options. The road curved back toward the main body of the island just behind the chopper, an off-ramp located tantalizingly close, less than fifty yards beyond. Brigid’s eyes flicked back to the Deathbird, then beyond, spotting the reason that the road veered back landward. There was a building there, some kind of shipyard admin building by the look of it, a great towering thing like a glass knife thrust into the earth by some almighty god.
Eight. The lasers were starting to glow as the power began firing through them, a ruby slash cleaving through the air toward her.
There was a trick she was beginning to recall, a trick she had learned when she was just a little girl, and one she had never stopped using. It was coming back to her now. All of it.
Brigid powered the automobile toward the barrier, pulling at the steering wheel as if she was wrestling with a bear. Beneath her, the tires screamed and she felt the car begin to roll.
* * *
I N THE RED ROOM of caged muties, Kane reacted without conscious thought. His hand came up, bringing the Sin Eater blaster in an arc that ended in the stranger’s face.
The stranger reacted almost as quickly. Indeed, Kane could only marvel at the speed of the man’s reactions. The figure was dressed in light clothes, cotton pants and shirt, the latter open to midway down his chest, revealing a tanned and muscular torso. The man’s dark hair was gelled back and he wore a long knife on a low-slung holster at his waist. Kane guessed the man was in his early twenties, hired for muscle and grunt work.
As Kane’s blaster came up, the other man threw whatever he had been balancing in both hands at him. Kane stepped aside as a box full of spare parts came flying at him. The throw was off, but it didn’t matter, it had given his opponent that precious split second to step back from the line of fire before Kane could deliver a bullet to his skull.
“Damn!” Kane cursed as the man ducked back into the next room, pulling the door back. With his free hand, Kane snatched the door’s edge before it could slam shut, automatically raising his blaster to cover the gap.
Cotton Shirt-and-Pants was already down the end of a short corridor that was little more than a cupboard, yanking at the far door and raising the alarm. “Intruder!” he called. “Back inna storeroom.”
The storeroom. Yeah, that’s all these muties’ lives were to these people, just another “product” they stored until a customer arrived to purchase it, their lives nothing more than figures on a profit tally. Kane hated them then, hated the whole operation that existed here in the heart of the refugee camp, preying on people who had nothing left but dreams, giving them nothing but fake lives and false hope.
It was bright here. Sin Eater raised, Kane took a long two steps through the cupboardlike connecting space between the two buildings, pulling up short as he reached the door. The corridor here, what little of it there was, was covered in molded transparent plastic, its dirty roof letting daylight in. It was a shock after the darkness of the mutie pen, and Kane took the extra few seconds to let his eyes adjust before he tried the far door.
It was dark again in the next room and the place had a definite aroma of sweat—not mutie sweat, but human sweat, the smell of a lot of people in a confined and poorly ventilated space. There was mist, too, obscuring Kane’s vision, and what light sources he could see were blurred by the smoke. There were a few light sources arrayed before him, a whole bank of them at waist height, a circlet of them higher up as though attached to the room’s low ceiling.
Someone shouted from up ahead of Kane and to his left; a man’s voice. “He’s coming. Deren—Alana—take him.”
There was the familiar click-clack of automatic weapons, of safeties being unlocked. Kane ducked back before the blasters fired, and a volley of bullets slapped against the door as he pulled it toward him for
Eight. The lasers were starting to glow as the power began firing through them, a ruby slash cleaving through the air toward her.
There was a trick she was beginning to recall, a trick she had learned when she was just a little girl, and one she had never stopped using. It was coming back to her now. All of it.
Brigid powered the automobile toward the barrier, pulling at the steering wheel as if she was wrestling with a bear. Beneath her, the tires screamed and she felt the car begin to roll.
* * *
I N THE RED ROOM of caged muties, Kane reacted without conscious thought. His hand came up, bringing the Sin Eater blaster in an arc that ended in the stranger’s face.
The stranger reacted almost as quickly. Indeed, Kane could only marvel at the speed of the man’s reactions. The figure was dressed in light clothes, cotton pants and shirt, the latter open to midway down his chest, revealing a tanned and muscular torso. The man’s dark hair was gelled back and he wore a long knife on a low-slung holster at his waist. Kane guessed the man was in his early twenties, hired for muscle and grunt work.
As Kane’s blaster came up, the other man threw whatever he had been balancing in both hands at him. Kane stepped aside as a box full of spare parts came flying at him. The throw was off, but it didn’t matter, it had given his opponent that precious split second to step back from the line of fire before Kane could deliver a bullet to his skull.
“Damn!” Kane cursed as the man ducked back into the next room, pulling the door back. With his free hand, Kane snatched the door’s edge before it could slam shut, automatically raising his blaster to cover the gap.
Cotton Shirt-and-Pants was already down the end of a short corridor that was little more than a cupboard, yanking at the far door and raising the alarm. “Intruder!” he called. “Back inna storeroom.”
The storeroom. Yeah, that’s all these muties’ lives were to these people, just another “product” they stored until a customer arrived to purchase it, their lives nothing more than figures on a profit tally. Kane hated them then, hated the whole operation that existed here in the heart of the refugee camp, preying on people who had nothing left but dreams, giving them nothing but fake lives and false hope.
It was bright here. Sin Eater raised, Kane took a long two steps through the cupboardlike connecting space between the two buildings, pulling up short as he reached the door. The corridor here, what little of it there was, was covered in molded transparent plastic, its dirty roof letting daylight in. It was a shock after the darkness of the mutie pen, and Kane took the extra few seconds to let his eyes adjust before he tried the far door.
It was dark again in the next room and the place had a definite aroma of sweat—not mutie sweat, but human sweat, the smell of a lot of people in a confined and poorly ventilated space. There was mist, too, obscuring Kane’s vision, and what light sources he could see were blurred by the smoke. There were a few light sources arrayed before him, a whole bank of them at waist height, a circlet of them higher up as though attached to the room’s low ceiling.
Someone shouted from up ahead of Kane and to his left; a man’s voice. “He’s coming. Deren—Alana—take him.”
There was the familiar click-clack of automatic weapons, of safeties being unlocked. Kane ducked back before the blasters fired, and a volley of bullets slapped against the door as he pulled it toward him for
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