Exile to Hell

Kane threw him a bemused glance. “How do you propose to stop me?”

Grant folded his arms over his broad chest. “I’ll stop you.” His voice held no heat, no anger, only an intractable belief in his own words. Kane believed him, too.

“Okay.” Kane returned his attention to the explosives.

“Okay what?”

“Okay, we’ll both go.” He gestured to Anson’s Mag armor in the corner. “Armor up.”

Grant’s brow furrowed, his heavy jaw jutting out. “You could’ve argued with me some more, you know.”

“There’s no time, and I don’t have the inclination.”

“Good,” announced Brigid, sweeping into the room. “Neither do I.” She was followed by Lakesh and Domi.

“Why don’t we bring the whole redoubt in on this?” Kane asked. “Let’s ask Balam if he’d like to go.”

“No need,” replied Lakesh. “Since he was dragged here from Dulce, I’m pretty sure what his response would be. However, he can’t provide you with the layout of the place. I can.”

Brigid nodded. “Fine. Put it in a form I can study, either hard copy or digital. I’ll take a look and commit it to memory.”

Kane said wearily, “Let’s not have any more volunteers. This is a penetration, not a tour group.”

Brigid’s eyes glinted fiercely. “Grant’s going with you and so am I.”

“He’s my partner.”

“And so am I. You saw to that, Kane, whether you intended to or not.”

Kane didn’t respond in words. From a gun case, he removed an Hamp;K VP-70 handblaster, holster and belt. He tossed it across the room toward her, and Brigid snatched it effortlessly out of the air.

“Good muscle tone,” he said. “But that’s not enough. This may be a one-way trip.”

“No,” she stated firmly. “You do what you have to do, what you do best. I’ll see to it that we come back.”

Grant glanced over at Domi. “Don’t you want to tag along, too?”

She shook her white, close-cropped head vehemently. “Hell, no! Not this time. Been through enough. Bed’s soft and food’s good here. Don’t want to give ’em up so soon.”

Lakesh patted her arm fondly. “Flawless logic, child. Besides, your bound ribs will slow you up.”

“Won’t you be missed at Cobaltville?” Kane asked. “After what’s happened, won’t the baron call an emergency meeting of the Trust?”

“He won’t convene it over your flight. That’s a problem he’ll leave to Salvo to solve. Besides, Baron Cobalt is not in the ville at present. As for me being missed, Brigid can attest that my hours were unpredictable at best. One of the few privileges of my station and age.”

“There’s got to be a gateway in the ville, then,” Grant said.

“Of course. On Alpha Level, known and accessible only to the baron, his personal staff and certain senior members of the Trust. I’d intended to use it to spirit Brigid here. It would have been a far smoother and faster trip than the one you endured.”

“When were you planning to ‘spirit’ her away?” Kane asked. “She was about ten seconds away from execution.”

Lakesh shook his head dolefully. “Yes, and you spoiled a perfect hairbreadth rescue. Enough recriminations. Domi, help Brigid prepare. All of you meet me in the control center in ten minutes.”

Brigid left the room with Domi and Lakesh. Grant donned Anson’s armor, relieved to discover they were approximately of the same physique and weight. The helmet was a shade too large, but he adjusted the locking guard to snug the fit.

“We must be operating on half a load,” Grant said. “We don’t even know if there’s a functioning gateway unit there.”

“There is,” replied Kane.

They reviewed and supplemented their ordnance with gren-filled war bags, extra ammo clips and two flares apiece. After ten minutes, they walked to the control center. The door was open. Lakesh was seated before a computer console, busy working on the keyboard. He grunted in acknowledgment of their arrival.

From the redoubt’s stores, Brigid had dressed herself for speed and stealth rather than protection. She wore black, skintight pants and soft-soled half boots. Her sleeveless shirt was also black, and her hair was tied and braided back so it wouldn’t get in her way. A dark strip of cloth encircling her head kept her hair out of her eyes. The gun belt rode low on her hips. Domi was still applying stripes of combat cosmetics to her arms and face.

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