36
As Grayson burst through the doors to Room 6, he took in the scene as isolated and unrelated fragments, with the unreality of a dream. He saw Lori—alive! Alive!He shouted in triumph at the sight of her, and she shrieked his name in answer. She was stretched out, bound at wrists and ankles and strapped to a hellish-looking steel table that had been tilted up to bring her face to face with her captors.
There were three of these, a pair of brawny types in Kurita uniforms with pistols at their belts. In their midst was a smaller figure in a stained white smock. The one with the smock was just pulling a rod tipped with tightly wrapped rags from a shallow basin set on a tripod in the center of the room. The basin held some liquid that had been ignited, as well as a chilling array of sinister-looking, long-handled tools. The fire danced and flared halfway to the high, vaulted ceiling, casting weirdly distorted shadows on walls and floors, along the massive wooden beams that supported the ceiling, and across the stacks of crates and kegs that lined the room.
The rags fixed to the end of the rod took fire from the basin as the man with the smock looked up, eyes wide and glittering in the light of the basin's flames. The guards fumbled at their holsters for their guns.
Grayson's TK was empty. His rush at the door had carried him through almost before he'd realized the weapon had stopped firing. He continued his rush now, crossing the five steps from the door to the nearest Kurita soldier in a pell-mell charge, swinging the butt of the rifle up and into the man's jaw with the final step.
The second guard had his pistol out, was yanking the slide back to chamber a round. Grayson swung the TK again with a roundhouse stroke that shattered the rifle's plastic stock against the man's temple.
"Gray!" Lori's shriek rang from stone walls, stark with fear.
"Behind you!"
He stepped forward and ducked as something burning hot whooshed through the air just above his head. Grayson sidestepped as the torch swung again. He groped at his belt for his pistol, dragged it free, then felt a stinging shock as the torch snickered back and smashed against his wrist. Flames billowed in his face as his pistol clattered across stone to the far end of the room. The interrogator advanced with deadly purpose, his smock flapping. The torch in his hands roared as he swung it a fourth time, missed, recovered, and brought it around again. With each swing of his arm, the flaming rags on the torch were fanned into a blazing meteor of fire.
Grayson dropped and rolled. The torch smashed into the stone where his head had been an instant before, and sparks and shreds of burning rag skittered across the stone. The Kurita interrogator brought the torch up again, holding it spear-like in a clawed, white-knuckled death's grip. Grayson watched the burning end of the torch with a horrid fascination as the attacker advanced step...by step...
He needed a weapon. His pistol was gone, the guards' weapons were out of reach, and even his knife was out of reach on his boot A grenade would kill everyone in the room, himself and Lori included. That was one way out, but...
His hand closed on one of the three grenades on his vest. His attacker's eyes widened above the light of the torch, then narrowed with a fanatic's determination. The interrogator lunged forward, thrusting the fire at Grayson's face. Grayson twisted and backed away, smashing the back of his head against the wall behind him.
Head ringing, he lunged to one side as the torch stabbed at him again. The flaming rags ground against stone, leaving a furiously burning patch where the liquid in the cloth was splattered against the wall. The grenade came free from Grayson's vest as he stepped back once more. His attacker swung around, the torch ready for another swing.
Grayson hurled the grenade without pulling the pin to arm it. It hit the interrogator squarely in the mouth, sending him tumbling backward into a table set with utensils of horror. The torch dropped guttering to the floor. Grayson's opponent scrabbled among blades, clamps, and other nightmarish objects that glittered as his fingers reached for the long, deadly wand of a neural whip.
Grayson stepped inside the slender blade, his left hand closing on the man's throat. He felt savage, keening agony in his side as the neural whip raked across his ribs, but the light jacket he wore shielded him from the worst of the weapon's charge. His right hand smashed forward, the heel of his hand ramming into the jaw of his enemy. The man's head snapped back, the whip falling from nerveless fingers.
Gasping, Grayson limped over to the table where Lori remained bound. Wincing against the pain of the whip's burn, he drew his knife and sawed at the leather straps that held her.
"Gray...you're here..."
He took her in his arms. "Easy there, Lori. I couldn't go misplacing my own best first officer, now could I?"
She was shivering, unable to say more. He shrugged out of his combat vest, then stripped off his lightweight black jacket and pulled it around her shoulders. He then took a moment to check his side. There were no marks, but it burned like fire when he pulled his tactical vest back into place over his undershirt.
Lori's boots lay on the floor nearby, next to an empty liter cask of azelwax. Grayson brought them to her. "Think you can walk?"
She nodded as she pulled the lightweight boots onto her bare feet. Grayson stooped to retrieve his automatic pistol from where he'd dropped it and pulled another one from the grasp of a fallen Kurita soldier. He handed one to her, and tucked the other into his trousers.
"O.K., we're going to get out of here now. Everything will be..."
Lori threw herself against him with a scream, knocking him to the side. The neural whip sang past his ear and whanged against the empty steel table. The white-smocked Draco interrogator was on his feet again, staggering forward, his lower face a bloody mask where Grayson's blow had broken teeth.
Lori swung her pistol up, but their attacker had already stepped between her and Grayson. She froze, unable to get a clear shot. Grayson grappled with the man, his fingers groping for a hold on his wrist to keep the deadly blade of the neural whip away from his face. Slick with sweat, Grayson's fingers lost their hold. The blade descended and rang loudly against the steel table as he twisted away from the blow. The neural whip described a flashing circle as the interrogator snapped it around for another lunge.
Grayson stepped forward, blocking the blade with his left arm as he brought his fist back for a punch. The neural whip scribed white fire down Grayson's left arm and tore an agonized, uncontrollable scream from his throat. He sagged back against the table, helpless. The attacker smiled through a bloody mask, the neural whip blade levelling, weaving centimeters from Grayson's eyes.
The torch kindled to new, blazing life as it whipped through the air, smashing into the interrogator's bloodied face from the side. The blow snapped the man up and back, arms flailing, as the torch dropped clattering from Lori's hands.
The flames in the basin on the tripod had subsided somewhat during the wild battle through the room, but the liquid burned still with flickering yellow flames. The interrogator fell against the tripod, shrieking as the liquid splashed, soaking his smock. Flames roared, licking at the ceiling. Grayson stepped past the drunkenly staggering human torch, turned Lori away from the horror, and shoved her out toward the passageway.
He pulled his pistol free and whirled, ready to deliver a mercy shot, but white heat clawed at his face as flames raced across the room. He heard screams, weaker now... but he could no longer see his target. The cries were swallowed by the roar of the fire.
Lori's face held dull shock. "I killed him..."