Vickers (Corp.s.e.)

NINE

VICKERS WAS BLINDED. Sick to his stomach, he knew that he'd walked right into a trap. A feral instinct told him to run and keep on running. Reason, though, kept its grip. Run and they'll shoot you in the back for sure. Avoiding looking straight into the sungun, he slowly raised his arms.

"Been waiting for me?"

"For days. We have orders to shoot you on sight."

Although the voice was distorted by the booming amplification, Vickers was pretty sure that he recognized it. Carmen Rainer. She'd have been more than happy to shoot him on sight but presumably she just couldn't resist cat-and-mousing him before she put him out. He knew that he had only one card to play. It was a simple statement.

"I've been outside." Just to make sure there was no doubt: "I've been on the surface."

He held his arms straight out at his side. When your life's on the line, it's no disgrace to look like a crucifixion. There was no answer for almost a minute, then more lights came on and the sungun went out. Vickers tried to blink away the lingering afterimage. The sungun had been mounted on the turret of a light tank. Carmen Rainer was sitting in the turret, leaning on the fire control of the multicannon. She was smoking a cigar. Grouped around the base of the tank were four soldiers, Yabu and Parkwood.

"Lloyd-Ransom told us to ignore your bullshit and just blow you away."

"Perhaps he didn't want you to hear what I had to say." Carmen Rainer flicked away her cigar butt.

"Orders are orders, Vickers."

Vickers knew why the hair-trigger Rainer had been put in charge. She glanced down at Yubu.

"Shoot him."

Yabu had a frag gun pointed at Vickers' stomach. For long seconds he did nothing then, finally, he shook his head.

"No, I want to hear what he has to say."

Parkwood nodded in agreement.

"I definitely want to hear what he has to say."

The soldiers looked confused but also made no move against Vickers. Carmen Rainer began to climb out of the tank turret. As always, she was sleek in black leather. Angrily, she jumped down to the ground.

"We've got our orders."

Yabu shifted position so his frag gun was pointed at Rainer.

"I want to know what he's seen on the outside."

"How do you know he's been outside? He's probably lying."

"Everyone's heard what was supposed to have happened when they tortured Fenton."

"That's only a rumor."

Vickers wanted to know about this.

"What do you mean 'when they tortured Fenton'?"

It was Parkwood who answered.

"When you came up missing Lloyd-Ransom became exceedingly agitated. He ordered a runback through the surveillance tapes and the story goes that you and Fenton were spotted doing something weird on the first level. Fenton was arrested. Carmen here was one of the ones who picked him up. The story goes that he finally confessed that you'd found a way out. He must have been a good friend; he stood up to the worst they could do for close to five hours."

"Did he survive?"

"No."

"Did Cattermole's name come up?"

"Cattermole was executed."

"Damn."

"You caused quite a ripple."

Yabu had had enough of the conversation.

"I want to know what is outside."

Even Carmen Rainer's attention was focused on Vickers. He took a deep breath. This was the difficult part. He remembered how stubbornly he'd resisted the truth. He knew their reaction might be violent but he pressed ahead.

"There never was a third world war."

Rainer closed her eyes and shook her head.

"No, no, he's lying for sure now. Shoot him like we were told to."

Oddly, she made no move to shoot him herself. Even Parkwood looked as though he didn't believe a word that Vickers was saying.

"What are you talking about?"

"I swear to God. Almost immediately after I got outside I was picked up by an army patrol. There's a whole base out there. They've been watching the place since the bunker was sealed."

Yabu's frown was like something out of an ancient Japanese print.

"There was no nuclear war?"

"It came close, but at the last moment the Russians were able to put the brakes on and ask for help. As far as anyone could figure it, Lloyd-Ranson jumped the gun and sealed the bunker early."

"Are you saying that he's been keeping up some kind of charade for eighteen months?"

"He'd made himself king of the hill. He'd decided that he was the saviour of mankind. He couldn't face the fact that mankind had managed to get by without him."

Parkwood's expression was both bleak and grave.

"That would be extremely psychotic behavior."

Vickers lowered his arms.

"Well?"

Carmen Rainer jerked.

"I don't have to listen to this garbage."

There was a chrome automag in her hand. She swung it straight-armed at Vickers. At the same time, Parkwood's weapon went off. He was also armed with a frag gun. Close up, it made a hideous mess. Blood, tissue and fragments of black leather were spattered all over the side of the nearest tank. There was little left of Carmen Rainer from the chest up. Vickers twisted his body and swung the Yasha round into his hand. At the same time, everyone else dropped into a crouch, weapons thrust forward and eyes darting to determine who was on whose side and who was going to shoot at who. By a complete miracle, nobody opened fire and continued the slaughter to a disastrous conclusion. Vickers slightly lowered his machine pistol and straightened up. Parkwood let the still smoking frag gun hang by his side.

"I didn't think she was acting quite rationally either."

There was a general easing of the immediate tension. The soldiers, for the time being, seemed ready to go along with the two corpses. Yabu was also going with the flow but he was far from happy.

