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And it wasn't his tongue that re- quired flicking.
My face flushed. "Um, you'd better take this one, PFC Sanders.
"And here I thought you were a born lever-puller." Arlene flicked the
switch; the blue-gray wall cranked down into a slit in the floor, revealing
a spacious lift. "Deluxe service," Arlene said, pointing at the labeled bank
of elevator buttons. We'd made it through the Containment Area. Below us was
the Refinery, then Deimos Lab, the Command Center, the Central Hall, and
three levels below that which were unlabeled.
"Basement? Skip the crap?" I said.
"Hm. Yeah, well, maybe."
"Maybe? Makes sense to me. Every time that door slides open, we run the
risk of being stormed by giant vampire slugs from the planet Pornos, or
being machine- gunned to death by Nazi schutzstaffel."
"Fly, these lifts didn't work too well even back when we had people
maintaining them! They got stuck all the time. If the sensors detected
anything in the shaft, you stopped at the floor above. If a door was open
some- where, the whole elevator could freeze. Go ahead and push the basement
button . . . I'll bet you a month's pay we won't make it more than a couple
of levels; then we'll have to find another lift somewhere."
I looked at her and snorted. "You're so full of good cheer. Well, ready
or not, here goes nothing."
Here went nothing, all right.
I pushed the button; we started with a jerk and ground downward,
skewing back and forth dangerously. As we descended toward the refinery, I
saw that the lift didn't take us there directly, but to a warehouse section
we'd have to pass through first. In the distance we had an actual view of
the refinery through large, gaping holes in the floors and ceilings. Some
kind of fighting had gone on here.
We had descended some fifty meters. What we could see of the refinery
was laid out like an open maze; it was possible to see in the distance an
expanse of pink, moving objects that looked like fleshy cubes or blocks. I
hoped they weren't alive, weren't the next creatures on the hit parade. They
were gigantic, reminding me of the "organic ladder" and the pulsing walls
back on Phobos. Then we'd moved past the point where we could see the
refinery. Our descent brought us to a more normal scene.
"Normal" in this case meant a warehouse area stuffed with UAC boxes to
the height of twelve feet or more and so densely packed as to create their
own pseudo- corridors. We'd noticed a number of humanoid figures with the
familiar brown hide and white spikes scurrying for cover . . . back in imp
country again.
The lift stopped, not quite all the way to the floor; we had to jump
down about three meters.
Arlene peeked over the edge. "You owe me a month's pay, Corporal
Flaggart."
"Did I take the bet? I don't recall saying any such thing."
"Native American giver."
We hopped out onto the ugliest, puke-green marble I'd ever seen; but it
was still good to have something solid underfoot.
"All right, PFC Sanders, let's do this by the numbers."
"Sure, Fly. So which box is number one? And how come we never do stuff
by the letters?" I threw her a withering glance, like an older brother to a
pesky sister. We were ready to rock and roll.
Fighting demons had spoiled me. I liked an enemy that didn't shoot
back. We popped through the warehouse like nobody's business, pulse
galloping, keyed to instant reaction. The refinery had its share of toxic
ooze. We didn't pay it any mind, but so far, there were only a few sticky
regions instead of slime beach. I looked for barrels of the stuff, my
favorite way of dealing with imps; but there were none.
The first fireball missed us by a country klick. The second came too
close to Arlene to suit me, so after I killed the imp, I wasted ammo . . .
and killed him again to teach him a lesson. They were smart enough to duck
in and out of the natural defenses provided by the stacked boxes, but not
enough to gang up on us or show any other sign of working together. None of
these guys were talking.
Still, there were a lot more of them than there were of us. One almost
got me from behind. If he'd had a partner, I'd have been dead meat. Instead,
Arlene slid in behind the both of us and used her bayonet like a can opener.
Busy as I was staying alive, I could appreciate the sheer grace of Arlene,
back to the wall of boxes, cradling her shotgun like a baby; never mind dogs
as "man's best friend."
With hand gestures I indicated who would take which section. Another
fifteen minutes and we were back in the same place. She'd killed more than I
had. The warehouse area had been cleared.
I was tired enough to wish one of those magical blue spheres would make
an appearance. I hadn't told her about that because it seemed too
unbelievable, even in a place like this. But Arlene the mind reader had
brought a small black case back with her. It looked medical. I'd have to
start calling her "Doc."
Opening it, she produced a syringe filled with clear liquid, labeled
"cardiac augmentation stimulation unit." I held it for a second, then
carefully passed it back to her as if it were a loaded weapon.
"Can't believe I found this," she said. "It's synthetic adrenaline to
be used on patients who are in the throes of cardiac arrest."
"What would it do to you or me?"
She paused, biting her lip again. "In a normal person, the adrenaline
rush would make you super strong. There's a drawback, though; it could also
give you tachycardia and kill you."
"Just say no to having an edge," I commented, taking the black package
and its contents and adding it to my collection.
"Fly, maybe we should toss it. That stuff could be too much of a
temptation."
"Hey, if push comes to shove, we can inject one of them with it, right
up their monster fundaments. All in the interests of science."
The only unlocked door led to a huge, green marble chamber with a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl rafalstec.xlx.pl
And it wasn't his tongue that re- quired flicking.
