“Been lucky so far.” Trader rested the butt of the Armalite on the floor.
“Yeah.” Ryan couldn’t have disagreed. There was a feeling of movement and hustle all about them. Twice they’d been nearly picked off by fast-moving sec patrols, finding empty rooms to hide in at the last moment.
Trader moved closer to him, dropping his voice. “When do we chill the little fuck?” He gestured toward Buford, who was leaning on his stick, looking tense and exhausted.
Ryan considered the question. “When we have to,” be finally replied. “Not before.”
“Could take him out right now. He’s brought us where we want to be.”
“No.”
“Like I’ve said, Ryan, you’ve gotten soft with being away from me.”
“You can say that, Trader, but you can’t really expect me to comment.”
The older man shrugged. “All right. But I’ll watch the whitecoat like a hawk after a rabbit. One wrong step and he’s off the mountain.”
“Sure.”
Ryan turned to Buford. “Sure Crichton’s in there?”
“Sure, at this time of day. His chamber is next to the main lab. And after all the alarms that have been going on in the last couple of hours, he’ll be resting in there. His health is far from excellent.”
Ryan nodded. “Right. We’ll pay him the call right now. You go in ahead of us, Buford, and take the edge off any sec men in there. We’ll be right at your heels.”
KRYSTY WAS ANGRY.
“I tell you this is the best way to do it. Head for Crichton’s quarters. If Ryan and Trader are anywhere around, then that’s where they’ll be. And I have to see Ryan quickly.”
” ‘Course you do.” Mildred managed a smile. “We all want to see him again.”
J.B. wasn’t happy. “Are you really sure that this is the way to get to the headman’s place? How come you know the back ways in this warren?”
“I was brought and taken back in different ways, and they also showed me around a lot. Through here.”
They went into a narrow room, with doors at either end, cutting a corner off two corridors. There was a box on one of the shelves that brought the Armorer up short.
“Hey, hold on!”
“What?” Krysty stamped her booted foot. “You trying to fuck me around here? We have to get on.”
“Simmer down,” Abe said.
J.B. reached up and took down the heavy box. On the end facing them, in neat stenciled lettering, was the single word Grens .
“Now these could be useful.” He pried off the lid, his face showing his disappointment. “Most are blank training grens.” He brightened. “But there’s a couple of burners. One blue-and-scarlet implode with a loose fuse. Two delays and a couple of frags. Here, Jak, you take the delays. Abe, you carry the frags. I’ll pocket the burners.”
“You don’t need those,” Krysty said abruptly. “You got blasters enough.”
“Better to have weapons and not need them than to need them and not have them,” Abe said. “Trader used to say that. Guess he still does.”
“Right,” J.B. agreed. “There, Krysty, that didn’t take long. Lead on.”
BUFORD WAS PUSHED into the big room, stumbling and nearly falling, only saving himself with his stick. Ryan and Trader were right behind him.
It was furnished like a bedroom, with a large mattress laid on the floor at one side, covered in a pale green duvet. There, his head resting on pillows, was Crichton. He looked pale, eyes closed, hands folded on his chest.
Ryan was more concerned with the three sec men who’d been standing around a table, picking at some cold meats and bowls of varicolored mush. They had turned around as soon as the door opened, then relaxed when they saw it was Professor Buford.
By the time they saw the two outlanders, it was too late and they were too slow. The edge was gone.
“Blasters on the floor, then move over away from the table and lie down,” Trader snapped. As the men hesitated a moment, he added, “One chance of living. Do like you’re told, or you all get to be dead right here and now.”
The cold wolfish smile on the carved granite face told the sec guards that Trader was a man who meant what he said. They all obeyed him.