"Have you any proof of what you say?"

"I've got the LA Tribune from three days ago."

"Show me."

Vickers unfastened the top of his blue overall. He pulled out a folded newspaper. It was the same LA Tribune that the major had sent for when he'd demanded proof. He handed it to Yabu, who read part of the front page, rapidly flipped through the rest of the paper and then handed it to Parkwood. Parkwood's examination was slower and more thorough. Finally he carefully refolded it and handed it back to Vickers.

"I think we should go and ask Lloyd-Ransom some questions. You'll go with us."

Vickers gave him a searching look.

"Am I a prisoner?"

"I don't see why."

"Then you believe me?"

"I don't want to believe you. I'd hate to think that I wasted eighteen months in this place but I want to know the truth."

Lamas and some of the worst scum of the butcher squads were waiting when they came out into the bottoms from the elevators. It was the same setup that had been used on Herbie Mossman. The three corpses were a little more prepared. They came out fast and Parkwood had Lamas covered with his frag gun before he could give any order to fire. He advanced briskly up the slope of black marble.

"You hesitated just a little too long, Lamas. It's that lack of combat tuning. Your men could take us out but I'll still drop you where you stand."

"Why hasn't Vickers been shot?"

"Vickers has been outside."

"That's impossible."

"You know damn well that's not true. You were there when they tortured Fenton."

Vickers and Yabu came up the slope at a slightly slower pace. Surprisingly, the soldiers were right behind them, backing them up. They seemed to have less trouble accepting the idea that Lloyd-Ransom was insane than anybody. Vickers reached the top of the slope just in time to catch the end of the conversation. He glanced abruptly at Parkwood. Had he also been there when they had tortured Fenton? He didn't have time to think about it. The scum from the butcher squads were only marginally in check. Even if they bought the idea that there was a real world outside they might be a little ambivalent about returning to it and maybe facing trial for mass murder. That was in the future, however. For the moment they were quiet, although they obviously knew that something unique was going on. They were watching, slit-eyed, to see which way Lamas would jump.

Parkwood, who seemed to have taken charge, beckoned to Vickers.

"Give him the newspaper."

Vickers again hauled out the rapidly becoming dogeared copy of the Tribune. He handed it to Lamas. Lamas read the headlines, read the date and then started to leaf through it.

"It could be a fake."

"Vickers brought it back from the outside. Even if they could fake something like that out there, it would mean that it's not a dead world."

"Maybe he faked it in here."

"Come on, Lamas, you know damn well that we don't have facilities down here to produce anything like this. This was printed on an old fashioned offset press. Do you know something we don't know?"

Lamas angrily folded the newspaper.

"I just don't believe this thing. It could rip the bunker apart."

"That's why we want to see Lloyd-Ransom."

Lamas's jaw clenched. He was plainly beset by some terrible doubts. He glanced back across the piazza to the tunnel entrances that led to the superpeoples' living quarters. In the end, he sighed.

"Yes. Something has to be very wrong. We'd better go talk to him."

They started across the piazza, Lamas and the three corpses. The soldiers and the butcher squad fell in behind them. They were halfway across, about level with the black obelisk, when Lamas motioned that they should all halt.

"There's a second line of defense."

Vickers glanced quickly at Park wood and Yabu.

"You've got to admit that this is something of a paranoid reaction to the fact that someone may have gone outside."

Neither of them replied. Lamas walked slowly forward. After about ten paces he halted again and called out in the direction of the tunnels.

"This is Lamas. Vickers has come back and he claims that he's been outside. A number of us feel that we should talk to the Leader. We need to discuss the situation."

No answer came back. Lamas walked forward again. He seemed edgy and his hands were half raised.

"This is Lamas, I'm coming in. Don't shoot."

The words acted like a signal. There was a burst of rapid fire from one of the tunnels.

"Sweet Jesus."

The first burst hit Lamas, the second raked the piazza. Vickers hit the ground and rolled. A splinter of marble gashed his cheek but he made it into the shadow of the obelisk. Parkwood slid in beside him. Yabu was also safe behind the slablike statue called Industry. A number of soldiers and butcher squad were sprawled dead on the ground. Parkwood surveyed the scene with hard, angry eyes,

"It looks like we've started something."

"It could be the beginning of the end."

Parkwood eased over and looked intently at Vickers.

"Are you telling the truth about the outside?"

"Of course I'm telling the truth."

"Christ." Parkwood shook his head as though trying to settle his thoughts. "This is more of a mess than I care to cope with."

There was another flurry of fire from the tunnels. This time it was directed further down the piazza, toward the elevators. Vickers looked back. A number of figures were diving for cover along the top of the incline that ran down the elevator banks. He recognized Eggy's war paint. Lloyd-Ransom's guards were firing on their own. This had to be the final going to ground.

