Inherit the Earth - Brian Stableford [79]
As he moved toward the double door that would let him out into the tangled forest, the window at which he had been standing mere moments before imploded with a deafening roar. One of the tiny helicopters had shot it out. While Damon and Singh were still ducking away from the blast, arms raised against flying shards, two objects flew through the broken window. As they bounced across the carpet they began pumping out smoke.
Thanks to his misspent youth, Damon was able to recognize the objects and the belching smoke. He knew that he hadn’t time to get through both the doors that stood between him and fresh air—but the elevator door was still wide open, less than three meters away. Singh was already headed for it, without even bothering to come to his feet.
Damon couldn’t beat the dark-skinned man to the open door but he managed a tie. He couldn’t pull the other man back but he hauled him to his feet so that he could reach out a slender finger and punch the button that would close the door behind them.
They had beaten the smoke, although a little of its stench lingered in the trapped air as the elevator began its descent.
Damon still had hold of Singh, and he shoved him up against the back wall of the elevator before pressing the barrel of the darter to his neck. “Don’t ever threaten me again, Mr. Singh,” he growled theatrically. “I really don’t like it.”
“I’m s-sorry,” the slender man gasped, desperate to spit the words out. “I only wanted. . . .”
“I know what you wanted,” Damon said, releasing his hold and lifting his hand reflexively to his face, as if to shield his nose and mouth from the few smoke particles that had accompanied them into the elevator. “You’d already told me what you wanted.”
Singh breathed a deep sigh of relief as he realized that no further violence would be done to him, and that he had achieved his object in spite of all the difficulties. Damon didn’t want him relaxing too much, so he made a show of pointing the gun at him.
“You’re not out of the woods yet,” he said grimly. “If there’s anything I don’t like waiting for us down below, you could still end up with a belly full of needles.”
“It’s all right,” the thin man said quickly. “There’s nothing down below but a safe place to hide. I haven’t lied to you, Mr. Hart! I just had to get you down below, before you were hurt.”
Now that there was time to make the play, Damon pointed the gun at his companion’s face and tried to make his own expression as fearsome as he could. “Who are you really working for?” he demanded.
“Karol Kachellek,” the other said plaintively, with tiny tears at the corners of his frightened eyes. “It’s all true! I swear it. You’ll see in a minute! You’ll . . .”
The agitated stream of words died with the elevator light. The descent stopped with an abrupt lurch.
“Oh shit!” Damon murmured reflexively. This was a development he had not expected. He had assumed—as Singh clearly had—that once the elevator doors had closed they were safe from all pursuit.
“It’s impossible,” Singh croaked, although it clearly wasn’t.
“Is there anyone down below at all?” Damon asked, abruptly revising his opinion as to the desirability of finding a reception committee awaiting his arrival.
“No,” said Singh. “It’s just . . .”
“A safe place to hide,” Damon finished for him. “Apparently, it isn’t.”
“But the systems are secure! They’re supposed to be tamperproof!”
“They might have been tamperproof when they were put in,” Damon pointed out, belatedly realizing the obvious, “but this is the age of rampant nanotechnology. PicoCon’s current products can get into nooks and crannies nobody would even have noticed twenty years ago. They got to Silas, remember—this is mere child’s play to people who could do that. The only question worth asking is how they knew I was here—if it is me they’ve come for. If they have a ship, it must have been here or hereabouts before Grayson took off from Molokai.”
The lights came back on again, and the elevator lurched into motion. Unfortunately, it began to rise. Damon immediately