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The lazgun beam that had sliced the window in half came probing in at
the new opening.
Jake, ducked low, ran along a row of seats and out through a great
jagged gap in what was left of the opposite wall.
Beyond the collapsed church rose a high mound of debris that had once
been a building. Beyond that there seemed to be nothing but chill,
dead white fog.
Jake made his way around the pile, crouched behind it and drew out his
stun gun He still hadn't seen who'd killed Belarski and was now
stalking him. He didn't know how many of them were out there the thick
mist.
William S h at net
All at once a fat grey rat, frightened by something, ran out of the
fog, brushed Jake's ankle and was gone.
Jake narrowed his eyes, watching the swirling mist. He spotted a dark
blur that was moving, very slowly, closer. He aimed his stun gun and
fired. The humming beam of his weapon hit the shadowy shape.
There was a cry of pain, a shuffling sound of feet scraping on dirt.
Someone fell against a pile of bricks, wooden beams and plastiglass.
Jake waited where he was, watching and listening. A minute went by.
Jake stayed there for another full minute.
Then he started moving, circling the great mound of rubble. He
listened as he went, straining to hear the faintest sound of pursuit.
Another partial building loomed up out of the fog. The entire front
wall of Shery's Cafe stood, its front door hanging lopsided and half
open.
When Jake was level with the door, it snapped all the way open, hitting
his gun hand and sending the stun gun spinning away into the fog.
A wide, black man lurched out. "... kill the bastard .. . Jake
Cardigan .. ." He held a needle gun clutched in his left fist. "No
good bastard has to die .. ."
Jake backed slowly, hoping he'd trip over his lost gun in time to use
it on the zombie.
A knife sailed by Jake's head and hit the big man in the chest. The
zombie gasped. His needle gun went off, sending two dozen sharp silver
darts into the ground. With his right hand he made a grab for the hilt
of the knife that was sticking in him. He missed, staggered. He made
a second grab and missed again. His hand dropped to his side and,
spitting out blood, he fell flat out on the ground and died.
"That's worth twenty," said a young voice. "At least."
Jake turned.
Wally, one of the boys he'd met by the cook fire was walking out of the
night mist. "I've been following you," he said as he stooped to
retrieve his knife from the de adman chest.
T e k-L o r d
"Thanks."
"Pretty good toss of the knife, wasn't it?"
"Expert." Jake saw his st:ungun lying nearby and picked it up.
"You want an escort out of the Ruins?" Wally wiped the knife blade on
the side of his trousers.
"Quiet a minute." Jake was looking back the way he'd come. "There
were only two of them." "Sure?"
"The one you decked, he had the lazgun. This poor sod he brought with
him," said Wally, kicking the de adman in the side with his battered
shoe. "That's the lot."
Jake kept his stun gun in his hand. "Here," he said, fishing out ten
dollars in Bam notes with his other hand.
"For an additional twenty-five I'll see you all the way home,"
offered the boy.
"I can handle it alone."
Wally stared at him a minute, then shrugged and walked away.
The cyborg chef whispered, "Quick, along this way."
Natalie, clutching a small vidcamera to her chest, crouched and entered
the metal-walled tunnel first.
Gomez, stepping around a large drum of soy flour and ducking,
followed the redhaired reporter out of the galley pantry.
The chef, a fat blond man with a silver right arm, came last.
"Tiptoe, please. Make no noise," he urged in a nervous whisper.
The tunnel, which was less than five feet high, slanted downward.
There was no light except what drifted in from the partly open pantry
panel behind them.
After they'd covered roughly a thousand feet the tunnel ended at a
thick metal door.
"Excuse me, coming through," whispered the uneasy chef. He oofed
around Gomez, squeezed by Natalie to the door. "I've a key
Someplace." With the forefinger of his flesh hand he pressed one of
ut tons that ringed his metal wrist like a bracelet. "Darn, that's
'l O
not it." An eggbeater had replaced the silvery metal fingers. "Hold
on, patience. There." A large brassy key replaced the eggbeater. The
heavy door whirred slightly as it swung open inward. "That made too
much noise," whispered the anguished chef.
Beyond the doorway was a warm, musty room full of darkness.
The chef slipped inside first, followed by Natalie and Gomez. The
detective said, "Can we turn on some lights now?" "Not so loud. We
could get killed if any--"
"Spike," cut in Natalie, "I appreciate your letting me bribe you to let
us in here. But, if you don't mind my saying so, you're really making
much too much over what is essentially a simple eavesdropping
excursion."
"When I shut the door, Gomez," said Spike, "touch that light panel on
your left."
, ,$,. "
The door was shut, Gomez touched the panel and, after three or four
seconds of blackness, light blossomed overhead. The small room had a
bank of ten small vidscreens in the far wall with three chairs facing
them.
"Some years ago, when the management was even less scrupulous, this
place was used to monitor the activities in the more expensive suites
aboard The Casino," explained the jittery cyborg, gesturing with his
silvery metal fingers at the screens. "The meeting you're interested
in watching is taking place in the Imperial Suite."
Natalie was already at the wall, studying the screens. "That'll be
Screen 7." She reached out, touched a button.
"
TERRIBLE FRIGGING BOOZE CONSIDERING
WHAT WE'RE PAYING FOR THIS--"
"Turn it down!" The chef leaped, slapping at the control panel. "If
anyone hears us we're finished."
"Has it ever been pointed out to you, Spike," inquired Gomez, "that
your manner doesn't inspire confidence?"
"Come take a look," said Natalie, who was watching Screen 7. "The guy
who's complaining is Sig Schraube."
"Yeah, the head man of the biggest Tek cartel in United Get-many."
"You've got exactly one hour by the clock," whispered Spike. "I'll be
back for you then." He let himself, quietly, out of the monitoring
room.
The screen provided a long shot of a large living room There were two
black sofas and a half dozen plastig]ass armchairs. At the moment
there were six men in the room.
Natalie aimed her camera at the screen. "The man under the animated
painting of the ballerina is Leopold Boreg, who controls
Tek distribution in Israel."
"Also in attendance are Klaus Ruuvi of Finland and Manuel
Parafuso of New Brazil."
"Both important Teklords."
"Let's listen." He upped the volume a bit.
"... screw her," Ruuvi was saying. "There's no reason for her to think
she can run our whole damn setup."
Boreg said, "She did, after all come up with the basic scheme,
Klaus. And Tora also arranged for us to acquire a sufficient supply
of
XP-203."
"Tora?" Gomez frowned.
"Know the name?"
"Yeah, but it's supposed to be inscribed on a tombstone over in
Japan."
"... the purpose of this meeting," said Parafuso, "is to select the
next target city, isn't it?"
"How about Rio?" suggested Boreg.
"That's not especially funny, Leopold."
"We don't have to pick another city yet--they may give in after
rlsco.
Schraube was scowling at the glass in his big hand. "What's the latest
report from San Francisco?"
"3,400 cases as of this morning," answered Ruuvi.
The German shook his head. "Far from enough."
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