The Rise and Fall of Khan Noonien Singh, Volume One (33 page)

“
Are you sure you’re up for this?” she asked him worriedly. “Maybe we should all just ’port back to NYC, then come back here after you’ve had a chance to recover.”

Seven shook his head solemnly. “Kaur knows her secrets have been exposed. We can’t risk her tightening security, or relocating the
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chil
dren to another site.” Through sheer force of will, he brought his shaking frame back under control. “It has to be done today—before another strand of DNA can be twisted into something more dangerous than you can possibly realize. I only wish we could have stopped Chrysalis years ago, before it came to this. ...”

You and me both,
Roberta thought.

ONLY A FEW STRAY WISPS
of luminous blue mist still floated over the tranquilized goons as Seven exited the animal storeroom for what he expected would be for good. First, though, he disconnected the videophone above the fallen guards, just in case they roused themselves prematurely. He considered fusing the door shut behind him, then realized that he could hardly lock anyone up inside a structure that he intended to condemn to thermonuclear destruction. Even the subhuman Cuban operative, whom both Isis and Roberta appeared to dislike so, deserved a chance to evacuate the premises with the rest of the project’s personnel.

Seven warily scanned the corridor outside the storeroom. In theory, Roberta and Isis were already back in Manhattan by now, fulfilling their end of the operation.
I’m on my own now,
he acknowledged resolutely. This was just as well; the obliteration of Chrysalis was too important to trust to any less-experienced agent, no matter how resourceful or enterprising she might be.
What’s that Terran expression again? If you want a job done right
. ...

Isis’s borrowed lab coat was a few sizes too small for him, but it would have to make do; ill-fitting camouflage was better than none at all. He rubbed his stubbly chin once more, hoping that his unshaven appearance would not attract unwelcome attention. Holding on tightly to his servo, concealed within a pocket of the overly snug white jacket, he marched rapidly down the sterile tunnel, looking for the nearest stairwell. According to Roberta, the nuclear reactor occupied
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the lowest sublevel of the complex, and he preferred taking the stairs over an elevator, the latter being far too reminiscent of a cell for his liking.
I’m not about to get trapped inside an enclosed space,
he resolved,
not if I can help it.

His decision proved a wise one; Seven was less than fifty yards away from the storeroom when an alarm blared loudly overhead: “ATTENTION! INTRUDER ALERT! BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR THREE UNAUTHORIZED VISITORS: A DARK-HAIRED FEMALE, A BLOND AMERICAN WOMAN, AND A TALL, BROWN-HAIRED, AMERICAN MALE. THE INTRUDERS ARE ARMED AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS. REPORT ALL SIGHTINGS TO SECURITY IMMEDIATELY. REPEAT: REPORT ANY SUSPICIOUS INDIVIDUALS AT ONCE. THIS IS A MATTER OF THE GRAVEST IMPORTANCE.”

Seven frowned, but wasted little mental or physical energy lamenting this unfortunate turn of events.
We’ve been lucky so far,
he realized,
but exposure was inevitable.
Either someone had discovered the sleeping bodies in the storeroom, he speculated, or else Kaur and her bodyguards had finally recovered from Isis’s ambush.
Most likely the latter,
he guessed. In any event, his task had just become significantly more challenging.

He quickened his pace as the alert repeated itself in several languages, its essential message remaining the same. Seven drew some amusement from the fact that two of the described intruders—Isis and Roberta—were already well beyond Kaur’s grasp. With any luck, the project’s security force would squander a portion of their efforts searching fruitlessly for the two female operatives. Not to mention a missing black cat.

Seven’s own good fortune ran out at the very next intersection, where he abruptly ran across a mixed group of technicians and scientists, all excitedly discussing the upsetting alarm echoing through the corridors of the underground complex. “Another intruder?” a German biochemist (whom Seven recognized from his missing persons list) exclaimed anxiously, gesticulating wildly with his hands. “What the devil is going on? If we’re in any sort of danger, we ought to be better informed!”

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Casually slipping his servo out of his pocket, Seven maintained a steady pace toward the knot of confused and agitated personnel. Perhaps he could still bluff his way past the clustered men and women? From what Roberta and Isis had told him, Chrysalis’s staff was populous enough that strangers were not immediately identifiable; both women had managed to traverse the project’s sprawling maze of tunnels without too much interference.

