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were armed with a wild variety of clubs and knives. The balcony was narrow, so they had little choice but to come at us two at a time a factor that didn t exactly even the odds but didn t
hurt either.
I turned sideways in an effort to reduce the target profile and felt Joy scramble down my leg. I had no idea where she was headed and couldn t take time to look. A dart
whispered by my shoulder and clanged off metal. I raised my pistol, took aim, and fired. The lead man, the one with the gun, stumbled and fell. The rest jumped over his still-twitching
body and kept on coming.
Sasha fired. A woman clutched her throat, staggered, and fell. A little girl cried,  Mommy! and stopped to help.
I heard someone yell,  Stop! Stop, damn you! and realized it was me. But they didn t stop. They screamed their hatred and kept on coming. My stomach felt queasy, and bile
filled my throat as I continued to fire. It was a one-sided battle in which their weapons were completely ineffectual and ours were deadly. The imperative  kill or be killed is written in our
genetic code somewhere, and that s what we did.
Finally, when the last adult had fallen, and the children were sobbing at their sides, it ended. Some were wounded. I wanted to stay and help, but a series of inarticulate yells
followed by the clang of distant footsteps forced a retreat. I was about to grab Sasha and drag her the length of the balcony when Joy tugged at my pants leg.  Come on! I opened the
door.
I looked, saw wires dangling from the now-open control box. and realized that Wamba had given his creation something more than a pleasing personality. Joy had initiative,
technical expertise, and who knows what else. I made a note to kiss Wamba when and if I saw him again.
The next set of pursuers moved out onto the balcony, saw us, and charged. Their shouts became muffled as the door closed behind me. That s when I realized that a stranger
had joined us: a boy who was crying, knuckling his eyes, and looking to escape.
Sasha held the kid with one hand and a pistol with the other. Her eyes flashed with anger.  We need to find that bastard and find him now!
I shrugged.  Great. But how? He could be anywhere.
She gave me one of those looks, the kind that reminds me of how stupid I am, and knelt beside the boy. Her voice was level and tight.  Security cameras imply a control room of
some sort, and that s where the popper will be. Isn t that right, boy? Where s the control room?
The boy looked resentful and tried to pull free.  You shot my sister!
I expected Sasha to say something nice, to comfort the boy, so imagine my surprise when she put the gun to his head.  Now listen, you little shit! I shot your sister because she
tried to kill me. Now, tell me where the control room is or I ll splatter your brains all over the wall! Take your pick.
Voices yelled and fists pounded on the door. I looked at Joy. She shook her head and smiled. Whatever she d done to the lock mechanism would hold for a while. I turned to the
boy. You could see the wheels turn. He hated our guts but wanted to live. It didn t take long to arrive at the proper decision. The tears stopped and his eyes drifted towards my skull plate.
 I won t tell you where it is& but I ll show you.
The kid was no dummy. The longer he held onto the information, the longer he d live. That s what he assumed, and Sasha nodded agreeably.  Good, very good. Lead away.
And remember, one false move, and I ll blow your brains out.
The kid knew his way around or was leading us on a wild-goose chase. One or the other. We followed him down the corridor, up a ladder, through an accessway, and out into a
large passageway. It was littered with scraps of half-eaten food, empty booze bags, and pools of dried vomit. There was no doubt about it, the poppers liked to party. A box-shaped
maintenance bot beeped and ate an empty food pak.
The boy held a finger to his lips; we nodded, and followed him down the hall. I went first, followed by Sasha and Joy. Though nearly obliterated by orange spray paint, the words
 Control Center could still be seen on the hatch at the far end of the corridor. I was proud of my ability to read them. There was no way to know if the popper was inside or not. A security [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]