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firmly in the stirrup she had made, and boosted himself up to the roof. He
pushed up hard with the tip of the blaster and flicked open the cover. The
black maw of the elevator shaft gave nothing away. Unwilling to waste ammo,
Ryan paused, expecting some fire in reaction to the movement& if the roof of
the elevator was covered.
Nothing. J.B. glanced at Jak, who nodded and flicked open the knife he had
taken from Murphy. With silent grace he vaulted into Krysty's still cupped
hands as
Ryan hit the floor of the elevator. Before the one-eyed man had the chance to
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put his second foot on the floor and regain his balance, Jak had lithely
disappeared through the opening, his white hair flashing in the gloom as his
camou jacket blended into the darkness.
He was gone for only a few seconds, during which time his movements sounded as
nothing more than a skittering on the elevator roof.
Just as lithely, just as silently, Jak slid back into the car, dropping to the
floor with an almost noiseless impact.
"No." He shook his head.
"Mebbe they expect what we're going to do," J.B. said.
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Mildred agreed. "They'll be watching us every step of the way with those damn
cameras. It must be obvious. Wallace could lay a trap for us at any place."
"Mebbe we should confuse the stupe and head straight for the outside. He can
see us going but mebbe won't have time to change his plans," Dean added.
Ryan shook his head as he hit the elevator button for the level that housed
the armory.
"If we had our usual blasters and ammo, then that'd be a good move. But with
all we've got? And not knowing what's on the outside of this redoubt? We'd
have to be triple stupe."
"Instead of double stupe by going right where he wants us?" Dean retorted.
As the elevator ascended, Ryan glanced sharply at his son. He was the leader
by virtue of his experience and by the consensus of the others. If there were
to be challenges, then it was the wrong time for divisiveness, especially from
his own son.
Dean returned his father's glare with an equally heated expression of his own.
Ryan's anger retreated into amusement. The boy could have been him. There was
so much of Ryan Cawdor in his son that he would have to watch him in a few
years. The lad would want to assert himself.
But that could be dealt with when the time came. Right now they had to get the
hell out of this fireblasted pesthole.
Ryan grinned. "You know I'm right. You said it yourself, son. Heading for the
armory is only double stupe. That's one less than heading for the outside."
Dean shrugged. "Mebbe you're right," he said grudgingly.
The elevator shuddered to a halt at the right level. As the door slid open,
the levity
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into two, the friends flattened themselves against the sides of the car,
taking advantage of the scant cover provided by the control panel and intercom
on each side of the elevator doors.
The corridor in front of them was empty.
Moving out in formation, falling into position with familiarity, they headed
down the corridor.
When they reached the unguarded armory, they received a shock that was more
jolting than a surprise attack. The doors to the armory had been left open,
and after J.B. had run an expert eye over them to check for any booby traps,
Jak made his way inside while the others surveyed the corridors.
Jak reappeared with a baffled expression.
"What is it?" Krysty asked.
"Better see for self," Jak replied.
J.B. and Krysty entered the armory.
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"Well, what can you make of that?" Krysty whispered, bemused.
J.B. shrugged. "Not worth thinking about just act on it."
He moved forward to the collection of objects that had been the cause of their
bemusement. The walls and floors of the armory were, for the most part,
stripped bare with the exception of a small pile of blasters and ammunition
that lay in the center of the floor.
J.B. hunkered down and poked at them with the end of his blaster, in case
there was any hidden trap. As he had expected by now, there was no catch. The
pile consisted of the weapons they had possessed when they entered the
redoubt.
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"What is it?" Ryan whispered, glancing over his shoulder at the armory.
"Expect the unexpected," J.B. replied cryptically.
Ryan furrowed his brow and looked at Doc, who shrugged.
"John Barrymore as elliptical as ever," Doc told him.
The Armorer ignored the comments from outside and concentrated on the blasters
in front of him. Ryan's weighted scarf was neatly coiled, and the SIG-Sauer
and panga were gleaming, while the Steyr SSG-70 had been greased and loaded.
His
M-4000 was similarly overhauled, and the Uzi was ready for action. His knife
was gleaming and freshly whetted. Best of all, his minisextant, which he had
thought lost, was in the pile. He pocketed it before proceeding to examine the
rest of the blasters Mildred's ZKR, Krysty's Smith & Wesson 640, Doc's
lion's-head swordstick and LeMat blaster, Dean's Browning Hi-Power, Jak's .357
Magnum
Colt Python and best of all the full collection of leaf-bladed throwing
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