penthouse floor, which means all those chill-crazed stickies will end up jammed butt to elbow on the floor underneath, beating on the walls and ceiling trying to get in and get at him.’*
J.B. led his friends back through the power-plant door. The slaves didn’t look glad to see him.
“Okay, let’s get that car down here,” he told them.
Sullenly the muties rose to the task, bracing their arms against the steel turnstile. No one pushed, though.
“Move it,” J.B. ordered.
“You got to pull that lever first,*’ Lester said. “Take it out of gear.”
When J.B. hauled back on the steel handle, something clacked in the machinery above them and a big blob of black grease dripped onto the floor. The slaves started backing up, and as they did, the overhead gears turned, unwinding thick, braided steel cables from a massive drum.
“Better get out there with the blasters,” J.B. told Mildred and Doc, “in case there’s stickies riding in the car.*’
They grabbed up the autorifles and hurried out into the corridor. Bracing themselves against opposite walls, sighting down the barrels of their weapons, they bracketed the left side of the shaft. In a few seconds the bottom of the car appeared at the top of the shaft opening. The black gap grew wider and wider. Then they saw the soles of shoes facing them, then legs. They weren’t moving. They belonged to two women who had been crushed at the back of the car by their fellow
norms. The elevator creaked to a halt at the bottom of
the shaft.
Doc and Mildred didn’t have to check the bodies to know they were dead. They left them there and rejoined J.B. in die power plant
“How long does it take for you to pull the car up to the top floors?” J.B. asked the slaves.
“Depends on how much weight is in it,” tester said.
“I’d say no more than a couple hundred pounds.”
“Then four, mebbe five minutes.”
“What’re you gonna take up there?” the gill mutie demanded. “‘Cause mebbe we don’t wanna move it if it’s gonna chill stickles. Ever mink of that? Mebbe we want them to win. They’re gonna let us free.”
The other mutie slaves grunted in agreement.
“Oh, it’s going to chill stickies, all right,” J.B. said, taking the AK from Mildred. “If they’re all packed in at the top of the hotel about now, trying to slaughter the last of the norms, the baron and his sec men, I figure to nail most all of them in one swoop.1’
Carried away with his own eloquence, the gill mutie pounded on the spoke with his fists. “Mebbe we’ll let the sec man there do all the pushing,” he said. “See how long that takes.”
J.B. shouldered the AK and shot the slave once in the head, blasting its brains all over the room. Other slaves ducked behind their spokes. The gill mutie’s body hung from its chains, twitching.
“Anybody else want to make a fuss?” J.B. said. “Anybody else think I’m not serious here?”
The slaves glowered at him, but there were no more objections.
J.B. passed the AK back to Mildred. Then he and Doc walked back to the elevator. With the old man’s help, he dragged the women’s bodies out of the car, then began to fill the floor with rows of metal cans. He was very particular about their order of placement. Certain chemicals had to go against the back wall of the car, and others right up at the front. As they set down the containers, they unscrewed and discarded the lids.
“Merciful Lord,” Doc said, “these vapors are making me light-headed.”
“Take it easy, Doc,” J.B. said. “The fumes from this stuff can be dangerous. Why don’t you step out and let me finish the job.”
When he was done, J.B. took two of the open cans and poured their contents over the rest. The floor of the car was puddled with accelerant
“How are you going to ignite it?” Doc asked.
“That’s all figured out, don’t worry,” the Armorer said, turning back for the power plant. “Let’s get this snow on the road.”
AN ENGINE OF DESTRUCTION roared beneath the feet of 1 the occupants of the penthouse. On the twenty-fourth floor blasterfire raged, wilder and wilder. Flurries of unaimed slugs continued to tear up through the rug, pocking the walls and ceiling. Then the battle sounds