crackled again. A scream of pain rose from somewhere near where he had last heard Burke's Steyr. There was more gunfire, but only from one side. Burke's weapon was silent. The Mihn-Pao guards would be continuing their advance. They would be cautious; they couldn't know where the runners waited. Several stacks of brilliant orange cylinders screened the two groups, but only for a minute at best. Not enough time to get the doors open and the boat clear. Even if Twist was a warrior adept, they would not get out alive without Burke. They were trapped.
New gunfire raked the dock and boat, forcing the runners to duck. The first of the reserve squad had arrived. The laser gunner, slowed by his heavy load, would soon be upon them. The elf returned fire while Twist struggled to unmoor the boat.
What a rotter! For a chance impatience, the run had soured. Corbeau would die here and it was Glover's fault. He could not have harmed the cause more if he had tried. It was unbearable. There had to be something that could be done. He started to pant as his panic and anger fought for dominance within him. As his chest rose and fell within the confines of his armored jacket, he felt a hardness rubbing against his skin. Bright Lord! He was an idiot whose poor memory disgraced his calling.
Burke had bought them some time at the cost of his life. Such a sacrifice could not, would not, be wasted. Glover stripped open the velcro fastening of his jacket and reached under the neck of his shirt, groping for the cord. His frantic fingers found the talisman and pulled it free. His desperate animal self cried for him to unleash its power, but his rational mind knew that the object held no power of its own; the amulet was just a focus, a way for him to amplify his call and enhance his control. Hyde-White had been right with a firefight raging, he needed the concrete object as a core for his concentration. He intoned the word of release over and over. He willed the guardian spirit to act, focusing on the Mihn-Pao team and naming them his enemies.
The laser gunner rounded the corner. He advanced ^ boldly, confident in his firepower and the protective i; virtues of his armor. His support team fired past him from protected positions. ^, The shriek of tortured metal from the cylinders at la187 his side brought the ork to a wary halt. One of the cannisters midway up the pile had bulged out as if hammered by some immense force. Metal squealed again as the cylinder distended anew. With an earsplitting screech, the abused container split. A translucent green column of chemical gel arced from the fissure, curving unnaturally to reach for a Mihn-Pao guard who had used the end of the stack as cover. Tentacle-like, it wrapped around the man. He screamed at its touch. Cloth and flesh blackened, hissing and bubbling under the touch of the toxic slime.
The gunner reacted quickly. He swiveled his laser and triggered the weapon. The dazzling beam speared the chemical tentacle halfway along its length, piercing it and puncturing more cannisters. Chemicals sprayed from the newly ruptured tanks. As if with malign intent, the streams arched and flowed into the tentacle. As its volume increased, the malefic limb swelled and sagged towards the floor, the dark swirling stains from the laser's strike dispersing throughout its bulk. It released the guard it had attacked. He dropped to the concrete and lay twisted, skin blistered and seared.
The gelid mass did not flow to spread out on the floor of the warehouse. It wobbled, an uncanny mound growing ever larger. Pseudopods extended from near the top of the column and stretched forward in parody of arms. Nearer the base, another tentacle grew and flowed out to touch the floor. The shape lurched, its mass shifting forward toward that new contact. It was no longer amorphous. A stretching, rounded mockery of a man, it stepped clear of the cylinders.
The gunner pumped two more shots into it, starting new swirls of discoloration. Chemicals boiled where the beams pierced the shape. All the terrible energy he unleashed seemed to have no other effect. Behind the thing, newly ruptured cylinders contributed more to its mass.
The ork scrambled out of its path, backing away until he was forced to stop by one of the roof's supporting columns. Eyes darting between the advancing horror and his weapon, the gunner fumbled with the laser's settings. A high-pitched capacitor whine overwhelmed the shrill beeping of the overload warning. The ork ignored the sounds, training the laser once again on the monstrous thing that stalked him. With a sizzling crack, the weapon discharged. No longer a brief pulse, the beam was an eye-searing line of energy. The gunner's backpack smoked as the power cells emptied their energy into the shape. Acrid green smoke rose from the surface as the chemicals bubbled and blackened. The pale color darkened, going opaque, and the thing seemed to shrink back. The ork's face contorted as his relief shifted to a savage glee. He took a step forward.
