“Here, J.B., take my comm unit,” Ryan said. “We’ll keep in touch with you by using Krysty’s radio.”
Goodbyes were exchanged, then the boy and the Armorer were alone, seated on the cold floor and facing each other through the iron bars of the cell.
“You really know how to deactivate this thing?” Dean asked, nodding toward the lock.
“Of course.”
“So, let’s do it.”
OUT IN THE ADMITTANCE AREA of the Wings, long minutes had passed. J.B. hadn’t checked in via the comm. There was no real reason for constant chatter. If he failed at his task, the others would know immediately from the explosion.
“How do you think it’s going out in the mall proper?” Mildred mused.
“From what I saw coming in, lousy,” Ryan replied.
“Just human nature,” Doc said, twirling his swordstick between his fingers. “With all of the good, you get more of the bad. This proud beacon named Freedom was an ambitious experiment. In a smaller configuration, it might have continued to thrive. Alas, the body outgrew the head, and now it falls.”
“Damn stickies,” Jak said. “Stickies didn’t help, but Doc’s got a point,” Krysty added. “Freedom didn’t have near the amount of sec men needed to properly protect the place, either from the outside or from itself.”
Ryan glanced at his wrist chron for the fiftieth time since he’d come out of the cell block. “Taking too long,” he said, and activated the radio. “J.B.?” Silence.
“J.B., answer me.” Silence. Static.
“J.B., goddammit! Answer me before I come in after you!”
“What?” the Armorer’s voice came back. “I’m kind of busy here.”
“Been twenty minutes. Taking too long.”
“Working as fast as I can, Ryan.”
“Well, work even faster!” Ryan said, his frustration mounting. “Last thing we need is to have all our asses locked up or to be backed against the wall by a group of pissed-off mall customers running from a gang of stickies.”
“You want to get down here and do this?” J.B. retorted, his angry voice crackling back over the small hand comm.
“If you think it would help, yeah!” Ryan spit at the radio unit.
“You don’t have the patience,” the Armorer countered, even as his nimble fingers seemed to increase their speed on the cell door’s locking mechanism. “You never did.”
“Bullshit.”
“Get off it, Ryan. You used to drive Trader crazy back in the old days, always wanting to go in with blasters blazing, and Trader wasn’t exactly what I’d call a patient man, either, if you know what I mean.”
Ryan’s face darkened. “What I know is that those alarms are going to draw some attention, stickie attack or not.”
“Look, if I could blast the bastard lock, I would,” J.B. replied tiredly. “But we don’t have that particular time-saving option available. This is delicate work. I can rush it if you want Dean back without a head. That I can do for you.”
“That isn’t an option, J.B.”
“Okay. So, unless you want to start leading your son around by the hand to keep him from bumping into the furniture, I can’t afford to rush this. If that’s not the case, I suggest you back the hell off and stop pushing. When he’s free, you’ll be the first to know. Dix, out.”
“Fine,” Ryan said in a cold tone as he flipped the comm’s voice toggle to Off. He knew J.B. was right, but that didn’t make waiting any easier, nor the did remote chance that his friend might indeed make an error and cause injury to the imprisoned Dean.
Krysty started to say something, but Ryan held up a hand.
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t want to hear it.”
AT THE DOOR of the sec cell, J.B. was sweating profusely. Trickles of perspiration were running down his forehead and onto the bridge of his nose and on his cheeks. His glasses were slightly fogged from the body heat, but he didn’t dare try to take the time to keep wiping them when he was so close to succeeding.
Still, the film over the lenses was becoming quite annoying.
“Can’t see worth a shit. These new glasses fog up a lot quicker than my old ones,” he griped.