It had become a siege. Parkwood continued to take control of the situation and both the military and the security forces seemed content to go along with him. Not that there was that much to go along with; there were at least three miniguns and other heavy automatic weapons set up in the bottom tunnels and there was no way to get past them apart from an all-out and very costly frontal assault. They had tried twice and there were more bodies littering the marble of the piazza. There had been no third attempt. Attackers and defenders bided their time and stayed under cover. As a standoff, it was virtually complete.

Parkwood and Vickers used a lull in the initial firing to crawl back from the shadow of the obelisk to the elevators. It was there, under cover of the incline, that a motley crew were gathering; military, security, all manner of odd individuals, all had heard that Vickers had been outside. They'd come to find out the truth. The gunfire had badly confused them but also convinced everyone there that something was terribly wrong in the bunker. In that moment of confusion, Parkwood moved. Listening to no agruments, he separated the unarmed from the armed. He had no time or use for the unarmed and they were sent back, out of the way, to the upper levels. Those who had weapons were quickly marshalled into a firing line along the top of the incline. He kept a few back in a small reserve that also secured the elevator entrances and kept out any more sensation seekers.

Eggy led the first rush. A small group of a dozen security had managed to get into the largest of the tunnels. In the tunnel, however, there had been no more cover. Only Eggy and Eight-Man, who'd been last in, came back. The second attack was a larger, all military affair. Deakin led this bold frontal assault and nobody came back. After this, there were no more attempts to do it the hard way. They simply waited. Food was brought and Parkwood started a group of non-coms organizing replacements and duty rotations. Now and again there would be fire from the tunnels, minimal and ineffectual, as though they only wanted to remind the attackers that they were there and could keep them ducking and crouching. Lloyd-Ransom had created himself a bunker within a bunker. He had also, at the same time, created a strange revolution in his kingdom. In the bottoms, they'd been divided into attackers and defenders, the beleaguered elite and the insurgents. The rest of the population watched. Unknown to any of those in the bottoms, the security cameras on the piazza had been patched to the other levels' regular video system. Bunker life had come to a full stop while the entire population clustered around the public screens and watched and waited.

"Tanks."

"Tanks?"

"We could bring down tanks, light tanks from the first level. A Puma would fit in one of those tunnels. They're wide enough. We could use tanks to root them out."

"How could you bring them down here from the first level?"

"They'd fit in the passenger elevators."

"They're too heavy, they'd snap the cables. You can't put a Puma tank in a passenger elevator."

"Are you certain about that?"

"Absolutely."

"Shit."

The idea of outside help had been mooted.

"If they're out there like Vickers says, why don't we let them come on in and do the dying? We've been down here for eighteen months. You could say we did our tour."

Eggy was the first one to put it into words. There was immediate agreement.

"Hell, we could walk away and leave Lloyd-Ransom right where he is. We could start evacuating the bunker right now. If you're telling the truth, Vickers, I could be in Vegas tomorrow night, shooting craps and talking to women wearing perfume and real clothes. I could sleep in a bed as big as a fucking swimming pool. Has anyone figured how much back pay we've got coming? Let's leave Lloyd-Ransom to someone else."

Eight-Man shook his head. His eyes were bloodshot and angry.

"If he's had me in here for eighteen months for no reason, I want him."

Vickers hoisted his Yasha and stood up.

"I want him too. I want him for Fenton but I don't see why we shouldn't bring in fresh troops to spearhead the first assault. I sure as hell don't want to be the first into those tunnels."

Parkwood looked around at the group at the impromptu strategy brainstorm. He didn't seem totally convinced.

"So what should we do?"

Vickers realized that it was primarily Parkwood's caution to which everyone was looking.

"I'd suggest that two of us go outside and talk with the army. It's my guess that they'll pretty much do what we want so long as they get the bunker back."

Parkwood seemed to be trying to stare his way into Vickers' mind.

"Are you sure this isn't some terrible devious doublecross?"

Vickers met the gaze.

"What do I have to do to convince you? What possible doublecross could there be?"

"I don't know, but if there is, I swear I'll kill you."

Eight-Man leaned toward Parkwood.

"You send me with him to the outside and if there's the slightest thing wrong, I'll kill him."

Vickers was getting a little tired of being accused and threatened.

"Isn't this caution getting a little obsessive?"

"What would you do if you were in our position?"

Further argument was interrupted by a disturbance by the elevators. The troops that were supposed to be stopping people coming out of the elevator doors were having a hard job holding back a jostling crowd of handlers who had presumably ridden down from the second level. There was a good deal of pushing and yelling. Vickers thought that he recognized Johanna from GLA 30 doing her full share at the very front of the struggling mass. Was it her? If it was, she'd had most of her hair cropped off since he'd seen her last.

"Mort! Hey Mort!"

"Johanna!"

He moved quickly toward the nearest guard. There was a certain degree of guilt in his speed. Their affair was, at best, a sporadic business. He always promised to come back soon but frequently weeks would go by before he saw her again. With all the women in the bunker, it was all too easy to be sidetracked.

"Let her through."

The guard, who was doing his best to avoid being clawed by an angry redhead, shook his head.