His elation vanished as the shape surged, elongating toward him like a cresting wave. His scream was cut off as he was engulfed. Like sand washing from a hand, his flesh flowed away from his bones. The shape flowed past him, curving and reforming in the center of the aisle. It lurched in the direction of the next nearest Mihn-Pao guard. Behind it a pitted, scorched skeleton tumbled into a heap with the corroded plastic and metal parts that had been the ork's gear.
Glover grabbed Twist by the arm. The American was staring at the spectacle, a horrified expression on his face. The last mooring line hung forgotten in his hands. Twist didn't react, and Glover cast free the last line by himself.
'Let's go,' he shouted to the elf. The boat's engine roared to life. Gathering speed, the boat headed for the opening door.
Once they were through, it would be a short run across the strait to the coast, where they would be harder to spot. Then, a quick run along the New Territories. Once they crossed the Enclave border into the maritime jurisdiction of Kungshu, they would be safe. At least from corporate pursuit. The warlords of the Chinese mainland were united on very little, but resisting further intrusions by the extranational corporations was one cause that bound them. Whatever their history and present ambitions, those warlords all remembered the glittering prize of Hong Kong that was supposed to belong to China and how their pride had been torn and shredded when the region had ripped free from China's control during the troubled times of the early part of the century.
Glover could understand how they felt. Britain had been duped and taken advantage of in that disgraceful episode as well. Believing that the British government would have a guiding role in reestablishing the thriving community that had been the Crown Colony and desperately desiring the bounty such a restored enclave would bring, the government had ignored the warnings of the druidic community. But the corps' encouragement of Britain's participation had been a sham, a way to rally certain elements and pull them into the struggle and thus minimize corporate involvement. They so disliked expending assets when unnecessary.
Had the political leaders listened to those wiser and less avaricious heads, Britain's honor would not have been sullied by participation in the multinational megacorporations' schemes that ultimately resulted in their control of Hong Kong. Britain had been used. The multinational corporations funding the rebellion had also funded dissident warlords, using the breakup of the repressive Shui regime to grab and hold Hong Kong and the New Territories for themselves. Those corporations renamed their corporate state the Hong Kong Free Enterprise Enclave. When Britain stepped forward to claim control, there had been laughter in the boardrooms. The corps had already obtained grants to the disputed territories from a dozen warlords in trade for arms and supplies. It wasn't strictly legal, but they had possesion. The few British ambassadors to Chinese leaders who hadn't had 'accidents' were sent away in shame. Liaisons to the corporate consortium waited for appointments that never materialized.
The whole dishonorable episode was over and done before Glover had been born, but he felt the pain as if he had been one of those embarrassed ambassadors. Growing up, he had heard the stories from veterans of the expeditionary force, and had wondered why they didn't match the official histories he was taught in school. It wasn't until he was at university and under the tutelege of druids that he learned the true story. The duplicity and betrayals were so much like what he himself saw in Britain today. He had become certain that the megacorporations would very much like to see Britain dead, and that certainty had crystallized his belief that Britain could only be restored to glory by a return to the old ways.
They crossed the strait without incident and turned northward along the coast. Within an hour they would reach the inlet where the aircraft was hidden. Then, he would be on his way home with the prize that would make possible the first steps in restoring the glory that was Britain.
He looked back across the dark water. The glittering spires of Hong Kong were alight with the dazzle of false promises. They were ugly. This place made him feel soiled; he set his thoughts to the future.
Sam stared at Dodger. The elf sat slumped in the padded armchair he had appropriated, lost in the world of the Matrix, his fingers occasionally tapping a staccato rhythm on his Fuchi cyberdeck. Dodger looked relaxed, which
