Guards, Bear supplied helpfully. They’re checking all the rooms.
The heavy steps came closer and then someone who smelled faintly of garlic came into the room. “This one’s out, too,” he said, voice loud. “Why the hell would all six go out like that?”
“How the fuck would I know?” came the reply from the next room. “Do I look like a technician to you?”
“No, you look like a dick, but I won’t hold that against you.”
“Asshole,” was the good-natured reply. “For that, you can report back to Tech Support.”
Garlic Man snorted. “I can’t see how it even matters. They’re all comatose, so it’s not like they can actually do anything.”
“We’re being paid good money to watch the near dead, so quit the grumbling and go report to the tech heads.”
Garlic Man continued to grumble as he left the room. I opened my eyes and sat up. To get into the more secure areas I was going to have to either take out the guards or shut down the power for the entire floor. The former was definitely the easier option—one that would give me at least some time before anyone suspected something was wrong. How I was going to get out once someone did was another matter entirely—and a question I couldn’t yet answer.
One thing was certain—Sharran could never come back here. She didn’t deserve to end up on a dissection table—or worse—for agreeing to help us.
I sucked in the power of the lights and created a sun shield, then hurried down the hall after the guards, who were still good-naturedly ribbing each other. Obviously, they, like the scientists, saw absolutely nothing wrong in any of the experiments being conducted in this place.
It made me wonder if there was any hope for humanity as a whole, because nothing seemed to have been learned from the mistakes of the past. The déchet program had been the result of experiments such as the ones that were happening on this floor, and while I owed my existence to them, they were definitely something that should have been left in the dust of the past, right alongside the bones of all déchet.
Bear, can you go back to the doctor’s lab and grab a knife and the sealant for me?
He raced away again and Cat pressed closer, her energy biting at my skin. We are nearing the dissection laboratories.
I know. The faint scent of blood rode the otherwise sterile air.
We should help the ones who lie open, even if it makes them ghosts.
Right now our priority has to be getting rid of Sal’s body. If we have the time afterward, then we can do something.
We could short-circuit everything. That will stop the machines that keep them alive.
And drain you both. We can’t help everyone, Cat. In a war, sacrifices have to made.
We are not at war.
Not yet. But the principles still apply. I sent her a mental hug, and wished I could do it for real. I want to help these women as much as you, but it may yet come down to a choice of saving them or getting out of here.
And we need to get out of here to save the children. She was silent for a moment, then said, I’d feel bad about not helping them.
So would I, Cat. So would I.
The two men swung into a room on the left. I hurried up and snuck in behind them. Inside, there was a long desk filled with an array of light screens, a huge, rather sturdy-looking metal cabinet, and a third guard.
Think you can take him out, Cat?
Yes.
The determination in her voice had a smile tugging at my lips. As the door behind us began to close, the third man turned and said, “Well? What’s the problem?”
“Fucked if I know,” Garlic Man’s companion said. “It’s a job for the tech assholes, not me. Jim’s about to give them a call.”
“Since when did that become my job? You’re the one getting paid the supervisory money, not me.”
Now, Cat, I said, then stepped closer, raised a fist, and punched Garlic Man as hard as I could. As he went down, I swung and booted his companion in the balls. His breath left in a wheeze and—as he instinctively clutched himself and doubled over—I hit him again. He fell treelike across the prone form of the first guard. A grunt had me turning quickly; the third man toppled from his chair, an assault rifle hovering—butt first—a foot or so above him.
“Good work, Cat.”