He was
bigger
…
That was it—bigger!
I charged past two doors, grabbed the handle of the third, and spun inside, hearing Hund’s boots close behind me.
I didn’t hesitate. I had no idea what this room was for, but I’d seen it on the
Arsenal Five
blueprints, and I figured—
The room to which you refer housed the data–compression modules .
Would you stop interrupting? I’m trying to tell a story here. Do the words
dramatic tension
mean nothing to you?
Anyway, inside the room, an array of huge modules extended from the floor to the ceiling, each about six feet square with maybe a foot between them. I could just squeeze into the gaps. No way a guy Hund’s size could follow.
I squeezed, as fast as I could, then moved down five rows, losing myself in the maze.…
I heard Hund step into the room. “Nice try, kid,” he called. “But the exterminator doesn’t need to crawl into the rat hole.”
I heard a
pfffft
. A second later, something clanked to the ground.
“That’s tear gas,” Hund said. “You’re gonna learn a lesson in pain.”
Even though the canister landed on the other side of a module, I could already smell the gas. I looked around, desperate for a way out. My eyes started watering again, not only because I’d lost my aunt, but also because of the tear gas in the air.
Then I found what I was looking for. On the floor was an access grate leading to a cable duct. My eyes stung, and I couldn’t stop blinking, but I managed to pull the grate open and felt the breeze of the ventilation system that cooled the wires.
“I’ve got a mask for you right here,” Hund said. “Come out and I’ll make everything all right.”
Yeah, I bet you will
, I thought.
The tear gas burned my nose and throat and eyes, and I could barely see. But I didn’t need to see to follow the breeze and squeeze under the floor into the duct.
A BALL OF FAIL
I closed the grate overhead and squirmed away. The duct was maybe two inches wider than my shoulders. I groped blindly ahead—twenty feet, fifty feet—until my heartbeat returned to normal and my vision cleared. Then I lay back in the darkness under an unknown room and just … stopped.
I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to think about Roach or Hund or the Protocol cube—or my aunt, lying limp on the floor.
All I wanted was to curl into a ball and forget.
WHAT, NO ICE MAKER?
After a while, voices drifted through the floor above my head. A man and a woman were talking—a pair of Hund’s mercenaries.
“You done with this room?” the woman asked.
The man grunted. “One more crate.”
“What
is
all this stuff?”
“HostLink accessories.” The crate clattered, and the man grunted again. “They want this lab packed up.”
I squirmed in the cramped duct, worming my way closer to a hatch, where I peeked into the room overhead. I saw a sliver of a research lab with black counters and futuristic science gear. The mercenaries were loading everything onto a cart, stealing every last scrap of technology and data … or
almost
every last scrap.
“What’re we supposed to do with that?” the man asked, gesturing to this …
thing
in the corner that looked like a refrigerator covered with snakeskin. “It won’t fit on the cart.”
“Our orders are to take everything we can. They’ll destroy the rest.”
“Another bomb?”
The woman grinned coldly. “A small-yield nuke. The commander likes his explosions.”
“Let’s haul, then. Don’t wanna get left behind with
that
going off.”
“No worries. We’re almost done. C’mon.”
They rattled away, and I shifted uncomfortably in the duct. When you’re inside one, a cable duct feels an awful lot like a coffin. Especially when you just saw your aunt sprawled on the floor and the words
small-yield nuke
got dropped into the conversation. So as soon as the sound of the cart faded, I climbed into the room.
Where something whispered, “Sug.”
I
bigger
…
That was it—bigger!
I charged past two doors, grabbed the handle of the third, and spun inside, hearing Hund’s boots close behind me.
I didn’t hesitate. I had no idea what this room was for, but I’d seen it on the
Arsenal Five
blueprints, and I figured—
The room to which you refer housed the data–compression modules .
Would you stop interrupting? I’m trying to tell a story here. Do the words
dramatic tension
mean nothing to you?
Anyway, inside the room, an array of huge modules extended from the floor to the ceiling, each about six feet square with maybe a foot between them. I could just squeeze into the gaps. No way a guy Hund’s size could follow.
I squeezed, as fast as I could, then moved down five rows, losing myself in the maze.…
I heard Hund step into the room. “Nice try, kid,” he called. “But the exterminator doesn’t need to crawl into the rat hole.”
I heard a
pfffft
. A second later, something clanked to the ground.
“That’s tear gas,” Hund said. “You’re gonna learn a lesson in pain.”
Even though the canister landed on the other side of a module, I could already smell the gas. I looked around, desperate for a way out. My eyes started watering again, not only because I’d lost my aunt, but also because of the tear gas in the air.
Then I found what I was looking for. On the floor was an access grate leading to a cable duct. My eyes stung, and I couldn’t stop blinking, but I managed to pull the grate open and felt the breeze of the ventilation system that cooled the wires.
“I’ve got a mask for you right here,” Hund said. “Come out and I’ll make everything all right.”
Yeah, I bet you will
, I thought.
The tear gas burned my nose and throat and eyes, and I could barely see. But I didn’t need to see to follow the breeze and squeeze under the floor into the duct.
A BALL OF FAIL
I closed the grate overhead and squirmed away. The duct was maybe two inches wider than my shoulders. I groped blindly ahead—twenty feet, fifty feet—until my heartbeat returned to normal and my vision cleared. Then I lay back in the darkness under an unknown room and just … stopped.
I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to think about Roach or Hund or the Protocol cube—or my aunt, lying limp on the floor.
All I wanted was to curl into a ball and forget.
WHAT, NO ICE MAKER?
After a while, voices drifted through the floor above my head. A man and a woman were talking—a pair of Hund’s mercenaries.
“You done with this room?” the woman asked.
The man grunted. “One more crate.”
“What
is
all this stuff?”
“HostLink accessories.” The crate clattered, and the man grunted again. “They want this lab packed up.”
I squirmed in the cramped duct, worming my way closer to a hatch, where I peeked into the room overhead. I saw a sliver of a research lab with black counters and futuristic science gear. The mercenaries were loading everything onto a cart, stealing every last scrap of technology and data … or
almost
every last scrap.
“What’re we supposed to do with that?” the man asked, gesturing to this …
thing
in the corner that looked like a refrigerator covered with snakeskin. “It won’t fit on the cart.”
“Our orders are to take everything we can. They’ll destroy the rest.”
“Another bomb?”
The woman grinned coldly. “A small-yield nuke. The commander likes his explosions.”
“Let’s haul, then. Don’t wanna get left behind with
that
going off.”
“No worries. We’re almost done. C’mon.”
They rattled away, and I shifted uncomfortably in the duct. When you’re inside one, a cable duct feels an awful lot like a coffin. Especially when you just saw your aunt sprawled on the floor and the words
small-yield nuke
got dropped into the conversation. So as soon as the sound of the cart faded, I climbed into the room.
Where something whispered, “Sug.”
I
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