Lost Gates (19 page)

One more blow should do it. Doc crashed home his boot once more, and watched with satisfaction as Maddock’s eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped back awkwardly against the shaft wall.

Now there was no time to lose. Doc wriggled around, reaching out to loosen the catch as he did so. He pushed the air-conditioning unit outward, flinging himself through the gap. He landed on his hands, pain jarring in his wrists, but he used it to spur himself onward, rolling so that he was able to gain his feet. He knew where the gren crates were situated, and blindly thrust out a hand to grasp at the contents. It was only when he was on his feet and facing the door to the room beyond that he could see that his entry had shocked the people beyond. They were staring in from their positions, as if frozen—even Mildred, although the ghost of a smile hovered over her lips, as though knowing that she should have expected as much from him.

The exceptions to this tableau were the three men who had advanced to the doorway, SMGs raised. One of them was the one-eyed Jeb.

“Whatever you are thinking of doing, I wouldn’t if I were you,” Doc said, grinning. “You are not a stupid man, are you? Of course you could fire on me. Between the three of you, I would be reduced to a pulp of flesh
and bone in no time. But then, of course, I would detonate these grens. I have no way of knowing if they are gas, fragmentation, concussion or merely explosive. But that does not really matter, does it? If they do not set off everything else you have crammed in here, then your ricocheting fire most certainly would. There is an old game I used to play, and the phrase used was stalemate.”

Jeb had no idea what game Doc was talking about, and the word made no sense as a sound. But one look at the situation made Doc’s meaning clear.

“And you think I’m just gonna let you walk out of there?” he questioned. “Make it that easy for you?”

“I don’t see as how you have any option,” Doc countered.

Jeb turned and pointed his blaster directly at Mildred. “You want to walk out of here on your own?”

Doc leered his most manic of grins. “My dear, dear man, do you really think you can blackmail me like that? If you fire on Mildred, I will simply detonate that which I hold. And then we will all go together. Look into my eyes and doubt whether I would actually do it.”

He held the one-eyed man’s gaze until Jeb looked away.

“Bastard. What do you want?”

“For myself and my friend to make our way out of here, back the way we came. And if you let us leave, then perhaps we will leave you some indication of how you, too, could get your people out of here. Never let it be said that Theophilus Tanner was ever anything less than generous.”

“Generous enough to chill one of our own,” Jeb countered.

“Ah, is that what concerns you? Have no fear, I did not harm the young man. Much. A slight headache, but he is in the shaft, and merely unconscious. I could not harm him. After all, if not for his obsession with tunnels out of here, I would still be your prisoner.”

“So he was wrong.”

Doc shrugged. “Unfortunately…for you, that is. But not for Mildred and myself. Still, if you follow us, you may yet effect an escape. However, I do not have the time to bandy words. My patience wears thin, and I may become a trifle unpredictable.”

Doc had his eyes fixed on Jeb, his best manic grin communicating to the one-eyed man that he meant every word. He couldn’t see the reaction of the others in the outer room, but Mildred could. They were nervous, and looking to their leader to make the right move. The question was, what would he consider that to be? It would look like tough leadership to call Doc’s bluff, but if he did, then he would be faced with no choice other than to fire and risk blowing them to hell and back. If he allowed Doc and Mildred to make a break, then at least he would keep them in one piece and give them a fighting chance of finding an alternate way out.

And the one-eyed man knew it. From the way that his shoulders seemed to sag under the pressure, he could feel the eyes of everyone in the room boring into his back.

“Okay,” he snarled. “I don’t like it, but I ain’t gonna blow us up just ’cause you’re crazy. You get a way out.”

“And you, my dear sir, may have one for yourself if you pay attention. Now listen very carefully, as I shall say this only once. Allow Mildred to gather our weapons and go to the door.”

He waited while this was done. Then, when Mildred was at the door, he called, “Check the corridor, my dear, and tell me if it is clear.” She nodded. “Very good. Wait for me.”

