by James Axler
Toward the palace, which was now in their sights.
J.B. PAUSED AS HE WAS about to shoot through the lock on the door. There were sounds from behind him, running feet down the corridor. Echoing, hard to distinguish. He quickly descended the stairs and headed for the nearest door. It was locked, of course. Cursing, he pulled out his knife and forced the blade into the doorjamb, pushing the steel against the lock until it gave, the door springing open. The jamb showed some damage, but he doubted that the oncoming forces would pause to note the splintered wood. They were moving at too great a speed.
He slid into the room, closing the door behind him. He waited, blaster poised. They would pass, he would step out and shoot the living shit out of them. He was in no mood to ask questions.
As they clattered past, a smile crossed his features.
He pulled the door open and stepped out, hearing Mildred say, “Fuck it, he can’t have come this way. The bastard door hasn’t been touched.”
“That’s ’cause I was waiting for you. Been wondering when you’d turn up,” he said with a wry grin, relishing the looks on their faces as they turned to him.
ARCADIAN STOOD at the head of the stairwell, looking down on the ragged remains of his sec force as they held out against the rebels. Part of him knew that it was a hopeless task. They were outnumbered, and the mob pressed forward with their greater numbers regardless of the cost. Yet he still believed that if his men could hold the mob at bay until the wave of hysteria subsided, then he could make them see reason. Whether this was delusion or not, there was no way he would surrender his dream lightly.
Any hopes of holding out were put to rest by one simple action. A burst of SMG fire reduced the oak door to splinters, and a gren tossed into the lobby exploded almost before the baron had a chance to react. He had only just thrown himself to the floor when it detonated, reducing his precious artifacts to matchwood and dust. As he lay, stunned, he could hear the chatter of blasterfire in rapid bursts, picking off those sec not claimed by the gren.
Slowly, like a man walking through a bad dream, he rose and walked down the staircase. He could see Ryan Cawdor and his people being greeted by the rebel forces as they surged through the doors of the building.
“Why?” he kept repeating, passing through a crowd that parted in surprise that he should walk among them so plainly. He walked up to Ryan and a young man who he vaguely recognized as a sector worker. “Why?” he asked again. “All I wanted was to make a better world. You could see that, surely? What was so wrong with that?”
“You can’t make one,” Ryan replied flatly. “Not because it’s your desire. It has to be everyone.”
The baron made to answer, but it was as though his question and Ryan’s answer had broken the spell. The mob surged forward, and the baron was lost in a sea of arms, grabbing hands mauling at him. He was swept back as the crowd parted and a section began to move out and into the street, taking the baron with them.
“The labs—”
“Andower. Him, too—”
“Make him see what he’s done—”
“Let him feel it—”
It was obvious what was about to happen. Ryan started to move, but found himself stayed by Tod, the younger man’s SMG placed across Ryan’s torso. The one-eyed man glared at him. No one told Ryan Cawdor what to do.
“You can’t let them do that,” he said. “At least chill the fucker cleanly, or you’re no better.”
“Why?” Tod questioned. “Let them. Call it payback.”
“He’s right,” J.B. said. The Armorer’s tone was cold.
“But—”
“Ryan, this isn’t our fight. Let them deal with it their way. They’ve got to make this ville again. ’Sides which, it could have been me going through that, and that coldheart fucker wouldn’t have stopped it for anything.”
“Your man speaks the truth,” Tod intoned. “Let it go at that.”
He turned and left them, following the last remnants of the crowd as they ebbed and flowed toward the lab sector.
“God alone knows what they’ll find, and what they’ll make of it.” Doc sighed. “Perhaps it’s best we leave them to it.”
Ryan looked around at the shattered palace. They stood alone. As always, just the six of them. And Tod had been right: this wasn’t their fight. No one came out of this with any glory to robe themselves.
“Must be plenty of wags undamaged,” he told them. “We need to find one, get supplies to replace the ones that we lost when they took us, and get the fuck out of here. This is no place for us.”
Their silence was all the agreement he needed.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-5549-8
ARCADIAN’S ASYLUM
Copyright © 2010 by Worldwide Library.
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