"I can't do that."

"Just let her through, goddamn it!" The guard shrugged. Johanna slipped quickly through the line. Immediately she threw her arms around Vickers' neck. Her breath smelled of gin and she was at least three-parts drunk. Suddenly he was in no mood for a romantic reunion. He held at her at arms' length.

"What the hell is this all about?"

"We're getting impatient up there. We want to know what's going on. Nobody would tell us anything so we came down here to find out."

"Getting drunk up there too?"

"So?"

"So you're in the way down here. There's people shooting at us and the last thing that we need is a bunch of drunk women who don't know what they're doing."

Behind them a mixture of soldiers and security were slowly herding the handlers back into the elevator car. Vickers jerked his thumb.

"Do you have any influence with these people?"

"You've been outside, haven't you?"

Vickers nodded.

"But I don't have time to tell you about it right now."

"What was out there?"

There was a desperate look in her eyes. Vickers sighed.

"There's people out there. The world is a lot less dead than we were led to believe."

Johanna suddenly relaxed. Her shoulders dropped.

"Thank God for that."

Vickers took her by the arm and propelled her quickly toward the elevator.

"Tell them what I told you. Tell them that someone will be going on the air as soon as the situation down here is under control. You've got to spread the word and stop people panicking. It's very important."

The line parted and Johanna was eased through and on into the elevator. She turned and held a hand out to Vickers.

"Mort, will I see you when this is all over?" Vickers nodded and did his best to smile. "Sure sweetheart, you'll see me."

"There really is no need for you to go out armed, is there Vickers? I mean, you're supposed to be real good friends with these guys on the surface."

"I'm getting very tired of all this."

"You've got nothing to worry about if you're telling the truth."

It had been decided that Eight-Man would indeed go out to the surface with Vickers as the bunker's insurance policy. The single rule was very simple. If it turned out that Vickers had been lying in any major respect, Eight-Man should feel completely free to shoot him out of hand. Vickers handed over his Yasha. Once again he was a virtual prisoner.

They walked down the tunnel in silence. Eight-Man had insisted that Vickers walk ahead. Vickers kept his flashlight pointed at the ground. He watched for the snakes but for a second time there was no sign of them. Again it puzzled him. Where could they have gone or, alternatively, where had they come from in the first place? They reached the door. Vickers turned and faced Eight-Man.

"You remember the outside of the bunker?"

"Kinda."

"This comes out on the underside of the bridge. It's partway up the shallow side of the hill, the opposite side from the main entrance. There may be a reception committee. They have a tracer on me and they've probably been alerted that I'm coming out."

"And you're warning me not to overreact?"

"Something like that."

Eight-Man smiled but his eyes were frozen.

"Vickers, you don't have to worry about me."

Vickers refused to be intimidated.

"I worry about everything, my friend. There's been altogether too much shooting first and asking questions afterward."

Eight-Man's distrust seemed to melt a fraction.

"I'll hold it together."

Vickers nodded.

"Help me with this door."

Behind the pressure of both their shoulders, the door swung open. They stepped out under the bridge. Vickers realized that, since he'd been back in the bunker, he'd lost all track of time. It was early morning, maybe an hour or so after dawn. There was the slightest of chills in the air. Vickers could practically feel the shudder run through Eight-Man as they stepped out from the shadows under the bridge and he looked up at the sky. He remembered his own first speechless shock when he'd first emerged from the bunker.

"Take a deep breath. The first thing you realize is that the air in the bunker's so lousy it's enough to make you insane all on its own."

Eight-Man turned a full three hundred and sixty degrees, just gazing up at the sky. When he looked back at Vickers, much of the dislike and distrust had gone out of his eyes.

"I've been hurting for this."

Unfortunately his euphoria didn't have a chance to last. There was a reception committee. Slaughter was waiting with a brace of MPs and a Cobra gunship. Once again the door gunner was on full, white-knuckle alert. This time, however, the guns were pointing at Eight-Man rather than Vickers. Slaughter, behind his mirrored shades, was particularly hostile.

"What the hell is this, Vickers?"

Vickers made no attempt to stop for Slaughter or the military policemen.

"What's the matter Slaughter? You been out here all night?"

Slaughter barred his way.

"I don't have orders to cover this guy."

Vickers came to an angry standstill.

"For your information, Slaughter, 'this guy' is a big wheel in bunker security and that's about all you need to know. Now…" He glanced back at Eight-Man, who was clearly starting to see him in a different light, and then again glared at Slaughter. "… if you don't have any really serious objections, that Cobra is going to fly us directly to the Desert Inn where I can talk to some people who won't waste time telling me what their orders cover."

Although Slaughter didn't say another word, it was plain that he was having a major culture conflict between his own spotless gung ho and Eight-Man's earrings and ringlets. The door gunner, on the other hand, kept slipping Eight-Man covert and awestruck glances. He was a skinny black kid who looked as though he came from some frost belt inner city and probably made it into the army on a redundancy break. Eight-Man didn't notice either of them. He was too busy looking out of the door. As they passed over the destruction in front of the bunker entrance, Eight-Man's eyes widened. He turned accusingly to Vickers.

