“Everyone okay?” Jarod yelled out.
Cleo heard the faintest cry. While everyone else was hightailing it out of the bar, she made her way over to the demolished bar. Underneath, she found who she thought was the same waitress Jarod had been eyeing. The girl was bleeding from a cut near her temple. Cleo’s guess was that the cut wasn’t too serious…head injuries always bled a lot…but she should be checked for a concussion. The waitress was trapped underneath one of those metal bars. Cleo couldn’t lift it herself.
“Jarod!”
Jarod rushed over, grabbing a fire sucker along the way. He pointed the device toward the kitchen flame, demonstrating how the extinguisher had gotten its name. Once the fire whooshed into the device, neutralizing the flame, Jarod put his back into lifting the beam. Even with his well-developed biceps, the damn thing wouldn’t budge.
“We need some help.” Cleo watched as Jarod searched the bar, but the patrons were leaving en masse, some screaming at the top of their lungs.
No help there.
Cleo found the nearest vid-screen and waved her hand over the panel to activate it. Maybe if she could get some official on the line, they could send over personnel. But either the screen was locked for employees only, or the communications were disabled. Cleo felt a buzzing in her skull that was usually a precursor to an unforeseen danger. Something was definitely not right.
As she started looking for another screen, someone diverted her attention…actually, two someones…swimming upstream against the current of the fleeing patrons. Cleo picked out the dark skin tones of Buton’s skin, as well as his tweed attire. He may look out of place here, but Cleo was certainly glad to lay eyes on him.
Rob’s head bobbed along behind him. Cleo hadn’t noticed how tall Rob had grown. He came just inches short of Buton, and Buton was not short. Buton’s concerned gaze turned her back to the situation at hand.
Rob scanned the wreckage. “Hey, Uncle Jare, how’d you manage to blow up the bar so fast?”
“How about you stop talking and start helping, little man?” Jarod said as he tossed the fire sucker down with a clank. “We’ve got a women trapped under a beam.”
“Oh, and you needed a real man to get her out for you?” Rob’s tone was light, but he was already moving toward the problem, looking for a way to be of help. He might be a bundle of teenage hormones at times, but it was in these moments that Cleo could see the man he would become. Cleo leaned in to take a look at the girl’s pupils. Both were reactive. Good sign.
Buton, however, did not seem as helpful as he tossed trashed equipment off to the side. Cleo waved to try to get his attention. “Buton, over here!” She got a wave as a response. Then Buton surfaced from the debris, carrying a long bit of what looked like heavy rebar. A lever. Cleo should’ve known better. Buton jogged over to the fallen beam and wedged the makeshift lever under the obstruction.
As the beam began to lift off the girl, Cleo watched Jarod’s realization of whom it was they were rescuing. His face blanched as he leaned in and whispered to Cleo, “Is she gonna be okay?”
The softer side of Jarod. Too bad that he felt he had to whisper so word didn’t get out.
“I’m not positive. We have to get her out from under that thing before I can really assess, but it doesn’t look like she’s concussed.” Jarod breathed out a sigh of what looked like relief and headed over to the explosion site, Rob trailing in his wake. Boys. Once the initial job was done, they wanted to go look at the dangerous stuff. Cleo turned her attention to the girl. Now that she was out from under the beam, they could get her to the infirmary.
From the other side of the bar, Jarod’s voice sang with suppressed tension. “Rob, get back. Now.”
Cleo did not want to know what was wrong. However, she knew that if Jarod was urging caution, it must be bad.
Really bad.
* * *
“Uh…Buton, you better take a look at this,” Jarod said.
Buton moved away from the injured young woman, knowing that Cleo had the situation well in hand. He had heard the strain in Jarod’s voice and moved toward his fellow Rogue.
That was a less-than-encouraging sign. Jarod was many things, but humble was not one of them. Asking for help was an indication that things had gone from bad to worse. Buton stepped up to Jarod and followed his gaze. There was a roughly globular hole. There in the center, a red light blinking malevolently like the winking eye of a rodent, was a bomb.
Fascinating.
And this was not just any bomb. Buton made several circuits around the device, observing it from all angles, wanting to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. It was every bit as bad as Jarod thought…and more.
The bomb was large, but not the largest Buton had ever seen. It was of an unusual design, based on a geodesic pattern. The intersecting circles on the surface bisected one another, forming a network of triangular shapes, each one designed to become the equivalent of a bullet. Worse than a bullet. A speeding arrowhead. This was a bomb that was intended to harm and damage as much…and as many…as possible.
Looking at the top of the rough sphere, a section looked to have been melted, which explained the earlier explosion. That first incident had more than likely been an accident, probably from someone bumping into it, or even just getting too close. At least, it was if this bomb was what Buton thought it was. And Buton saw it at about a 97 percent probability.
While Buton had taught at MIT, he had been sought out many times for many special assignments. About four years into his tenure process, he had been brought in on a top-secret think tank. The request for the think tank’s origins had been hidden in the shadows, which Buton had found intriguing, but not particularly unusual. It was MIT, after all. This was simply par for the course.
