastic cutlery heaped beside them. Remnants of the inedible meal still dirtied the surface of the plates. Pieces of stringy meat from an indeterminate animal, covered in a tasteless goo that passed for a sauce, were hard and stuck fast on the surface of the plate that Jak picked from the tray and in one fluid motion flicked toward the guard.
The albino was small and wiry, but years of practice with his knives had given him an incredible strength and dexterity in his wrists. He also had an unerring eye for distance, even with his vision reduced by his injuries. Instinctively he weighed the plate in his hand and directed it with the required amount of force.
It may only have been made of plastic, and had an edge that was blunt, but it was also a thin plate. Tilted to a forty-five-degree angle and propelled at great speed, it had no problem in crushing the guard's septum as it hit him on the bridge of his nose. Jak was about six inches shorter than the guard, and had also crouched slightly when throwing the plate. The upward trajectory drove the septum up and into the frontal lobes of the guard's brain.
Consciousness ceased almost immediately. His motor functions were a little behind, and as the guard went down, his trigger finger twitched. A spray of shells left the Uzi, scattering in an erratic arc as his dead arm was jerked around by the recoil of the blaster.
"What the fu—?"
Murphy never finished the curse. Blind instinct told him to hit the deck as the spray of fire flew across the room. As he went down, he cracked his head on an iron bedstead. Perhaps he would have considered it unlucky to have hit the very spot that Ryan's weighted scarf had injured earlier, but he should have considered it good luck. If he hadn't been rendered unconscious, he would most certainly have been chilled.
Leaving him in an attempt to save time was something that Ryan thought he might later regret, but at that moment, the one-eyed warrior was concerned only with getting his people armed and out.
"Good throw, Jak," Dean called admiringly as J.B. retrieved the Heckler & Koch, checking the downed sec chief for spare ammo.
"Teach you sometime," grunted the albino as he tossed the Uzi to Ryan with one hand while searching the dead guard for additional ammunition and weapons.
Doc stuck his head over the edge of the bed. When the shooting began, he had immediately ceased his agonized groaning and thrown himself over the side of the bed, taking cover beneath.
"I would assume it is safe to come into the open?" he asked innocently before baring his gleaming white teeth in a wry grin. "By the by, was my performance of an acceptable standard?"
"Oscar winning, Doc," Mildred replied. Then, noticing Doc's inquiring look, she dismissed the comment. "Before and aft
er your time at the same time, Doc."
The old man nodded solemnly. "A temporal reference, I have no doubt."
"Stop talking in riddles, you two," Krysty said as she joined Ryan. "Any other weapons on the coldheart bastard?"
Together they surveyed the paltry sum of J.B. and Jak's trawl through the pockets of the sec men—Murphy's blue 9 mm Beretta and a pocketknife from the sec chief, and a Glock 17 from the dead guard.
J.B. examined it with interest. "Not usually a predark sec blaster," he mused, rapt in his subject. "Mebbe another heirloom, like the blue Beretta. Kept in good condition. Which one would you prefer, Millie?"
"I'll go for the Beretta," Mildred said decisively, taking the blaster and judging the weight in her palm. "Much more accurate over a longer distance," she added.
"You take this." Ryan took the Glock and handed it to Krysty. She sighted along the snubby barrel in order to gauge the weapon.
Jak picked up the pocketknife and examined the blades and attachments before flicking out the one that he could inflict the most damage with. "Hope get better stuff soon," he said.
It left both Dean and Doc without weapons. Ryan would rather that all his team be armed, but in the circumstances the available weapons had been distributed as well as they could be. He and J.B. switched the H&K and Uzi as each preferred the other's blaster. Mildred had been a champion shootist in her prefreezie existence, and Krysty was no slouch.
They had gone about the task of distributing the available arms in an unhurried manner, but all the while they were aware of the camera, unblinking, that watched over the scenario as it was played out.
Only seconds had passed, but each second was valuable.
"Let's move out," Ryan ordered curtly. "I'll take point. We're heading for the armory. If we've got any chance of getting out of here, then we need to be armed. Mebbe get our own weapons back."