Part 12 (1/2)

Grey Brother stares at her. ”He's seen us.”

”Doesn't matter. If we get Head Wolf away, they'll never find us. If we don't, what he knows can't hurt us any worse.”

Again he nods. ”He can wait the night here and go free in the morning.”

”Let me call my wife!” Jerome cuts in. ”She'll worry herself sick.”

Something melts the hard lines of Grey Brother's face. ”She will? Then we'll get you home. b.u.mblebee, Tapestry, when we've been away an hour, escort the man home.”

Jerome's eyes widen with surprise. ”I'll keep quiet, brother. I don't want to get involved with this. Some of those doctors ask questions in ways I don't want to try. Just let me go home.”

He whispers softly, so only I can hear, ”Take care, Sarah. I don't know who scares me more-your friends or your enemies.”

An hour or so later, we are ready to go. Abalone has learned that Head Wolf is being held in a maximum security area on the tenth floor. The plan she and Grey Brother evolve involves various feints to draw attention away from our goal.

”They must be tightly timed,” Abalone cautions, ”or we'll be dealing with the police, too. I will reroute what backup calls I can, but I may miss some.”

Grey Brother briefs his various teams, then turns away without another glance for them. He has insisted on heading the group that will break into Head Wolf's cell. He has insisted equally strongly that Abalone remain outside.

”You don't need to be inside,” he states flatly. ”What you're doing is too important to let you get flipped off by some stray shot. Sorry, Sh.e.l.lfish, you're out.”

Abalone stares at him with such pure anger I fear that he will melt. Then she nods stiffly.

”Professor Isabella goes. She may be slow, but she knows the Home and she understands Sarah's talk. You'll need that, Grey Brother. Trust me.”

He agrees and so I find myself preparing to reenter the Home through an infrequently used fire port on the eighth floor. Our group is small: Grey Brother, Professor Isabella, me, and a member of the Four tagged Midline. Peep operates the hovercat, wafting us silently to the iris in the wall.

On cue, the iris cycles open when we pause. Faintly, we hear shouts and know that the first diversion has begun. Without a word, we move.

Midline goes first, a slender Oriental with unnaturally golden skin. He steadies himself with a lean, muscled arm, then he is gone into the corridor. When there is no alarm, we follow, Grey Brother courteously a.s.sisting Professor Isabella.

The familiar scents of antiseptic not quite concealing urine and illness make me shudder. From my pack, Betwixt and Between warble, in duet, ”Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.”

I shush them, for though I know that none of the other three can hear them, I need my ears. Concentrating tentatively, I hear whispers from wall, door, carpeting.

Midline trots a few steps ahead, Grey Brother covers the rear. We make no effort to hide from the security cameras. If Abalone is doing as promised, they will record nothing but empty corridor, white walls, and light green carpet.

Our goal is a service crawlway that will take us up between floors without triggering the alarms in either stairwell or elevator. I listen for it and find it, locating its slight complaint over an aching hinge.

I tap Grey Brother, pointing to where I can hear the door. Squinting, he looks up, nods. Midline braces him and he opens the hatch, hanging the portable ladder he has carried wrapped around his waist. When this is done, Midline climbs up. We ascend after.

All of this is done without sound, so I hear clearly. The hatch sighs on opening, the ceiling moans when the ladder grapples dig in, the metal rungs in the access tunnel gasp in antic.i.p.ation of our feet, wheeze as we pa.s.s.

For the first time, I wonder at the humanness of these sounds. Why should something with neither lungs nor nerves express pain or displeasure as a human might? Some filter vibrates loose behind my eyes as I contemplate this; my senses tremble. I fight back a strong urge to retch.

No. I cannot lose control. Suspecting that to hear and see as the inanimate do would drive me madder than I am, I push away the thoughts. The power to perceive so is there-but the symbols my mind chooses are safer.

Only Betwixt and Between notice my lapse. They rumble rea.s.surance as we continue to climb.

On the tenth floor, we emerge into a small bathroom, tiled in pale blue. A coatrack near the door bears two heavy coats and a hat.

”Nurses?” Midline whispers.

”Guards,” Grey Brother replies with a quick shake of his head. ”Abalone says that they have a roving patrol of the floor. We'll need to watch for them.”

