That could have been me holding that gizmo. I reached for my waist where I’d tucked the disc or phaso, then thought twice of it. Lucky I had covered it with cellophane. I swallowed hard.
So…some kind of weapon? I shifted from my hiding place, head feeling woozy. The nitwit who triggered it was vaporized and his buddy, Fario, was coming out of his stupor, eyes wide in shock, a wild quiver in his gunhand. I thought fast. A medley of plans shuttled through my head. Plan 1, get out of here asap and chuck the phaso, Plan 2, double back, get the other units and mount an escape, Plan 3, blast everybody and run.
Option# 2 had its appeal, considering the potential rewards. One of those phasos still sat in that box, so when blinky eye decided there was nothing to see and booted it, I could easily snatch the disc-ring plus the larger amalgo with parallel plates which looked like antennae, but wasn’t. It didn’t look homemade, more like some alien tech unless that script on it was some language I’d never seen before.
Rusco, focus.
I heard the other speak into his com, his hands shaking. “Sully, you there?”
The guard tapped his com. No answer.
“Damn you, Sully! Mitch’s out. Fucker’s dead. Gone. Vamoose. Where are you, you idiot? You’re supposed to be watching the entrance. You let some nosepickers in.”
Bloody hell. Fario was not giving me many options at this time, scratching his head like a monkey, then loitering too close by. That box of phasos could be worth some serious dough, if I got it to the right people. Maybe Q wasn’t so deadbeat after all. But where was Marty? Why hadn’t he checked in? Maybe he couldn’t, without being made.
A more likely scenario—Marty had fucked up and was probably dead. As I’d be soon if I didn’t do something quick.
This was getting complex so I scrapped my well-intended plans. I needed to get out of here fast before my luck ran dry. These guys would kill me for whatever was in that back room. The stuff was hot, maybe too hot given my meager resources.
Fario shifted and I sighted in for the kill, trigger finger ready to deal with him. As I was rounding the vehicle door, keeping my eyes on him, a sudden waft of air tickled my skin. Boom! My left knee exploded in pain. Another guy was over me like a bad rash, kicking away my weapon. He must have been lurking there, heard my breathing or something. Or was it Mitch reappeared back like a genie? Grinning, with his AK hoisted, poised to swing it like a club to clock my other leg, I could see the gloating look in his eyes: to have scored the intruder who had nicked the contraband. Bully was written all over that miserable face, reveling in a sense of superiority over his victim, a toy he could play with.
But stupid of any bully not to take his victim out while he had a chance.
Chapter 3
I slid out of my painful daze as the guard’s weapon came swinging down. I rolled aside. The cold metal only grazed my left ribs. I grabbed the stock and wrenched him forward, at the same time ramming my right boot as hard as I could into his groin. He sagged with a high-pitched cry. While he was gasping for breath, I reached for the syringe tucked in the kit at my belt and jammed it in my left thigh. That got me howling the banshee’s yell from hell with the pain stabbing me like a longbow of agony. But above the pain I was already feeling a euphoric high. Myscol, aka Devirol, was the wonder drug of the new age and made me suddenly superman. For a moment the pain fled to a far corner of the universe, but it would come back.
I saw anger and adrenaline and invincibility wash into a blur of unreality. My attacker’s face went white as he doubled over, weapon clattering to the ground. I became a fire bomb—a demon juiced up on Devirol, the old form of the ancient speed, or some derivative. Down he went in a tumble of tired muscle as my boot connected with his skull.
I snatched up his flesh ripper, the AK—didn’t want him to use it on me, if he were to recover, unlikely as that might be.
Everything ticked in slow motion. The man’s drool and broken teeth spilled out of his mouth along with a trickle of blood, his quivering cheek pushed flat to the concrete. The staticky whine of voices crackled on his com.
Fuck, there was backup coming. I shook the haze out of my head. A dark spot appeared on my leg where he’d clubbed me. I staggered to the flatbed, still clutching the man’s AK, wrenched open the door and started the engine. The vehicle jolted forward, past the forklifts, down the hall, straight up the middle toward the exit. The other guard, Fario from the tickle-trunk room, came barreling after me, shooting at random. I rolled down the window, angled my weapon back at him, releasing a spray of machine fire, but I couldn’t aim properly. Rotten bastard had a fast leg and caught up with me as I dodged and weaved, grasping the edge of the open window, grabbed my weapon out of my hand and wrenched it backward. Grunting, trying to jam the prick with my elbow while holding the wheel, I wrenched his arm about, snapping bone. He cursed and I kept his arm locked. The machine gun clattered to
