“Four down and done,” J.B. said, picking up one of the laser blasters and examining the dubious firing mechanism.
“T-t-t-t-t-termination with utter p-p-p-prejudice,” Dr. Avian gasped, reaching for the tiny trans-speak that hung from the top pocket of his long coat.
“Not us, Doc, you,” Ryan said, stooping to snatch the tiny transmitter and crush it under his heel.
“You wouldn’t kill a man of science? It is b-b-b-beyond logic.”
“Chill him, Ryan,” Doc Tanner said, face cold as sierra granite.
“You are a colleague,” Dr. Avian whimpered, still lying on his back and waving his artificial hand.
“Colleague,” Doc Tanner hissed. “I would as soon claim kinship with a diseased timber wolf. A scientist should labor only for betterment and for peace and for life. For the positive things. No man knows that as well as I do. You and your crawling, loathsome colleagues are working only for the powers of darkness. For the black lords of chaos. No, Dr. Avian, you should be crushed like a poisonous worm. Kill him, Ryan. Quickly, so that we can get on with our cleansing business.”
Ryan had never seen the old man so angered. He seemed to grow in stature, his eyes blazing with a menacing fire, his fists clenched at his side.
“I’ll ice him, Doc,” Finnegan said, glancing at Ryan for confirmation.
“Do it,” Ryan said.
It was so simple for an experienced killer like Finnegan to take out the frail scientist. In the brief struggle, the false hand became detached and began to make its own laborious way across the floor, trailing wires and a green circuit board behind it. As it neared the door, Lori followed it and set her foot on top of it. There was the tiny crackling sound of shorting circuits, and the hand was still.
J.B. broke the sudden silence. “These guns are totally U.S. All of ’em.”
Lori turned to the Armorer. “What is that meaning?”
“Unserviceable,” J.B. replied, dropping the blaster on the bed. “For once Finnegan’s right. Odds must be hundred to one on them working. They’re fine at low power but fucking useless if you push the dial around.”
“What now?” Jak Lauren asked.
“We go get our own weapons,” Ryan replied. “And our clothes.”
“And if we meet trouble?” Krysty asked, shifting her stance to avoid the spreading pool of blood that oozed stickily from the open mouth of one of the dead sec men.
“We’ve taken four. We can take the rest.”
THE CORRIDORS WERE EMPTY when they made their move.
Now that they were irreversibly committed to a course of bloody action, there was no point in concealment. No point in anything except speed.
“Place they stored our stuff’s around the next corner,” J.B. called, holding his handmade map of the complex.
In his other hand he held one of the blasters; he, Ryan, Finn, Jak and Krysty had each taken one. Despite Finnegan’s lack of confidence in the weapons, and the evidence of their own eyes, they were better than nothing. At the suggestion of the Armorer they set the illuminated pointer on ten rather than maximum power.
“Take a look, kid,” J.B. said, motioning for Jak to sneak ahead of them.
The boy flattened himself against the wall of the corridor, brushing his mane of snowy hair away from his eyes. He cautiously edged his face around the corner, then pulled back sharply.
“Nobody,” he said, grinning.
The storage room door was sturdier than many others around the complex, but it yielded to a succession of crushing kicks from Finnegan’s right foot. The hinges squealed and finally split, and the door burst open, revealing shelves and lockers.
“Let’s get ready, people,” J.B. said, leading them inside.
Jak waited in the corridor, keeping watch for sec patrols while the others quickly found their own clothes, tore off their coveralls and changed. They also found their own weaponsa far more important discovery.
“Let’s fucking go take ’em,” Finnegan said, waving his HK54A2 submachine gun. The big butcher’s cleaver in its leather sheath dangled menacingly at his left hip, balanced by the 9 mm Beretta pistol on his right hip.
Jak carefully checked his satin-finish .357 Magnum, peering along the six-inch barrel at one of the overhead lights. Slowly he reloaded it, not taking any chances that someone had tampered with the heavy pistol.