by Greg Cox
“Okay, if you say so,” Roberta assented. The notion of intentionally setting off a nuclear explosion, even in the middle of the desert, still gave her the heebie-jeebies, but she had learned to trust Seven in this kind of thing; heck, the first time she met him he had caused an orbital weapons platform to detonate only 104 miles above the Earth, and that had turned out okay. What was one more mushroom cloud between friends? “What do you want me to do?”
“Your job is to make sure that every child in this complex is transported to safety before the explosion. I'll try to give the adults sufficient time to evacuate, but those children are our first priority.” He raised an inquiring eyebrow. “I assume you've entered the geographical coordinates for this location into your servo?”
Roberta nodded. The servo was capable of using Earth's magnetic force lines to determine its exact position anywhere on the planet. “First chance I got.”
“Good,” Seven acknowledged. “I want you and Isis to return to New York immediately. Once you've given the Beta 5 the correct coordinates, it should be able to zoom in on Chrysalis with its long-range sensors. You can use the computer to transport the children en masse to a secure location.”
“Got it,” she confirmed, making a mental note not to forget the unfortunate kids in the Developmental Deviations Unit. “How about that kids' academy in Puyallup?” she suggested. “We've placed orphans there before. They should be able to look after the kids, at least for a while.”
“An excellent idea,” Seven stated, nodding soberly. He clearly realized this was only a temporary solution at best. “We can deal with the children's ultimate disposition later on, after we've insured that there will be no more problem children created here.”
Isis mewed forcefully, prompting Seven to glance at the caged animals surrounding them. “Thank you, Isis,” he said. “I had overlooked these other life-forms.” He turned toward Roberta once more. “After you've removed the children from jeopardy, please transport these animals away from the impending explosion.” He paused briefly to consider the matter before coming up with the ideal solution. “The Sariska Nature Preserve is located elsewhere in Rajasthan. Our striped friend,” he added, indicating the nearby tiger, “should feel quite at home there, along with the rest of these creatures.”
“Will do,” Roberta agreed readily; her stint in the cage gave her a little extra empathy with the penned lab animals, who just happened to be at the wrong place at the worst possible time. She picked up Isis and got ready to go. “Is there anything else I need to—”
The door slammed open, cutting Roberta off in mid sentence. “Freeze!” Carlos ordered as the gigantic Cuban enforcer burst through the door brandishing a blue-steel Beretta. He glowered venomously at Roberta, ugly scratch marks still defacing his cheek. “Drop your weapons—and don't even think about siccing that gato cabrón n me!”
Isis hissed ferociously, but wisely stayed put in Roberta's arms. Yikes! the human woman thought. What's he doing here? Her brain worked overtime, trying to figure out what crummy twist of fate had brought Carlos along to spoil their plans. Was he looking for Dr. Kaur, she wondered, or just coming to gloat over my captivity?
Whatever the reason, the sneering ape-man looked all too happy to have caught her and Seven right in the middle of their jailbreak. “I knew you were trouble,” he snarled at Roberta, “right from the beginning. I told the doctors they were fools to trust you!”
You know, she thought, that “gloating” scenario is sounding more and more plausible. . . . She scanned the storeroom out of the corners of her eyes, looking for something she could use to turn the tables on Carlos. Seven's servo now lay at his feet, while her own servo rested uselessly in her pocket, where she couldn't possibly pull it out before Carlos could shoot one or both of them. I don't believe this! she thought indignantly. We were almost out of here.
Carlos glanced down contemptuously at the tranquilized guard upon the floor. “What did you do to him?” he demanded. Keeping both Roberta and Seven in his sights, he regarded the now-empty cage with hostile, suspicious eyes. “Where is the director? What have you done with her?”
You'd be better off asking Isis, Roberta thought. She wasn't clear on the details, but she knew that the cat-woman had to have retrieved their servos somehow. “I have no idea,” she insisted, more or less truthfully. “Dr. Kaur hasn't been here for hours.”
“Liar!” Carlos accused her. “She was on her way here, I know that.” He waved his gun in front of her. “Tell me now, gringa. Where is she?”
