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the night air with dense fumes. The faucet on the second tank had been stiff, difficult to
turn, but he had finally levered it open. Knocking on the metal sides, he could tell that
both of the tanks were full, each holding what had to be close to a thousand gallons of
gas.
The last of the dying sec men gave a sepulchral groan and lay still. Away near the main
buildings, Ryan glimpsed the contrasting silhouettes of the Magus and Wolfram,
scurrying out of sight into their own quarters.
With the gas flooding all around him, it was time to move on.
The one-eyed man crouched low and ducked into the cab of the parked wag, seeing the
keys swinging gently back and forth in the ignition. At last the sec men in the towers
decided it was time for them to get into the game. The shooting from the woods that had
kept their heads down had stopped.
There was a sharp crack of rifles. Ryan heard no hint of a second echo that would have
meant the blasters were being aimed away from him and the truck. Bullets began to howl
off the armored roof of the cab, and the shield erupted inward, showering Ryan with
shards of glass.
The warm engine coughed into instant life, and Ryan, crouched under the dashboard,
kicked the gearshift into reverse. The cab door was open on his side, and he was easily
able to correct the steering, aiming directly for the locked gates of the big fortress camp.
The powerful vehicle rumbled backward, more shots pinging off the sides and roof. The
compound was nearly dark, and the chances of anyone actually hitting Ryan were remote.
The sec gates folded up like wet paper, the chain snapping, locks breaking.
In the sideview mirror, Ryan spotted a slightly built figure, loaded with blasters, come
sprinting from the forest and throw itself flat on the bed of the wag. He immediately
pressed down the brake and shifted into the lowest forward gear.
J.B's voice soared above the bedlam of shooting. "Let her go, bro!"
THE MAGUS HAD STOPPED on the porch of his long hut, staring silently back at what
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was happening by the gates. He saw the wag destroy them, leaving a tangled heap of sec
metal, and then stop, watching as the Armorer joined Ryan. Despite the semidarkness, his
metal-sheathed eyes saw perfectly, making out the patch of the spreading lake of gas,
almost black against the dirt, his computer mind clicking over. He knew what was going
to happen.
Wolfram was close by, in the doorway, jamming a polished, long-barreled revolver down
the front of his pants. The Magus's sensitive nostrils were filled with the acrid stench of
his companion's sweat of fear.
"Why don't they shoot him?" the fat man moaned, fingers fumbling with a spare mag,
spilling it on the wooden planking. "Stop him?"
"Can't see him," the Magus said softly. "By all the gods and demons, but they're good."
"But we'll still win?" Wolfram asked desperately.
The Magus laughed gently. "I don't believe we will, friend. No, I am beginning to think
that, despite all, you and I are about to lose."
"Lose! How can we fucking lose, you fool?"
The tall, skinny man turned slowly on his heel, the silvery light from the last few lamps
bouncing off the dull surface of his metal lenses. "Take care, Gert," he whispered. "Do
take care with what you say."
"I didn't& What are we going to do now?" He wiped perspiration from his cheeks and
forehead. "Should we get away into the forest and run for it?"
"Waddle for it," the Magus replied contemptuously. "No, we will not run." He paused.
"Not yet. We shall go and reacquaint ourselves with our prisoners and find some way to
make them useful. And if they can't be made useful, then they can always be made dead."
"GATES ARE DOWN," Mildred shouted,
Krysty was at the rear of the hut, trying to tear away at the shutters at that side of the
building. She turned and rejoined her friend.
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"Did J.B. get aboard?"
Mildred nodded. "Yeah. It only stopped a second and then came forward again."
The wag had grated to a halt again, close to the tangled bodies of the slaughtered sec
men, at the side of the small block-built hut that held the gasoline.
"What are they doing now?" Krysty asked.
THOUGH HIS PALE PINK EYES, part of the distinctive albino coloration, meant that
his sight in the bright noonday sunlight was weak, Jak's vision in poor light was
remarkably good. He shaded his eyes and peered from the shuttered window.
"Ryan's in the cab, and J.B.'s on back. Gasoline all over place."
Doc sat on one of the narrow beds, holding his head in his hands. "Upon my soul, but I
confess to being a deal less than well. What I believe was once called 'feeling blah' back
in the olden times."
The teenager turned. "Might have to move fast, Doc. Guess could try and use us as
hostages. Sort of trick Magus would think about."
Doc stood, shaking his head, his shoulders slumped. "Before God, but I am exceeding
weary," he pronounced. "Went the day well, my brothers?"
"Don't slip away now, Doc," Jak said, kneeling by the old man and shaking him firmly.
"Slipping and sliding away& A good day is one without pain, and a bad one& " He
rubbed his forehead. "I disremember what a bad one was."
"Doc," Jak said, shaking him harder. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing that Wolfram
and the Magus were standing in the doorway of their own quarters, looking toward the
huts that held their prisoners.
"But we that are left will grow old," Doc muttered, his eyes staring at the blank wall.
Wolfram and the Magus, accompanied by a half dozen of their well trained and heavily [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]