The stated goal of the group had been to design a container meeting certain specifications. While the exact purpose of the container was never detailed, Buton had immediately known it for what it was. His colleagues had been only a small step behind him in ascertaining its use. Buton, as well as most of the think tank members, had found the entire project distasteful, but when he had expressed his concerns regarding continuing, he was made to know…without being explicitly told…that his tenure, continuing residency, and eventual citizenship depended on his successful participation.
Still, he and the rest of the group walked away. No one could force him to create a weapon of mass destruction. When none of the hellfire they promised materialized, Buton had assumed the project had been shut down. How very wrong he was. The consortium must have found another group of less civic-minded scientists to do its bidding.
Jarod’s voice broke into his ruminations. “Yeah, um…This is a little time sensitive here, Buton.”
Buton mused for a few more moments, mentally doing some extrapolations from his brief encounter with the bomb’s specs. Once he had a theory with a greater than 87 percent accuracy did he speak.
“Calculating the outer dimensions, along with the probable density of the bomb…” Buton looked up, catching Jarod’s eye. “I would suggest we get three blast doors between us and the explosive device.”
It took Jarod a second. “Damn!”
And then they were running for their lives.
* * *
One moment Cleo was wrapping the young lady’s injured leg…wrenched but not broken…and the next she was struggling alongside Jarod, trying to sprint with the semi-conscious woman between them. She had no idea why they were running. She only knew that if Jarod’s face was any indication, she had better pick up the pace. All of the earlier alarm bells in her head came back with force, adding desperation to her every step. This was flight or fight, and she was flying.
It was clear that the alarm had not spread to the entire station, as patrons continued to filter out of the arcade, the discotheque and the casino, passing by the bar as they did so. The rest of the denizens of the station appeared far too chemically altered to even register the damage, much less respond
to any sort of emergency.
Cleo darted a look at Jarod, asking what in the hell was going on with her eyes. The look he shot back at her made her not so sure she wanted to find out. Maybe right now she just needed to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
That became a problem within seconds. Cleo and the rest of the group found their forward progress slowing to a near halt as they ran into the human blockades. Jarod, his demeanor harsher than Cleo had ever seen it, wasted no time in clearing the hall.
“There’s a bomb!”
Okay, so now Cleo knew what was going on. She really wished she didn’t.
Jarod continued, “If you want to live, run as fast as you can in that direction! Now!” He thrust a finger down the hallway toward the blast doors.
The panic spread immediately, starting a stampede. They were moving now, but with such a chaotic energy that it was almost worse than the blockage problem. Cleo put her head down and did what she could to keep her feet under her. Even though she wanted to put as much space between her and the bar as she could, she didn’t want to die in the process.
Although, as Jarod’s frown deepened, Cleo wasn’t so sure that she had any control over her fate at the moment.
* * *
As the crowd’s panic grew, Rob’s adrenaline response increased in direct proportion. Facing death was nothing new, but from a bomb on a space station? A little bit new. He readied his bag of tricks inside his prostheses while hopping on one of his “feet,” making sure he had access to anything he might need. Those spider Tasers might come in kinda handy in a mob like this one. And even the hydraulic screwdriver-slash-drill-slash micro-pneumatic nail gun could be a nice addition to the party.
And man, what a party! Rob found himself bumping into people dressed in the weirdest ways. He had already seen what the arcade had to offer, and they were now rushing past the club exit. Rob bumped into two devils, got feathers up his nose from an angel, and stepped on the heel of a teched-out lizard lady with tiny holographic discs for scales. The discs worked together as a vid-screen, turning her “skin” into a collage of pop culture images. Distracted by the pictures darting around the lizard, Rob stopped looking where he was going and bumped hard into someone against the wall. A sharp groan was the protesting reply.
Before he passed by the person completely, fuchsia caught his eye. It was the girl from the arcade, and she was limping. Her “friends” were nowhere in sight. Big shocker there. She clearly was in need of help. Although he knew that he might never get back to them, he separated from the Rogues and pushed against the current of people racing from the danger. He used the lever action of his prostheses to give him greater stability as he fought the flailing limbs and occasionally deadly designs of the clubbers’ outfits. Seriously. When did razor blades become a way to accessorize?
Rob pushed over to the girl hugging the wall. She hobbled along, her speed slightly faster than a snail’s. She looked to be two steps away from falling down and being trampled by the mob. Rob yelled at her over the chaos, doing his best Arnold impersonation. “Come with me if you want to live!” He extended his hand.
Startled recognition washed over her face as she grabbed Rob’s arm. He called on his “legs,” turning on the jets in a single burst, just enough to get them both forced back into the stream of moving people. She stumbled a bit, but then wrapped her arm around Rob’s neck, found her footing, and kept pace with Rob as he sought out his team again.
The girl was latched onto him as if her life depended on it. Rob could definitely get used to this. She spoke over the noise. “Thank you! I would’ve…You were…” She struggled for words as they both fought to stay upright. Her eyes darted downward, landing on his artificial limbs. “Those things are…awesome!” She blushed, and then gave Rob a huge grin. He was pretty sure his heart was trying to get out of his chest from the way it was pounding.