My face flushed. "Um, you'd better take this one, PFC Sanders.
"And here I thought you were a born lever-puller." Arlene flicked the
switch; the blue-gray wall cranked down into a slit in the floor, revealing
a spacious lift. "Deluxe service," Arlene said, pointing at the labeled bank
of elevator buttons. We'd made it through the Containment Area. Below us was
the Refinery, then Deimos Lab, the Command Center, the Central Hall, and
three levels below that which were unlabeled.
"Basement? Skip the crap?" I said.
"Hm. Yeah, well, maybe."
"Maybe? Makes sense to me. Every time that door slides open, we run the
risk of being stormed by giant vampire slugs from the planet Pornos, or
being machine- gunned to death by Nazi schutzstaffel."
"Fly, these lifts didn't work too well even back when we had people
maintaining them! They got stuck all the time. If the sensors detected
anything in the shaft, you stopped at the floor above. If a door was open
some- where, the whole elevator could freeze. Go ahead and push the basement
button . . . I'll bet you a month's pay we won't make it more than a couple
of levels; then we'll have to find another lift somewhere."
I looked at her and snorted. "You're so full of good cheer. Well, ready
or not, here goes nothing."
Here went nothing, all right.
I pushed the button; we started with a jerk and ground downward,
skewing back and forth dangerously. As we descended toward the refinery, I
saw that the lift didn't take us there directly, but to a warehouse section
we'd have to pass through first. In the distance we had an actual view of
the refinery through large, gaping holes in the floors and ceilings. Some
kind of fighting had gone on here.
We had descended some fifty meters. What we could see of the refinery
was laid out like an open maze; it was possible to see in the distance an
expanse of pink, moving objects that looked like fleshy cubes or blocks. I
hoped they weren't alive, weren't the next creatures on the hit parade. They
were gigantic, reminding me of the "organic ladder" and the pulsing walls
back on Phobos. Then we'd moved past the point where we could see the
refinery. Our descent brought us to a more normal scene.
"Normal" in this case meant a warehouse area stuffed with UAC boxes to
the height of twelve feet or more and so densely packed as to create their
own pseudo- corridors. We'd noticed a number of humanoid figures with the
familiar brown hide and white spikes scurrying for cover . . . back in imp
country again.
The lift stopped, not quite all the way to the floor; we had to jump
down about three meters.
Arlene peeked over the edge. "You owe me a month's pay, Corporal
Flaggart."
"Did I take the bet? I don't recall saying any such thing."
"Native American giver."
We hopped out onto the ugliest, puke-green marble I'd ever seen; but it
was still good to have something solid underfoot.
"All right, PFC Sanders, let's do this by the numbers."
"Sure, Fly. So which box is number one? And how come we never do stuff
by the letters?" I threw her a withering glance, like an older brother to a
pesky sister. We were ready to rock and roll.
Fighting demons had spoiled me. I liked an enemy that didn't shoot
back. We popped through the warehouse like nobody's business, pulse
galloping, keyed to instant reaction. The refinery had its share of toxic
ooze. We didn't pay it any mind, but so far, there were only a few sticky
regions instead of slime beach. I looked for barrels of the stuff, my
favorite way of dealing with imps; but there were none.
The first fireball missed us by a country klick. The second came too
close to Arlene to suit me, so after I killed the imp, I wasted ammo . . .
and killed him again to teach him a lesson. They were smart enough to duck
in and out of the natural defenses provided by the stacked boxes, but not
enough to gang up on us or show any other sign of working together. None of
these guys were talking.
Still, there were a lot more of them than there were of us. One almost
got me from behind. If he'd had a partner, I'd have been dead meat. Instead,
Arlene slid in behind the both of us and used her bayonet like a can opener.
Busy as I was staying alive, I could appreciate the sheer grace of Arlene,
back to the wall of boxes, cradling her shotgun like a baby; never mind dogs
as "man's best friend."
With hand gestures I indicated who would take which section. Another
fifteen minutes and we were back in the same place. She'd killed more than I
had. The warehouse area had been cleared.
I was tired enough to wish one of those magical blue spheres would make
an appearance. I hadn't told her about that because it seemed too
unbelievable, even in a place like this. But Arlene the mind reader had
brought a small black case back with her. It looked medical. I'd have to
start calling her "Doc."
Opening it, she produced a syringe filled with clear liquid, labeled
"cardiac augmentation stimulation unit." I held it for a second, then
carefully passed it back to her as if it were a loaded weapon.
"Can't believe I found this," she said. "It's synthetic adrenaline to
be used on patients who are in the throes of cardiac arrest."
"What would it do to you or me?"
She paused, biting her lip again. "In a normal person, the adrenaline
rush would make you super strong. There's a drawback, though; it could also
give you tachycardia and kill you."
"Just say no to having an edge," I commented, taking the black package
and its contents and adding it to my collection.
"Fly, maybe we should toss it. That stuff could be too much of a
temptation."
"Hey, if push comes to shove, we can inject one of them with it, right
up their monster fundaments. All in the interests of science."
The only unlocked door led to a huge, green marble chamber with a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]