Shatter Zone. James Axler
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set into the doorjamb. There was a brief pause, then the huge black portal ponderously slid closed. Ryan gave one last look toward the nameless city and its surrounding forest. Trees that could withstand the acid rains. With a grimace, the one-eyed man turned and entered the redoubt. The rest of the companions stayed close behind.
As the group walked along the entranceway of the redoubt, they heard the massive nukeproof door slide shut with a subdued boom of compressed air.
Running stiff fingers through his black hair, Ryan tried not to let his anger show. Shitfire, this base had been a triple zero. No food, no ammo, no exit. Oh, sure, all of the basic stuff in the base worked, everybody had washed their clothing and soaked in hot baths until they felt clean again. Hell, J.B. had even found a pair of decent socks, and Doc had located a tiny plastic vial of silicon lube. The stuff was made for comp printers, but worked just fine on the sword hidden inside his walking stick. But that had been the lot. The rest of the redoubt had been stripped clean, bare to the walls. And worse, their food supplies were getting dangerously low again. The companions had six days’ worth of MRE packs left. After that, they’d be eating stewed boot if they couldn’t find anything in this redoubt. There really was no other choice. The companions would have to jump again, whether they wanted to or not.
Exiting the passageway, the somber group crossed the vast parking garage and retrieved their backpacks. All around them, the painted lines on the concrete floor of the garage were empty and waiting. This was where the staff of the redoubt would have parked over a hundred wags: civie cars, motorcycles, Hummers, APCs, trucks and even the occasional tank. But the garage looked brand-new, as if it had been built and then abandoned. There wasn’t a single tool on the pegboard racks behind the workbenches, only the tape outlines of where each tool should be placed after it had been used. The drawers were empty, the supply closet vacant, and there wasn’t a single stain in the grease pit. Even the fuel storage tanks were bone-dry, the seals on the new pumps intact and unbroken.
As the companions crowded into the spotlessly clean elevator, J.B. hit the middle button and the cage swiftly descended to the center level of the redoubt. When the doors parted with a sigh, the companions trundled along the corridor and dutifully checked the straps on their backpacks and the loads in their weapons. The corridor was lined with doors on each side, and when the companions had arrived the previous day, every one of them had been closed and locked. One at a time, each door had been carefully opened, only to reveal a deserted room or office, without so much as a piece of furniture or a candy wrapper on the carpeted floor. It had taken most of a day for them to go through the entire base before finally admitting that the place was as empty as a mutie’s pockets. This wasn’t the first redoubt they had found in this condition, but it seemed to be happening more and more often. Was somebody looting the underground forts besides themselves? It was a sobering thought, and one that left the companions apprehensive and uneasy. The redoubts had been their lifeline more times than could be counted.
Reaching the door for the control room, Ryan pushed it aside and strode past the banks of humming comps. This was the heart of the redoubt, or more correctly, the brain. These were the machines that controlled the mighty fission reactors deep down in the subbasement for the life support systems, air-recycling, water sanitation, the freezers, the front door and the all-important mat-trans units. Without the comps, the base instantly became an airless tomb.
After passing through the anteroom, Ryan drew his 9 mm SIG-Sauer blaster before further pushing open a door to a room surrounded by armaglass. As the vanadium portal swung aside, he gave the chamber a quick scan with his weapon at the ready. The companions weren’t the only people who knew about the secret mat-trans units, and more than once they had found evidence of others just leaving the gateways.
However, the entry chamber was uninhabited. With his blaster leading the way, Ryan warily stepped through the doorway into the next room. The hexagonal chamber was a deep red in color, sprinkled with flakes of a hundred colors. The gateway chamber in each redoubt was a different color, supposedly for the purpose of identification. But if there was a chart to show what the colors meant, they had never found such a thing. The wall of this chamber vaguely resembled the terrazzo flooring used in most government buildings and major shopping malls, only with a much greater depth of color.
“It’s clear,” Ryan announced, holstering his blaster.
The others filed into the chamber, past Ryan. As he closed the door behind them, something rolled out of the shadows at the far end of the control room. With its two metallic antennas quivering, the boxy device rushed to the main computer and urgently extended a probe to quickly connect with the master control panel.
HALFWAY ACROSS THE WORLD, Delphi suddenly felt a vibration inside his left wrist, and flipped his hand over to see a message scrolling along the palm monitor. Excellent! The prey had been found at last!
Quickly typing instructions on his bare wrist, Delphi waited impatiently as the droid accessed circuits undisturbed for a century. Come on, come on…
Now, a roster of available redoubts was displayed. Frowning at the list, Delphi chose one at random. It was a base he had never been to before because it was on the Forbidden list. But this was a day for breaking the rules, and once the process had started he saw little reason to be cautious now.
“Get ready, traitor,” Delphi muttered, his heart quickening to the thrill of the hunt. “Here I come….”
RYAN CHECKED to make sure that everybody was safely inside the unit and seated on the floor.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah, ready as we’ll ever be,” J.B. mumbled, removing his glasses and tucking them safely away in a pocket. The jumps always hit the companions hard, often sending them to the floor puking out their guts from the shock and pain of the instantaneous transference. Doubling over, J.B.’s glasses had once bent when they flew off his face and someone had stepped on them. It had taken him days to repair the frames, and he subsequently swore that sort of triple-stupe mistake would never happen again. His backup glasses were functional, but unflattering.
“Once more into the breach, dear friends,” Doc said in that singsong quality that meant he was quoting something.
Mildred merely snorted at the Shakespearean reference, and Ryan slammed the door shut. As he hurried to sit next to Krysty, a fine mist swirled upward from the disks on the floor to engulf the companions, mists from the ceiling descended upon them. They braced themselves for the expected snap of tiny sparks to crackle over their exposed skin. But instead, there was only a soothing warmth that spread through their bodies as the thickening mist began to swirl faster with every heartbeat.
What in nuking hell? Ryan thought in confusion. Something didn’t feel right. After so many jumps, there was a certain “sameness” that the companions had come to expect. So anything out of the norm was suspicious. Was the mat-trans broken? Were they being sent somewhere, or worse, were they going nowhere? Mebbe the computer was having a malfunc. Nuking hell, he had to stop this jump!
Frantically trying to stand to reach the door, Ryan felt the floor drop away and he knew that he had been just a split second too slow. The jump had begun.
As gently as falling through a cloud, the terrified companions descended into the artificial forever of the matter transfer, and vanished from sight.
Chapter Three
But even as it started, their fall came to a relaxing halt and the companions were able to watch as the electronic mists faded away to leave them unharmed and unruffled in a new mat-trans unit.
“Son a bitch,” Ryan muttered, drawing his blaster without conscious thought.
“We not dead,” Jak mumbled, sounding slightly shocked. With a gesture, a throwing knife slipped out of his sleeve and dropped into his waiting hand.
“No,” a hoarse voice whispered.
Turning, the companions saw Doc cringing against the wall, braced as if for a blow. His hands twisted the silver-lion’s head on the walking stick, exposing a few inches of the stainless-steel