Bright sparks sailed past them again, and again the helicopter spun to one side. Kendrick hung on as if for dear life.
'Fuck!' Buddy bellowed, gripping the stick with both hands and twisting hard. Kendrick felt his gorge rise and he choked as the aircraft wheeled over. 'Okay,' he heard Buddy yell, his voice verging on outright panic. 'Now that's just too fucking close for comfort!'
The points of light in their path had now resolved themselves into distinct yellowish and cylindrical-looking shapes. They started moving of their own volition, appearing to part in order to allow Buddy's 'copter to pass between them. Tracer fire from one of the pursuing helicopters grazed one of the cylindrical shapes and it blossomed in a ball of flame and tumbled slowly downwards.
Kendrick felt his throat start to close up once he saw just how close the other craft were. They were never going to get away from them.
In an instant, though, they were through and past the hovering shapes. Kendrick caught a fleeting glimpse of one: an unmanned helicopter drone, several feet in diameter, shaped like a fat doughnut. It wobbled in the air and, because it was slightly below and to the side of them as they flew past, he could see that at its centre was a rotor device to keep it aloft.
But what was it doing here? Was it Draeger or Los Muertos who had positioned them? It rapidly became clear that the drones were not floating idly: now they were moving with clear purpose towards their pursuers.
'What the hell are those things?' yelled Buddy.
'Absolutely no fucking idea,' Kendrick replied. 'But – Jesus! – look what's happening!'
Behind them they could see a series of bright flashes, followed by a succession of long, distant booming sounds. Burning shapes tumbled to the earth, trailing streaks of liquid flame as they spiralled downward.
Three of the pursuing helicopters were already down. The three survivors appeared to be playing a complicated game of tag with the remaining unmanned drones.
Buddy's expression was frenzied. 'Somebody did that. Somebody helped us get away. Who the fuck was it? Who did that?'
Kendrick couldn't think of an appropriate reply.
27 October 2096 Over the Pacific
Most of the next hour and a half was spent flying over water, hugging the coastline as they travelled northwest. Kendrick surprised himself by falling asleep, and found that he was actually getting used to airborne dozing despite the constant thundering drone of rotor blades.
He woke – bleary-eyed, stiff-necked and with a bad headache – to gaze out on something very like an oil platform marooned in an infinity of bright blue water. Whether or not that had been its original role Kendrick didn't know but it had clearly gained a new purpose.
Its upper deck housed a gantry supporting a shuttle like those he had seen taking off from the Los Muertos base. The shuttle itself was painted pale blue, with wide strips of a darker blue angling across its body from the nose. Vapour was already emerging from its base in dense clouds before descending to meet the waves licking the platform's supporting columns far below. A ship the size of a large frigate, its upper decks strewn with radar and comms towers, floated in the water only a short distance away. As Buddy circled in towards the ship's landing pad, Kendrick recognized Veliz and some of the other Labrats from LA waiting below.
Kendrick glanced down at his hands where they rested in his lap. They still didn't look anywhere near normal, but at least they were no longer as nightmarish in appearance as when he had recently emerged from the Maze.
Kendrick stepped down from the helicopter and onto the landing pad. The ship's deck stretched out ahead of him, rising to a forest of communications dishes and radar equipment mounted just above the bridge. He enjoyed the sensation of the fresh wind against his face, the taste of salt on his tongue.
When Buddy clapped him on his shoulder, Kendrick could see how much the past several days of stress had taken out of him. A man in a naval-style white uniform stepped up onto the landing platform, followed by several others similarly attired.
'Captain Arnheim,' the leading man introduced himself. 'Mr Juarez, it's good to see you again. Mr Sabak would like to speak with you urgently.'
'Thank you, captain.'
Arnheim was a hawk-faced man in his fifties who had a look that Kendrick had come to recognize: of not being sure quite who or what to believe. He could almost read the naval officer's thoughts as his gaze settled on Kendrick. Did he need to be placed in containment? Did he represent a danger not only to the other Labrats on board but also to his own crew and the scientists?
'It looks a lot worse than it feels,' Kendrick said evenly 'I'm not infectious. I don't represent any danger.'
Arnheim studied him with bright, hard eyes. Kendrick knew that the man would have no hesitation in flinging him overboard if he deemed it necessary to protect his crew and passengers. 'You should know that we have a containment facility in case of extreme emergencies. If your condition worsens significantly prior to the launch, we may have to make use of it.'
'I understand,' Kendrick replied.
They let Arnheim's officers guide them both down below, proceeding along clanging metal corridors where technicians and crewmen swarmed around them. Kendrick couldn't help but notice how Arnheim's men surrounded him at a safe distance, thus effectively isolating him from everyone they came in contact with.
Someone stepped through a door and headed towards them. He shook Buddy's hand with a strong grip. As he turned to Kendrick he faltered, then – in an impressively humane and generous gesture – reached out and shook his hand just as firmly.
'Gerard,' Buddy greeted him. Gerard Sabak was one of the owners of the launch facility, and a Ward Seventeen Labrat himself.
'We have a lot to talk about,' Sabak began. He was a large, hearty man, the sides of his neck distended and scarred with rogue nanite growth. His accent sounded Austrian or German, via California.
'Mr Gallmon, it's a pleasure to meet you,' he said, turning now to Kendrick. 'Buddy radioed ahead that you'd need medical attention. Are you able to-?'
'Even if your medical staff could do something about this, I really don't think there'd be time before… you know.' Kendrick angled his gaze upward to the ceiling. 'I think we need to talk about some other things first.'
Sabak studied him uncertainly. 'Are you… in pain? Or-?'
'I know this may sound ridiculous but it's really not as bad as it looks.'
Buddy spoke up. 'Gerry, this isn't the result of rogue bio-augmentation. It's a lot more like the kind of condition you pick up near the Maze – like the Los Muertos people I told you about.'
Sabak sighed. 'I guess I'll just have to take your word for it. Let's have something to eat in my office and discuss things there.' He turned to Kendrick and studied him with a worried expression. 'To be honest, Mr Gallmon, if we took you into one of the mess rooms I think we'd have a staff riot on our hands.'
Sabak took a seat behind a mahogany desk in his office. Fresh food and coffee arrived moments later, and the aroma made Kendrick feel giddy. He wolfed down a steak and salad while listening to the other two and nodding at appropriate intervals. By the time he'd finished, fatigue was tugging at his senses again. He felt as though he could sleep for a thousand years.
Buddy had been telling Sabak about their trip to the Maze. 'Look' – Sabak turned now to Kendrick – 'what you undertook is… remarkable. But I don't understand why you did it. What did you expect to find down there in the Maze?'