And then she knocked his socks off. Or, you know, she would have if he actually wore socks. “That was Terminator 2: Judgment Day you were quoting from back there, right?” The movie was totally ancient, and this girl knew it. Rob was now officially in love.
Now he just had to figure out a way to shoehorn in “I’ll be back.”
* * *
Buton raced along with his fellow Rogues, seeking to get as far away from the blast as humanly possible. Unfortunately, that was not the only issue. It wasn’t good enough to simply get out of danger for themselves. Buton felt a certain responsibility for every patron they encountered. Anyone left behind would have felt like a physical blow. He was relieved that he hadn’t designed the bomb, but had he done enough? He could have alerted the authorities, followed up, and done more. His lingering sense of guilt, exacerbated by their present circumstances, would not release its hold on his soul.
After clearing the crowds from the arcade and the club, Buton finally passed the first of the blast doors. He pushed his way over to the side of the hallway, looking for the box with the controls. He spent all of ten seconds hacking into the keypad lock and opening the access panel. Jarod, Cleo, Rob, and some badly bruised girl with blonde hair and a pink stripe in it groped toward Buton’s location, forming a tight circle around Buton as he worked. Buton ascertained the sequence for emergency protocol, and then waited for the entire press of people to finish passing before he jabbed at the buttons to close and lock it down.
One.
And then they were racing on once more. They passed by what appeared to be a restaurant, the exiting customers clogging the hallway arteries even further. At least at this point, word of the bomb seemed to have spread, as the general panic and the direction of the movement was away from the bar. Buton and the rest of the Rogues did what they could to push the group forward, infecting them with their urgency. And then they were past the second door.
He waved at the crew to keep going. They had no time to waste in niceties like waiting for one another. Once again, Buton got the door shut, this time cutting his time by 46 percent.
Two.
Buton whirled away from the closed door, only to find himself face-to-face with Cleo. The rest of the Rogues were right behind her.
“If you think we’re leaving you behind, you’ve got another think coming, Buton.” She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away from a very large man with pink wings on either side of his head. He fell heavily just where Buton had been. “Besides, you’d be helpless without me.”
Logic dictated that he should argue for them to leave him to what he was doing, but Cleo’s hand on his arm felt…surprisingly pleasant, considering their current crisis. He did the mental equivalent of slapping himself and lurched back into motion.
As they ran, Buton found himself using aerodynamic laws of flow to predict how the blockages in the stream of people could be fixed. He swam with the current, giving an arm here, nudging there, and helping to move the mob forward, ever forward, toward that last door. And then, at last they were through. Buton turned his attention to the panel, this time dropping his hacking time by 63 percent.
Three.
The Rogues all stood looking at one another for a long moment. After so much panicked running, no one appeared quite sure of what to do. Cleo gave a burst of what seemed to be very nervous laughter, and then quieted. Rob turned to the blonde at his elbow and started to say something.
Then, the world shifted.
The shock wave from the explosion could be felt in the walls and floor. Buton’s chest reverberated with it, the air whooshing out of his lungs. He turned to watch through the blast door window as the explosion from the bar radiated outward. It ripped through the first door, tearing it off its hinges and propelling it toward the second, where the additional thick projectile joined the first. The first two doors hurled toward the barrier, beyond which stood Buton and the rest of the crew.
“Duck!” Jarod screamed, and everyone but Buton flattened against the floor. A huge crash reverberated through the hallway as the third blast door buckled from the explosion…but
held.
Buton observed the spider webbing of the safety glass and spoke to himself, “Hmm…Just as I calculated.” He looked back, realizing that everyone else was plastered to the ground. “I told you three blast doors were enough.”
Jarod picked himself up and dusted himself off. “That was too close.”
Buton continued, as it was clear the group did not appreciate the seriousness of the situation. “I would suggest that we expedite our departure from these facilities.”
Jarod goggled at him. “Why?”
Buton spoke precisely, but without haste. “The bomb was truly a fine design. The first explosion was merely an anti-tampering device. Someone must have bumped it, setting it off prematurely.”
Rob interjected, “Okay…But the bomb’s already gone off.”
“That one, yes,” Buton stated, wondering why he needed to speak the next words. “But the others, no.”
* * *
Cleo groped for the meaning of Buton’s words. She was having difficulty processing the concept. “What others?”
While Buton didn’t sigh, exasperation was clear in his voice. “Isn’t it obvious? Someone is trying to destroy all the launching ports.”
There was a brief moment where all six pairs of eyes were trained on Buton. Then, as one, they all called out, “Our ship!”
Rob grabbed the shoulder of the blonde next to him, staring into her eyes. “You have to get off this station.”
The girl nodded, glancing at the markings on the wall and apparently gaining her bearings. “My family’s ship is just down this next corridor. I’ll be okay.” She limped away, holding herself up against the wall. Then, she looked over her shoulder as she rounded the corner for one last look at Rob.
Cleo took a deep breath and spoke with tones of infinite patience. “Okay, Rob. You all done?” Rob bobbed his head up and down. “Okay, then. Run!” The next second found them hurling themselves down the hallway toward the Eureka.
Got Thrills? A Boxed Set (A McCray Collection) Page 32
