Doc went up the stairs at a bound with blasters up and ready.
“Armor,” Jak repeated in disgust.
“Against unarmed slaves, these would be fearsome and deadly opponents,” Mildred said, watching Ryan. “The ville might be low on ammo for their blasters, and the baron might be trying to conserve rounds.”
“But they got lots of black powder,” Dean reminded them.
“Can’t use it in modern blasters,” J.B. said. “Fouls the mechanisms. And it won’t work in an autofire.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Now you do.”
“Clear,” Doc announced, coming down. “You got them all.”
Krysty lifted a faceplate. The person inside was only a little older than Dean. “A child,” she whispered.
“Tough,” Ryan growled, “but take the job, and you get the pay.”
“These are only trainees,” Shard said, the unfired rifle still in his hands. “New sec men. Placed here as a precaution.”
“Or else the guards know about the garbage chute.” Ryan pressed a hand to his damp forehead. It was so hot in here, it was becoming difficult for him to think clearly, but he was getting an awful suspicion. “Shard, have you ever been to the laundry?”
“No. I work in the mines.”
“Know anybody who has worked in the laundry?” Ryan beat the man with words. “Anybody at all? Ever?”
“No,” he replied, backing away, “b-but we’ve all heard about the chute.”
“From who?” Ryan demanded.
“Well, I-”
“It’s a trap for runaway slaves!” Krysty declared, dropping into a combat crouch. “Dean, unlock the door! Whatever is past that curtain, we want no part of it.”
Dean dashed for the door and flipped the latch. Instantly, a pack of dogs charged for the opening, their claws scrambling on the smooth stone floor. With a cry, Dean slammed shut the door, almost catching one of the beasts by the tail, and shoved home the bolt, but several bad gotten through. The animals didn’t bark or snarl, but silently ran straight for the companions. Everybody opened fire as J.B. triggered the Thompson, riding the chattering submachine gun in a figure-eight pattern, mowing the beasts down.
The last dog in, a brutish pit bull, turned from the carnage and sprang at Dean. He frantically dodged, and the beast only sank sharp teeth into his flapping vest. As the boy scrambled for distance, the animal leaped for his throat. Dean raised both of his pistols and fired. The dog slammed into him, and they both went down in a tangle of limbs. Rolling from underneath, Dean found himself streaked with blood. The pit bull lay where it had fallen.
“I got it,” he said with a note of astonishment.
“Damn near,” Jak said, pulling a leaf-shaped knife from the dog’s chest. The teenager wiped off the blade, and tucked it into his belt.
“Owe you one,” Dean said solemnly.
Jak shrugged.
Suddenly, a pounding sounded on the door. “We know you’re in there!” a muffled voice shouted. “Surrender or die!”
Kneeling, Krysty put a single round through the door at groin level. A man shrieked, and a few seconds later some fool put his eye to the hole. She fired again with the expected results.
Kicking aside the dead dog, Dean slid a chair under the latch, as Jak snapped off a knife inside the lock.
“That won’t hold for long,” Mildred said. “We better move.”
“Double time,” Ryan added, lurching forward, using his rifle as a cane. “Into the alcove!”
“We’re going in?” Shard asked.
J.B. tightly wound the spring feed on the cheese-wheel clip of his tommy gun. “Unless you want to try and shinny up the chimney flue.”
“But we know it’s a trap!”
“And we might be the first to enter it knowing that,” Ryan said, gritting his teeth, “which gives us an edge.”
The alcove proved to be a short tunnel with a high curved ceiling and no windows. An ordinary door stood at the end of the passageway, a key in the lock.
“Forget that,” J.B. growled, putting a single .22 round into the stout door.
At the impact the door opened a crack, and axes swung out of slots in the walls, bright sparks flying as the blades glanced off each other, so tight was their passing. The axes churned the air for a while, then retracted into the walls.