The PA was playing Elvis Presley singing "Blue Christmas."
Alarms were suddenly howling.
"Shit!"
Vickers quickened his pace. He hurried down the corridor to the nearest wall phone. A handler was talking into it. When she saw Vickers coming toward her, her face took on a look of pure terror. A hand flew to her mouth. She backed away to the full length of the cord. She held out the phone to him. "Please…"
Vickers neither had the time nor the disposition to be nice. He simply took the handset and let the frightened woman fluster away down the corridor. On the other end of the line, someone was wanting to know what was going on. "Hang up."
Vickers must have hit exactly the right note of authority since the other end of the line did exactly what it was told. Vickers punched in the code for Security Coordination. "This is Vickers. What's going on?"
"There's a riot started on the second level. A bunch of handlers refused to go on shift. Something about a cut in their water allocation. A Code D squad went in but they must have come on a bit too rough because fighting started and they were driven out of the GLA."
"What GLA is it?"
"Twenty-six."
"Women's area, right?" Vickers was relieved. At least Johanna, his on and off lover in GLA30, would not be directly involved. "Right."
"I'd better go up there, see if I can do anything. Are any more of my group headed up there?"
"Parkwood and Debbie are on their way."
"I'll find them."
He hung up and jogged to the elevators. About the only consolation in being a bunker corpse was that you were virtually your own boss. As he stepped out onto the second level, he found himself in the middle of a firefight. There was smoke in the corridor and the acrid smell that comes with gunfire. It was the kind of shock he could have done without. The handlers had guns. They must have disarmed some of the first Code D squad that went in. He threw himself back, but he wasn't quite fast enough. The elevator doors closed behind him. He pressed back against them, taking advantage of the minimal cover provided by the entrance. A shotgun blast tore up a piece of wall that was uncomfortably close. He slid down into a crouch. The second level was a mess but this was nothing new. At the best of times, its corridors were ugly with garbage, graffiti and broken light panels. Even across the elevator door, where Vickers crouched, someone had scrawled the angry but all too common slogan, "WE WANT OUT!"
Four security people in yellow uniforms were slowly moving up, pushing a golf cart in front of them, using it as cover. Further back a second squad was unreeling a steam hose. Further back still, Vickers spotted Parkwood and Debbie crouched behind another golf cart that had been overturned and thoroughly trashed. He looked in the other direction. The women had barricaded the entrance to the living area and were firing from behind an effective wall of stacked bunks and lockers. At least temporarily, they had the advantage. Another shotgun blast chewed up the wall beside him and Vickers decided that he'd be a great deal better off back with Parkwood and Debbie. The only problem was how to get there.
The group pushing the golf cart was almost level with him. It looked like the best chance that he was going to get. He tensed. He treated the barricade to a fast burst from his Yasha and jumped. As he rolled into cover behind the golf cart there was a burst of firing from the barricade. He estimated there were at least five weapons up there. Autoload shotguns and maybe one M90. It would be far from easy to get them out. He left the uniformed security to their slow progress and worked his way back to where the other two corpses were still crouched. It was with some relief that he ducked in beside them.
"Is it as much of a mess as it looks?"
"It's probably worse. The uniforms seem to have fucked things up about as bad as they could. That first Code D team that went in must have been a total bunch of clowns. They started manhandling the women. They even, by all accounts, put down their weapons. The women just grabbed their guns. They blew away two of them on the spot and they've got two more in there as hostages."
Parkwood sniffed. "I don't know what good they think hostages are going to do them. Lloyd-Ransom isn't going to deal. As far as he's concerned, everyone's expendable."
All three ducked as the M90 cut loose in a long, wild burst. Debris rained down from the ceiling.
"Have they made any demands? Do they want anything?"
"Not really. They're saying they want out but that's nothing new. I figure they've just been pushed too far."
"They must know that they'll be killed in the end. Nobody up here can have any illusions."
"That's less reason for them to give up easy."
There was another burst of firing. It was deafening in the closed space of the corridor. One of the uniforms trying to set up the steam hose was hit. He lay exposed, bleeding badly from a head wound. Parkwood turned so his back was against the upended golf cart.
"About the only piece of good luck in this whole mess is that it hasn't spread to the other living areas. It should be shift change right about now, but everyone's being held at their work stations. The other GLAs on this level are bottled up by the military. Lamas has taken charge and he seems to have some idea of what he's doing."
"What about Lloyd-Ransom?"
"Nobody's seen him."
"That's weird."
Parkwood's eyes were bleak.
"What isn't?"
Vickers glanced back. Behind them a mixed force of military grew and security yellow were moving up.
"I guess that's it for those women inside. It can only be a matter of time.
Debbie checked the clip on her machine pistol.
"It could be a lot of time and it may well cost dearly. It depends how much ammunition they have."
Vickers raised an eyebrow.
"You sound like you're on their side."
Debbie's head turned. She gave Vickers a long, cold stare.
"That's right. I probably am. At least they've got the courage to say enough after eighteen months in this stinking hole. Who wouldn't be on their side?"
"It might not be such a good idea to say so out loud!"
"Big Brother's still watching us?"
"Did it ever stop?"
"That, in itself, is reason to say enough."
Parkwood eased himself into a more comfortable position.
"Do you feel the remains of any collective sanity are right now slipping away?"
For some reason Debbie took this personally.
"I'm starting to dislike you."
"You're starting to dislike everybody. It's one of the symptoms."
Before the argument could escalate, there was another burst of gunfire from the barricade and a flurry of movement behind them. Yabu and a captain in the military slid into their patch of cover. There wasn't quite room for five of them behind the golf cart and the captain had to scrunch up to avoid her left side being exposed. She seemed wild-eyed, as if the experience of being shot at was a little too much for her.
"Who's in charge up here?"
Parkwood regarded her with a perfectly straight face.
"I thought you were."
The captain's eyes widened as if she'd been slapped. Vickers looked away. He didn't want to see any more people come unhinged. Up ahead the squad with the steam hose had it in position and were looking back for some kind of instruction. Debbie glanced contemptuously at the captain.
"Don't you think you ought to give them some sort of order? You seem to be the highest rank around here."
The captain stood straight up, seemingly without stopping to think. Vickers reached to pull her down but he was too late. She opened her mouth and suddenly a section of her face, just above the left eye, was missing. She toppled backward.
"Oh Christ."
Vickers looked quickly over the top of the golf cart and yelled to the crew on the steam hose.