James Axler – Rat King

who shrugged.

“The old man hasn’t been in a firefight for years. Guess he’s just overexcited,”

Mac said.

“He’d better calm down, or he’ll get you all chilled,” Ryan murmured.

Mac nodded.

When they reached the group, clustered in front of the wags, Abner and the

others had been calmed considerably by words from Krysty and Mildred. For some

reason they were more inclined to listen to them than to Dean or Jak.

“It’s because they look on them as kids, despite the fact they could outfight

most of us,” Mac commented.

J.B. stood a little apart from the rest, checking his Uzi, then reloading the

M-4000. He beckoned to Ryan, who left Mac and went to join his old friend.

“What is it?”

J.B. took off his glasses and cleaned them, then pushed back his fedora and

scratched at his forehead.

“I’m worried,” he said simply.

“About these stupes?” Ryan asked, indicating the raiding party with an incline

of the head.

“Nope. Me. This ankle. If I get left behind, don’t worry about me too much. I’ll

find a way—”

Ryan clasped his friend on the shoulder. “No. We split up with different

objectives, but no one gets left behind. Fireblast, we might even find Doc.”

The Armorer allowed himself a wry smile. “You think he’s still alive?”

“Wallace wanted him for a reason. He’s not likely to have chilled him just like

that,” Ryan said, snapping his fingers.

The one-eyed warrior turned his attention back to the main group. Going over to

them, with J.B. close behind, Ryan said, “They’re on the run, but not because of

us. There’s something else going on here, and we need to find out what it is.”

“WE ARE UNDER ATTACK. Wallace is not the man he was. We sense that he isn’t the

same man. How much time has passed since we were joined together? What has

occurred outside in that time? And part of us wants to know why, when we have

this capacity, we spend our time using just a fraction of it to run this base?”

The amorphous mass of men moved across a landscape of burned-out rubble and

rotting corpses. Doc had discovered that this was how the Moebius MkI spent most

of its time—if time was a concept that could exist to something so alien to

human experience—moving across the logical conclusions of its purpose, simulated

in a vista that continued forever.

And now there was real danger on the outside, and the mechanism was powerless to

do anything about it. It flailed about in its imaginary landscape, recording and

assimilating impressions from the outside, impotent to do anything except keep

the redoubt running…and suddenly realizing its impotence as it came under attack

for the first time in its long life.

Doc, knowing from the assembled data, who was invading the redoubt, tried to

block that knowledge from the rest of the mechanism, to stop it using all he

knew about his companions to defeat them.

“We are dividing. Why does Dr. Tanner wish to leave us?”

WALLACE WAS in his office when Murphy burst in with six armed soldiers behind

him. The Gen was sitting at his desk, calmly reading the regs, as though they

comprised a holy book, which, to him, it was.

“Ah, I was wondering when you would get here,” he said calmly, an edge of ice to

his voice.

“You guessed, then?” Murphy asked him, the blue 9 mm Beretta trained on a spot

between the Gen’s eyes.

“Oh, I knew that you had plans. Very well, you think that you can usurp the

chain of command? Let’s see what you make of these outsiders.”

“More than you have. There were some good men mowed down out there,” Murphy

replied.

Wallace gave him a stare to chill his blood. “If you expect me to believe that

you really care about those men, you must think that I’m a bigger stupe than the

outsider scum. You have a wooden heart, and your men will learn the hard way.”

Murphy ground his teeth, repressing the urge to rant at the Gen, to pistol-whip

him now that he had him at his mercy. Instead he turned to the men behind him.