James Axler – Stoneface

The circular chamber wasn’t very spacious. A large winch occupied most of the space. Ryan noticed that it was powered by a gasoline engine. He also noticed that it was very cold in the room.

Shivering, Mildred pulled a pair of black leather gloves out of a coat pocket and slipped them on. “Must be around forty degrees Fahrenheit in here.”

Ryan grunted. “Tolerable.”

“If you enjoy winter sports.”

Both of them were speaking in whispers.

Turning toward the doorway, Mildred said, “Time to see what there is to see. Keep a watch for those beetles.”

Ryan unleathered the SIG-Sauer and jacked a round into the cylinder. “Stay on triple red.”

As they eyed the metal panel, searching for a doorknob or latch, it suddenly rolled upward with the whooshing squeak of hydraulics. Both of them leapt for cover on opposite sides of the stone chamber. Ryan crouched down behind the cable-wrapped drum of the winch, and Mildred melded into the shadows at the far corner.

A man strode into the chamber, walking down the steps with long, deliberate strides. He carried a clipboard in one hand. He was a pale, burly man of medium height, his gray hair so close-cropped that the scalp could be seen beneath it. His face was as craggy and as furrowed as the stone walls around him.

His attire was a dark blue coat and slacks, with a white shirt and red tie. Ryan had seen pictures of costumes like that. They were referred to as “business suits.” However, the coat was threadbare, and the trousers so worn through at the knees that flashes of pale flesh beneath could be glimpsed through the fabric. But despite the poor condition of his clothes, his black shoes were impeccably polished. Ryan noticed he wore a rectangular plastic-coated badge on his lapel that bore his likeness. There was only one word on the badge. It read simply BOB.

The man marched purposefully to the container that had concealed Ryan and opened the lid. Without hesitation, he plunged his free hand into the bed of dry ice and picked up a plastic-shrouded heart. He examined it closely, grunting a time or two. He hefted the organ in his hand like a butcher trying to gauge its worth by weight alone.

Replacing the heart, he shut the lid and moved toward the other container, the one that had conveyed Mildred. As he did, he noticed the rigged back panel on Ryan’s box hanging open a few inches.

The man didn’t look alarmed, but he glanced quickly around the chamber, dark eyes wide and bright. He reminded Ryan of a very alert bird, trying to focus on the source of a mysterious sound. Those darting eyes swept over Ryan’s hiding place, then just as quickly returned.

Rising up, Ryan leveled the SIG-Sauer at him, saying in a cold, clear voice, “Don’t move. Just stand there.”

The man stared at him in silence, an awesome disdain in his eyes. “I wondered when one of you perverted little shits would try something like this.”

He moved, unafraid, to a small metal panel inset on the wall beside the doorway. A half-dozen colored buttons studded its surface. Ryan hadn’t noticed it before.

“Don’t try it, Bob,” Ryan said, his blaster floating along with him.

Bob granted him one glance of disgust and continued reaching. Ryan held the SIG-Sauer in both hands, straight out in front of him, brought the sights into line and squeezed the trigger. The blaster bucked in his hand, and a 9 mm slug screamed across the yards that separated Bob from the gun bore.

The slug hit the man with the force of a sledgehammer, smashing him off his feet and ripping his right arm off at the shoulder socket and sending it pinwheeling across the chamber.

Ryan stared, astonished. He had shot to wound, not to kill or maim. He hadn’t expected the man’s arm to be ripped off. Then he saw why it had happened. There was no blood, either from the ragged shoulder socket or from the stump of the arm. Instead, he glimpsed a gleaming tangle of twisted metal, cables and wires.

Bob glanced down at his disembodied arm, then back to Ryan. ” Damn you! That construct alone cost the government sixty thousand dollars. You’ve ruined it, you fucking renegade!”