Reston hurried back toward the control room, the weight of the sidearm against his hip making him feel a little better. He'd feel better still if he made it back in time to watch the Hunters slaughter the three men, although he'd settle for just seeing the dead bodies.
That would be perfectly fine, no problem so long as they die.
Reston wanted a drink, he wanted to get back to control, lock himself in and wait for Hawkinson to come back. He'd felt a moment of near-hysteria when he'd realized that communications had gone down, but nothing had changed, not really. The elevator was still locked off and the incompetent sergeant would be back with the helicopter in no time at all; if itwasthe surface trio who'd cut the outside lines—which he had no doubts about, not really—Hawkinson would handle them. If by some small chance it was actually a technical problem, a new electrician would be brought in as soon as he missed his morning report.
Not being able to contact his colleagues had been the distressing part, but he'd decided that it could work to his advantage; who wouldn't be impressed, that in such nerve-wracking circumstances he'd still managed to handle things? All things considered, trapping the invaders in the test program was his only recourse. No one would blame him, or at least not overly much.
Retrieving the .38 revolver from his room had eased his mind even more; he'd brought it to the Planet mostly because it had been a gift from Jackson,
and though he knew very little about guns, he knew that all he had to do with the .38 was pull the trigger. The heavy handgun practically shot itself, there wasn't even a safety switch to fuss with....
Reston was halfway back to control when it occurred to him that he should have let the workmen out of the cafeteria; he'd walked right past the locked door, twice, and hadn't thought of it. Too much brandy perhaps. He considered going back for about one heartbeat, deciding that they could damn well wait; making certain that the 3Ks were acting as they should was much more important. Besides, he meant to fire the whole worthless lot as soon as he'd reestablished contact with the home office; not one of them had even tried to protect the Planet or their employer.
Control, ahead on the right. Reston broke into a jog, rounding the corner to the offshoot and hurrying through the door. There was movement on one of the screens, and he ran to the chair, both excited and anxious to see the men fall. It was nothing to be ashamed of, theywerein the wrong, after all—
—and they weren't dead, not one of them, but Reston saw that now it was only a matter of moments. All three men were shooting at one of the Hunters, and as he watched, a second loped on to the scene, still as black as the car it must have been standing by.
Red spun to his right, shooting at the new threat, but the 3K wasn't to be put off by a few puny bullets; with a single massive leap, the Hunter closed the gap between them, twenty feet with one powerful thrust. They could do almost thirty, Reston knew from the preliminary data—
—and now Cole was firing at it, too, as John
continued to blast at the first, already the deep gray of the asphalt. The first had taken a lot, fire from all three men; as Reston watched, it turned and sprang off of the screen, out of sight.
The second was still a deep shining black, perfectly defined as it raised one muscular arm to swat at the bullets hammering its body. Huge, a naked, sexless humanoid shape, the towering beast with the sloping, reptilian skull and three-inch talons threw back its head and howled. Reston knew the sound, his mind filling it in for the silently screaming creature as it started to disappear into the street, the match near perfect, as it swung its arm again and Red was knocked sprawling.
Yes!
John stepped in front of his fallen comrade and blasted at the fading monster, as Cole pulled Red to his feet, the two men backing away. There was some vocal interchange—
—and the two ran off the screen, headed south . . . had the creature been hurt? John stopped firing and there was blood pouring from somewhere, covering the 3K's face, its chest—
—eyes, must have hit its eyes. Dammit!It reeled and fell, not a fatal wound but one that would incapacitate it for a while.
John turned and ran after his companions, no other Hunters in sight—at least Reston didn't think so. Not that it mattered, they were as good as dead; there was no way they could get through the city without being attacked, nowhere they could hide—though just to be on the safe side, Reston tapped the doorlock for the connecting door back to Three.
No retreat, gentlemen. . . .
They hadn't appeared on the screen that showed the street just south of the first camera angle; frowning, Reston switched cameras, using one from a building front—
—and saw a door close, the men seeking sanctuary inside one of the stores. Reston shook his head. That would probably shield them for five minutes, certainly no longer, the 3Ks had the strength to tear down the city, if they so chose, and hunted primarily by sense of smell. They'd track the cowering men, track them and finally put an end to their trouble-making, useless lives.
There wasn't a camera in the building they'd entered; he'd have to wait for them to reappear, or for
the Hunters to drag them out. Reston grinned, his teeth grinding together, impatient, wondering why the 3Ks were taking so goddamn long. It was time for the test to end, time for the Planet to be restored.
The Hunters wouldn't fail him. He just had to wait a few more minutes.
They found the way in at the back of the middle building, past the generator room, where they'd put the three snarling guards. It was a total fluke, as they'd only been looking for the controls to unlock the service elevator back in the entry building.
There were four of them, a bank of elevators in a carpeted alcove against the far west wall. They weren't operational, but there was a two-man lift in the first shaft they opened up, David and Claire prying the doors open with no small effort. Though tired and unwell, the sight of the tiny platform hooked
to its own pulley system made Rebecca want to laugh out loud.
They'll never suspect that we're coming, we'll slip in like shadows.
"Looks as though someone forgot to lock the back door," David said, a look of triumph on his weary face.
Claire looked at the small square of metal doubtfully. "Will we all fit?"
David didn't answer right away, turning to look at Rebecca. She knew what he was going to suggest and started digging for a decent argument before he even opened his mouth.
The helicopter could come back, probably will, if they're injured you'll need me, what if the guards manage to get out—
"Rebecca—I need an honest assessment of your condition," he said, his features carefully neutral.
"I'm tired, I have a headache and a limp—and you need me down there, David, I'm not a hundred percent but I'm not on the verge of collapse, either, and you said yourself that another team is probably on the way—"
David was smiling, holding up his hands. "Allright, we all go. It will be a tight fit, but the weight shouldn't be a problem, you're both small. .. ."
He stepped inside, pulling his flashlight and shining it across the hanging cables, then on the simple control box attached to the lift's half-railing. "... I think we can manage well enough. Shall we?"
Rebecca and then Claire stepped into the elevator shaft, the makeshift service platform only filling a quarter of the dark space. Cold, open air was above
and below, and the rail was only on one side. Claire squirmed uncomfortably against the metal bar; the three of them were pressed tightly together.
"Wish I had a breath mint," Claire muttered.
"Iwish you had breath mint," Rebecca said, and Claire snickered. Rebecca could feel the movement of Claire's rib cage against her arm; they were packed in tight.