LITMIR.BIZ

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be bothered. Now get moving.”

      He gestured to them to move. Slowly, the captive group moved toward the entrance to the redoubt. Seeing that their guards were in control, the two sec men from the wag returned to it, one of them getting behind the wheel and firing up the engine. He maneuvered the vehicle so that it faced the redoubt entrance, the SMG on its back swiveling with the movement so that it always kept the captives covered.

      The companions walked slowly up to the redoubt doors, which stayed resolutely shut.

      “So what now?” the one-eyed man asked, turning to the sec boss.

      “Little test for you,” he called. “See if you’re who we think.”

      “I thought you knew that,” Ryan countered.

      The sec boss laughed, a short, barking cough. “Reckon I do. But mebbe Crabbe would like more proof. He suggested this, and who am I to go against my baron? Now stop fucking about and open the doors. If you are who we think, then you’ll know how to do it.”

      “And if we’re not?”

      “You’d be triple stupe to try and bluff it out, if that’s what you’re thinking. We’ll just chill you now, and not waste any more time.”

      Ryan surveyed the sec force facing them. All were armed. And then there was the SMG.

      They’d do it, all right. He was certain of that.

      “J.B.,” Ryan muttered.

      The Armorer stepped forward, raising both bound hands so that he could remove his glasses and wipe the dust and dirt from them before placing them back on the bridge of his nose.

      The keypad, discreetly hidden, was directly in front of him. He punched in the three-digit entry code that was common to all redoubts.

      The doors groaned into action, opening to reveal a tunnel that sloped gently down to a dogleg corner. The brightly lit interior was clean and empty. It looked like any other redoubt they had seen.

      Except it was far from empty farther down.

      Baron Crabbe was waiting for them.

      “Move on in. Slowly,” the sec boss ordered. “Wait,” he added as the companions began to enter. “Four in front. We don’t want them to be pulling down any of those other doors and leaving us on one side, them on the other, do we,” he added.

      “Smart. Wouldn’t get us anywhere when you’ve got people in there already,” Ryan said, as four of the black-clad sec men moved in front of them, reversing so they could move backward, keeping the companions covered all the while.

      “Mebbe. Wouldn’t want to look stupe in front of the baron, though,” the sec chief replied. “Now you can go.”

      They moved down the tunnel and into the interior of the redoubt.

      Chapter Four

      The wag followed them as far as the first dogleg, where it turned off to go into the vehicle maintenance bay. J.B. followed it, noting that there was only one other wag in the bay. If that was any indication, there were few sec men at the redoubt other than those they already knew about. That information could be useful.

      Moving down the corridors from level to level, they began to move deeper into the bowels of the earth. All the sec doors within the redoubt had been propped open, and apart from a few areas of darkness in the distance, where lighting had failed, it seemed that the redoubt had been in good condition when discovered and hadn’t been ransacked. As they descended past the level where the armory was housed, J.B. once again cast a look toward the closed rooms that he knew would house the redoubt’s weapons. Had this Baron Crabbe stripped it, he wondered, or were there rich pickings that would serve them well? Always assuming, of course, that they could escape their captors long enough to reach the armory. Looking at the limping, dirty and exhausted group around him, it was an option that seemed a thousand miles from possible.

      While J.B. was thinking of the armory, Mildred was wondering about the medical facilities. Meds and dressings would make it a lot easier for them to handle the pain and the minor injuries they had sustained. And handle it was exactly what they would need to do if they were to leap on any avenue of escape that might present itself. Krysty and Doc, meanwhile, thought of the dorms and showers they had passed. A hot shower would soothe many of their aches, and clear their heads. And they’d need clear heads if they were to make a break.

      Ryan was thinking of all that, while at the same time trying to observe his companions and assess the level of punishment they could risk. There was no doubt that the night had taken a toll on them. Whatever Crabbe wanted, the longer it took him to explain, then the better it might be. At least time would give them the opportunity to snatch some recuperation.

      Jak wasn’t bothered by the dirt, the pain or the need to rest. He just watched everything carefully, noting the areas where the sec men were weak or sloppy, noting where the lighting had dimmed, providing places to hide and strike. As soon as the chance came, he would be ready.

      With all these thoughts preoccupying them, the companions were silent as they were led farther into the military installation.

      Finally they reached their destination—the control room of the mat-trans unit.

      The sec man in front of them pulled back, revealing an open door. There were noises from within: low, whispery voices and the shuffling of movement. At a gesture from the squat sec man, the companions moved into the room.

      Two men stood by one of the comps. One was tall and thin, slightly stooped and balding, with long strands of hair falling around his shoulders in contrast to a pate that shone under the lights. He had a list in his hand, and Ryan recognized the type of paper. They had seen these before: single sheets, laminated to protect against constant use.

      Did the sheet tell the two men something about the mat-trans? Had these men worked out how the mechanism worked? Ryan knew from experience that the companions weren’t the only ones who used the mat-trans system.

      As the group entered the control room and shuffled to a halt, the two men turned. Ryan had assumed that the tall man was Baron Crabbe, but as the second one turned to face them, there was something about his expression that said otherwise. He was shorter, and stout, yet there was a hardness about his frame, and the squaring of his shoulders, that suggested the fat had formed a layer over solid muscle. He was clean-shaved, with hair cropped close to his bullet skull. Scars showed through, as did some on his face under the stubble. As he saw them, his face broke into a satisfied grin, his mouth raising only on one side, the other paralyzed by the scar that ran from the corner and down his chin.

      But it was his eyes—they bored into the group, examining them minutely and flickering from one to the other. At each, he paused before nodding shortly. His eyes blazed brightly with excitement.

      “At last,” he said finally. “All this time, and then you go and land virtually at my bastard feet. It seemed too good to be true.”

      “They passed the code test, Baron,” the squat sec man reported. His deference was in complete contrast to the way he had spoken to his captives, and Ryan found it both amusing and instructive. Another clue on how to handle the man when the moment came.

      “I knew they would, Nelson,” Crabbe snapped with a tone that veered between irritation and anger. “Stand back, let them settle. Please, be seated,” he added with a more unctuous tone, although only indicating the floor.

      “It would help if we weren’t tethered like a bunch of pack animals,” Mildred said as they started to lower themselves.

      “Of course, of course,” Crabbe said, although in a tone that suggested it wouldn’t otherwise have occurred to him. He gestured to his sec chief. “Nelson, cut them loose.”

      The squat man moved carefully in front of the group. He had holstered his blaster and held J.B.’s knife in his hand—a deliberate move, no doubt—and used it to cut free their wrists and ankles. He brandished the knife close to Ryan’s

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