One Jump Ahead-ARC Page 31

  "—this one might eat something more interesting than bowls of protein and carbohydrate slop that I wouldn't use to test a dishwasher. If you ask me—and of course they don't, why would they, I'm nothing more than a glorified delivery chute to them—you don't need a complete food preparation and delivery system of my caliber if all you're going to do is ship down the same rehydrated garbage from the kitchen day after day. Oh, if they'd give me a chance I could show them what a meal, a real meal, should look like, one with multiple courses, each composed of actual food, and I could cook it, too. Sure, I don't mind working with the processors and dispensers in the kitchen—we're a team, guys, don't get me wrong—but every now and then they should give me an opportunity to show off what I could do on my own. And plating! Don't get me started. Do they have any clue how much plating intelligence I possess? Why, I could show them presentations that—"

  I tuned it out momentarily and let out another low moan, this time curling in slightly to bring my hands as close to my feet as I could without giving away that I was awake. When the moment came, I wanted to be able to move as quickly as possible.

  I focused again on the food dispenser, which was still, as far as I could tell, engaged in the same rant.

  "—as I would tell them if anyone would ask, or even listen for that matter, a lumpy cream soup on a plain white plate is as boring to the eyes as it must be to the palate. Speaking of eyes, I have to assume that if they actually cared at all about my food they'd give me something better for vision than these off-market cameras so dumb they can barely carry on a conversation."

  "That's not nice," said another appliance, which I had to assume was the vision system. "We can too talk."

  "Talking is not the same as carrying on a conversation, you sorry excuse for a machine," the dispenser said. "The mere ability to speak is no more a guarantee of conversation quality than—what's that?" I'd never been able to pick up purely wired appliance conversations or even wireless ones that weren't close to me, so I had to assume the dispenser had just received information from appliances in the rest of the building. "Someone is attacking the house? Oh, dear. Are they coming down here? Have they hurt the kitchen? Will our staff perhaps desire a fortifying snack?"

  I didn't need to hear any more. Appliances are generally self-centered enough that it was a safe bet that all the rest of the information it would provide would focus only on the small parts of the place that affected it directly. On the chance that someone might later review the security log of my cell, I pantomimed pulling something from the back of my left calf, bent down, and acted as if I were using an acid dispenser to dissolve the clasps of the cuffs on my ankles. Instead, I spit into my left hand and rubbed it first on the clasp of the left ankle's cuff and then on the right's. I instructed the nanomachines to decompose the clasps. In about ten seconds, enough was gone that I was able to force open the cuffs.

  Faint sounds of the attack wafted down the hallway: high notes from shrieks, low thumps from shells and explosions, the sounds of people running overhead.

  I stepped to the cell door and repeated the pantomime act, focusing on the section of the door and lock that kept it closed. The door contained dense metals, so the nanomachines proceeded more slowly on it than on my ankle cuffs. As the lock slowly disappeared, the security lights brightened.

  Jasmine stood in the corner of her cell closest to me, her eyes wide, not speaking but waving her hands to get my attention. I ignored her and focused on the door. I pushed hard on the bars above and below the lock. I needed to get out of there before Amendos or his men came to get us.

  The door popped open, and I stumbled out. I sprinted the few steps to Jasmine's cell.

  "Get on your bed so I don't accidentally hurt you with the acid!" I said.

  "What's going on?" she said.

  "Now!" I said. "Move it!"

  "But—"

  "Move it!" I yelled.

  She backed onto the bed and rolled into a ball on top of it, obviously scared. I had no time to worry about her feelings; we could deal with them later, if we made it out of this.

  I worked on her door, hunching over to hide from the cameras as many of my actions as possible. As soon as the small cloud of nanomachines started working, I grabbed the door and pulled as hard as I could. As I strained, I stared down the hallway to my right, hoping not to see anyone and trying to figure out where to go if I did. Maybe I could make it to the cover of the bed in my cell. I listened closely for footsteps. Maybe if I heard them in time I could reach the corner before whoever was coming turned it.

  The door popped open, and I fell back against the wall on the other side of the corridor.

  "Out!" I said. "Now! We're leaving."

  Jasmine turned and looked at me but stayed where she was. "Who are you?" she said. "You look familiar"—she shook her head—"but I don't know for sure."

  I ran into the cell, grabbed her arm, and yanked her to her feet. "I'm helping your father, and I'm helping you." I pulled her toward the door as I spoke. "Do what I say, and do it fast."

  "I don't understand," she said. "What are you doing? I—"

  I grabbed her shoulders, wrenched her close, and cut her off. At another time in another place, I might have cared about how scary I appeared to her or how roughly I handled her, but not then. "Do exactly what I say, and don't speak unless I ask you a question. Do anything else, and I'll knock you out and carry you." I let go of her right shoulder, made a fist, and raised my hand. "Decide now."