"I thought you said there hadn't been a war."

"This was just a local action. The troops who were left outside when the bunker was sealed remembered the Alamo. By all accounts they kept a couple of divisions of regular army rapid deployment troops at bay for ten days before they went down."

"Didn't they realize who they were fighting?"

"I guess they'd bought the package."

Eight-Man scowled. "I guess we bought the package too."

"I don't see how either Contec or the army could commit combat troops to this situation. We only have the sketchiest idea of the internal situation in the bunker. We couldn't take sides."

Victoria Morgenstern was behaving true to type and Vickers was running increasingly low on patience.

"Take sides? You already took sides. I went back into the bunker and did exactly what you wanted in a matter of hours. Nobody will resist your people coming in, in fact you'll be welcomed. All I need is fresh troops to get Lloyd-Ransom out of his bunker within a bunker. The people down there are just about shot."

Morgenstern didn't seem impressed. Neither did Getz, the colonel who was in charge of the Desert Inn operation. They were back in Cabin 17 and Vickers was far from having it his way. Morgenstern, Getz and the aides who surrounded them felt they had both right and reason on their side.

"You have to look at it from the practical point of view. By your own admission, there are close to four thousand people down there loaded to the gills on all manner of mind alterers. It's going to take months to reorient all of them to the real world. What's the point of throwing a lot of fresh, expensively trained people into that environment? You know the principle as well as anyone. You don't request additional manpower when the problem can be solved with the resources at hand."

"I'm afraid of the toll it's going to take of the resources at hand."

"That's not really our concern."

Eight-Man, who hadn't been much help thus far, suddenly glared.

"What you're saying is that you wouldn't be sorry to see these misfit bunker freaks thinned out a bit. It'd cut down on the bill for the rehab and psych we're all going to need when we get out of there."

Morgenstem avoided his eyes.

"I didn't say that."

"But you've thought about it." He rounded on Vickers. "And what about you, man? You sound like you're working for them. Whose side are you on and what are you trying to pull?"

"I'm trying to get us out of the bunker without any more losses."

Eight-Man jerked his head toward Getz and Morgenstern.

"These fucks don't give a damn. They'd be quite happy if we all stayed down there and rotted."

"They want their bunker back."

"But they're not in any particular hurry. If they were, they'd lend us the help."

Vickers cradled his head in his hands. The situation was rapidly approaching the impossible. He'd expected intractable self-interest from Morgenstern but not to this extent. He didn't want to go back to the bunker empty-handed. In fact, he wasn't sure if Eight-Man would let him go back to the bunker empty-handed.

"I need a drink."

"Somebody get Vickers a drink."

Three minutes later a scotch and ice arrived. They seemed to have his number. While he sipped it and cast around for a solution he was acutely aware that everyone was watching him. Suddenly he had an idea. Numbers weren't the only answer.

"If I can't have men, will you give me equipment?"

Morgenstern blinked.

"I don't see why not, within reason." She looked toward Getz, clearly tossing him the ball. Getz hadn't been expecting this.

"I don't know. I can't make any guarantees."

Eight-Man's lip curled.

"What can you do?"

Vickers ignored the exchange. He was warming to his idea.

"If we could blast our way into Lloyd-Ransom's redoubt, we could probably flush him out with only minimal loss."

Getz was guarded.

"What did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking of a Marriot rocket."

Even Eight-Man looked at him as though he were insane.

"A Marriot rocket?"

"Sure, why not? Shoot a Marriot down one of these tunnels and you won't see much more resistance."

"But a Marriot? That ain't no ordinary anti-tank missile. Those suckers can cream a Calvin-class landcruiser. If you let one off in the bottoms you're liable to bring the roof down."

Vickers shook his head.

"Hell no. That bunker's supposed to stand up to a nuclear war."

"The only other alternative is a full frontal assault that could well cost us hundreds of lives. I swear it would be worth the gamble."

Getz interrupted.

"I'm afraid the discussion is academic, gentlemen. I have no intention of giving you people a Marriot rocket."

"What's with you?"

"This business is edging toward madness and I for one don't want to be responsible."

Victoria Morgenstern abruptly demonstrated who was really in command.

"Give him the damn rocket; I'll be responsible."

Getz actually went white and only just avoided sputtering with indignation.

"You can't order me to do something like this."

"Of course I can and you know it. Who do you think's picking up the tab for this affair? You didn't imagine it was the Federal Government, did you? As long as you're here, you're out on loan to Contec."

"It's not just a matter of money, it's a matter of authority."

"Everything's a matter of money, Colonel. Now, are you going to give the appropriate orders or am I going to call the Pentagon?"

The colonel's voice went robot as he damped down his fury.

"I'll see to it."

He stood up but Vickers held out a restraining hand.

"Hold it, I haven't quite finished."

