“So what does the 666 stand for,” I asked.
Ace raised an eyebrow. “The hell that will be unleashed.”
“Oh, yeah. That.” I should have got that, but I wasn’t exactly with it just then.
“Right,” said Vargas. “Chances are we all die the second that last button is punched. I need to know you all understand that. We all good?”
“Where was that speech three minutes ago?” drawled Hell Razor.
“I’m making up for it,” said Vargas. “Are we good?”
Everybody nodded.
“Right,” said Vargas. “So, who’s pushing which button?”
“Ace and me will stay here at four,” said Angie.
“I’ll take one,” said Hell Razor.
“I’ll take two,” said Thrasher.
“And I’ll take three,” I said.
“As will I, sir,” said Vax.
“Givin’ me nothin’ to do, huh?” Vargas chuckled. “Alright, I’ll watch the door that leads to the ladder, just in case the robots get through it before you’re done. Ghost, gimme that meson cannon.”
I handed it over and we scattered to our appointed stations and called in on our walkies.
“In position room three,” I said.
“In position room two,” came Thrasher’s voice.
“I’m on one,” said Hell Razor.
“Room four ready when you are,” said Angie.
“Alright,” said Vargas. “Here we go. It was an honor and a privilege and all that. Now let’s do this. Hell Razor, fire one.”
“Firing.”
And he must have, because just then my console lit up and the door of the little room slammed shut behind me and Vax.
Above us, the female voice said, “Safety Procedure 1342–666 initiated. Stage One protocol accepted.”
“Ghost,” called Vargas. “Fire three.”
“On it.”
I punched the green button.
“Safety Procedure 1342–666. Stage Two protocol accepted.”
“Angie?”
“Firing.”
“Safety Procedure 1342–666. Stage Three protocol accepted.”
“Alright, Thrasher. Take us to hell.”
“Firing.”
“Safety Procedure 1342–666. Stage Four protocol accepted,” said the female voice. “Please enter the correct color sequence.”
A row of four buttons lit up on the console, blue, red, yellow, green.
There was silence on the walkies. Finally Vargas spoke.
“The correct what? What the hell is it talking about?”
Behind me, Vax did the robot version of clearing his throat. “May I speak, sir?”
“Sure, Vax,” I said. “You got a funny story or something? Something to lighten the mood?”
“No, sir, but I have the security protocol manual in my memory. I’m afraid it was written by humans, so it is somewhat confusing, but it says that the color sequence is red, yellow, green, blue.”
“But do we each enter the whole sequence into our console? Or does each room only get one color? And if so, which room gets which color?”
“That is the confusing part sir.”
I raised my voice. “Did you hear that, Vargas?”
“I heard.”
“So…?”
Another long pause, then, “Fuck it. Let’s start with the obvious first. One color per room, same order as the numbers. Hell Razor, push red.”
“Sure. Pushed it.”
We held our breath, but there was no response from the computer voice. On the other hand, it didn’t abort the sequence either.
“Okay,” said Vargas. “Ghost, hit yellow.”
I punched the yellow button. “Done.”
“Angie, hit green.”
“Got it.”
“Thrasher…”
“Yeah, blue. Got it.”
We waited. Nothing. Vargas grunted over the walkie. “Well, shit. I guess we try agai—”
“Self destruct countdown begun,” said the computer voice. “All personnel evacuate the building immediately.”
The console in front of me began flashing a warning message and countdown clock. “Base destruction imminent,” it read. “You have 01:00:00 to leave the facility.”
Laughter came over the walkie.
“Okay,” said Angie. “That’s a bit of an anti–climax.”
“What?” said Vargas. “What happened?”
“We got us an hour to get out of here,” said Hell Razor. “So much for goin’ out in a blaze of glory.”
“More like a walk in the park,” said Angie.
“Ha!” said Vargas. “All right. Get back here and we’ll—”
A grinding roar interrupted him, followed by gunfire.
“Oh shit!” Vargas shouted. “Incoming! Incoming!”
Vax and I sprinted for the central hall. The robots had finally made it through the titanium steel door.
There was no getting through them.
Cochise might have been a day late and a dollar short when it came to stopping us from killing it, but that wasn’t going to stop it from trying to take us with it, and it poured everything it had left through that door.
Then rest of us found Vargas backing around a corner under heavy fire. We ran to him before the robots could get a bead on us, then trained all our guns on the corner and kept up a withering fire as they tried to come around it. There were too many. We barely slowed them down.
“Vax!” I shouted. “Please tell me there’s a secret way out of here and that it’s behind us, not on the other side of those death machines!”
“There is indeed an exit behind us, sir, but the probability of making an escape through it before you were cut down by your enemies is approximately four point five percent.”
“And what is the probability of fighting our way out the way we came in?” asked Angie.
“Zero percent, madam,” said Vax.
“Then four point five sounds like a winner,” said Vargas. “Get us there, Vax!”
“With pleasure, sir. This way, as quickly as you can.”
We ran after him with the horde of robots surging after us like a metal flood. Lasers burned trenches in the walls around us and left smoking scars in our armor. Bullets staggered us and knocked us sideways, and choppers and pincers and rotating saws clanged and snapped at our heels.
Vax led us to a room we’d already been in before — the robot maintenance facility — and threw open the door. We charged through single file as energy beams and lead slugs zipped by all around us. Vax fused the door shut behind us, then pointed to the far corner of the room, opposite the little key receptacle room, as the robots began battering the door from the other side.
“There is an air–conditioning duct in that corner that—”
He cut off as Thrasher suddenly fell over.
We all looked down at him. There was blood pooling on the floor under his left knee.
“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry.”
We looked closer. Something had found a crack in his shin armor and blown it open. His knee and lower leg were chopped meat inside a metal shell.
“Jesus, Beto!” said Vargas. “What happened?”
“Damn,” said Hell Razor.
“Why didn’t you say something?” asked Angie.
Thrasher swallowed. He was white and sweating with shock. “Just happened,” he said. “Coming through the door.”
Vargas cursed. “Alright. Get that greave off. We gotta tie that off. Vax, keep talking.”
“Yes sir,” said Vax, as Hell Razor and Vargas started tearing at the armor’s releases. “The duct leads to the exterior, but it is very narrow and once you enter it you will be entirely vulnerable to attacks from behind.”
“We’re going to get our asses shot to pieces, you mean,” I said.
“Yes sir,” said Vax. “And with Mr. Gilbert’s injury slowing down the group, I now calculate your chances of escaping at no more than point six percent.”