“Where are you going?” J.B. asked them.
“How are you getting there?” Ryan said.
One of the butchers answered by throwing his meat cleaver. His right hand moved in a blur. Before Ryan could dodge or duck, the cleaver struck him in the middle of the visor. The point of the blade penetrated the armor by about half an inch.
J.B. cut loose on the guy at once, drawing a smoking line from his chin to his crotch. The bloodless wound gaped so wide that J.B. could see the wall on the other side through it. With his innards neatly divided, and ninety-five percent of his spine vaporized, the butcher slumped across the table, then slowly melted to the floor.
The other butchers were moving, in opposite directions, at high speed behind the cover of the table. J.B. sawed the legs out from under one side of it, dropping the top, and dumping the collection of dead things onto the floor. Then he sliced the overturned tabletop in half lengthwise. Behind it, one of the surviving men was also cut in two.
The third ran for the open door, screaming.
J.B. kept the trigger pinned and swung the muzzle up his track, in the process cutting through the bubbling pots, spilling seventy gallons of slop, shattering the assembled beakers and electronic toxicity analyzers and chopping machines. The laser crossed the man’s midsection, and he stopped screaming. The top half of his body fell backward as his legs fell forward; both sections crashed to the floor.
“Let’s get out of here quick,” Ryan said, heading for the door.
Outside, the hallway was clear. They left the kitchen and continued on until J.B. noticed the gasketed door, which was shut. “This could be it, Ryan,” he said.
As the one-eyed man reached for the door’s locking wheel, he heard the sounds of violent struggle on the other side. Landed blows. Scuffling feet. Then a woman’s voice, howling a curse.
A familiar voice. And a familiar curse.
Chapter Twenty-Five
In the lee of the boiling water tank, Jak held up his fingers for Mildred to see and counted them down to zero. Words weren’t necessary between the teenaged albino and the cryogenically preserved black woman. Based on the situation, based on their past experience, they knew exactly what had to be done.
Jak coiled himself and sprang for the water tank’s twisted ladder. Though the tank was tipped over, the ladder offered a protected route to the top side. The rear of the crumpled cylinder was hidden from the view of the troopers massed on the flatland, but not from the heat of their concentrated laser fire, Showers of white-hot sparks rained on him, and the ladder rungs scalded his hands as he climbed.
On the other side of the compound, Mildred was likewise trying to gain some elevation on their targets. Avoiding the puddles of molten glass around the wheels, she climbed the side of the ore truck’s cab.
As Jak reached the top side of the tank, the steam billowing up from its ruptured belly partially hid him from the enemy. Standing on the side of the corkscrewed ladder, Jak raised himself up, shouldered his pulse rifle and sent a green beam screaming across the compound. He didn’t aim at the kneeling black figures. He aimed instead at the glass beneath and around them.
He only got off a short blast of energy before the answering fire ripped back at him. He ducked as a fountain of sparks erupted from the shoulder of the tank and a stunning wall of heat hit him.
By then, Mildred was on the roof of the wag, firing at the battlesuited troopers. And drawing fire in return.
As soon as the energy blasts from the flatland shifted her way, Jak popped up again and poured more green light onto the glass. It didn’t take much to soften the material. A few seconds and the surface turned wet and shiny.
As the five troopers began to shift their aim points again, chunks of glass started arcing down onto them. The slaves had picked up the fight, which made the troopers shift their aim points yet again.
There were too many threats to deal with at once.