Their conversation does not keep me from listening for what the tenth floor can tell me. Already, I am learning to filter out the inconsequential-a different skill than the simple defensive blocking that made me nearly deaf to all but those close to me like Betwixt and Between. With gratifying speed, I find what I am hunting for; even before Midline eases the door to the corridor open, I know the direction we must go.

I wait until we come to a cross corridor and Midline hesitates. Then I tap him and gesture right. My guidance is accepted without question and I feel a surge of power. I am almost disappointed when he takes his next lead from something stenciled in black on a wall.

But soon such pettiness is washed back by a tingle of warning. I know we are nearing Head Wolf's room, but this is more. I strain to hear over the complaints of the carpet as we step, over the chortle of the lights as we make shadows on the white walls. For a moment, it seems that there is too much, that I will not be able to sort out the strain that troubles me. Then I hear it.

Joy. Pure, malicious joy.

My dragons hiss as they too sense what I do. I cast about seeking to localize the source. When I do, it is too late.

Midline has reached the door that ends the corridor. His cautious approach melts into boyish enthusiasm as he sees the letters on the card in the door. Only his impulsive dash forward saves him from the tranquilizer sliver that lances into the corridor from what had appeared to be a flat wall.

Too late, we all realize that a white-projected hologram has concealed the open doorways to each side of the dead-end corridor, one to each right and left, before and behind. Now that we know they are there we can detect a faint s.h.i.+mmer from their presence, like a mirage without heat.

Head Wolf's black door waits, solid, closed, and locked at the corridor's end.

Midline rolls flat beside the left side door nearest to him. Here he is safe from the man who had fired at him, who stands inside, dart gun in hand. The angle is bad from the other doors, so Midline is marginally safe, but pinned.

I also roll toward the wall, startled when Grey Brother jumps up, punching a drop ceiling panel aside and pulling himself upward into the recess. With the litheness of the Jungle, he vanishes.

Only Professor Isabella does not move quickly enough; the dart fired at her comes at an angle and buries itself in the thick tweed of her winter coat.

From where I am squashed against the wall, wis.h.i.+ng myself as small as my dragons, I can see the anonymous halos of our four attackers, white ghosts, outlined by an unreal wall that still chuckles over the deception it has wrought.

Overhead, Grey Brother's voice is muttering intently. I cannot make out the words, but suddenly the holographs vanish. The figures of our attackers are clearly visible for a brief moment, then everything vanishes as the lights go out.

But before darkness shrouds us, I recognize one of the people waiting in the doorway. Her smile glints from perfect teeth: Dr. Haas.

Darkness favors those of us from the streets. I force myself to remember this as I crawl rapidly toward the glow of the small, red safety light on Head Wolf's door. My allies must remember this too, because no one activates the small light sticks we each carry.

Our enemies are less certain of themselves. Their deception had necessitated turning off the self-powered lights over each cell door; the only remaining light is from the bars over the distant stairwell and over Head Wolf's door.

One by one, hand flashes come on: three clear targets revealed. I think I know who the holdout is, but she must wait. Head Wolf needs me. On hands and knees, I move to his door.

Before the lights went out, I had seen the keypad to the left of the door. Abalone had reported that each lock was a self-contained unit so she could not open the door, even when she got into the Home's computer system. Grey Brother carried some materials to force the door, but he would need light to use them. My way was no longer just an option-it was the only hope left to us.

Closing my ears to the sounds of struggle behind me, I open my hearing to the door in front of me. For a frightened moment, I think I will be unable to hear. Then, faintly, I hear the door, drowsing solid. Next to it, like a whistle of electronic fire, is the snap and babble of the lockpad.

Reaching tentatively in the ruddy darkness, I find the rectangle set nearly flush with the doorframe. Brus.h.i.+ng a fingernail across, I feel that the numbers are raised-intended no doubt as a convenience for a nurse or orderly who might need to feel out the code while dealing with a struggling patient. As my hand touches them, I hear the hiss and babble increase in frequency.

When I concentrate, the noise resolves itself into yaps and purrs of sound-no real words, but something I can understand.

I move my hand to the long sigil in the upper left corner. The purrs vanish, but when I move my finger down the purring begins, hesitates when I pa.s.s the second row and thrums loudly when I rest on the center figure. I press.