"Yeah," said Koll dryly, "and too little and all we get's a big spark and a fart and the door stays put."
Hunaker began to roll the plastic explosive into stringy tails between her hands. She held one piece up.
"Too fat?"
J.B. stared at it critically, looked at the door, made some mental calculations.
"Roll it some more, then slap it in."
When Hunaker started to stuff the material down the right-hand side of the door, thumbing it down, then along the lintel at the top, J.B. got up and jabbed a finger at a spot about halfway down the door.
"More in there. Three times what you have already. That's where the locking device is."
He went back to the center of the room, sat down cross-legged again and continued his construction work. There was a long silence while Koll tossed plastique from his own boots to Hunaker and Hunaker molded the doughy substance around the match-stick detonators, squashing the strips into cracks and crevices, lacing it around the doorframe, all the time trying to avoid Sam's sight line to the corridor outside.
"What d'you reckon about Ryan?" she said suddenly.
J.B. bit a filament of wire in two. He didn't look up.
"What about him?"
"He blew out up there."
"It happens." The wiry little man's tone was unconcerned.
"You think he's got the hots for the Wroth woman?"
"Probably."
"You think we'll see him again?"
"Knowing Ryan, yeah."
"He's been in a few tight ones, hasn't he? I mean, with you and all."
"That he has."
"Y'know where he came from originally?"
"Out east, I think."
Hunaker said, "I think'? How long have you known Ryan? Must be ten years at least. And you don't even know where his kin are? I bet you don't even know his other name."
"Is this some kind of precombat intelligence test?" Koll said with a frown. He was replacing strips of unwanted plastique in his boots.
"Well?" said Hunaker. "Do you?"
"No."
"Does anyone?"
"Trader, maybe."
"Rumor is, he was a Runner from somewhere."
"Only muties are Runners," said Koll knowledgeably. "Muties and blacks and yallers and a few other colors, depending on where they're running from. If Ryan's a mutie, he keeps it close to his chest."
"I didn't say he was a mutie. I don't believe he is a mutie."
"Can't tell these days," said Koll. "What's the big interest in Ryan all of a sudden, anyhow?"
"I felt sorry for him."
"Feel sorry for Strasser," said J.B. "Otherwise, shut it."
In front of him, as though magicked there, was a tiny sliver of plastique on which was a spiderweb cross-hatching of fine wire connected to a couple of chip housings, plus a keying device about the size of a quarter thumbnail. J.B. stared at it, his thin lips very slightly curved.
"Christ, J.B.," said Koll, lacing up his boots, "you look almost cheerful."
"The miracles of pre-Nuke science," said J.B.
"You sure it'll work?"
J.B. stared at him blankly, then wrinkled his brow.
"Is that a joke?" He sounded genuinely puzzled.
"Uh... no, J.B." Then Koll said hurriedly, "I mean, yeah." He tittered nervously.
"They were very sophisticated in the 1990s," said J.B. seriously. "This is a neat little number. The detonators are tuned to it. All I have to do is build it, key it, blow it." He coughed, said vaguely, "I did throw in a couple of extras..."
He began packing away his bits and pieces, pulled on and laced up his boots and got to his feet. He said, suddenly brisk, "Here it is. I want two guys down here, at least. That gives us two auto-rifles plus any handguns they have. Could make do with one, but pray for two. They gotta be looking through the window. Doesn't matter if they don't come in. Don't want 'em in. Just need 'em looking for a couple of sec men and we got 'em. After that we move fast. If we can reach street level we've got a chance." He pointed at Hunaker. "You and me first. Grab the pieces and go." He turned to the other two. "Pick over the bodies. Spare mags, grenades, knives — anything."
Hunaker sighed exaggeratedly, then zipped down her jump jacket to open it. Underneath she wore two sweat shirts, which she tugged up for a second, exposing her breasts. They were small but full and round. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on her skin. Koll stared at her and swallowed.
Hunaker snapped, "That's about all you'll ever get, a sighting." She pulled the two sweat shirts some more, loosening them, then covered herself again. "Okay, ready for the off."
J.B. said, "Don't forget your ears."
Hunaker said, "You're as bad as the Old Man."
She went to the door and began to bawl out the barred window. She knew she had to play this one carefully, not overdo it. It would be easy to throw out the come-hither in a cutesy-pie voice, but that, right now, was not going to work. Instead she yelled, "Hey! There's anyone up there, I wanna talk! Ryan's got a booby on him, ready to blow!"
Koll muttered, "It's original."
There was silence. Koll licked his lips, stared at the back of Hunaker's head, at the green hair cropped short and tight. He glanced at Samantha, locked eyes with the black girl for a couple of seconds, raised an eyebrow. Sam leaned back against the wall and clasped her hands together in front of her. Koll noticed that she began twining her fingers restlessly. J.B. stared at the opposite wall. As usual, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.
"Hey!" yelled Hunaker. "This is for real!"
More silence, then Samantha nodded and said, "Yeah, they're coming."
To Koll and the others there was more silence, then at last they heard bootsteps ringing hollowly far off.
A voice shouted, "Shut the fuck up, bitch, or you get hurt bad!"
Shaking his head, Koll murmured, "Uninspired. We already know that."
Hunaker said loudly, "I got something on Ryan. Strasser don't know it."
They could hear voices raised in argument, but there was no definition to the sound. Then the ringing of boots came closer, two sets, clattering down the concrete steps. Hunaker moved away from the bars. The sec man came nearer. The man called Ferd was in front, and behind him the guy Krysty had kicked, who had not had a wash and brush-up in the interim.
He was saying, "If there's some kind of fuck-up and Strasser finds out we knew about it all along he'll have us eaten."
Ferd said coldly, "You just be ready ta shoot the shit outta these monkeys. I don't trust 'em."
The man with the red-smeared mouth cautiously peered into the cell from the side. He gulped, moved around so he could get a better view, his eyes flickering to the right and taking in the slumped figures on the floor. In the split second he took in this part of the scene, he noted that although he could see both the blond guy's hands, he couldn't see those of the man called Dix, who appeared to be lying on them in a hunched kind of way. But this didn't seem to be in any way significant, so his gaze whipped back to where the green-haired young woman was lounging against the wall, her head back, her eyes half closed, her lips parted. She was breathing heavily. One hand held her shirt up and the man with the bloody mouth could see her right breast. The other breast was half hidden beneath the busy lips of the black girl who was leaning across her from the side.