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somethin'
fallin' on the floor, but the other one didn't stop but was up and away down
the stairs in nothin' flat. I picked myself up and felt around and got it. A
pistol!
Felt a little light and funny, but it was definitely a pistol. I picked it up
and walked into the office and stopped dead in my tracks. Outside there was
some yellin' and screamin' and the sound of a few unmuffled shots.
Arnie lay lack in the office chair, head cocked, eyes open and glazed over, a
little blood tricklin' from his mouth. There was two neat, red holes in his
silk pajamas, and they was gettin' bigger. Somebody ran up the stairs and
reached the edge of the doorway. I turned, nearly forgettin' the gun in my
hand, to see
Marty.
"Mr. Siegel! Somebody ju-Jesus Christ!" He saw Arnie, then me. "You dumb
broad!
You just killed Mr. Siegel!"
"No! Wait! I-" I started, but Marty was goin' for his gun. Somethin' suddenly
kicked in and took over for me. The whole thing slowed, like it was some kinda
slow-motion movie, and as his hand went to his shoulder holster my hand come
up with the pistol in it. I had much better reflexes than Marty, and somethin'
else seemed to be controllin' my actions. I shot Marty dead center in the
middle of his forehead. He looked surprised, then kinda puzzled, and I kicked
him down and started lookin' 'round the office. Then I saw it-the black
briefcase, off to one side of the desk. I picked it up and started to move.
There was still some commotion outside, but nobody else seemed to be comin'
straight in, so I headed for my room and suddenly was thinkin' again, although
on a real supercharged level. I thought 'bout ditchin' the gun and preten-din'
to be asleep, but I knew that wouldn't wash. There was no way to hide that
briefcase in time, and no way
I was gonna part with it short of dyin'. With Arnie dead there'd be a new
order around, and I wouldn't be worth shit to the new guys even if they didn't
blame me for this.
I didn't waste no time gettin' dressed. I just threw what I saw into my bag,
includin' the shoes, and put it over my shoulder. I had the briefcase in one
hand and the gun in the other. I didn't know how many more bullets was in that
gun, but it was all I had. I opened the door and saw somebody had come in and
turned the main room's lights on. I crept to the top of the stairs, saw two
men
file:///F|/rah/Jack%20L.%20Chalker/Chalker,%2...D.%20Inc%202%20-%20The%20Shado
w%20Dancers.txt (95 of 146) [1/19/03 4:19:23 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Jack%20L.%20Chalker/Chalker,%20Jack%20L%20-%20G.O.D.%20Inc%202%
20-%20The%20Shadow%20Dancers.txt lookin' around. One of 'em thought to look
up, and I plugged him and then his companion with no thought. That kind of
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accuracy, when both had guns in their hands, was near impossible. The
juice-the juice was readin' my danger level and forcin' me to protect it, and
me, at any cost!
I made a leap that woulda done Tarzan proud down to the main floor and hit in
a crouch without losin' the case or the bag. I stopped tryin' to fight the
juice, and suddenly I was a killer machine. I had only one thought: escape. I
was like some vicious cornered animal, only I knew the layout and I knew the
gun and I
knew the only way out I could go.
I made my way back to the kitchen area, then peered outside. It was real dark,
but the glow from the house lights lit it up some. Two guards, one with a
rifle, was out there arguin' and pointin'-at the Labyrinth.
It was on, right full, all them cubelike shapes dancin' and changin' and ready
for use. No way to make any kinda run, so I just held the pistol at my side
and walked through the backdoor onto the porch. They turned and their guns
come up.
"Hey, boys!" I called to them. "What de hell goin' on, anyways?"
One of 'em cussed but they both relaxed, and then 1 shot 'em both down with my
eyes at more than thirty feet and jumped down onto the lawn. Somebody come at
me right then, and I swung the briefcase and caught him on the head, then
kicked him hard with my foot. He fell back and doubled over.
There was another one near the Labyrinth I didn't see, and he made right for
me.
He musta been six three and three hundred pounds and yet so fast I didn't even
have time to use the gun. I dropped the briefcase and then kicked him, grabbed
him, and brought both my arms, with gun, down on his head so fast I ain't
never gonna know what I did or how. I was now only a few feet from the fence,
but I
couldn't go yet. I had to drop that case and wasn't no way I was goin' without
it even if they shot me dead.
I made for it, got it, then looked up and saw a man on the back porch, framed
by the house lights, gun held steady by both hands. There was no way I could
figure on scoopin' up the case and gettin' off more'n a wild shot while he had
me cold, but I went for it anyways, hardly lookin' as I shot him. I turned and
looked back to see him fall forward off the porch onto the ground. At that
moment I
wasn't one to question luck; I jumped that little fence and ran into the
Labyrinth just as it seemed to be slowin' down and growin' smaller.
I hit the cube runnin', then rolled and stopped, then crouched and waited to
see if anybody was followin' me. Instead, I watched the cube face from which
I'd entered slowly fade out to black. Only then did I get back my wits and try
to think 'bout what to do next.
First I looked at the pistol. No wonder it made that funny noise! It was made
outta somethin' like yellow or gold plastic and you could see a lot of funny
works in there. It sure as hell shot somethin' hard and real, though; those
was holes in Arnie, not no ray gun burns or shit like that. That also meant it
could run outta bullets anytime. Hell, it might be empty now, but I didn't
dare test it. That test might be my last bullet, too.
I looked next at the briefcase that was life to me. Hell, maybe it was only
six months, maybe a year, but it was more'n they tried to give me or woulda if
I'd stayed with no Arnie around. I opened the case and felt panic. It wasn't
empty, but it nearly was. Only one of them shrink-wrapped packets of juice
cubes was in there. Only one. Panicky as hell, I counted them. Four layers of
eight each. A
month's supply. Probably my supply. I still had three in my bag, that meant
thirty-five. I had thirty-five days to live. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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