Chapter Twenty-Nine

Krysty awakened with wrenching pain in her right shoulder. Her arm was twisted and pinned under her side, and her cheek rested in the dirt. It felt like something was stretched over her face and head. Above a line of collapsed roofs, above the black wall of the ridge, the sky was beginning to lighten, fingers of pink clawing through the lavender. She knew at once that she was back in the ville of Moonboy, but she didn't remember making the trip. There was a steady hissing noise, too loud even for mutie snakes, she thought.
She was aware of a warm, heavy weight on top of her. Whatever it was, it was snoring softly. Krysty tried to move forward, out from under the pressure, and found she couldn't. Something that was stretched over her head prevented her. With her fingers, she felt the mesh of a net.
She closed her eyes and tried to remember. The effort made her head spin, and she thought she was going to be sick.
Then she heard footsteps. Turning her head as far as she could, she saw four black figures moving across the street. They stopped in front of a huge shape silhouetted against the morning sky. When she saw the missile, and the steam jetting from its base, Krysty's confusion began to lift.
She remembered trying to rescue Ryan, and failing. She remembered fleeing with the companions over the ridge to the shore of the mud lakes. She remembered the battle with the coyotes and facing down the gunship. There, her memories ended. Whatever the men in black had done to her, she was now trapped.
With her free hand she felt around above her, and caught the snorer by the ear. From the frames of the wire-rimmed glasses, she guessed it had to be J.B. She gave his ear a hard shake.
"Uhhh," J.B. moaned in protest, but he didn't wake up.
She shook him harder.
"Easy, Krysty, or you'll tear the damned thing off," a voice behind her whispered. It was Mildred. "And he won't even feel it. He's still narcotized, dead to the world."
"Where are you?" Krysty said. "Sort of behind you, and turned sideways. Is this your calf?"
"Ow."
"I thought so."
"What about Doc?"
"I'm facing his boots."
"My back must be turned toward him. I can't see him. Jak and Dean have got to be on top of J.B."
"Did they take all your weapons?" Mildred asked. "I've got nothing I can reach. Probably got nothing, period."
Krysty felt for her Smith amp; Wesson. It was gone. "They got my blaster, too."
"Man, this net cord is tough stuff," Mildred said. "It's way too thick to bite through."
"I could've snapped it," Krysty said, "if I hadn't already used up my powers."
"Have knife," said a soft voice from above.
"Jak and Dean, are you okay?" Krysty said.
"I'm okay, Krysty. My head hurts, though," Dean replied.
"Cramp in foot. Ache in head. Have knife. They missed it. Had it hid inside my sleeve. Cut net."
"No, wait," Krysty told Jak. "Not yet. Not until J.B. and Doc wake up. We can't make a move while they're still unconscious."
"I wake J.B.," Jak said.
From above there came the sound of a muffled blow, followed by another, then another.
"Fireblast," the Armorer groaned. "I'm awake. Stop smacking me."
Can you reach Doc?'' Mildred asked.
"Reach him?" J.B. repeated. "The old geezer's fogging up my glasses."
Krysty felt a shuddering movement above her.
"Hey, Doc," J.B. said, "wake up."
Then there was the sound of another slap.
"By the Three"
The old man's exclamation was shut off by Dix's palm. "Easy, Doc, just be quiet."
It was getting lighter by the second. Krysty could now see the figures clearly as they walked around the foot of the gantry. She also noticed something much closer that she hadn't been able to see before. About fifteen feet away, over against the ruined curb, stood the squat black cube on wheels. Beside it was the canister that dispensed the flesh-eating foam. That didn't bode well.
"Okay, Jak," she said, "use that blade."
"Cut top out of net. We slip away." The pressure of mesh against Krysty's head gradually lessened, then the weight pinning her to the ground lifted. J.B. helped Jak peel the net down, so Krysty and the others could get free.
They had no more than straightened when a harsh male voice barked at them, "Stay right where you are!"
It was too late to run. Two of the armored figures held them covered with light blasters. A third walked casually over to the curb, picked up the canister and shrugged into its harness straps. The fourth hung back, watching.
J.B. ignored the three-barreled longblaster pointed at his chest and demanded of the figure closest,''Are you bastards human? Or are you rad-blasted mutie cockroaches?''
"Okay, let's detint," the figure said. Krysty watched as the black helmets turned clear. They were all men, between the ages of thirty and forty. The one with the canister wore a red, bill-less cap.
"You've got human heads, anyway," J.B. said, leaning forward for a better look. "Do the suits come off?"
"Of course."
"How about the heads?"
"We don't have time to play with them, Colonel," said the other rifleman. "We're set to launch in T-minus four minutes."
"Put the launch on standby."
"Colonel"
"Do it."
The rifleman turned away and headed for what had to be the makeshift missile control centera table pulled out of one of the gaudies with whitecoat electronic gear stacked on it.
"We were going to let you live until after the launch," Gabhart said. "Now you've given us no choice. We can't have you running around loose while we're trying to get the missile away. We've got to take care of you before we proceed."
Out of the corner of her eye, Krysty saw Jak move. With a flick of his wrist he sent the leaf-bladed knife spinning toward the colonel's throat at a speed almost too fast to follow. Three feet from the target, the blade was slapped away by an invisible hand, and it dropped harmlessly to the dirt.
I thought you said you searched these people for weapons?" the colonel said.
"Sorry, sir," the man with the canister said. "That kid had so much metal sewn into his clothes, there was no way of telling what he was carrying. The only way to make sure he was unarmed was to strip him naked. Pedro didn't want to do it. Neither did I."
"Where's Ryan?" Krysty said to the man in charge. "What have you done to him?"
"Ryan? You mean the guy with the eye patch? He's long gone. I wouldn't count on seeing him again in this life." The colonel waved the fourth man forward. "Hylander," he said, "go ahead and take your samples now."
The guy with the walrus mustache stepped over to the squat cube and from behind it took out a gleaming silver apparatus. It had a pistol grip and a latticework, cylindrical frame. He gripped a small knob at the frame's opening and gave it a pull.
Krysty was standing close enough to see the razor-sharp inner ring slide back and lock in place.
"Are you sure you want him to do this, Colonel?" the canister man said. "If we just tie them up again, they can't interfere with the launch."
"We've each got our own jobs to do, Ockerman," the colonel said. "Part of Hylander's job is to analyze tissue samples for disease vectors. It's important work, or FIVE wouldn't have asked him to do it. They need the information if they're going to protect our people after they arrive."
Something behind the armored figures caught Krysty's attention, a vague shimmering in the middle of the street, like heat waves, rippling, only it couldn't have beenthe sun was barely up. Then the shimmer began to rotate, and she saw me glittering motes within, spinning faster and faster.