Seven cleared his throat, distracting Carlos. “What's that?” the gunman asked. “You want to say something, spy?”
Ignoring Carlos, Seven made eye contact with Roberta, then glanced quickly down at the floor by the mutated Cuban's feet. Roberta followed Seven's gaze downward, where she saw that one of thug's polished black shoes rested on the corner of Isis's discarded lab coat. Aha! Roberta thought, maintaining her best poker face. As discreetly as possible, she started to wrap the opposite end of the coat around the heel of her sensible white pump. Just keep looking away for a sec, she urged Carlos with her ( sadly nonexistent) psychic powers.
“I'm talking to you, spy!” Carlos taunted Seven. You see what I had to deal with in Rome? Roberta thought, now that Seven was getting a firsthand taste of Carlos's dubious people skills. “I want answers and I want them now.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” Seven stated firmly, undeterred by the loaded gun in the angry bodyguard's grasp. Seven's icy composure, even at gunpoint, reminded Roberta of all the times he had faced down berserk supercomputers. “Perhaps you should contact your superiors for further instructions.”
Carlos spat at the floor in front of Seven, his clawed, simian face a mask of frustrated belligerence, but Roberta saw his baleful black eyes drift in the direction of the videophone on the wall. While hardly likely to credit Seven with the suggestion, Carlos must have realized that reinforcements might, in fact, be a good idea. “Stay where you are!” he ordered and stepped toward the videophone, which just happened to bring his foot down even more squarely on the spilled white fabric of the lab coat.
Roberta waited until Carlos reached for the phone, then yanked her foot back with all her strength, pulling the coat out from beneath him. “Wha—!” he exclaimed as he stumbled backward, temporarily thrown off balance. Seven took advantage of the ape-man's instability to dart forward and strike Carlos on the wrist, freeing the Beretta from his grip. Cursing in spanish, Carlos slammed shoulder-first into the wall, almost toppling over entirely before regaining his footing—only to discover his gun now in the steady grip of Gary Seven.
“Please remain where you are,” Seven informed him coldly. The muzzle of the Beretta held Carlos securely in its sights. “It's not my preferred mode of self-defense, but I assure you that I am perfectly capable of operating this primitive firearm.”
Growling furiously, Carlos raised his hands and backed up against the wall. Seven knelt to retrieve his servo, then aimed the slender silver cylinder at Carlos as well, clearly intending to tranquilize the bellicose Cuban in an admirably humane and civilized fashion.
“Wait!” Roberta blurted. “Let me.” Dropping Isis roughly onto the floor, she rushed across the room toward Carlos. Seven might have expected her to employ her own servo, but instead Roberta clenched her fist and delivered a solid left hook to the thug's protruding jaw. Carlos gasped in pain, his eyes bugging out as blood leaked from a split lip. Roberta smiled in satisfaction as she stepped back from the battered bodyguard, her knuckles smarting. “Okay,” she told Seven. “ Now you can zap him.”
A moment later, Carlos crumpled onto the floor beside the guard Isis had pacified earlier. “Hardly an enlightened response to aggressive behavior,” Seven observed archly.
Roberta shrugged defiantly. “So I'm an unevolved twentieth-century Earthling,” she said, unrepentant in the extreme. “Sue me.”
To her surprise, Isis purred in approval. How 'bout that? Roberta t
hought. We actually agree on something for once.
Perhaps knowing he was outnumbered, Seven let the matter pass. “You had better depart before another troublesome assailant arrives,” he advised her. “I'll head for the reactor.”
She couldn't help noticing that, despite his determined demeanor, Seven still looked considerably the worse for wear. Purple shadows sagged beneath his eyes, which were red and bloodshot. Fatigue and responsibility dragged down his shoulders, adding an uncharacteristic stoop to his usually impeccable posture. His cheeks were gray and bloodless, and his hands trembled subtly but perceptibly. Roberta even thought she saw white hairs in his scalp that she didn't remember from before. What did Kaur do to him? she fretted, not sure she wanted to know.
“Are you sure you're up for this?” she asked him worriedly. “Maybe we should all just 'port back to NYC, then come back here after you've had a chance to recover.”