Keeping one eye on the men who still faced him, blasters poised even though they dare not fire, he transferred both grens he was clutching to one hand, then risked a brief glance at the boxes around him. Now he could see which were the frag grens, which the concussion, which the gas. He knew which he wanted, and used his free hand to gather four of the small grens, which he stashed in the pocket of his frock coat. Then he regained his initial position and flashed a mad grin at Jeb and his men.

“Now, if you will let me by, gentlemen,” he said, moving to the doorway. “Notice that I have my thumbs on the detonators. One round from any of you, and even with my chilling breath I will trigger these little beauties. Believe me.” Of course he counted on their not knowing that grens didn’t have detonators.

They moved aside to let him pass and join a tense Mildred.

When he reached her, he said, “Now, you will no doubt follow us. I would not expect anything less. But be warned. You play a dangerous game. Too close, and you will get a gren in the face. It will bring down the walls around you, and then you will never be able to find your way out.”

As he spoke, he gestured Mildred to go. She needed no second bidding, and he was shortly on her heels as they pounded down the corridor, headed for the lowest level of the redoubt and the mat-trans unit.

Doc was mindful of the man he had left behind when entering the maintenance shaft, and as they neared the dogleg to take them past the medical facilities he juggled the grens into one hand, pulling the LeMat from where he had stashed it in his belt when Mildred had returned it to him. As they hit the turn he raised it and fired ahead of him. He was firing blind, but trusting to the fact that the guard would have heard them approach and, without knowing the situation, would step into the corridor from the medical facilities.

He was right. The man had no idea what was going on, but was nonetheless curious enough to step out, his blaster raised in anticipation of trouble, like the fighter he was. What he didn’t expect was the hot metal fired from the scattergun barrel of the LeMat. Although Doc had fired blind, his racing mind had told him that there was a good chance that the shot would spread out over the distance to cover the whole corridor. It wouldn’t land a lethal blow, but one that was disabling enough to prevent the man firing on them.

So it proved. Covering the length of his body, the stinging metal blinded him in agony, the blows in his chest and gut causing him to twist and fall forward. As he did so, Doc loosed a .44 round, the large projectile hitting the man on the top of his head as it dipped down, splintering his skull and spreading the brain and bone shards across the floor and walls, his body skew
ing sideways as the downward fall and the forward momentum of the round played off each other.

Mildred jumped over the falling corpse, nearly skidding on the gore that spread beneath their feet. She risked a look back as they skittered forward, their momentum almost carrying them beyond the speed their feet could keep. There was no one on sight, but she could hear yelling voices spurred by the sound of the blaster.

They were in sight of the mat-trans control room. Her lungs felt as though they were about to burst. In the white heat of anger she wondered why Doc hadn’t just thrown one of the grens up the corridor. Almost immediately she realized that this would risk a fault line on the tunnel that could bring it down in front of them.

So it was down to their speed.

The coldhearts were just too far behind to have them in sight. She was certain that, having seen the corpse of their compatriot, they would have no hesitation in firing on sight now, regardless of any consequences.

They reached the chamber’s anteroom and flung themselves across the room toward the unit. Doc stumbled and fell as he was on the threshold. One of the grens he held dropped from his grasp and rolled across the floor. For a brief moment time seemed to stand still as they watched it. But the pin stayed in and it hit the far wall out of their vision as they spilled into the unit.

Mildred hauled herself up and threw her weight against the door, closing it, then quickly went to the panel and punched the LD button.

Almost as she did, the first volley of fire from the coldhearts hit the armaglass as they reached the mat
trans unit. It sounded deafening inside, and she winced and ducked, even though the armaglass would hold. For the mist started to rise…

Mildred turned and sank to the floor, panting heavily. Doc was looking at her and laughing breathlessly, holding his chron in one hand and a pair of grens in the other.

“Twenty seconds,” he gasped. “Twenty moments between ourselves and separation from our companions. And two chances to salvation.”

He was still laughing as the darkness overtook her.

Krysty sucked in her breath as the glare from the mat-trans unit made her shut her eyes. Still, the after-image from the flash burned into her eyelids. The pain from the intense light flashed through her mind, but still couldn’t erase the question that burned even brighter: had Doc and Mildred made it back in time? The fact that the return trip had been made suggested that something or someone was in there. As she knew from her last foray with J.B., however, there was no guarantee that it would be her companions.