  She looked in my eyes as if trying to solve a complex equation entirely in her head, and then she stared at my fist. She nodded her head.

  I grabbed her right hand and headed out of the cell at a jog. "Stay behind me, and keep up!"

  At the end of the hall to the left of my cell, I pushed her against the wall and motioned her to stay still. I dropped to the floor, inched my head around the corner long enough to take a peek, and pulled back to cover. I saw no one, so I risked a slightly longer look. A dark hallway stretched down to a stairway that ran straight up for eight steps, then turned right and headed up again. The ceiling obscured the top of the stairwell, but light streamed onto the stairs from above; probably an open door. The hallway was about four meters wide, with several closed doors on the left and stacks of boxes against the right wall. Visible light was dim, so I tried IR but gained no more information; the hallway still appeared deserted.

  The familiar sounds of urban combat—bangs, sizzles, thumps, and occasional screams—grew louder. Already the smells of the fight were drifting down, the air rich with residue from explosive shells and energy beam shots. I was confident Lim's and Gustafson's teams would win in time, but I had no way to know how long that would take. In the meantime, our mission clock was ticking. No matter how well Vaccaro insulated Slake, he either already knew about this attack or would hear about it soon. Earl would be able to keep him in the government building for some time under the guise of protection, but Slake wouldn't stay there indefinitely. I had to get Jasmine out of here.

  I jumped up and faced her. "We're heading into a mess. Stay close behind me—very close—and you should be okay. I'm taking you back to your father."

  Her eyes widened in fear. "Now I remember you. You brought me back here. You—"

  I cut her off again. "That was a mistake," I said, "and we're making another one now by wasting time talking. Last warning: Follow me closely, or I'll have to knock you out and carry you. We'll be in a lot more danger if I have to carry you."

  "Okay," she said.

  I turned the corner toward the stairwell. Jasmine stayed on my heels. I ran a few paces and stopped suddenly as I heard a foot hit the top step. The sound of gunfire rang from the top of the stairs. Whoever was there had paused to fight. I wasn't sure we could make it back around the corner before the person on the stairs saw us. An old-fashioned door with a handle stood closed on our left. I pulled it open. Inside was a small storage area with shelves on the sides and rear wall and stacks of boxes in the cent
er. There was enough open space for Jasmine, but not for both of us.

  I pushed her into the closet. "Stay," I said, "and no matter what happens, don't make a sound. If anyone else opens the door, hit 'em with something and hope for the best."

  She nodded. I closed the door quickly but quietly.

  I heard another footfall on the stairs and ducked into the darkness on my right. I had no cover. My only hope was that whoever was coming wouldn't be wearing IR gear and wouldn't have adjusted to the dim light of the hallway.

  More sound from the steps, and the person started coming into view: boots, legs, waist, part of the torso, the upper torso as the person turned the corner—and a Saw logo. The person took a couple more steps downward and entered a shaft of light that fell from the doorway above. I recognized his face: Gustafson.

  I stepped out of the darkness. I felt the smile stretching across my face, my heartbeat slowing, my breathing easing, all my muscles relaxing. "Top," I said, "good to see you." Black streaks ran across his face, his wide eyes shined with the barely controlled lunacy of battle, and his breathing rasped uneven and ragged. He looked as good to me then as another human could.

  "You, too, Gunny," he said as he ran to me, "but let's save the hugs and kisses for when we're out of here. We haven't finished up there, and we've got to get you—"

  A sizzling sound electrified the air, and Gustafson suddenly stopped talking. A look of surprise crossed his face, his eyes stretched wider than I would have thought possible, and his throat constricted in a scream that began guttural and arched up to a screech in seconds. He pitched forward onto me. I was so unprepared that we both went down, Gustafson on top, his head facedown over my right shoulder. The smell of burning flesh rushed over me. Small moans told me he was still alive. I worked my hands under his shoulders so I could roll him off my chest.

  "Don't," a voice said. "Don't move at all."

  Chapter 30

  I lifted my head to look over Gustafson. Amendos walked slowly toward us, an energy pistol held at the ready. His beam had cut most of the way through Gustafson's right leg and completely severed the bottom section from the top about five centimeters below the knee. Both pieces oozed where the cauterization was incomplete. All that kept the parts of Gunny's leg together were a thin wedge of skin and muscle and the front of his uniform; the beam hadn't cut quite all the way through.

  Amendos walked past my head, turned so he could watch us, and backed down the hallway. I had to bridge upward to keep him in sight. He glanced down the hall with the cells, turned back to me, and ran to my side.

