I jiggled the controls until I got one of them out of the shed on its own power. Then I left it hovering in mid-air and went back for another. After that, I decided on one more. Three seemed the maximum that I could manipulate, like juggling balls.
I moved a bit nearer to the gate and readied myself.
Then I sent one spinning aloft, high over the fence, crashed another into the fence right near the gate and summoned the third to my side, moving as if to mount it.
The results were spectacular.
The fence made a noise like frying bacon and the one flyer looked amazingly like an exotic insect imbedded in a burning web. Meanwhile, there was a flash as of heat lightning from somewhere beyond the building and I heard the other flyer crash out of sight.
Then, accompanied by metallic odors, I jammed the electric relays and rushed toward the gate on foot Only as I was passing through it, did I realize that there was a simpler, well-protected trigger that I had missed—but it had been shorted out by the flyer I had crashed into the fence. My luck, or something, was still functioning.
I raced toward the bushes that fringed the building, as if seeking to approach it from the side or the rear—and I kept right on going. It seemed a very likely place for Willy Boy to be waiting, and I wanted to keep a lot more distance than the width of a revival tent between us.
As I rounded the building, I saw a drainage ditch a dozen paces to my left. I ran and dove into it. No shots rang over my head. The only sound was that of a dry, wandering wind. I reached…
Computer activity, ahead, far to the right . .
I coiled, fast.
I found my way into the data underpinnings for what had to be a projected map of the complex. I quickly back-translated it into mental imagery. I saw the command post—a very mechanized place—housing the computer and probably Barbeau himself, farther to the south. The presence of a helicopter, engine turning over, was indicated on the ground beside it. Was he getting ready to go aloft to try spotting me from the air? Or was it a ready means of escape if things began breaking in my favor and it suddenly became too hot for him on the premises?
Along the way in which I was headed, I saw that there were two strategically situated buildings where ambushes had been set. I might avoid one but not both. I ignored them for the moment, for I saw that the position where I had gone to earth, my present position, was also clearly indicated. I had to do something about that fast. I traced the signal that activated the notation. It took me a while to realize where it was coming from, but when I did I raised my head a bit and viewed the thing.
In the distance, some sort of unit was rotating atop a high tower. I got the impression that it might be doing a sonar scan of the area, tracking and registering anything above a certain size that moved.
Okay. I had to find a way to juggle the local power supply, hit it with a surge and burn it out. This was trickier than I’d thought it would be, and it took me the better part of two minutes.
I crawled on quickly then, postponing further scrutiny of the terrain via the computer until I’d altered my position somewhat. Another quick glance showed me that the thing on the tower had stopped rotating, and I was pleased to see that my position-marker had vanished from the map-analogue. I crawled along the ditch for over a hundred meters, passing a building which had not been shown as occupied when I had regarded the layout.
Behind that building lay the airstrip. There were four hangars and a number of pads with ’copters upon them. On the airstrip lay the remains of the shuttle I had sent on from Carlsbad, partly melted. They had waited until it was almost on the ground before they’d wasted it. They hadn’t wanted a public disaster out on public land to draw attention and reporters and emergency vehicles and crews. They wanted to keep the party private. That was all right with me, too. I found myself getting even angrier than I had been.
No matter which direction I took from here, I would have to pass one of the ambush points in order to penetrate farther into the complex. I coiled again.
Yes. The nearest was just beyond the next building opposite the field. The computer showed three persons waiting there, as at the other ambush point.
I crawled a little farther, until I had interposed the nearest building directly between myself and the next one, effectively blocking any line of sight.
Then I rose and ran, flattening myself against the side of the building when I reached it. I waited for several heartbeats, but nothing happened. I moved to the nearest window then and tried to raise it. Locked.
I tapped it with a stone until it shattered, reached inside and unlatched it. I raised it, hoping that distance and the wind had smothered the sound.
I climbed inside and closed it again, then moved on through toward the other side. It was some sort of electrical shop, I saw immediately from the tools and components spread along the benches which lined the walls. There was nothing among it all which might serve as a real weapon, though, so I passed quickly—past storage racks and bins to a small office area.
I peered around the edge of the window at the building across the way. Both of its windows on the side facing me were open, and there were people inside holding what I had to assume were weapons.
All right. The gloves were off, the brass knuckles were on.
Dropping to the floor, I crawled to the window on the wall to my left and checked it out, also. Still nothing there but the open, barren expanse which had lain before me on the way over. I flipped the latch and raised that window, slowly.
Then I sat down, my back against the wall, and I reached…
Brekekekex…
… The helicopter stirred on its pad, rose, headed this way, picking up speed. It swung into a wide curve, out over the administration building, the fence, coming back this way now, picking up speed, descending… I heard it clearly now…
It swooped down like a dark angel and crashed full into the facing side of the adjacent building.
I was over the sill in an instant and I hit the ground running. The earth was still vibrating from the impact, and pieces still fell about the stove-in wall. The tail assembly of the ’copter protruded, still twisting, from the dust-filled cavern it had created. I saw no signs of the ambushers as I raced on past.
I pumped my arms and kept going. Soon the ruined building was far behind me and the other ambush point was even farther away—to the right, to my rear. I kept on. The facility stretched away for miles before me. The prospect began to widen, also, installations occurring now to my left in addition to the simpler buildings to my right, with more exotic structures towering far ahead. I felt more and more computerized activity about me as I advanced.
Finally, I had to halt to catch my breath. I swerved toward a four-story Maypole of a power plant model, a silvery mesh of webwork hung about it like a shawl. I crouched in a recessed area behind a burnished housing, beneath a flight of steel stairs. I was afforded a distant view of a turning geodesic dome, each of its faces a different color.
“Stephenson McFarlandl” Barbeau’s voice boomed, and echoes of the words came from all over the installation.
I saw that there was a bitch-box bolted to an upright along the stair just above my head, a part of a general public address system covering the entire complex, it seemed.
“Stephenson McFarlandl”
… I’d recognized it at once as my proper name. And hearing it seemed to cause all of the remaining pieces of my memory to fall into their proper places…