Crabbe swore loudly, once more too late to avert his eyes from the brilliant light. As Krysty opened hers, blurry though her vision was and dotted with dancing lights, she could see the baron rubbing furiously with the backs of his hands, his body now turned away. In truth, she was the only one who had been quick enough to avert her full gaze, and she could now see that there was a window of opportunity when the unit had been operated. The sec men and Sal the mechanic were as disabled as their baron. If only her friends were in a position to take advantage. Ryan, Jak and J.B. had the awareness to turn away, but no ordnance with which to take advantage.

That was the challenge that all of them in the room faced in their last jumps—time was running out.

The afterglow of the flash was dying away and there was no sign of any movement from within the mat-trans. She wanted to run from behind the desk and wrench open the unit door. The effects of a second jump so soon after the first could be devastating. If Doc and Mildred were in the mat-trans, what kind of condition would they be in? Yet if she made a move before the baron was recovered, who would stay his trigger-happy sec chief?

So she stayed in position, even though every fiber of her being wanted to head for the mat-trans. And the seconds ticked on, increasing her concern with each moment, still with no sign of Doc or Mildred.

M
ILDRED FELT HERSELF
being pulled inside out and then tugged the right way in from the feet up. Her mind felt as though it had been scrambled, wound up tight like an elastic band, then let free to spin wild until straight once more.

She opened her eyes to see Doc staring at her. His eyes were bright and clear. “How are you feeling?” he asked simply.

She pulled a face. “Weird…. I should feel like shit, but actually I feel okay.”

He nodded. “Strange, isn’t it? But while I feel this lucid, perhaps it would be as well to discuss strategy, lest I get lost before we have a chance to act.” His voice was low and soft, but carried to her across the mat-trans unit with an authority she wouldn’t have expected at this juncture.

“Here, take this,” he continued, producing one of the grens that he had stowed in his pocket and toss
ing it at her. She caught it with alacrity, and a grin flashed across his features. “Our reactions are surprisingly sharp, are they not, given the circumstances? Still, stow that one away somewhere it cannot be found. If our previous return is anything to go by, the arrogant fool McCready will not bother to do more than get his men to strip us of what he knows we have. It will need considered use, but it is something.” With which he gestured her to hurry as he stowed away the gren he had been carrying as they’d run to the chamber, secreting it so that it nestled safely with the gas gren that he also held.

Mildred secreted away her gren similarly, and only just in time, as the door softly clicked as someone tried to open it from the outside. Oddly, the door swung open.

K
RYSTY HELD HER BREATH
as she looked into the darkened interior of the mat-trans unit. She had been determined to reach the mat-trans before any of Crabbe’s men, and had started to move before the baron had given the order, staring down the sec man who tried to step in front of her before Crabbe signaled him to let her go. But nonetheless she noted that the baron was at her heels as she reached the unit, determined not to miss anything.

In truth, she didn’t know what to expect herself. It was with no little sigh of relief that she saw Doc and Mildred slumped on either side of the mat-trans resting against the walls, and apparently unconscious. Yet there was something about the ease with which they stirred when they sensed—perhaps—her entrance that made
her wonder. They seemed to come around almost too easily.

As she helped them out, one at a time, and led them to where the others sat waiting under the glare of McCready’s sec men, it seemed to her that they needed less help than before. And the way in which they relayed their incredible story of what they had found, and how they had managed to effect their escape, was almost too crisp. There was little sign of the fatigue that had beset all of them the first time around. Why this should be was baffling to her. But more than that, she had the feeling that they were concealing something. It wouldn’t have been obvious to anyone who didn’t know them. Certainly, Crabbe and his men seemed oblivious. Even Ryan, Jak and J.B. showed no outward sign of notice. But Krysty felt her pulse quicken. Instinct told her that there was something they were holding in reserve, something that could only be to their friends’ good, and the detriment of the baron and his men.

Which if nothing else, she figured, meant that there was hope.

That was all she needed.

