“Can’t complain,” she said. “Some piece of shit stole my pistol.”
“Borrowed, Dr. Wyeth. Borrowed,” Jamaisvous replied, tugging her arm back harshly and making her wince.
“Where’s Doc?” Ryan asked, his voice tight with menace. Mildred started to answer, but Jamaisvous jammed the muzzle of the target pistol against her skull, which silenced her but drew forth a dangerous, almost imperceptible growl of anger from J.B.
“I honestly don’t know. Quite a span of years for him to choose from, actually. I sent him forward and I sent him back and back again and forward, with this being the final stop. He should be arriving inside the chamber any moment now, but I imagine after four chron jumps he’s not going to be feeling all that peppy, so I wouldn’t count on an assist from the good Dr. Tanner anytime soon.” Jamaisvous paused. “I was about to take Dr. Wyeth in search of some medical supplies, just in case he does make the trip in one coherent piece.”
“Oh, yeah. Right. You’re a real concerned guy, Silas.” Ryan’s blue eye was alert and watching, waiting to find a chink in the mad doctor’s armor so he could take him out without hurting Mildred.
“Thanks, I’m sure. Hey, I make the effort. I want to be acknowledged, okay?”
“As what, an asshole?” Mildred asked.
“Shut your mouth,” Jamaisvous whispered, his face close to her own. “Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.”
“Your play,” Ryan said. “What do you want to do, here? Make the wrong move, and we’ll chill you so fast you’ll be dead before hitting the floor.”
“I wouldn’t want that, Cawdor. Not when I’m so close. So, in old-world vernacular, what say we play ‘Let’s make a deal.”‘
Ryan smiled back wolfishly. “I don’t negotiate with crazy sons of bitches like you, Silas. Always come out on the short end of the stick.”
“Who’s negotiating, Cawdor? Mildred lives, I live, we all live! Hell of a deal, I think, and best of all, we get to posture and preen and fight another day.” As he spoke, Jamaisvous was slowly working his way backward to the heavy steel door leading to the mat-trans gateway and control room. “I’ve been working toward an agenda for the last two years, and your arrival only accelerated my plans. In fact your timing was perfect.”
“What are you talking about?” Ryan asked.
“He lied, Ryan,” Mildred said tightly. “He was never placed in cryo suspension. He’s a time traveler, just like Michael Brother and Doc.”
“Guilty as charged, Cawdor. And like your precious Doc Tanner, I want to go back home, but unlike him, I have the means and the wherewithal to carry though with the plan!”
His back now up against the door, Jamaisvous reached behind with the hand cuffed to Mildred’s and keyed the entry buttons, and in reply, the door slid upward into the ceiling. Backing into the doorway of the room, he shoved Mildred forward and hit the lever that brought the door slamming back down.
The same door cut the chain linking the manacles, expediently freeing Mildred and Jamaisvous from each other without the worry of using the key.
The Armorer was at his lover’s side in an instant, his usual poker face animated with concern. “You okay, Millie?” he asked.
“Fine. Have to get held hostage more often,” she remarked. “Actually seems to have got a rise out of you.”
“Have to admit one thing, lover,” Krysty said to Ryan as she helped J.B. pull Mildred to her feet.
“What?” Ryan barked back as he glared at the door.
“Jamaisvous does have style.”
“Fuck him and fuck his style,” Ryan snorted, glaring at the reinforced metal door leading into the control chamber for the mat-trans chron unit. Despite his glowering, the door remained shut. Ryan had heard the sound of an auto lock being thrown from the other side, the bolt sliding solidly home once Jamaisvous had gone through.
Furious beyond reason, the one-eyed warrior pulled his SIG-Sauer from his holster and was about to unleash a hail of 9 mm bullets into the lock when Mildred screamed out shrilly for him to stop.
“What? He get to you?” Ryan snarled, his eye sweeping up and down the physician’s body, taking in the new clothing Mildred was wearing. The blaster swiveled in his hand, the muzzle pointing from the door to Mildred’s midsection. The one-eyed man’s face was a study in barely contained scarlet rage, the flush of heat brightening the scar stretching down his cheek.