"Have a heart, Zack," Geof said. "It was hard work cracking that safe."
"Shut up and get this out to Darrell and Jules," Moore snapped.
Geof dropped his hand of cards and caught the Black Cube.
"You get some food on," he added to Chubby.
I pushed open the hatch and aimed the gun at Moore's midsection.
"Eat this, motherfucker."
A tableau: Moore, mouth agape, standing in front of the hatch; Chubby caught in mid-rise from the table; Geof holding the Cube, gawking; Krause petrified.
Me on my belly with a monstrous weapon, wondering in the intervening few seconds whether I had it in me to cut a man down, even such a man as this, and the rest of them―mass murder? Would it be?
Somebody make a move, I pleaded silently. It'll make it easier.
But no one moved.
"We… have your friend," Moore said cautiously, gravely. Tentatively.
"You are a dead man," I stated.
"I have more men," Moore went on. "Outside. You'll never―"
"Dead," I said.
Silence.
"Nothing I can do, Zack," Corey Wilkes' voice broke in finally.
A question was forming in the air, hanging over the proceedings.
So?
The question slowly settled on me, became a vast weighty thing bearing down. Meanwhile wheels spun frantically in my head. My first shot should be to the CPU, knocking out Wilkes' simulacrum, taking the horrible chance that Sam's VEM wouldn't be damaged. I knew approximately where it was. But the angle was bad. Think, think.
"What do you want us to do, Jake?" Wilkes' computer-ghost asked mildly.
There was someone else, I knew, in the cab, waiting for Moore to either go down or get out of the way so as to get a shot off at e. I could shoot Moore and hose the hatchway, but Geof would in the meantime go for his gun. Or Krause, or Chubby.
"Oh my God," Wilkes' voice said. "Here they come, and what a time."
"Bugs?" Moore asked.
"The same."
Moore looked at me. "See here," he said. "We're not getting anywhere―"
The next few moments were very confused.
Here is approximately what happened. The lights dimmed a little. Things and people began to sail around the cabin. I found myself floating up off the bottom of the crawl tube and coasting out into the air, finding it extremely difficult to move. An invisible wrapping covered me, a rubbery, yielding envelope of force. Coming out from the tube, I rose, did a midair backward somersault and bounced gently off the ceiling. Krause was levitating below me, and Moore below him. Chubby and Geof were twirling in air over the breakfast nook, struggling frantically against the unseen bundling that covered them. Other things were afloat, every object in the cabin that had been loose: cups, spoons, cards, somebody's sock―one of mine that had been left lying under the cot, I guess―and the Black Cube, which Geof had apparently let go.
It was difficult to move, but not impossible. I strained against the envelope and got my feet flat against the ceiling. Then I pushed off and rammed into Krause, rather into his envelope, which yielded sluggishly. I pushed him out of the way, brought my gun arm around and aimed at Moore, who slowly wafted up at me. I squeezed the trigger and nothing happened. With considerable effort, Moore brought his pistol around and tried the same thing. Same result. I let go of the pistol. It hung close to my hand, rotating lazily. Arms outstretched, Moore came up to meet me, and we grappled clumsily. I aimed a kick at his groin and missed, though it would have landed with the force of a thousand snowflakes at least. Moore tried a chop at my neck which I blocked, grabbing his envelope and compressing it until I felt my hand close about his wrist. He flailed at me with his other arm, to little effect, then kicked at my midsection, catching me good enough to send me spinning away, but I held on to his wrist. Finding myself against the ceiling again, I pushed off with my might and slammed into him, sending us plummeting toward the breakfast nook. His head whanged off the edge of the little table, which under ordinary circumstances would have knocked him out. With the envelope acting as a cushion, he was merely disoriented. I got my hands around his neck and squeezed, concentrating all my force and will. He brought his forearms up through mine in the standard countermove but couldn't raise them high enough. Transformed by rage, the muscles of my body became taut wire cable, the hoop of my arms a ring of power conducting furious white energy. The invisible envelope slowly gave until Moore's eyes went wide and filled with fear. There was a madman on him who wouldn't let go.
"Tell me now," I said through clenched teeth, "about how you'll abuse those women and make me watch. Tell me. I want to hear it."
"Bastard!" he hissed. "You―"
"In detail. Tell me."
The pressure got to his throat. He gurgled, gave up trying to bring his arms through, seized my wrists and began vainly to tug at them. His kicks were weaker now. I ignored them. His head drifted under the table. I yanked and whacked his face against the underside. It felt good and the sound was most satisfactory. I did it again.
"Tell me," I kept repeating with each thwack. His body went limp but I did not stop choking him.
A current of force caught us then, whooshing us out from under the nook and toward the hatchway. In the air, a flurry of objects swirled about us, more than could possibly have been loose. The doors and drawers of the kitchen cabinets were open, spewing out streams of utensils, dishes, cups and such. They too seemed to be heading in the general direction of the cab. We drifted through the hatch and my grip weakened. The distraction of what was happening deflected my concentration, and my fury began to subside.
But when I saw what they had been doing to Carl, my wrath doubled and redoubled. He tumbled beside me nude from the waist down. Wires dangled from his scrotum, to which they were affixed by tape. The wires led to a small battery and switch affair floating nearby. Carl was fumblingly trying to pick the tape off, encircled by trailing lengths of rope by which he had been tied to one of the back seats. I tried to tighten my grip on Moore's enormous neck but couldn't. The envelope had stiffened. I lost my hold completely and drifted away. Moore was unconscious, his face dark and bloated, but I couldn't tell whether I had killed him. He might still have been breathing. Another of Moore's henchmen was in the cab. I kicked at his face as I flew by, then tried to push myself off the front port and back to Moore to finish the job. Drifting objects got in my way and I batted at them like flies. They were everywhere: pencils, lading sheets, binocular case, backpacks, shoes, a packet of feminine napkins, the druggy contents of the medicine chest, somebody's lost sandal, dishes, scraps of paper, a moldy dinner roll, books, a pipette reader, the Ahgirr maps… all the junk that had accumulated over the past month and which everyone agreed needed to be cleaned up―tomorrow, maybe.
I had just about reached Moore again when both the cab's gull-wing hatches sprang open. The explosive decompression drove everything and everyone out of the rig and into the hard vacuum of the immense chamber.
But I could breathe. The invisible envelope held, trapped air. As I drifted upward, tumbling and turning, I wondered how much and how long it would last.
Soon my rotation slowed, not due to any effort on my part, and I could see the action below. There were Bugs everywhere, maybe about thirty of them, flittering here and about and from vehicle to vehicle, all of which were spewing an endless stream of objects and people from sprung hatches. The rig vomited clouds of jetsam from both ends. All our equipment and stores came flying out, including the astronomical gear―minus its protective wrappings. The whole gang too: Darla, Sean, Susan, Lori, the Voloshins, George and Winnie (where the hell had they been, I wondered), John, Roland, and Liam, all freed from their bindings and from the spell of the dream wand. Wide-eyed and disoriented, Darla passed me as we ascended. Then Lori went by, and I tried to wave. She saw me and shouted something but made no sound at all. She looked very frightened. I didn't blame her. I was scared bowelless myself.