J.B. stomped off, only to quickly return with the missing pair. No words were spoken as Ryan made his way past, the others falling in behind him. The low-wattage lighting conspired with the vanadium walls to create a multitude of faint shadows, skittering pieces of dark against the light as the group made its way down the hallway.
Now that all had been reunited, the order of their descent back into the lair was a traditional, predetermined one, a secure wedge of seven friends who had grown to rely on one another despite the brief internal squabbles that might occasionally erupt. Tempers sometimes flared, but when the time arrived, they stuck together firmly as a family to survive the harshness of the world they were forced to call home.
Ryan turned to face the group after they had determined the redoubt was secure.
“Fill up the canteens,” the dark-haired man said. “Might be a while before we get another chance. Every one take a good long drink, but not too much. Our trip isn’t over yet, and I don’t want to have anybody puking up water if it can be avoided.”
His young son, Dean, collected the canteens and left to start filling them in the tiny kitchen.
After their thirsts had been quenched, there was nothing left to be said.
Taking up the triple-red-alert positions again, all gathered and waited, standing before the only door they hadn’t yet entered. They knew what was inside from the last time, and none of them relished going back through for a return visit. The door was different from the others in the redoubt in both shape and design, its surface bearing a disk sheathed in silvery metal surrounded by three concentric collars of thick steel.
Another keypad was on the wall, and next to it was a laminated sign bearing red letters Biohazard Beyond This Point! Entry Forbidden To Personnel Not Wearing Anticontaminant Clothing!
“Oops,” Ryan said mildly. “Any of you remember to pack a pair of anticontaminant coveralls?”
The mock query went unacknowledged. Their fears of a rogue biological agent having been loosed inside the room they were about to enter had been debated last time. Mildred had felt sure the combination of the passage of time and the lack of obvious damage in the redoubt would indicate their safety against being infected with any killer microorganisms.
“Guess not,” Ryan murmured, answering his own rhetorical query. “Looks like we’re going in dressed as we are.”
He reached out and pressed in the familiar sequence to open the door. Ryan was standing to one side, his blaster held at the ready, braced against his lean right hip. The other companions were arrayed behind him, their own weapons held tight in readiness to pour a vicious drumming of full-metal-jacketed death into anyoneanythinghostile that might be waiting inside.
Following the hiss of pneumatics and internal machinery, the metal door rolled slowly to the left, disappearing into a open slot to allow entrance.
The room that was now revealed was dim. Ryan could make out dark blocks of shapes inside the immediate threshold. He exhaled a deep breath and stepped into the chamber. This motion caused an automatic lighting system to kick in the moment his presence was noted. A sickly greenish fluorescent bank of overhead lights illuminated the complete contents of the cluttered twenty-yard-long room.
Ryan strode quickly through, his eye noting the tables loaded with pristine glass tubes and beakers, silent gauges and softly humming comp terminals. His blaster stayed in his right hand, cocked and ready, as he headed for the door on the other side of the biolaboratory.
“Hope no bugs have gotten out since last time,” J.B. muttered as he followed Ryan inside.
“Now, that’s a cheery thought,” Krysty Wroth retorted.
“Doubtful,” Mildred said, her own dark eyes scanning the hidden genetics laboratory. “If so, there’s not a damn thing we can do about it now.”
“I feel a most distinct tickle in my nostrils,” Doc Tanner began. “Do you think perhaps?”
“No. Like I told you the last time, any virus that might be loose in here was most likely designed to attack through the skin. Your nose is itching from desert sand or your own weak nerves,” Mildred snapped, her voice slightly hollow in the chamber. “And if you’re going to sneeze, use your handkerchief! You’re probably carrying around a more dangerous disease than we’d ever find creeping around in here.”