Seven shook his head solemnly. “Kaur knows her secrets have been exposed. We can't risk her tightening security, or relocating the children to another site.” Through sheer force of will, he brought his shaking frame back under control. “It has to be done today—before another strand of DNA can be twisted into something more dangerous than you can possibly realize. I only wish we could have stopped Chrysalis years ago, before it came to this. . . .”
You and me both, Roberta thought.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ONLY A FEW STRAY WISPS OF LUMINOUS BLUE MIST STILL FLOATED over the tranquilized goons as Seven exited the animal storeroom for what he expected would be for good. First, though, he disconnected the videophone above the fallen guards, just in case they roused themselves prematurely. He considered fusing the door shut behind him, then realized that he could hardly lock anyone up inside a structure that he intended to condemn to thermonuclear destruction. Even the subhuman Cuban operative, whom both Isis and Roberta appeared to dislike so, deserved a chance to evacuate the premises with the rest of the project's personnel.
Seven warily scanned the corridor outside the storeroom. In theory, Roberta and Isis were already back in Manhattan by now, fulfilling their end of the operation. I'm on my own now, he acknowledged resolutely. This was just as well; the obliteration of Chrysalis was too important to trust to any less-experienced agent, no matter how resourceful or enterprising she might be. What's that Terran expression again? If you want a job done right. . . .
Isis's borrowed lab coat was a few sizes too small for him, but it would have to make do; ill-fitting camouflage was better than none at all. He rubbed his stubbly chin once more, hoping that his unshaven appearance would not attract unwelcome attention. Holding on tightly to his servo, concealed within a pocket of the overly snug white jacket, he marched rapidly down the sterile tunnel, looking for the nearest stairwell. According to Roberta, the nuclear reactor occupied the lowest sublevel of the complex, and he preferred taking the stairs over an elevator, the latter being far too reminiscent of a cell for his liking. I'm not about to get trapped inside an enclosed space, he resolved, not if I can help it.
His decision proved a wise one; Seven was less than fifty yards away from the storeroom when an alarm blared loudly overhead: “
ATTENTION! INTRUDER ALERT! BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR THREE UNAUTHORIZED VISITORS: A DARK-HAIRED FEMALE, A BLOND AMERICAN WOMAN, AND A TALL, BROWN-HAIRED, AMERICAN MALE. THE INTRUDERS ARE ARMED AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS. REPORT ALL SIGHTINGS TO SECURITY IMMEDIATELY. REPEAT: REPORT ANY SUSPICIOUS INDIVIDUALS AT ONCE. THIS IS A MATTER OF THE GRAVEST IMPORTANCE.”
Seven frowned, but wasted little mental or physical energy lamenting this unfortunate turn of events. We've been lucky so far, he realized, but exposure was inevitable. Either someone had discovered the sleeping bodies in the storeroom, he speculated, or else Kaur and her bodyguards had finally recovered from Isis's ambush. Most likely the latter, he guessed. In any event, his task had just become significantly more challenging.
He quickened his pace as the alert repeated itself in several languages, its essential message remaining the same. Seven drew some amusement from the fact that two of the described intruders—Isis and Roberta—were already well beyond Kaur's grasp. With any luck, the project's security force would squander a portion of their efforts searching fruitlessly for the two female operatives. Not to mention a missing black cat.
Seven's own good fortune ran out at the very next intersection, where he abruptly ran across a mixed group of technicians and scientists, all excitedly discussing the upsetting alarm echoing through the corridors of the underground complex. “Another intruder?” a German biochemist ( whom Seven recognized from his missing persons list) exclaimed anxiously, gesticulating wildly with his hands. “What the devil is going on? If we're in any sort of danger, we ought to be better informed!”
Casually slipping his servo out of his pocket, Seven maintained a steady pace toward the knot of confused and agitated personnel. Perhaps he could still bluff his way past the clustered men and women? From what Roberta and Isis had told him, Chrysalis's staff was populous enough that strangers were not immediately identifiable; both women had managed to traverse the project's sprawling maze of tunnels without too much interference.
