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By agreement, Tyria took point; she was to stop whenever she reached a portal or change in flooring so Grinder could check it for sensors. Grinder was second, with Phanan following and Kell bringing up the rear.

The mess gave way to a hallway. The third door down opened into a terminal room, and Grinder insisted that they crowd into the small chamber so he could try to slice into the building records.

Despite Phanan’s earlier assertions of his mediocrity, the task only took Grinder a few minutes. “Level A-Four,” said Grinder, “that’s Aboveground Four for those of you who haven’t been paying attention to Storinal nomenclature, is where all test subjects and experiments are kept. A sort of tiered security system. Outermost of three tiers is basically a warehouse of animal subjects, animals not especially dangerous. The middle circle holds more dangerous creatures, like toxic reptiles and ex-doctors from Rudrig.”

Phanan muttered, “Much the same thing, really.”

“The inner chamber is where they store what we want. Kell, you’ll be interested to learn that there’s a plasma bomb array there. The sensors detect a leak and it may trigger—the Institute’s way of keeping the world safe from plagues.”

Kell said, “Can any of your intrusion efforts trigger the bomb?”

“Sure. If I’m sloppy.”

“Wonderful.”

Grinder stood. “Let’s go. There’s no time like the dark of night.”

Getting up two floors by a back stairwell was not difficult. Slightly less easy was penetrating the security door from that stairwell into the secure outer circle, but this took Grinder no more time than getting through the trash hatch.

The outer-tier warehouse was a large area occupying most of the fourth floor. Some areas of it were well lit, thick with cages holding live, alert animals from all over the galaxy; their noise level increased as they became aware of the Wraiths moving in the chamber, but the human guard as signed to the floor did no more than approach them and shush them. The Wraiths stayed low, then moved away, deeper into the chamber’s more shadowy regions.

Pausing against a stack of plastic-sheathed boxes, Grinder was startled to feel something scratching—actively scratching—at the other side of the surface he was leaning against. Peering down, he saw that he was propping himself up against a stack of small containers labeled STORINI GLASS PROWLER. The picture on the container showed a translucent arthropod that walked upon two legs and apparently seized its prey with the other two in a nearly humanoid fashion. Whatever was inside one of those containers was trying to claw its way out, hence the scratching sensation.

He allowed a slow smile to spread across his features. An exotic insect from a faraway world—he could use such a thing. Glancing around to make sure none of his companions was watching, he used a fine set of scissors to cut through the plastic netting holding the cartons together, then slipped the carton with the active inhabitant into his tool bag.

“So,” Falynn said, “I got about four hours of sleep. Two just snoozing on top of the bunker, and two lying in a heap along the south wall.”

Janson whistled. “And no one spotted you.”

“I assume not. I’m not in prison.” She shrugged, then winced at the pain the maneuver caused her.

Atril scowled at her. “Be still.” She returned to painting a healing agent onto the largest of the cuts on Faly’s forehead.

Janson continued, “How did you get out?”

“When I woke up, it was still a couple of hours before dawn. The little garrison’s personal vehicles were all lined up on the north wall, and I figured that they wouldn’t put pressure sensors along the wall where all their own people would move all the time, just out in the open area around. So I just walked around, picked the biggest of the groundskimmers, and picked the lock to its storage compartment. Got a little more rest there, too, under a blanket and some boxes before his shift ended and he came out. He stopped in at some place to eat and I crawled out there, the glorious image you see before you.” Falynn’s hair was plastered