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"No. Surveillance is managed by sensor implants in the root walls."
Boldt looked at the approaching two lights. They were too close now for any other
defenses to be used to shut them out. Unconsciously he turned and glanced at the steel
door closing the room off from that direction. It would hold. Even if they had explosives,
it would hold.
And he wasn't going to be there anyway.
He glanced back at the monitor. A window had opened up, showing him strangely garbed
men whom he'd never seen before going through the firepit left in the sec post. The way
they set up told the Celtic prince that they were no friends of the earlier groups. They
looked to be more interested in defending themselves from the strangers who'd been with
Mildred Wyeth.
It was all too much for Boldt to puzzle out. None of it would matter after the next few
minutes anyway, not once the plague had been set free. The Prince glanced back at the
monitors displaying the bloody action taking place out in the valley. With the flickering
firelight and the muzzle-flashes from the various weapons, it was impossible to say who
was winning.
In the long run the battle was more than Boldt could have hoped for. Ideally the plague
would have been released only on the people staying in the valley. But with the seed
heralds trapped outside when he released it, as well, and the fact that both the seed
heralds and the villagers would know that the valley was no longer inhabitable, they
would spread in opposite directions. Their enmity wouldn't die.
The presence of the New Londoners was a gift from whatever gods there might be. Win,
lose or draw, the survivors from the battle would flee back to the thorpe, spreading the
disease around the British Isles even faster than the fleeing Celts would have. The
pestilence would take hold firmly. Boldt knew from his spies that New London was a
port city. The plague would have a good chance of establishing itself in a number of areas
before anyone even knew it was among them.
"Sound the general alarm," Boldt commanded, "and open the cryo vault."
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A harsh Klaxon siren suddenly rent the air in great whoops. The Celtic prince walked
forward and stepped through the passageway that appeared in front of him. The tunnel
was long and narrow, lighted by the glowing fungus pods. He went into it.
Whoever won the battle outside would have no bearing on his world. Once he was inside
one of the cryo chambers, the years would roll away while the plague did its job. The
planet would become a blank slate again as far as human life was concerned.
And this time it would be done right. Victor Boldt would see to it himself.
"NO SIGN OF THEM, sir."
Conte had to agree with Turley's assessment. Scanning the interior of the security room,
all he saw were the bodies of the guards working at the underground complex. He
glanced at Whittaker. "You're sure you heard their voices?"
The rat-faced man looked sullen. He didn't like being doubted. "Sure as I'm hearing you
now."
Conte himself had heard nothing. He waved at the smoke obscuring his vision. Tears ran
down his face from the burning, but he ignored them. The complex proved Cawdor knew
more about high-tech areas than they'd at first surmised. The man was decidedly
dangerous.
"Sarge," Henderson called, "I found a tunnel over here."
Conte went over to join the man and found himself peering down the opening barely
illuminated by their hand torches. "Cawdor?"
"No sign of him, sir."
Conte flicked his torch back over the dead men in the room, then the empty frames of the
computer monitors.
Someone had killed the guards and jammed the door to slow them down.
"People coming," Aames said from his position at the door.
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Conte looked at Henderson. "You've got point. The rest of you follow in single file.
Aames, you've got the rear." The sergeant was second man through the opening, feeling
the downward grade of the tunnel kick in. Getting out was going to be a bitch. But
following Cawdor served two purposes. If he caught the man, Conte was determined to
see him dead. The up side was that the sergeant didn't figure the Deathlander to be stupid
enough to head into a blind alley. Cawdor had to know security would be breathing on his
heels. The man thought he had a way out. Conte was sure of that.
KRYSTY FELT Ryan slow before she saw it. So attuned was she to her lover, that she
knew there'd been an unexpected obstacle.
"Fireblast!" Ryan swore as he swept his flashlight over the steel surface in front of him.
Metal sang in a heated rush behind them. Fast as she was, her mutie sense giving her an
edge her lover didn't have, Ryan was faster.
He brought up the SIG-Sauer in a two-handed grip, firing at the barely discernible motion
humming along the ceiling. Brass spilled out, spitting and striking the wall before
tumbling to the floor and slithering away.
Less than twenty yards distant, another of the sec drones went to pieces in a flaming gust.
It was the third one they'd encountered since taking the latest branch of the corridor.
"There'll be more of the bastard things," Ryan said, turning his attention back to the steel
door blocking their progress. "If we stay here, we're sitting ducks until one of them chills
us. And we've blazed a trail for those White Sands soldiers to follow if they've a mind to.
Don't much care for our chances, but we'll make the most of them all the same."
Krysty approached the door, her blaster still in her hand.
"You remember another way?" Ryan asked. "A way around, mebbe?"
She shook her head. Her hand slid across the smooth, chill surface of the steel. It felt
greasy, solid, with real depth. "No." Her voice was hoarse even in her own ears.
"Then we've got no choice. We'll go back, see if the others got Mildred, then try to get the
hell out of here."
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