place. ‘So what time is the test scheduled for?’
Kilroy’s expression remains neutral. ‘There isn’t going to be a test.’
‘It’s been cancelled?’ Alvy’s clearly disappointed.
‘It was never going to happen.’
‘It - what? What are you talking about?’
‘The Swarm wasn’t created for military use.’
Alvy’s just confused. ‘I don’t - what does that mean?’
‘Exactly what I said.’
‘Then what’s it for?’
‘Urban deployment.’
Alvy thinks it’s a joke, a bad one but a joke nonetheless. He grins - then takes in Kilroy’s blank expression and realises it isn’t. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘I’m dead serious.’
Alvy stands instinctively, his face grim. ‘No, no, no!’ His voice rises an octave as he says it. ‘You can never do that. Ever!’
‘And yet we can and we will - today, in fact, and as you’re the only person who can synthesise the counteragent you can’t be around when it happens.’
‘“Can’t be around?” What the hell are you talking about?’
Alvy understands exactly what he’s talking about as light glints off the silenced Glock 9mm pistol Kilroy draws from inside his jacket.
‘Oh, shit-’
The weapon swings towards Alvy as he drives a hand forward and bats the metal tray off the table in front of him.
Bam. The pistol fires and Alvy feels a sharp pain high on his left shoulder.
Clank. The spinning tray smashes into the bridge of Kilroy’s nose. He cries out and both hands fly to his face.
This is a positive development for Alvy as the pistol now points at the ceiling. Belying his husky appearance the scientist is surprisingly nimble and springs forward, swings a foot and connects with the side of Kilroy’s left knee.
Kilroy grunts and crumples to the ground. As he falls, Alvy grabs the Glock in his hand. The big surprise is that the pistol twists out of Kilroy’s grasp with minimal effort. Alvy was expecting some resistance but the pistol’s grip is slick with blood, courtesy of the metal tray, which has, he can now see, not only stunned Kilroy but also left a deep gash across his nose.
Alvy sprints ten metres to the lab’s door, the bullet wound on his shoulder stinging like crazy. He reaches for the doorhandle. Thank God Jacob was the last person to use the door. He always forgets to lock it. Alvy wrenches on the handle -
The door is locked tight.
No! Is Jacob in on this? Is he on the other side, waiting to see if the execution has been a success, ready to act if it hasn’t? There’s only one way to find out. Alvy punches the five-digit code into the keypad, raises the pistol and pulls the door open.
There’s no one there. The walkway is empty. Maybe Jacob isn’t in on it after all -
Thud. A bullet rips into the wall in front of Alvy. He turns. Behind him a groggy Kilroy aims a smaller pistol at him and fires again.
Alvy pivots clear and runs backwards along the walkway, pistol raised and aimed at the door he just exited. Kilroy pokes his head out from behind it and Alvy fires, too low to be anything but a warning shot. Alvy’s never consciously hurt anyone in his life so the idea of actually shooting Kilroy doesn’t cross his mind, in spite of everything that just happened. Kilroy pulls back into the room and disappears from view.
Alvy’s back thumps into the door that leads outside. He turns, taps five numbers into the keypad and it unlocks. Gun raised, he yanks the door open and steps into dazzling sunlight -
Bam. A gunshot rings out. Alvy feels hot pain in his hip as he swings the pistol around, fires in the direction he thinks the bullet came from.
It is silent.
Alvy blinks through the sunlight, looks down, sees he’s been shot in his left thigh. Stunned, he turns and sees Jacob, slumped on the ground in front of him, a pistol in his hand, a bullet wound to the chest.
Kilroy’s expression remains neutral. ‘There isn’t going to be a test.’
‘It’s been cancelled?’ Alvy’s clearly disappointed.
‘It was never going to happen.’
‘It - what? What are you talking about?’
‘The Swarm wasn’t created for military use.’
Alvy’s just confused. ‘I don’t - what does that mean?’
‘Exactly what I said.’
‘Then what’s it for?’
‘Urban deployment.’
Alvy thinks it’s a joke, a bad one but a joke nonetheless. He grins - then takes in Kilroy’s blank expression and realises it isn’t. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘I’m dead serious.’
Alvy stands instinctively, his face grim. ‘No, no, no!’ His voice rises an octave as he says it. ‘You can never do that. Ever!’
‘And yet we can and we will - today, in fact, and as you’re the only person who can synthesise the counteragent you can’t be around when it happens.’
‘“Can’t be around?” What the hell are you talking about?’
Alvy understands exactly what he’s talking about as light glints off the silenced Glock 9mm pistol Kilroy draws from inside his jacket.
‘Oh, shit-’
The weapon swings towards Alvy as he drives a hand forward and bats the metal tray off the table in front of him.
Bam. The pistol fires and Alvy feels a sharp pain high on his left shoulder.
Clank. The spinning tray smashes into the bridge of Kilroy’s nose. He cries out and both hands fly to his face.
This is a positive development for Alvy as the pistol now points at the ceiling. Belying his husky appearance the scientist is surprisingly nimble and springs forward, swings a foot and connects with the side of Kilroy’s left knee.
Kilroy grunts and crumples to the ground. As he falls, Alvy grabs the Glock in his hand. The big surprise is that the pistol twists out of Kilroy’s grasp with minimal effort. Alvy was expecting some resistance but the pistol’s grip is slick with blood, courtesy of the metal tray, which has, he can now see, not only stunned Kilroy but also left a deep gash across his nose.
Alvy sprints ten metres to the lab’s door, the bullet wound on his shoulder stinging like crazy. He reaches for the doorhandle. Thank God Jacob was the last person to use the door. He always forgets to lock it. Alvy wrenches on the handle -
The door is locked tight.
No! Is Jacob in on this? Is he on the other side, waiting to see if the execution has been a success, ready to act if it hasn’t? There’s only one way to find out. Alvy punches the five-digit code into the keypad, raises the pistol and pulls the door open.
There’s no one there. The walkway is empty. Maybe Jacob isn’t in on it after all -
Thud. A bullet rips into the wall in front of Alvy. He turns. Behind him a groggy Kilroy aims a smaller pistol at him and fires again.
Alvy pivots clear and runs backwards along the walkway, pistol raised and aimed at the door he just exited. Kilroy pokes his head out from behind it and Alvy fires, too low to be anything but a warning shot. Alvy’s never consciously hurt anyone in his life so the idea of actually shooting Kilroy doesn’t cross his mind, in spite of everything that just happened. Kilroy pulls back into the room and disappears from view.
Alvy’s back thumps into the door that leads outside. He turns, taps five numbers into the keypad and it unlocks. Gun raised, he yanks the door open and steps into dazzling sunlight -
Bam. A gunshot rings out. Alvy feels hot pain in his hip as he swings the pistol around, fires in the direction he thinks the bullet came from.
It is silent.
Alvy blinks through the sunlight, looks down, sees he’s been shot in his left thigh. Stunned, he turns and sees Jacob, slumped on the ground in front of him, a pistol in his hand, a bullet wound to the chest.
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