When a plan to shift resources along the passageway, to essentially refuel Earth by strip-mining Shadow World also failed for reasons of energy conservation, FIVE decided to move people to the resources instead.
Of course the massive shift in population described in the tell-yous was nothing but claptrap. Nine-tenths of humanity was redundant by any standard biologically unnecessary for the perpetuation of the species; economically unnecessary because there was nothing for them to do, no living for them to make; socially unnecessary because they were uneducated clones of one another.
Eat , breed, die that was all they were any good at.
As Huth slipped out of his cubicle and turned out the light, he thought how hard it was to have sympathy for people that selfish.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sagging back against the tunnel wall, molten lava filling his chest, Ryan could only watch as Damm and Nara took turns stabbing each other in the lungs with similar, long-needled hypodermics, teeth clenched, eyes pressed shut as thumbs pressed the plungers home. A grim performance, and one that he didn’t understand. Having murdered him, were they committing suicide, rather than be captured?
After administering the injections, Damm and Nara jerked out the hypos and dropped them on the ground.
“Feel better?” the mercie said, pulling Ryan to his feet and urging him onward.
Cawdor was unable to reply.
“Well, you should start to in another few seconds,” Damm told him. “Come on, we’ve got to make it into the fog or we’re dead.”
With every step he took, Ryan could feel the tremendous weight lifting from his chest. Whatever Damm had shot him up with, it worked like a charm. By the time he reached the wall of mist, he was jogging without pain and breathing almost normally.
As he stepped inside the edge of the fog, a roar of engines and clank of tracks made him look back. Behind them, two APCs were in full pursuit. He saw four figures in black armor run across the tunnel and climb on the side of the rearmost vehicle, scrambling to stand on its fenders.
A hand gripped his wrist and squeezed. It was Damm. He had hold of both Ryan and Nara, and he drew them deeper into the mist, leading them over to the right side of the tunnel. Visibility was no more than a foot. The air was dripping wet. Ryan had to stifle the urge to cough. “We’ll take out the second APC,” Damm said as the clanking grew ever louder. “The one with the crew hanging on the outside.”
“Won’t they be able to see us coming?” Ryan said.
“They can see about as well as we can,” the mercie told him. “The condensation layer screws up all their automated sensors and the comm systems, too. We’ve only got one chance at this, so don’t screw up.”
Invisible in the fog, Damm caught Ryan’s right hand, turned it palm up and firmly put a pair of flat, two-inch diameter disks into it. “They’re slap charges,” he said. “Butt simple to use. The material has an adhesive surface that only sticks to a battle-suit. The disks work no matter which side comes in contact with the target. The side that sticks is the side that kicks. All you’ve got to do is slap that puppy between the shoulder blades of a guy in a battlesuit and throw him off the APC. You got two to deal with, I got two to deal with.”
“Anything else?”
“Oh, yeah,” Damm said, “after six seconds, you might want to duck.”
“What about me?” Nara asked.
“Go through the APC’s rear doors and make yourself useful inside.”
“How many men are in there?” Ryan asked. He had to speak up in order to be heard. The clanking noise was really getting loud; he could feel the concrete shuddering through the soles of his boots.
“Could be three. Could be as many as six. Important thing to remember is, we’ve got to be done and in control of the situation before the APC comes out on the other side of the fog. Otherwise, that bastard in the lead will find out what’s up and be able to block our only way out.”