Morgenstern looked sideways at Vickers.

"Don't push your luck."

"Why should it stop now?"

"What more do you want?"

"I want two Marriots, one as a back-up, and I want an army crew to fire them. I also think it'd be a very good idea if you sent in an extra twenty or thirty of your people, not as combat troops, just observers, mainly to get everyone used to people from the outside. It's going to be a shock."

"Is that all?"

"You've got to admit that it's only reasonable."

Victoria Morgenstern also stood up. "Eminently reasonable." She looked coldly at Getz. "You have any problems with that?"

Getz all but clicked his heels. His voice was still robot. "No problem at all."

Deep in back of his eyes, though, was the look of a man who, if he ever got the chance to walk all over Victoria Morgenstern, would gleefully stomp with both feet. Victoria appeared not to notice. She actually smiled.

"If everyone's satisfied maybe we can get this thing finished."

A squad from the surface manhandled the number-one Marriot from the elevator. It was twelve feet long and eighteen inches thick, painted black with an orange stripe around the warhead. For ease of handling it was mounted on the most abbreviated version of its launch cradle. The presence of the outsiders had a bizarre effect on the bunker inmates with whom they came into contact. They were afflicted by a diffidence that Vickers would never have expected. They treated them as if they were from another planet. He had actually watched hardened bunker military back away from the first outsiders to enter the bottoms. He realized that the whole bunker was about to go into its second traumatic shock. Losing the world had been bad enough, finding it again might prove to be altogether too much. Vickers began to realize what Eight-Man had meant by rehab and psych. He also realized that it would be a pure arrogance to think that he'd be immune to it. The best he could do was to shelve the worst symptoms until after the bunker was secure. All he wanted to do was to fire the missile and get it over with.

The second rocket was coming out of another elevator. For their part, the outsiders did their best to accentuate the difference between themselves and the people in the bunker. They kept their faces covered with visors and breathing masks as though they considered the air in the bunker tainted and unfit to breathe. Inside the tunnels of the other side of the piazza, the defenders seemed to sense that something was going on. They kept up a sporadic sniping that forced everyone to keep their heads down while the missiles were readied. Their gun crews had developed the knack of being able to lay fire exactly along the top of the incline that led down to the elevators. It meant that there was not only the danger of being hit by a bullet but also the constant irritant of flying splinters of marble. The defenders had one other trick. Now and again a suicide volunteer would sprint out of one of the tunnels clutching a grenade launcher. He or she would try to drop a grenade onto the area by the elevators before one of the attackers dropped him. Parkwood had lost no less than ten men to these random attacks. Vickers' chief worry was that a grenade might ignite one of the rockets before it could be fired. Fortunately the suicide attacks had become markedly fewer. Vickers could only conclude with some relief that Lloyd-Ransom was running short of volunteers.

The pair of Marriots was set up just below the edge of the incline. The fire control box had been placed behind a wall of sandbags. With the exception of a handful of troops who remained to keep up a token fire, everyone was evacuated to the upper levels. Those who stayed were issued with heavy duty ear protectors. When a Marriot went off in an enclosed space, the noise would be quite literally deafening. Once the preparations were complete, Vickers and Parkwood crawled up the incline and lay beside the missiles for a final look around. Parkwood still held onto his doubts.

"Are you sure this isn't going to bring down the roof?"

Vickers patted the Marriot. He was starting to enjoy the recklessness of overkill.

"I'm not sure but I'm pretty certain that the odds are in our favor. The way I see it, the missile should punch a hole in the outer wall but not detonate until it's right in the middle of Lloyd-Ransom's apartment complex. There should be enough substructure in there to soak up the blast before it does any real harm."

"I wish I had your optimism."

"Can you think of a better way?"

"No."

"So let's get to it."

On a sudden impulse, Vickers raised himself up and sprayed the tunnel entrances with his Yasha. The action was so out of character that he surprised himself as well as Parkwood.

"What's the matter with you?"

"I guess I'm getting light-headed."

Parkwood waved back the last handful of troops, then he and Vickers scrambled down the slope themselves. They all took shelter in another sandbagged elevator. This final withdrawal was the signal to the rocket crew to start the brief countdown. Parkwood hit the elevator control panel and the doors slid shut. After that there was nothing left to do but wait. The first noise was the roar of the chemical rocket. Vickers clamped his hands over his ear protectors. There was a brief moment of silence and then it seemed as though the whole world had exploded. The entire bunker shuddered. The elevator car bounced on its cables. For a moment it felt as though the cables were going to snap. There was a small window in the elevator door. Its glass blew inward. A terrible rumbling went on and on. Parkwood opened the door and peered out. Glass and masonry were cascading down from the outside of the wide central airshaft. Parkwood looked back in horror.

"Damn it Vickers, it looks like you've caved in the roof."

"It's okay! It's okay!" The last large section of masonry crashed down to the piazza and then there was quiet. Rolling billows of dust filled the air, obscuring everything like a dense fog, but no more of the structure collapsed. The roof was intact. Vickers and Parkwood emerged from the elevator with handkerchiefs pressed to their faces.

