continued his construction work. There was a long silence while Koll tossed
plastique from his own boots to Hunaker and Hunaker molded the doughy substance
around the match-stick detonators, squashing the strips into cracks and
crevices, lacing it around the doorframe, all the time trying to avoid Sam’s
sight line to the corridor outside.
“What d’you reckon about Ryan?” she said suddenly.
J.B. bit a filament of wire in two. He didn’t look up.
“What about him?”
“He blew out up there.”
“It happens.” The wiry little man’s tone was unconcerned.
“You think he’s got the hots for the Wroth woman?”
“Probably.”
“You think we’ll see him again?”
“Knowing Ryan, yeah.”
“He’s been in a few tight ones, hasn’t he? I mean, with you and all.”
“That he has.”
“Y’know where he came from originally?”
“Out east, I think.”
Hunaker said, “I think’? How long have you known Ryan? Must be ten years at
least. And you don’t even know where his kin are? I bet you don’t even know his
other name.”
“Is this some kind of precombat intelligence test?” Koll said with a frown. He
was replacing strips of unwanted plastique in his boots.
“Well?” said Hunaker. “Do you?”
“No.”
“Does anyone?”
“Trader, maybe.”
“Rumor is, he was a Runner from somewhere.”
“Only muties are Runners,” said Koll knowledgeably. “Muties and blacks and
yallers and a few other colors, depending on where they’re running from. If
Ryan’s a mutie, he keeps it close to his chest.”
“I didn’t say he was a mutie. I don’t believe he is a mutie.”
“Can’t tell these days,” said Koll. “What’s the big interest in Ryan all of a
sudden, anyhow?”
“I felt sorry for him.”
“Feel sorry for Strasser,” said J.B. “Otherwise, shut it.”
In front of him, as though magicked there, was a tiny sliver of plastique on
which was a spiderweb cross-hatching of fine wire connected to a couple of chip
housings, plus a keying device about the size of a quarter thumbnail. J.B.
stared at it, his thin lips very slightly curved.
“Christ, J.B.,” said Koll, lacing up his boots, “you look almost cheerful.”
“The miracles of pre-Nuke science,” said J.B.
“You sure it’ll work?”
J.B. stared at him blankly, then wrinkled his brow.
“Is that a joke?” He sounded genuinely puzzled.
“Uh…no, J.B.” Then Koll said hurriedly, “I mean, yeah.” He tittered nervously.
“They were very sophisticated in the 1990s,” said J.B. seriously. “This is a
neat little number. The detonators are tuned to it. All I have to do is build
it, key it, blow it.” He coughed, said vaguely, “I did throw in a couple of
extras…”
He began packing away his bits and pieces, pulled on and laced up his boots and
got to his feet. He said, suddenly brisk, “Here it is. I want two guys down
here, at least. That gives us two auto-rifles plus any handguns they have. Could
make do with one, but pray for two. They gotta be looking through the window.
Doesn’t matter if they don’t come in. Don’t want ’em in. Just need ’em looking
for a couple of sec men and we got ’em. After that we move fast. If we can reach
street level we’ve got a chance.” He pointed at Hunaker. “You and me first. Grab
the pieces and go.” He turned to the other two. “Pick over the bodies. Spare
mags, grenades, knives—anything.”
Hunaker sighed exaggeratedly, then zipped down her jump jacket to open it.
Underneath she wore two sweat shirts, which she tugged up for a second, exposing
her breasts. They were small but full and round. A fine sheen of sweat glistened
on her skin. Koll stared at her and swallowed.
Hunaker snapped, “That’s about all you’ll ever get, a sighting.” She pulled the
two sweat shirts some more, loosening them, then covered herself again. “Okay,
ready for the off.”
J.B. said, “Don’t forget your ears.”
Hunaker said, “You’re as bad as the Old Man.”
She went to the door and began to bawl out the barred window. She knew she had
to play this one carefully, not overdo it. It would be easy to throw out the
come-hither in a cutesy-pie voice, but that, right now, was not going to work.