soldier at the far end of the double-back. As the soldier tried to track him, Everett willed the panel in his forearm open. The nano-missile he fired took out the soldier instantly. The blast was deafening in the confined corridors of the death maze. His Thryn-augmented hearing moderated the noise to a safe level.
Did you hear that, Charlotte Villiers?
Everett M moved into the next section, a screen that was clearly Thryn technology following him as he moved. He watched CharlotteVilliers take the pop-up soldiers cleanly out, one shot each. She walked like a cat down the corridor, calmly and efficiently reloading her gun.
The next section was a long, straight run of corridor. It was clearly a big, obvious trap. Everett M scanned it with his Thryn sense—he had come to think of it as longsight. He longsaw nothing. But that didn't mean that there was nothing there. There could be traps inside traps, traps beyond the range of his longsight. Maybe there were no traps, and that was the trap. Maybe the maze was designed so that you would edge forward, always expecting something to spring on you, but nothing would, until you were so tense with expectation that when the real trap sprang, you would fall right into it. Everett M armed weapons, slid them out of the hatches in his arms, and walked forward. And walked. And walked. The screen kept pace with him, Charlotte Villiers matching him step for step. His evil twin, his alter. This section of the maze, Everett M thought, was that last kind of trap.
At the end of the corridor the maze turned sharp right. Here was where the trap would be sprung. Everett M willed power into his legs. Accuracy and firepower are good, but speed is best. Speed is life. He launched himself forward. And walls, ceiling, floor opened up in soldiers and turrets and swivel-guns. A sweep of his left-finger laser took out three soldiers, pin-point shots with the right took out the turrets springing out of the floor. As he ran and jumped and dodged, he launched nano-missiles from his forearm and sought out and killed the ceiling guns. He hated using the missiles. They were single-shot weapons that could not be replaced. But there was so much, coming from everywhere, all at once. He made the next turn of the maze. Behind him the corridor was a mass of burning, smoking, melting plastic and circuitry.
Everett M was panting. He was freezing. He had pumped a dangerous amount of energy into the lasers. And he did not know how much more of this there would be. He looked at the floating screen.He had been too occupied with the cacophony of gunfire and explosions on his side of the maze to pick out the pistol shots that rang out from Charlotte Villiers's side. On the screen she stood calmly, steadily reloading her gun. A single bead of sweat ran down the side of her face.
A section of wall opened. A new corridor curved out of sight. Everett M clenched his fists and felt the power channeling into the Thryn biotech lasers. And again. And again. He darted through tunnels that switched back on themselves and went over and under themselves and perhaps even through, each turn guarded by soldiers. He fought through a maze of panels that slid and rearranged themselves, sometimes opening false corridors, other times exposing entire batteries of automatic weapons. He slid down shafts that suddenly opened under him, fired between his feet at the gun turrets opening up deadly iron flowers before him. And every time he looked, Charlotte Villiers kept pace with him—cool, elegant, and relentless. Not a blonde curl was out of place.
Behind him, Everett M Singh left smoking wreckage. He was shaking with the cold now, and he'd grown ravenously hungry. His own lasers could kill him just as surely as any soldier's bullet, sucking the heat out of him until hypothermia came creeping into his bones, with its sly, evil suggestions: Slow down, lie down, rest a little, go to sleep. But he kept pumping energy into the lasers. He had to keep
Did you hear that, Charlotte Villiers?
Everett M moved into the next section, a screen that was clearly Thryn technology following him as he moved. He watched CharlotteVilliers take the pop-up soldiers cleanly out, one shot each. She walked like a cat down the corridor, calmly and efficiently reloading her gun.
The next section was a long, straight run of corridor. It was clearly a big, obvious trap. Everett M scanned it with his Thryn sense—he had come to think of it as longsight. He longsaw nothing. But that didn't mean that there was nothing there. There could be traps inside traps, traps beyond the range of his longsight. Maybe there were no traps, and that was the trap. Maybe the maze was designed so that you would edge forward, always expecting something to spring on you, but nothing would, until you were so tense with expectation that when the real trap sprang, you would fall right into it. Everett M armed weapons, slid them out of the hatches in his arms, and walked forward. And walked. And walked. The screen kept pace with him, Charlotte Villiers matching him step for step. His evil twin, his alter. This section of the maze, Everett M thought, was that last kind of trap.
At the end of the corridor the maze turned sharp right. Here was where the trap would be sprung. Everett M willed power into his legs. Accuracy and firepower are good, but speed is best. Speed is life. He launched himself forward. And walls, ceiling, floor opened up in soldiers and turrets and swivel-guns. A sweep of his left-finger laser took out three soldiers, pin-point shots with the right took out the turrets springing out of the floor. As he ran and jumped and dodged, he launched nano-missiles from his forearm and sought out and killed the ceiling guns. He hated using the missiles. They were single-shot weapons that could not be replaced. But there was so much, coming from everywhere, all at once. He made the next turn of the maze. Behind him the corridor was a mass of burning, smoking, melting plastic and circuitry.
Everett M was panting. He was freezing. He had pumped a dangerous amount of energy into the lasers. And he did not know how much more of this there would be. He looked at the floating screen.He had been too occupied with the cacophony of gunfire and explosions on his side of the maze to pick out the pistol shots that rang out from Charlotte Villiers's side. On the screen she stood calmly, steadily reloading her gun. A single bead of sweat ran down the side of her face.
A section of wall opened. A new corridor curved out of sight. Everett M clenched his fists and felt the power channeling into the Thryn biotech lasers. And again. And again. He darted through tunnels that switched back on themselves and went over and under themselves and perhaps even through, each turn guarded by soldiers. He fought through a maze of panels that slid and rearranged themselves, sometimes opening false corridors, other times exposing entire batteries of automatic weapons. He slid down shafts that suddenly opened under him, fired between his feet at the gun turrets opening up deadly iron flowers before him. And every time he looked, Charlotte Villiers kept pace with him—cool, elegant, and relentless. Not a blonde curl was out of place.
Behind him, Everett M Singh left smoking wreckage. He was shaking with the cold now, and he'd grown ravenously hungry. His own lasers could kill him just as surely as any soldier's bullet, sucking the heat out of him until hypothermia came creeping into his bones, with its sly, evil suggestions: Slow down, lie down, rest a little, go to sleep. But he kept pumping energy into the lasers. He had to keep
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