"You think there's anyone left alive in there?"

"We'll soon see."

Another set of elevator doors opened and the evacuated bunker troops streamed back into the bottoms. It wasn't only soldiers and security. A full cross section of the bunker population was crowded in with them, a spectrum of colored coveralls and uniforms. Ignoring the choking dust, the heaps of jagged rubble and the possibility of further collapses, they surged across the ruined piazza, angry running figures in the dust and smoke.

"Should we try and stop them?"

"Just try it. They're mad as hell. I doubt a bomb would stop them."

While Vickers and Eight-Man had been out on the surface, word had run through the bunker that their long and unpleasant confinement had been without the slightest of valid reasons. In the end, the multiplying welter of conflicting stories forced Parkwood to go on the air and give a condensed version of the true situation. The varied panic instantly changed to a single, common fury. When the outsiders were first seen on the public video screens, the terrible news was absolutely confirmed. Parkwood was compelled to split his force and send more than half of his people to hold back the mobs who were massing in from the elevators on all levels. The mood had rapidly escalated to one of bloody revenge. Everyone wanted to get down to the bottoms and carve a piece of Lloyd-Ransom or one of his last-stand followers.

More elevator doors hissed open and another crowd from the upper levels swarmed out to add to the chaos. The major in charge of the outsiders fought his way to where Vickers and Parkwood were standing, letting it all swirl around them.

"Shouldn't we do something about this? If there's anyone left alive in that mess they're going to be slaughtered. This is a lynch mob."

Parkwood nodded.

"That's what it is."

"And you're going to do nothing?"

"If you want to save those bastards with your own people, feel free. Frankly, I don't give a damn."

Vickers had found himself a breathing mask.

"I'm going in there. I want to get to Lloyd-Ransom and Lutesinger before the mob does."

Parkwood looked around for a mask of his own.

"I'm coming with you."

Eggy and Yabu were still standing nearby. Parkwood beckoned to them.

"We're going inside, you want to come with us?"

Both indicated grim agreement. The outside major was still agitating.

"Something has to be done."

"Then do it!"

As they spoke, there was an eruption of yelling and howling from the other side of the piazza. A number of dazed and blackened figures had stumbled out of the ruins. The mob immediately set upon them. The major was gathering up his troops. He led them toward the center of the disturbance. Vickers, Parkwood, Yabu and Eggy followed behind, letting them clear a path through the angry mob. There was ugliness in the shattered tunnels and there were fires burning deep in the complex. Figures reeled from the smoke, but no sooner did they come into sight than they were seized by the crowd that was pouring in from the elevators. There were very few gunshots; the first people into the tunnels were mainly handlers and facers armed with clubs, knives or razors. The lack of gunfire was more than compensated for by a non-stop chorus of truly horrible screams. It was a scene from hell that the outside major and his men only served to confuse with their largely ineffectual efforts to save the lives of Lloyd-Ransom's surrendering followers. There was a frenzy about the attackers that went beyond even the most deep-rooted anger. It was like they were, at the same time, working out their own guilt for all that had happened in the bunker and all the bizarre dreams that had been dreamed there.

Vickers and his companions eased their way through the carnage, side-stepping the sudden knots of violence as best they could and trying hard to blot out the worst of the bloody vignettes. And then they were past the violence. Four armed intruders moving quickly up the tunnel with their flashlights and breathing masks. The dazed offenders shied away from them. They reached the end of the tunnel and realized they had to decide on a new direction. Vickers looked to Parkwood.

"Do you have that map?"

"Right here."

While Parkwood studied the map, Vickers turned his flash on the interior of the complex. The Marriot had literally torn it apart. Walls were missing and ceilings sagged. Smoke was everywhere and there was no guarantee that more of the structure would not collapse any minute. Vickers found it hard to equate this ruin with the luxury inner sanctum that had been the scene of such decadence and excess.

"Both Lloyd-Ransom's and Lutesinger's quarters are on the same radial corridor. They're about as far in as you can go and three stories up within the complex. We'll have to hope that there are some stairs left intact, there's no chance of a lift."

"I'd sure hate for that bastard to escape."

Parkwood led the way and the others followed in single file, heading deeper into the ruins. They were moving along a corridor that led past what had once been a row of luxury suites. Now the mirrors were smashed and the drapes were burning. A woman in ripped, charred purple silk and an advanced state of hysteria suddenly staggered through one of the broken doorways. She tried to grab hold of Eggy.

"Help me! For God's sake help me!"

Eggy recoiled.

"Get the fuck away from me!"

The woman spun off him at a tangent and then lurched away frantically, looking for someone else to save her. The four watched her go and then moved on in the other direction.

