Part 54 (1/2)

Before the man could answer, Wicksen's helmet earphones buzzed with an incoming message. He punched the proper key on his wristpad, noting with a bit of a shock that his radiation dose patch was still a pale chartreuse.

”Wicksen here,” he said, surprised that his voice sounded so calm.

”This is Doug Stavenger,” he heard in his earphones. ”What happened?”

”We didn't have time to fix-wait a minute! Are you running on auxiliary power or not?”

”The missile took out our nuclear generator. It was a conventional warhead. Their nuke is on its way, launched four minutes ago.”

”You mean we've still got two hours to get this kloodge working?” Wicksen felt elated.

”Can you do it?”

Despite his c.u.mbersome s.p.a.cesuit Wicksen jumped to his feet, not so difficult a trick in the low lunar gravity. ”We'll do our best,” he cried, overjoyed at still being alive.

Killifer checked his wrist.w.a.tch before starting out on his regular rounds through the house. With Rodriguez watching everything through the security cameras, Killifer wanted to make it all seem normal, dull routine. Don't give the dumb spic any reason to think anything's out of the ordinary.

It was a big house, and Killifer didn't want to look hurried. He made his way from the kitchen through the dining room and living room, then into the foyer, where he carefully checked the front door to see that it was properly locked. Across the front hall and into the library, then the entertainment room, checking each of the French windows that opened onto the patio.

Unconsciously licking his lips, he started up the back stairs, past the monstrosity of a grandfather's clock where the security team kept a pair of submachine guns stashed away. Maybe I should take one of them, he mused. But he decided against it. His pistol held fifty rounds, plenty to do the job. Besides, taking one of the stutter guns from the clock would alert Rodriguez-if he was watching the screens instead of his favorite video show. Be just my luck to have him spot me.

So Killifer pa.s.sed the loudly-ticking clock on the landing and went on up to the second floor. All the bedrooms up there were unoccupied, he knew, except the master bedroom, but his job was to enter each one and check each window.

His palms felt slippery with sweat as he neared the master bedroom. Rodriguez can see me go in there, if he's watching the screens like he's supposed to. I'll have to do it fast and then duck out before he figures out what's going down. Quite deliberately, Killifer switched off the palm-sized two-way radio he kept in his s.h.i.+rt pocket.

At last he stood before the master bedroom's double doors. He had memorized the electronic lock's combination from the list kept in the security office.

Okay, he told himself, licking his lips once again. Don't just stand around. Do it!

Swiftly he tapped on the miniature keyboard and saw its light turn green. He pushed the door open.

It was a s.p.a.cious room. Lev Brudnoy law sprawled on the oversized bed, stark naked. Nothing but gray mottled skin and bones, Killifer saw, and that ratty little beard. The wall screen on the other side of the room showed a view from the Moon, the crater floor of Alphonsus, it looked like. No sound; either it was muted or n.o.body was saying anything from Moonbase.

”What is it?” Brudnoy said, sitting up, frowning, reaching for the bedsheet to cover himself.

Joanna was nowhere in sight. Killifer looked across the room: chaise longue, little desk and chair, a couple of upholstered chairs, bookcases, bureaus, mirrors-but no Joanna Brudnoy.

”Where is she?” Killifer hissed, sliding the pistol from his holster.

Brudnoy's eyes widened. Killifer saw several doors: closets, all closed. And one other door, half ajar. The bathroom.

”Get out of here!” Brudnoy shouted, reaching for the phone console on the night table.

”Where is she?” Killifer yelled back, heading for the half-open bathroom door.

Brudnoy banged the red emergency b.u.t.ton on the phone console as Killifer strode swiftly cross the bedroom carpeting.

”Joanna!” Brudnoy hollered. ”Look out!”

And Killifer felt something thump against his shoulder. Whirling, he saw Brudnoy reaching for another book to throw at him, a skinny naked old man trying to stop him by throwing books.

With a wild laugh, Killifer fired twice. Brudnoy's chest erupted in blood and he jerked back against the bed's headboard, arms and legs flailing like a rag doll. Killifer pumped another two shots into him for good measure.

Joanna screamed. Killifer turned and saw her standing naked, frozen, in the bathroom doorway.

”Remember me?” Killifer taunted, levelling his gun at her. For a moment he thought how much fun it would be to rape her, to make her kneel to him, turn herself inside out for him, before he blew her head off. But there wasn't time.

In that moment Joanna slammed the bathroom door. Killifer heard its lock click.

Laughing even louder, he fired three shots into the lock, then kicked the door open. He stepped into the bathroom- And Joanna, standing beside the door, drove the point of her hair-styling scissors into his wrist with every molecule of strength in her. Killifer's hand went numb and he nearly dropped the gun. Her face white with fury, Joanna s.n.a.t.c.hed a hairbrush and whacked it as hard as she could against his bleeding wrist.

Killifer felt pain flaming up his arm. The gun fell from his fingers. He staggered back, but not before Joanna grabbed the end of the scissors still sticking in his wrist.

”b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” she snarled, working the scissors back and forth. ”Murdering b.a.s.t.a.r.d!”

Pain searing his whole arm, Killifer cuffed her with his free hand, driving her back against the marble sink. But she held firmly onto the scissors, yanking it from his bleeding wrist.

The gun was on the tiled floor. Killifer bent to reach for it but Joanna kicked it away.

That's not going to help you, b.i.t.c.h,” he growled at her. ”I'm not leaving here until you're dead.”

He lunged at her, but Joanna raked the point of the scissors up his chest and throat and lodged the blades in the underside of his jaw.

Yowling with pain, Killifer staggered back into the bedroom.

Rodriguez was at the hallway door, submachine gun levelled at Killifer's waist.

”You killed them!” Rodriguez shouted, eyes wide.

”No...' Killifer choked. ”No, wait ”General's orders,” Rodriguez said. He fired half a dozen rounds into Killifer's midsection.

Killifer felt nothing. The bedroom tilted and he was staring at the ceiling. It faded, though, slowly turning dark. He thought of General O'Conner telling him, 'The fewer people know about this, the better off we are.' 'The fewer people know about this, the better off we are.'

Rodriguez is one of them, Killifer realized. That sonofab.i.t.c.h O'Conner planted him here to get rid of me once the job's done.

It was his last thought.

CONTROL CENTER.

”When we power up,” Wicksen was telling Doug, ”you're going to be totally blacked out.”

There was no video from the ma.s.s driver; Doug spoke to a blank screen.

”We're plugging in the fuel cells,” he said. ”They can keep us going for the few minutes your gun will be running.”

He sensed Wicksen nodding. ”Well, we're doing everything we can here. That missile blast shook half our connections loose and the other half aren't all that sound, either.”

Doug grimaced, then recalled, ”I remember a professor of mine saying that if something scratches or bites, it's biology; if it stinks or pops, it's chemistry; and if-”

”If it doesn't work,” Wicksen finished with him, ”it's physics.”