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proud grin. "I
operated the MD. Turned three of them black big 'uns to glop."
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"I'm sure you're very proud," Grant commented.
"I am, you bet"
"Of course, those black big 'uns chilled one of you in the process."
David's prideful grin turned to an ugly scowl. "Weren't my fault. Brokk was
out of his head, laughin' and dancin' around. Too much oxygen, Sindri said."
"Why aren't you dancing around?" Kane asked. "The oxygen content is about the
same here as in the redoubt."
David stopped in front of the hatch. "I got used to it. Sindri what's the
word he acclimated some of us. Most of us ain't, though, that's why we stay in
our quarters. And that's why so many of us got kilt in the revolt. Too damn
air-drunk to dodge."
The hatch irised open. Before Grant stepped through, he said, "The humans had
weapons, I guess." He spoke as if he were only the slightest bit interested,
bringing up the topic just to be polite.
"Old guns," David stated. "Not a lot of ammo. Once that ran out, they were
easy to
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James Axler - Parallax Red kill...and I'll tell you, did we ever." He smiled
at the memory.
"What did you do with the guns trash 'em?"
"No, Sindri locked 'em up. Said they weren't safe for us to handle, even with
no rounds for 'em."
Kane and Grant entered the large dome where they had breakfasted. David stayed
outside in the tunnel with Elle. "You two want anything?"
"Not at the moment," Kane answered. "Is there an intercom or something in here
so we can let you know if we change our minds?"
David shook his head. "No. Just knock on the door. Elle will be out here."
The hatch hissed shut. Immediately Grant and Kane paced around the chamber,
scanning for spy-eye vid lenses or eavesdropping microphones. Since the
curv-ing walls were basically featureless, it took only a cou-ple of minutes
to decide the room was clean.
"Trusting bunch," Grant muttered, speaking quietly just to be on the safe
side.
"Inexperienced," said Kane. "Besides, can you think of a better prison than an
alien planet with a toxic environment? Anyway, we know there's some blasters
in the compound and only a few of the opposition."
"Define opposition," Grant remarked dourly. "I'm sure we're still outnumbered
by a two-
to-one margin."
Kane nodded agreeably, looking around the lounge for anything that could be
used as a weapon. All the furniture was molded from plastic and a chair leg
wouldn't make much of a bludgeon, even if he man-aged to break one off.
"Right before we left the pyramid," whispered Grant, "the old man, Harwin,
told me
Sindri was a liar."
Kane snorted. "Big revelation."
"And when he shook my hand, he traced a letter on my palm. I think it was the
letter
X."
" ?" Kane questioned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
X
Grant's eye went thoughtful. "This is just a guess, but maybe he was trying to
tell me where the mat-trans unit was located."
"Hmm," Kane said softly. "Maybe. Construction specs, blueprints use the
alphabet when a foundation is being laid out."
"That's what I figured. But we don't know where we are in the compound."
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James Axler - Parallax Red
On impulse, Kane strode over to the bookshelves. Swiftly he rifled through the
spiral-
bound technical manuals, tossing aside volumes devoted to geothermal dynamics,
the theory of terra-forming and cybernetic microlinkages. Flaking gold letters
on a deep blue cover caught his eye
Habitat Maintenance/Cydonia Compound One
.
Taking it from the shelf, he carried it over to the table and sat down. Grant
leaned over his shoulder as he flipped the volume open and turned the pages.
For-tunately they were of slick, coated stock and showed only a little
yellowing from mildew.
The majority of the pages contained dense blocks of copy, detailing
construction materials and optimum stress points. In the middle of the book,
Kane found a trifolded sheet of vellum. When pulled out, it displayed a
line-drawing aerial view of the entire compound.
The blueprint showed the Cydonia Compound's lay-out as a basic wheel, with the
tunnel-passages like spokes connecting two dozen domes. All of them ra-diated
out from a central hub, which bore the letter . To Kane's relief, all the
domes were
A
alphabetized, but to his disgust, when he located the dome designated X, he
had no idea of its location in relation to their posi-tion.
"Hell," growled Grant. "We could be in X for all we know. Or B. Or Z."
Kane nodded in irritation. Rising from the table, car-rying the book, he went
to the wall switch he had seen Sindri manipulate and turned it. The far walls
became transparent
He walked to the window, studying the view, con-sulting the blueprint,
frowning, turning it upside down and sideways, cursing softly.
After a few minutes of watching and listening im-patiently, Grant snapped,
"Well?"
Gusting out a sigh, Kane replied, "I think we're in U."
"You think?"
Kane jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Or T. I think X is that way, out the
door and to the left."
"You think," Grant muttered. "I wish Brigid was here."
"Even with her photographic memory, she couldn't do any better," Kane retorted
acidly.
He thrust the book into Grant's hands. "See what you can do."
Grant chuckled mirthlessly. "It doesn't make any difference even if you're
right. We're still a long way from X, with God-only-knows how many little
goblins between us and it."
Kane ran a hand through his hair. "I know. If there was only some way to get
an edge, even a small one, I'd be all for making a break."
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James Axler - Parallax Red
Grant forced a grin. "Since David is the cook, I don't think we'd be able to
talk him into drugging their food."
"Good idea, though," Kane said gloomily. He stared unfocusedly at the water
stain marring the smooth wall beneath the air vent.
Grant followed his gaze, started to look away, then caught the sudden
narrowing of
Kane's eyes. The idea popped full-blown into both their heads at the same
time, and they exchanged swift, derisive smiles.
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"It's ridiculous," Grant said.
"Yeah," Kane agreed, stepping quickly over to the wall, examining the
slit-baffled vent.
The metal frame rattled very faintly.
Grant inspected it with a critical eye. "Too damn small for me."
"Yeah," said Kane again, his gloved fingers ex-ploring the area between the
frame and the wall. "Damn tight squeeze for me, too."
"Think you can fit?"
"Let's find out."
Grant visually compared the breadth of Kane's shoulders to the width of the
vent.
"You'll have to keep your arms together in front of you, like you're diving."
Nodding distractedly, Kane dragged a chair over from the small dinette set,
grabbing a plastic knife from the table. He stood on the chair, fitting the
blade of the knife between the vent's frame and the wall and care-fully pried
at it.
"Do you really think this has a chance in hell of working?" Grant asked.
Trying not to exert too much pressure on the flimsy plastic blade, Kane
answered, "The air is blowing from some kind of circulation station. Stands to
reason that if I follow it, I'll come to the main pumping station, where
there's an oxygen supply. If I can increase the mixture "
The frame popped out, nearly causing Kane to topple backward from the chair.
He caught the frame and handed it down to Grant. "If I can increase the
mix-ture," he repeated, "it ought to make the trolls so high they won't be
much in the way of opposition."
"Will we be affected?"
Kane stood on his tiptoes, chinning himself up to peer down the square, narrow
shaft of dark metal. "I can't say. If we are, not as much as them. Maybe a
little light-headedness.
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