Timothy Zahn - The Green And The Gray

Finally, with a murmured warning from Jonah, they reached the bottom.

Roger stepped off the last stair to find himself pressed close to Fierenzo in a cramped metal entryway no bigger than an office cubicle, facing an elaborately tooled metal wall. "I hope there's a door there somewhere," Fierenzo murmured.

"Right there," Jonah said, gesturing to a section of the wall that looked no different to Roger than any of the rest of it. "Problem is, I don't know how to open it."

"Try to figure it out," Fierenzo said tartly. "I'd really prefer not to have to knock."

"We may not have a choice," Velovsky warned. "The outer door would have locked Melantha in.

This one might well be designed to lock everyone else out."

"I think he's right," Jonah said reluctantly, running his hand over the wall. "Okay. Everyone back up the stairway."

They reversed direction, climbing back up the steps. It was just as tricky going up, Roger discovered, as it had been going down.

"That's far enough," Fierenzo murmured after the first ten steps. "Okay, Jonah," he called softly as he turned around and drew his gun from his shoulder holster. Taking a deep breath, Roger threw his hammergun into his hand and tried to prepare himself for action.

From below came a pair of dull thuds that echoed off the stairway walls. There was a moment of silence, then two more. "Come on!" Jonah shouted. "Open up, will you?"

More silence followed. Then, abruptly, there was a faint creak of metal, and Roger felt a puff of oddly scented air flow past him. "What do you—?" a deep voice growled.

"About time," Jonah cut him off. "Hey, Garth. How's it going?"

"Wait a second—wait a second," Garth protested. "You can't come in here. Special orders from—"

"From Torvald," Jonah finished for him. "Yes, I know. Why do you think I'm here?"

"No, really, you can't come in," Garth insisted. "We've got some delicate tech work going and can't have people clumping around stirring up air currents."

Jonah's sigh was clearly audible. "Very plausible," he said. "I'll be sure to tell Torvald what a fine job you're doing. But right now, I have to get in to see the girl."

There was just the briefest pause. "Girl?" Garth cautiously.

"Melantha Green?" Jonah said, starting to sound a little irritated. "The one you're guarding? Torvald wants me to bring some proof to Halfdan that we've got her."

"He told Halfdan about her?" Garth said, sounding stunned.

"The situation's starting to unravel," Jonah bit out, his voice clearly impatient now. "Or didn't they tell you about Damian?"

"They told me Whittier spun a spiderweb story for them," Garth said contemptuously. "I don't believe it any more than Torvald does."

"Well, I guess Torvald's changed his mind," Jonah said.

"He must have changed more than that," Garth countered. The initial shock of finding Jonah outside his door was apparently fading, and Roger could hear suspicion starting to edge into his voice.

"Since when are you working with him?"

"Since none of your business," Jonah said. "He doesn't tell me everything he's got on the burner, either. What, you think I just strolled over to Staten Island and came down here on a sudden whim?"

"Why didn't he tell me you were coming?" Garth demanded. "For that matter, why didn't you use your tel instead of pounding on the door just now?"

"Because I don't have one," Jonah said. "I was supposed to get one of the pair you cut up to track Whittier's trassk with. Come on, we're wasting time. You going to let me in, or not?"

"Not, I think," Garth decided firmly. "Not till I talk to Torvald."

And with that, Fierenzo jumped suddenly down the steps, the thud of his feet hitting the metal floor echoing up the stairway. "Police," he snapped. "Keep your hands where I can see them. Roger, get your butt down here."

Roger clattered back down the steps, Velovsky behind him, to find the situation just about the way he'd visualized it. Garth was standing in the middle of the open doorway, his mouth hanging open in shock, his ever-present pocketknife for once gripped motionlessly in his hand. In front of him stood Jonah; slightly to the side where he had a clear line of fire was Fierenzo, his gun pointed squarely at Garth's stomach. Garth's bewildered frown shifted over the detective's head—"Whittier?" he demanded. "Jonah, what in—?"

"Later," Fierenzo cut him off. "How many more in there?"

Garth's mouth clamped solidly shut. "Fine—we'll find out for ourselves," Fierenzo said, tossing Jonah a set of handcuffs. "Stay here and watch him, and make sure he doesn't use his tel. You two come with me."

Pushing past Garth, Fierenzo headed into the transport. Glancing furtively at the glowering Gray as he passed, Roger followed.

The transport's door led into a light-blue corridor that stretched back about ten feet to a T-junction.

Fierenzo reached the intersection and paused, giving a quick look both directions. "Short branch to the left; longer one to the right," he murmured back over his shoulder. "Any suggestions?"

"Go right," Velovsky muttered back. "We must be near the bow. Most of the transport will still be aft."

"Sounds good to me," Roger seconded.

Fierenzo nodded. "Stay sharp," he warned. "Looks like there are a couple more turns back there, and I see at least two doorways. Perfect spot for an ambush." Giving another quick glance both directions, he sidled around the corner and headed to the right.

This corridor was longer than the first, stretching back at least thirty feet. Roger stayed close behind Fierenzo, his eyes on the two doorways midway down the corridor leading off to opposite sides.

Melantha and another guard might be in one of those rooms—

"Behind you!" Velovsky barked suddenly.

Roger spun around to find that a big Gray had appeared at the far end of the corridor branch they hadn't taken and was striding purposefully toward them. Clenching his teeth, he snapped his hammergun up, peripherally aware that Velovsky was doing the same.

They were both too late. There was the familiar guitar-string whine, and suddenly Velovsky was thrown backward, slamming into Roger and sending his own shot splatting uselessly into the corridor wall. He tried to line up the weapon for a second try, but there was another whine and his arm flailed back over his shoulder as the Gray's shot caught him in his upper-right shoulder, spinning him halfway around and dropping him off-balance onto one knee. The Gray's third shot sent Velovsky careening backward into him again, throwing his aim that much farther off and leaving Fierenzo the only one still standing. With two of his opponents down, the Gray broke into a sprint, hammergun still spitting shots their direction. He reached the T they'd just passed, glanced toward the entryway as he ran through the intersection—

And was abruptly slammed sideways against the wall as Jonah's hammergun shot caught him dead center.

Roger suddenly noticed his left hand was tingling. Shouldering Velovsky off his arm, he twitched his finger and pressed the hand to his cheek. "Yeah, what?" he demanded.

"I've got this one," Jonah announced. "Keep going."

"Right," Roger said, getting shakily to his feet. He'd lost his grip on his hammergun in the fracas, he discovered; flicking his wrist, he threw it back into his hand. "You okay, Velovsky?"

"Don't worry about me," the old man wheezed, his chest heaving as he fought to get air back into his lungs. "Just move it."

"Quiet," Fierenzo admonished them both.

They continued on to the first door. It opened at a touch on a white plate set in the wall beside it, and Fierenzo and Roger looked cautiously inside.

The room was dark, but there was enough light spilling in from the corridor to show a dozen rows of dusty-looking padded seats, arranged airline style. "Passenger compartment," Velovsky identified it, peering past Roger's shoulder. "Those seats probably fold down for sleeping."