But that was before repeated alerts had put everyone's nerves on edge. “Hey!” the discontented German called out as Seven attempted to pass by. His meaty hand clamped down tightly on Seven's upper arm. “Who are you? I've never seen you before!”
A few of the assembled civilians backed away from Seven apprehensively, but, unfortunately, a couple of braver souls joined the German in detaining Seven, taking up hostile postures in front and behind the outnumbered secret agent. “The name's Kirk,” he improvised. “James T. Kirk. From the Developmental Deviations Unit.” “The DDU, huh?” the German repeated skeptically, citing the only department Seven actually knew by name. “How come I've never heard of you?” He tightened his grip on Seven's arm, while the other men closed in on the suspected intruder. “Let me see your ID.”
“Yeah!” another scientist seconded, brute anger thickening his voice. He shoved Seven harshly from behind. “Make him show his I. D.!” So much for going incognito, Seven thought, sighing deeply. Obviously, he was not going to be able to talk his way out of this confrontation. Very well.
“Let me show you,” he began meekly, feigning cooperation. Without warning, he fired the servo in his hand straight into the German's torso. The biochemist's tenacious fingers went as limp as the rest of his body, so that only a gentle push was required to send him toppling backward as his startled associates clambered to break his fall. At the same time, Seven elbowed the ill-tempered individual behind him, jolting the wind from the man's lungs. Seven spun around and fired again, turning the shove-happy scientist into a sagging mass of tranquilized bliss.
Seven thought he was free and clear until two strong arms suddenly seized him from behind, squeezing his arms against his sides. “Drop that—whatever it is!” an anxious voice commanded shrilly. Its Brooklyn accent seemed incongruous at this remote location. “Somebody call security—pronto!”
That last suggestion provoked a scowl from Seven. This is taking too long, he appraised. He needed to exit this scene before real opposition arrived. Even in his present debilitated state, his training and physical conditioning made him more than a match for a mob of overexcited scientists and maintenance workers. He was much more concerned about Kaur's predominately Sikh security force; the ancient brotherhood of the Sikhs had been famous for their military prowess and discipline since at least the seventeenth century, and had frequently formed the backbone of the subcontinent's defense forces. Those guardians will not be so easily overcome.
Taking a deep breath, he marshaled his parahuman strength, throwing off his captor's amateurish hold with a single concerted effort. He twisted around at the waist, ready to subdue the third man with a tranquilizing burst from his servo, but instead discovered that such measures were not required; at the first sign of serious resistance, the frightened scientist
fled in retreat, joining his fellow workers as they ran from the manifestly dangerous intruder in their midst. Seven heard the rapid-fire pounding of their footsteps echoing through the corridors ahead, just as he also registered, alas, their frantic cries for help.
His cover well and truly blown, Seven dashed down the right-hand tunnel, opposite the direction in which the panicked scientists had retreated. He was surprised to find that the brief tussle, which had lasted less than a minute or two, had actually left him short of breath. I must be in worse shape than I thought, he concluded grudgingly. Fatigue and dehydration have taken their toll.
A map of the complex, conveniently inscribed on the wall, provided a welcome supplement to Roberta's fragmentary directions. Panting heavily, his chest heaving with every breath, Seven took a moment to memorize the schematic. According to the map, there was an exit less than fifty yards away that led directly to the catwalks overlooking the wide central shaft around which the rest of Chrysalis fanned out. Seven recalled observing those same catwalks when he first descended into Chrysalis via the hidden elevator from the ruined Rajput fortress above. He would be uncomfortably exposed upon the open catwalks, he realized uneasily, but they appeared to be the shortest route available to the complex's lower levels. I'll have to chance it, he decided.
“Halt! Stay where you are!” a deep voice shouted in strongly accented English. Seven turned his head to see a pack of security officers heading straight for him. Almost a dozen men ran on foot ahead of two more guards riding a compact motorized vehicle designed for cruising Chrysalis's many tunnels. Most of the men appeared to be Sikhs, but Seven spotted a couple of European and Asian individuals running alongside the bearded and turbaned Indian guardsmen. “Put your hands up and surrender!” the leader of the unit barked loudly.