Crabbe listened with interest at the beginning of their narrative, but soon found himself becoming bored. Although their companions found Doc and Mildred’s story riveting, for the baron it began to pall as soon as he realized that there was, for him, no point to it.

“Fuck’s sake,” he said, exasperated, “what good does this do for me? Sure, you outwitted a bunch of stupes who’s got themselves in shit and in a trap. So fucking what? You still ain’t found my disk. And time is running out for you.”

“My dear sir,” Doc said mildly, “I would suggest that it is running out for you as much as it is for us. Perhaps more. You may do what you wish with us when we have traversed all the bases on your list. But where will you be if the disk you seek does not turn up at either of the last two locations? We may, perhaps, have bought the farm, but at least we will not be back where we started with naught to show for our endeavors.” There was an authority and insistence about his tone that silenced the baron even before he had a chance to begin the blustering that any of them would have expected. Doc paused for moment to see if his words had hit home, then continued. “Very well, then. I suggest you waste little time in furthering the cause. Perhaps you should dispatch the next party.”

Krysty looked at Mildred, and particularly Doc, with a puzzlement that she did her best to kept hidden. Ryan and Jak were next out, and although the albino teen seemed fully recovered, Ryan was still obviously drugged by the painkillers Mildred had pumped into him only an hour or so before. And there were his ribs. Ryan was a hard man and could bear pain. But cracked ribs would hurt and, more importantly, would impede his progress and possibly compromise his safety. She knew that Jak would look out for him, but there was no knowing what they would find out there.

If Doc’s attitude over this wasn’t bizarre enough, the next words to come out of his mouth made it even more confounding. For as Ryan rose to join Jak, who was already on his feet and eyeballing the sec man who stood guard over their ordnance, Doc said, “Wait. Ryan
is carrying an injury that could cause him a great problem. Allow me to go in his place.”

Krysty was baffled. She knew what Doc was like after a jump, and she knew that two so close together would…well, what? Was Doc completely crazed and this was why he was offering to put his body through it so soon? But if that was the case, then why hadn’t Mildred objected?

Krysty may have been able to keep her feelings muted, but the expressions of shock held by both Ryan and J.B. told their own story. Only Jak, with his usual stone visage, was able to keep his face a mask.

“No, Doc, I can’t allow that,” Ryan said, shaking his head. “I can’t ask you to do anything I wouldn’t do myself, or to take my place.”

“But you are not asking, I am offering,” Doc implored. “Think again.”

“No.” Ryan was adamant. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate what you’re offering me here, Doc, but me and Jak’ll be fine.”

He hauled himself to his feet and went over to join Jak in picking out their weapons from the pile that was gathered on the tarp. Doc watched him go with an evident distress.

Crabbe chuckled. “You’re a brave man, Jock, I’ll give you that. Not the smartest stickie in the swamp, I’ll grant, but still got a whole lot of balls. You all have. Brian included, though I guess I’m worried about him for different reasons to you. He fucks up ’cause of that rib, it don’t do me no good.”

“I’ll be fine, shithead,” Ryan growled. His words were greeted with the cock of blaster safety catches.
He looked around to see that McCready had directed his men to draw direct beads on Mildred, Doc, J.B. and Krysty.

“Just in case you might be getting any ideas, Brian,” the squat sec chief said softly, his sibilants carrying an air of expectation. Ryan knew that he’d just love it if he was given the excuse to open fire.

But the one-eyed man wasn’t going to give it to him. A crooked grin crossed his features. “Not that easy,” he mouthed at the sec chief. Then, out loud, he said to Jak, “Come on, let’s go.”

The albino youth nodded without a word and joined Ryan in the short trudge to the mat-trans unit. They passed within a couple of yards of the baron, close enough to reach out and choke the life from the bastard, who looked on with a smug expression. If only there hadn’t been so many blasters trained on their companions…

Ryan held himself erect as they entered the unit, but as he closed the door on the tableau outside, the mask slipped and he allowed the pain to crease his features.

“Ryan—” Jak breathed.

