The sudden movement caught the opposition off guard, and there was a second of silence before the opening fire was returned. The enemy was torn between firing at Jak and J.B., or trying to pick off Ryan as he moved rapidly along the wall. He had twenty yards to make, and only a couple of seconds in which to do it.
“Dammit, he’s going for the door. Concentrate on One-eye!”
The voice had been low and drawling, but had carried a steely authority that cut through the noise of the blasterfire. Ryan mentally marked that down as the voice of the opposition leader as he reached the panel.
“Try to take out the panel,” the voice called over the fire, and suddenly Ryan found that the only threat he faced was that of ricochets and flying concrete chips as the fire became less heavy, and concentrated solely on taking out the panel on the other side of the sec door.
Fireblast, the one-eyed warrior thought, the man’s smarter than I thought. For Ryan knew that the closed door put the opposition at a disadvantage, and the best way to stop the door closing, at that distance, was to try to disable the mechanism rather than chill him. If the panel on the other side was shot up, then the door’s closing mechanism would jam.
By this time, Ryan had reached the panel and was tapping in the sec code, hoping that his luck would hold and that some sharpshooter on the opposing side wouldn’t get lucky. J.B. and Jak were doing their best to tilt the odds by laying down a covering fire that was preventing the opposing marksmen from being able to take full aim.
Sweat dripped down the one-eyed man’s forehead as he punched the last digit of the code, stinging his good eye and running into the empty socket behind the eye patch.
“Work, dammit, work,” he gritted as the last digit was entered, and the door began to creak into action, moving from its housing in the wall. Ryan flattened himself against the wall, sheltered from any real danger by the pillar housing the control panel. He had the SIG-Sauer leveled, barrel pointing slightly downward, ready to blast anyone who may be so foolish as to try to spring into action before the door closed. He just hoped it would close fully; otherwise it would leave a gap someone could fire through, and would make it difficult for him to retreat back to cover.
Jak and J.B. had ceased firing once the door reached halfway closed, unwilling to waste any more ammo than was necessary. The opposition obviously felt the same, as the blasterfire from their side decreased to the odd shot.
The door creaked the last few inches and came to rest on the wall, effectively sealing them off from their enemy.
Tentatively, the companions emerged from the two rooms to join Ryan, who was now standing before the door, able at last to relax the muscles that ached with the tension of battle.
“So what now?” Mildred asked.
“Ah, now that is the question, is it not?” Doc said, leaning on his sword stick. “I believe we are in what is commonly referred to as stalemate.”
“What?” Dean asked with a puzzled expression.
Doc favored the youth with an indulgent look. “Ah, my dear boy, it is something that comes from a time before this. Once, when men could afford to take time out from the affairs of the world, there was a game of skill and tactics called chess. The object, as in all games, was for one of the competitors to win. But—and here’s the rub—if both players were equally matched, then often the game would end with neither in a position to win.”
“Sorry, Doc, but I don’t see what that’s got to do with a stale mate…” Dean pronounced it as two separate words, and looked to the others for assistance.
“The old game survived some,” Krysty said quietly. “Mother Sonja and Uncle Tyas McCann would play for days back in Harmony. You see, Dean, to get in a winning position would be mate. To win totally would be checkmate. But to be stuck in a position where it was impossible for either to win would be stalemate.”