But that was before repeated alerts had put everyone’s nerves on edge. “Hey!” the discontented German called out as Seven attempted to pass by. His meaty hand clamped down tightly on Seven’s upper arm. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you before!”

A few of the assembled civilians backed away from Seven apprehensively, but, unfortunately, a couple of braver souls joined the German in detaining Seven, taking up hostile postures in front and behind the outnumbered secret agent. “The name’s Kirk,” he improvised. “James T. Kirk. From the Developmental Deviations Unit.”

“The DDU, huh?” the German repeated skeptically, citing the only department Seven actually knew by name. “How come I’ve never heard of you?” He tightened his grip on Seven’s arm, while the other men closed in on the suspected intruder. “Let me see your ID.”

“Yeah!” another scientist seconded, brute anger thickening his voice. He shoved Seven harshly from behind. “Make him show his I.D.!”

So much for going incognito,
Seven thought, sighing deeply Obviously, he was not going to be able to talk his way out of this confrontation.
Very well.

“Let me show you,” he began meekly, feigning cooperation. Without warning, he fired the servo in his hand straight into the German’s torso. The biochemist’s tenacious fingers went as limp as the rest of his body, so that only a gentle push was required to send him toppling backward as his startled associates clambered to break his fall. At the same time, Seven elbowed the ill-tempered individual behind him, jolting the wind from the man’s lungs. Seven spun around and fired again, turning the shove-happy scientist into a sagging mass of tranquilized bliss.

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Seven thought he was free and clear until two strong arms suddenly seized him from behind, squeezing his arms against his sides. “Drop that—whatever it is!” an anxious voice commanded shrilly. Its Brooklyn accent seemed incongruous at this remote location. “Somebody call security—pronto!”

That last suggestion provoked a scowl from Seven.
This is taking too long,
he appraised. He needed to exit this scene before
real
opposition arrived. Even in his present debilitated state, his training and physical conditioning made him more than a match for a mob of overexcited scientists and maintenance workers. He was much more concerned about Kaur’s predominately Sikh security force; the ancient brotherhood of the Sikhs had been famous for their military prowess and discipline since at least the seventeenth century, and had frequently formed the backbone of the subcontinent’s defense forces.
Those guardians will not be so easily overcome.

Taking a deep breath, he marshaled his parahuman strength, throwing off his captor’s amateurish hold with a single concerted effort. He twisted around at the waist, ready to subdue the third man with a tranquilizing burst from his servo, but instead discovered that such measures were not required; at the first sign of serious resistance, the frightened scientist fled in retreat, joining his fellow workers as they ran from the manifestly dangerous intruder in their midst. Seven heard the rapid-fire pounding of their footsteps echoing through the corridors ahead, just as he also registered, alas, their frantic cries for help.

His cover well and truly blown, Seven dashed down the right-hand tunnel, opposite the direction in which the panicked scientists had retreated. He was surprised to find that the brief tussle, which had lasted less than a minute or two, had actually left him short of breath.
I
must be in worse shape than I thought,
he concluded grudgingly.
Fatigue and dehydration have taken their toll.

A map of the complex, conveniently inscribed on the wall, provided a welcome supplement to Roberta’s fragmentary directions. Panting heavily, his chest heaving with every breath, Seven took a moment to memorize the schematic. According to the map, there was an exit less
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than fifty yards away that led directly to the catwalks overlooking the wide central shaft around which the rest of Chrysalis fanned out. Seven recalled observing those same catwalks when he first descended into Chrysalis via the hidden elevator from the ruined Rajput fortress above. He would be uncomfortably exposed upon the open catwalks, he realized uneasily, but they appeared to be the shortest route available to the complex’s lower levels.
I’ll have to chance it,
he decided.

