clear. Remove it before the boy arrives.”
“I’ll wait until he shows,” Hund said. “Then I’ll remove him, too.”
“He’s not important, but the HostLink is critical.”
“I can grab the machine
and
kill the boy.”
Roach smiled coldly. “I’ll send my little pet after the Solomon brat. You get the equipment. Now go.”
Hund turned on his heel and prowled away.
To workshop seven.
THE LONELIEST NUMBER
I stuffed the three steaks into a specimen pack I found on the floor, and turned back toward the fridge-thing. “Anything else?”
“Roach is destroying all the data banks he can’t steal,” it said. “I will not remain coherent much longer. You are on your own.”
“Great.”
“I believe,” the thing whispered, “in you.”
I grabbed the map that spewed from a nearby printer, and the countdown started. A calm computerized voice came from all the speakers: “Self-destruct initiated. Detonation sequence in forty minutes. Self-destruct initiated. Detonation sequence in forty minutes. Self-destruct initiated. Detonation sequence in forty minutes. Self-destruct sequence initiated. Detonation sequence in forty minutes. Self-destruct initiated. Detonation sequence in forty minutes. Self-destruct initiated. Detonation sequence in forty minutes. Self-destruct initiated. Detonation sequence in forty minutes. Self-destruct sequence initiated.
HE COULD’VE JUST ADOPTED A HAMSTER
By the time the message changed to “Detonation sequence in
thirty-nine
minutes,” I’d raced along two corridors and bounded down three flights of stairs.
If I correctly remembered the floor plan the coffeemaker had shown me, about fifty soldiers patrolled the Center, in groups of two. Except I guessed they weren’t patrolling, not anymore. Now they were looting—dragging all the HostLink components to the loading dock.
So aside from the random patrol, I didn’t have anything to worry about.
Well, other than Hund.
And the tactical nuke.
And the Protocol.
And my aunt.
But other than all
that
? Clear sailing.
Or so I thought, until I stepped from a stairwell in one of the lower sublevels and froze.
Something was slithering toward me from a hole in the wall. A snake or a tentacle or a … I didn’t know. I didn’t stick around to find out. I scrambled backward, and the thing emerged with a
thhhht
from the crack.
It was a centipede about the size of my leg, with a sequence of lights flashing inside and two antennae quivering from eacharmored segment. All of them waved at me as the thing undulated closer. It wove between the stair railings, then slithered along the wall, and I saw that it crept on tractor treads layered with tiny suction cups instead of a thousand legs.
This time, I didn’t freeze in terror. I backpedaled upstairs as the thing slithered toward me, fiber-optic antennae waving.
I waited—two seconds, three seconds—then put my hand on the stair railing and vaulted.
I spun in the air, the specimen pack containing the steaks flopping at my side, and landed in a crouch on the landing below. Behind me, I heard the centipede drop from the wall to the floor and scrabble toward the edge of the stairs, ready to leap onto my head and shove pincers into my eyes.
Well, at least I
thought
that was what it wanted.
I shot into the hallway, then closed and bolted the door to the stairway. Much better. I checked the map. Only a few hallways, a tunnel, and an access shaft remained between me and workshop seven.
I crept down a hallway.
I crept down another hallway.
I crept down a third hallway.
And I froze when I heard voices. Sounded like mercenaries grumbling about the helicopter transport. Coming from a big echoing room down the corridor, with a huge monitor and tiers of plush seats.
An auditorium or a surgical theater: an operating room with a view.
I paused outside the door. The voices sounded distant and …
fuzzy
, somehow. Staticky. Then I realized I wasn’t hearing the mercenaries
“I’ll wait until he shows,” Hund said. “Then I’ll remove him, too.”
“He’s not important, but the HostLink is critical.”
“I can grab the machine
and
kill the boy.”
Roach smiled coldly. “I’ll send my little pet after the Solomon brat. You get the equipment. Now go.”
Hund turned on his heel and prowled away.
To workshop seven.
THE LONELIEST NUMBER
I stuffed the three steaks into a specimen pack I found on the floor, and turned back toward the fridge-thing. “Anything else?”
“Roach is destroying all the data banks he can’t steal,” it said. “I will not remain coherent much longer. You are on your own.”
“Great.”
“I believe,” the thing whispered, “in you.”
I grabbed the map that spewed from a nearby printer, and the countdown started. A calm computerized voice came from all the speakers: “Self-destruct initiated. Detonation sequence in forty minutes. Self-destruct initiated. Detonation sequence in forty minutes. Self-destruct initiated. Detonation sequence in forty minutes. Self-destruct sequence initiated. Detonation sequence in forty minutes. Self-destruct initiated. Detonation sequence in forty minutes. Self-destruct initiated. Detonation sequence in forty minutes. Self-destruct initiated. Detonation sequence in forty minutes. Self-destruct sequence initiated.
HE COULD’VE JUST ADOPTED A HAMSTER
By the time the message changed to “Detonation sequence in
thirty-nine
minutes,” I’d raced along two corridors and bounded down three flights of stairs.
If I correctly remembered the floor plan the coffeemaker had shown me, about fifty soldiers patrolled the Center, in groups of two. Except I guessed they weren’t patrolling, not anymore. Now they were looting—dragging all the HostLink components to the loading dock.
So aside from the random patrol, I didn’t have anything to worry about.
Well, other than Hund.
And the tactical nuke.
And the Protocol.
And my aunt.
But other than all
that
? Clear sailing.
Or so I thought, until I stepped from a stairwell in one of the lower sublevels and froze.
Something was slithering toward me from a hole in the wall. A snake or a tentacle or a … I didn’t know. I didn’t stick around to find out. I scrambled backward, and the thing emerged with a
thhhht
from the crack.
It was a centipede about the size of my leg, with a sequence of lights flashing inside and two antennae quivering from eacharmored segment. All of them waved at me as the thing undulated closer. It wove between the stair railings, then slithered along the wall, and I saw that it crept on tractor treads layered with tiny suction cups instead of a thousand legs.
This time, I didn’t freeze in terror. I backpedaled upstairs as the thing slithered toward me, fiber-optic antennae waving.
I waited—two seconds, three seconds—then put my hand on the stair railing and vaulted.
I spun in the air, the specimen pack containing the steaks flopping at my side, and landed in a crouch on the landing below. Behind me, I heard the centipede drop from the wall to the floor and scrabble toward the edge of the stairs, ready to leap onto my head and shove pincers into my eyes.
Well, at least I
thought
that was what it wanted.
I shot into the hallway, then closed and bolted the door to the stairway. Much better. I checked the map. Only a few hallways, a tunnel, and an access shaft remained between me and workshop seven.
I crept down a hallway.
I crept down another hallway.
I crept down a third hallway.
And I froze when I heard voices. Sounded like mercenaries grumbling about the helicopter transport. Coming from a big echoing room down the corridor, with a huge monitor and tiers of plush seats.
An auditorium or a surgical theater: an operating room with a view.
I paused outside the door. The voices sounded distant and …
fuzzy
, somehow. Staticky. Then I realized I wasn’t hearing the mercenaries
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