  "Where is she?" he said.

  I forced myself to stare at him, only him, so I wouldn't give away anything.

  "Who?" I said.

  He smiled slightly and shook his head. "I don't have time for this, unfortunately," he said.

  He fired a tiny burst at Gustafson's other leg. Gustafson arched his back, screamed, and passed out completely. His face hit the floor with a soft breaking sound; his nose had shattered. The smell of burning flesh intensified.

  "From what I overheard," Amendos continued, "this guy is a friend of yours. Jasmine is nothing to you. You don't even know her—and if my time with her is any indication, I doubt you'd like her very much if you did. She's just some girl. Save your friend, and save yourself. Where is she?"

  He was right. I didn't know Jasmine. Yeah, she reminded me of Jennie, but she wasn't Jennie, and saving her wouldn't make me feel any less guilty about Jennie. If Jasmine had never been kidnapped from Kelco by the Gardeners, or if Slake hadn't conned me into taking her back from them, I'd never even have met her. If Osterlad had simply sold me Lobo's weapons control system, I'd never have tracked him down and gone after Chung.

  If, if, if.

  You could build a life on ifs, but what would it mean? Where would it get you? All we really ever have is the world as it stands right now, and all we ever get to do is make the best of that. The rest is either long gone or still to come, if it comes at all. That doesn't mean we should stop planning, hoping, and dreaming, because those plans, hopes, and dreams help direct our actions now. Ultimately, though, we face what's in front of us. We take the situation and the data at hand, make the best decision we can, and jump into the future.

  I didn't know Jasmine. She was just one of the billions and billions of humans alive in the universe.

  But she was my responsibility now.

  Top had known the risks when he'd signed up for the mission. So had I.

  I stared into Amendos' eyes and shook my head.

  "Your choice," he said. He pointed the pistol at Gustafson's head. "I think he'll go first."

  "Stop!" a voice screamed from the direction of the stairs.

  Even as I realized the voice belonged to Lim, so much happened in such a short time that I could barely track it all.

  Amendos swiveled toward the sound and fired.

  Lim returned fire as she dove off the stairs.

  Amendos fell backward as the round from her weapon hit him in the stomach.

  The stairs crackled, and several steps shattered.

  Lim rolled behind some boxes.

  Amendos scrambled to his feet, clutching his abdomen and gasping. Though his armor had stopped the round from killing him, his breath came hard.

  Lim fired again but missed.

  Amendos dashed down the hall and around the corner toward the cells.

  Lim shoved the boxes aside and got up. She stumbled forward, her face set, her gun raised.

  I rolled Gustafson off me, stood, stepped in front of her, and yelled, "Stop!"

  Lim turned toward me. Her face was crazy, twisted with rage, scraped and bleeding in several places. She shook with anger. "He's getting away!" she yelled. "He shot Top and he shot at me and now he's getting away!"

  "I know," I said, "but if we don't get Top and his legs to the medics, he might not make it. And, we don't need to get Amendos to finish the mission. We have all we need." I didn't mention Jasmine yet, in case Amendos was still within earshot.

  Lim froze for a few seconds, visibly torn between her deep-seated desire to kill the enemy and her training to follow orders. "Okay," she finally said. "You're right."

  "Check down that hall and make sure he's gone," I said. "No one else should be there."

  Lim ran to the corner of the hall, pulled a grenade off her belt, and tossed it around the corner. A few seconds later, the grenade detonated with a roar followed by the screeching of flechette rounds smacking into walls and metal bars. Lim dropped to the floor, pulled her combat mask over her face, and craned her head to check the hall.

  "No one in sight in visible light or IR," she said. "This thing curves after fifteen meters, so he's somewhere down there."

  "What med supplies do you have?" I said.

  She ran back, pulled off her pack, dug into it, and tossed me a roll of self-stick bandage and a tube of an organic antibiotic/glue combo. "That's all that's useful," she said.

  The slice that Amendos' second blast had carved in the back of Gustafson's leg was about two centimeters deep and cleanly cauterized.

  I squirted the glue into the cut and motioned to Lim.

  "Push his leg up," I said.

  She held the parts of that leg together as the glue hardened and I wrapped the area with the bandage.

  Both parts of his right leg continued to ooze, and his uniform was now the only thing keeping them attached. I coated the raw ends of the two pieces of his leg with the glue, jammed them together as best I could, and nodded toward them. Lim kept them in place while I wrapped first the connection point and then up and down his leg with the bandage until I'd used it all. I squirted more glue around the outside of the bandage. If we were lucky, the pieces of his leg would stay together until we got him to a medic with reasonable microsurgery capabilities.