By a miracle, one stairwell was intact. The four climbed cautiously, watching the streams of plaster dust that poured down with each step and listening to the ominous creaks. Finally they were in the last corridor. The area had hardly been touched by the explosion. Even the doors along the corridor hadn't been blown open. It was quite possible that, behind them, there were people who were alive and maybe armed. A new kind of caution gripped the four of them. With weapons raised they moved slowly and silently down the final stretch. Parkwood signalled to Vickers by tapping the map. When he had his attention, he pulled off his breathing mask and whispered urgently.

"The two suites, Lloyd-Ransom's and Lutesinger's, are side by side." He pointed with his gun. "Those two at the end there."

Eggy and Yabu were also listening attentively as Parkwood went on.

"Two of us will go one way and two the other. Vickers, you and Yabu take the lefthand door. That's Lloyd-Ransom's; I'll give you that. Eggy and I will take the other. That's Lutesinger's."

For a moment, Eggy looked as though he was going to protest, then he changed his mind and grinned.

"Save a piece of him for me."

They positioned themselves beside the doors. Vickers and Parkwood hung back with machine pistols clutched at high port. Yabu and Eggy were poised to kick in the doors.

"Go!"

The two doors crashed in at the same time. Vickers and Parkwood went through first, Yabu and Eggy followed.

"Sweet Jesus."

Lloyd-Ransom's outer reception room was deserted. It had come through the explosion completely unscathed. There was even a dim light burning, enough to show that it had been decorated in a strange, funereal Art Deco, all smoked mirrors and black glass. Only one of the mirrors had smashed.

"It's like Dracula's living room."

"You think he's escaped?"

Vickers put a finger to his lips. A brighter light was shining from the half-open door of the master bedroom. Again the guns were leveled. Again they moved with a tense, trained stealth. This time they went through the door together. The room wasn't exactly deserted but everyone in there was stone dead. The Dobermans were stretched out on the thick pile of the carpet. They'd been poisoned. They lay at the foot of the bed like the dogs on a medieval tomb. Thane Ride, the one-time TV idol, had also taken poison; the flecks of blood on her lips indicated something old fashioned like cyanide. She lay flat on her back on the huge circular bed, staring with dead eyes at her reflection in the mirrored ceiling. She had dressed and arranged herself for death. She wore a black nightgown, her hair was combed out and her makeup was perfect. In the final moments, she'd crossed her feet at the ankles, folded her arms across her chest and prepared to die. Lloyd-Ransom had also tried to make a beautiful corpse but it had gone wrong for him. As far as Vickers could reconstruct, he must have dressed up in his best dress uniform, sat down beside the already deceased woman and placed the barrel of his revolver in his mouth. He probably expected that he'd sprawl back romantically. Unfortunately, the blast that blew away the back of his head had also knocked him clear off the bed and into an ungainly heap on the floor.

Yabu nudged the body with his toe. "You notice that he did it exactly like Adolf Hitler?"

"He'd have to, wouldn't he?"

"I don't understand why Thane Ride felt it necessary to play the Eva Braun part. Such an absolute gesture would hardly seem in character."

"Maybe she felt she wouldn't have much of a career left when she got out of here."

"I've never known even the most extreme notoriety to hurt anyone's TV career. Where I come from an actress hoped to make millions by fucking a gorilla."

"Tomoyo Nakamora, how could I ever forget her?"

"Even in a place like this."

"Did she ever do it in the end?"

"I don't know. The last I heard was that the gorilla was trying to back out of the deal."

The two men made a slow inspection of the bedroom.

"It's an appropriate place in which to die."

The somber color scheme of the reception room was carried through, only instead of Art Deco, the bedroom was dark chinoise. A red dragon chased its coiling tail around all four of the black walls. An ornate but obviously well used opium pipe was at hand on an antique bedside table. Vickers and Yabu were about to start going through drawers and cupboards when they heard Parkwood's voice from outside in the corridor.

"Are you all secure in there?"

"Yeah, all secure."

Parkwood came through the reception room and into the bedroom.

"Jesus Christ!"

"I guess it's the end of the story."

"Not quite. You'd better come and look in the other suite."

There was no way of telling how long Lutesinger had been dead. The shrunken, mummified figure was still hanging from the ceiling of the austere, sparsely furnished room.

"He could have been like this for months."

"I checked the environment controls. He set the suite for complete dehumidity before he hung himself or, at least, somebody did. It's like he wanted to turn into a mummy."

"They must have known down here that something was wrong. Why didn't anyone break in and find out?"

"I don't want to think about what went on down here."

Vickers looked away from the wrinkled, dehydrated face. He felt a little sick. The only mercy was that the eyes were closed. He hitched the Yasha over his shoulder.

"I've had enough of this."

Eggy, with a sudden demonstration of unexpected friendship, put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm with you, bro. Let's get the fuck out of here and let someone else clean up the mess."

Behind them the body slowly started to turn. The break-in had disturbed the previously still air. Coming hard on the heels of the exploding rocket, the motion was too much for the dried-out neck tendons. They parted. The head jerked back and the body fell to the floor with a leathery clatter. The head bounced. Out in the corridor Vickers really fought not to throw up. He managed it but only with great difficulty.