The one-eyed man shook his head as he settled on the floor of the mat-trans with Jak’s assistance. “It’s going to be a hard ride, Jak. I don’t know if I can do much right now. You might have to carry me if the going gets rough.”

“No problem. Never.”

Ryan believed him, but he was still uneasy about facing the unknown in such pain.

There was no knowing what they faced, but he knew that whatever it was, he was nowhere near ready for it.

C
OMING UP FAST
, as if he had been immersed in a sea that was thick, dark and choking, the viscera of the inky depths forcing its way into his nose and mouth, insinuating itself into every passage and snaking toward his lungs, the sludge making him choke as it slipped over his tongue and down his gullet, searing his sinuses as it filled his nostrils and forced its way upward and then down. Despite every struggle, despite every effort he might make, it would drown him, no matter how much he thrashed and fought against the rising tide. Finally, with the desperation born of one last cry against the night before all was lost, he opened his mouth and filled his lungs with the wine-dark sea, giving all to vent one last scream of frustration, anger and desperation.

And opened his eye to find himself yelling incoherently as he thrashed around on the floor of the mat-trans unit.

Jak stood over him, looking down. Looking puzzled, too, which was unusual for the albino teen, as his face was usually unreadable.

Ryan felt about as puzzled as Jak appeared. He stopped yelling, the sound dying away to an embarrassing silence.

“What was that about?” Ryan said in a softly puzzled voice, almost to himself.

“About ask you same question,” Jak commented.

Ryan pulled himself up to a sitting position. He frowned. His ribs actually felt a little better than before the jump, even though he had moved gingerly, expecting the opposite to be true. Carefully, he stood. Nothing. He prodded at his rib cage experimentally.

“Feel good?” Jak asked. Ryan nodded, and the albino
youth chewed on his lip. “Yeah, triple weird. Jump usually makes puke. Not this time. Feel okay.”

Ryan was still feeling across his injured torso. “Strangest fucking jump dream I’ve ever had, and there have been a few. Like I was drowning. But now I wake up and it doesn’t feel like I’ve cracked a rib. It’s sore, but…”

“Like being born,” Jak stated. Ryan looked at him, puzzled.

“Dream drowning. No. In womb, waiting be born. Like what we are during jump.”

Ryan shook his head. “Mebbe. Tell you what, I don’t really give a shit right now. Felt weird, but not as weird as this rib being okay now. Mebbe that’s why Doc was so normal when he came back with Mildred.”

“Won’t matter if Crabbe chills all.” Jak spit pithily. “Find weapons before too late.” He fingered the hem of his patched camou jacket as he spoke. He felt naked without it, the glittering metal shards sewn into it concealing the places where his beloved knives were kept. If only there was some way he could hold on to one or two of them when they returned. But even then, it wouldn’t be enough against the sec men’s blasters, not if his friends remained unarmed.

Ryan grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “It matters, Jak. Crabbe and that coldheart scumsucker McCready think we’re getting weaker as we jump. They won’t be expecting much of a fight. Good. Let the bastards underestimate us. Even better, now that we feel stronger, we can try to take advantage of whatever we find here. We can face off whatever’s outside that door a whole lot better.”

“Mebbe.” Jak shrugged.

Ryan laughed, a low, growling chuckle in his throat. “Shit, Jak, we can take on anything that gets thrown at us now. I’ve got a good feeling about this, like we’ve just pulled ourselves out of the shit and can smell the sweet air.”

“Better get going,” Jak said simply.

Ryan nodded, and without wasting any more time on words, the two men prepared to leave the mat-trans. Blasters and other weaponry checked, they exited using the procedure that had, for a time, become second nature to them.

Once he was out of the mat-trans and into the anteroom, Ryan saw that the control room was in semidarkness, with much of the overhead lighting not functioning. There was a patina of dust and grime over the consoles and the wall-mounted tables, which still carried maps and papers in the disarray with which they had been discarded when skydark hit. Whoever had been here had wanted to get out in a hurry. And by the look of it, no one had been here since. The dust and grime suggested that parts of the automated system had also ceased to function effectively, an impression that was only confirmed by the staleness of the air they were breathing.