Micro - Michael Crichton [154]
“She’s on her way,” Hope answered.
“What about the FD decon unit?”
In answer to his question, a yellow van came roaring in and ground to a halt. A squad of fire department people deployed from it, pulling on Tyvek protective suits. As soon as they’d put on protective gear, they began setting up a decontamination center, with a tent, washing equipment, and a processing line for victims.
“What’s in the building, a virus?” Commander Hope said to Watanabe. He had gotten the call to deploy only twenty minutes earlier, and he didn’t yet know what the investigation involved.
“Not a virus. Bots,” Watanabe said.
“Say again—?”
“Tiny robots. They bite.”
Commander Hope gave him a weird look. “Don’t tell me this is gonna be a shooter with robots, Dan.”
“Not a chance. You can’t hit ’em.”
“Any hostages in there?”
“Not that we know. Can’t assume anything,” Watanabe answered. Somebody handed him a tactical vest, and he put it on. Somebody else brought him a handheld multichannel communicator. He took the device and keyed it on, and said to Commander Hope, “You want me to make the call?”
Hope gave a wry grin. “You talked us into this deployment, Dan. You talk us out of it.”
Watanabe shrugged and referred to a slip of paper upon which he’d written a phone number. He called it.
In the Omicron lab, Eric could feel a half-dozen bots entering his skin, pricking him as they burrowed, while Drake held the gun and light pointed into his eyes. Eric debated which way to go: to force Drake to shoot him in the head, or to wait a few minutes for the bots to open his arteries.
Just then a faint buzzing sounded in Drake’s jacket. He took out his phone and looked at the caller ID. BLOCKED, it told him. He decided to answer it. He took a deep breath to get his heart rate down. “Yes?”
“Vincent Drake?”
“Who’s calling?”
“Dan Watanabe, sir, Honolulu Police. Sir, is there anybody in the building with you?”
“Oh, my goodness, Dan. I’m by myself. Working late. What’s this all about?”
“Sir, we have the building surrounded. Would you please walk out slowly with your hands placed on your head? You will be safe, I promise.”
“Good grief, Dan! There’s obviously been a mistake. I’ll be happy to comply—just give me a moment.”
“Sir, we need you to come out immediately—”
“Certainly. Absolutely.” Drake switched off his phone and advanced toward Eric, his face contorted in fury. “You went to the police.”
Eric shook his head. He was losing a lot of blood. His shirt was darkening in streams, he could feel warmth running down his neck.
Drake leaned over Eric and hauled him to his feet. “You’re just like your fucking brother—sticking your nose into things.” They were eye to eye. “Oops,” Drake said, touching Eric on the cheek. “I think there’s one in your eye.”
Get the controller.
Eric had his left hand on the door handle, behind him, and he pressed it. The door opened, and Eric fell backward into the generator room, with Drake landing on top of him. He reached out with his right hand and felt his fingers close over the controller, and he ripped it out of Drake’s hand as he fell backward.
Drake swore and staggered, sprawling past Eric into the generator room, and he fired the gun. Eric felt the impact in his leg, the bullet passing through his thigh, but oddly he didn’t feel any pain. He was in shock. But he had the controller now, and that was the main thing. He knew what to do with it. He slammed the controller against the floor again and again, smashing it, feeling it break into pieces beneath his hand.
Now nobody could control the bots.
And then, to his surprise, he saw the gun lying on the floor right in front of him, while Drake was getting to his feet. Drake had dropped the gun. Drake and Eric lunged for it simultaneously.
On the floor, Karen and Rick saw the door open, and two gargantuan human figures fell into the room. The gun went off, and the shockwave