“Halt! Stay where you are!” a deep voice shouted in strongly accented English. Seven turned his head to see a pack of security officers heading straight for him. Almost a dozen men ran on foot ahead of two more guards riding a compact motorized vehicle designed for cruising Chrysalis’s many tunnels. Most of the men appeared to be Sikhs, but Seven spotted a couple of European and Asian individuals running alongside the bearded and turbaned Indian guardsmen. “Put your hands up and surrender!” the leader of the unit barked loudly

Rather than complying with the officer’s demands, Seven swiftly raised his servo and fired into the oncoming troopers. With expert aim, he targeted the guard behind the wheel of the small, three-wheeled scooter. The driver immediately collapsed over the steering column, causing the vehicle to veer wildly out of control. The soldiers on foot were forced to scatter and scurry for safety, momentarily abandoning their pursuit of Seven, as they broke ranks in a chaotic attempt to avoid the runaway scooter. The guard in the passenger seat struggled to grab hold of the steering wheel, but the dead weight of his comrade’s listless body obstructed the passenger’s frantic efforts to regain control of the transport. “Watch out!” he shrieked in Punjabi.

Seven spared only an instant to observe the guards’ momentary disarray. The cramped corridors, he knew, would prevent the two-man scooter from accelerating to a genuinely life-threatening velocity; at most, the driver and his passenger would merely be stunned when the vehicle inevitably slammed into one of the tunnel walls.
Whenever possible,
he reminded himself,
keep enemy casualties to a minimum.

In the meantime, he meant to make the most of his reprieve, sprinting down the empty hallway at full speed, occasionally firing back over his shoulder at his pursuers. Tranquilized guards dropped like
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crunch-blossoms on Equinox IV, while their cohorts ducked for cover. The most persistent guards, however, undaunted by invisible beams or the wayward scooter, began firing back at Seven, the sound of gunshot ringing throughout the lengthy tunnel. Seven bent over as he ran, presenting as small a target as he could. Bullets whizzed past him, raising miniature clouds of dust and debris wherever they perforated the walls and floor of the tunnel. Seven knew that, no matter how distracted and rushed the marksmen, he couldn’t evade the blistering hail of lead for long.

Clearly visible ahead, the promised exit beckoned to him, offering a much-needed escape route. He propelled himself forward with all his strength, relying on adrenaline to compensate, in part, for the weakness brought on by his long captivity. His lungs burned, and Earth’s gravity felt as though it had increased by several orders of magnitude over just the last few minutes. A bullet chipped out a corner of the wall only a few inches from his head, spraying the right half of his face with powdered plaster.
Almost there,
he spurred his aching legs, keeping his gaze fixed immovably on the exit sign.
Just a few more feet
...
!

With his peripheral vision, he glimpsed a cherry-red fire alarm mounted to the wall upon his right. Playing a hunch, he turned quickly and fired a thermal discharge at the ceiling. Not enough to ignite a serious blaze, naturally, but sufficient to activate any overhead sprinklers that might be lurking out of sight.

A piercing siren greeted his efforts, followed by an immediate torrent of water spraying down from concealed jets in the ceiling. Angry curses competed with the siren as the pursuing security guards, already rattled by the amuck scooter, slid and slipped on the suddenly soaking floor tiles. The artificial (and entirely unnecessary) downpour also interfered with their marksmanship, granting Seven the grace period he needed to reach the once-distant exit.
Good to know Kaur and her architects practiced responsible fire safety,
he mused wryly,
but how could they not, with future generations of superhumanity at risk?

The exit door was locked, possibly because of the security alert, but Seven slammed his shoulder against the barricade, breaking the lock. Escaping both the shrillness of the siren and the drenching spray of the
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sprinklers, he found himself upon the wrought-iron catwalk, several flights of stairs above the ground floor. Leaning heavily on a safety rail, painted a drab industrial green, he looked out over the enormous vertical shaft penetrating the hub of Chrysalis; after numerous hours spent in cramped cages and interlocking tunnels, it was startling to encounter so much open space. Elevator cables dangled from on high, extending through a circular gap in the floor to the sublevels below.
That’s where I need to go,
Seven thought, taking an instant to assimilate the breathtaking view from his lofty vantage point. A butterfly design adorned the ground floor at least five levels below, adding a decorative touch to the vast excavation.
Too bad,
he reflected grimly,
that this man-made chrysalis is more likely to disgorge dangerous wasps than any delicately ornamental lepidoptera, and in swarms that may well consume Earth’s fragile hopes for peace.