Warren Murphy: Dying Space

Yuri and Gorky, Istoropovich's two assistants, were running toward him. They stopped as they saw him going down the steps.

"You're going the wrong way, Ivan," Yuri said.

"I am?" Mr. Gordons answered in Russian.

"The alarm's in the other wing. The conference

room.

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"Hey. You no walk like Ivan," Gorky said, his rubber lips working. "Maybe you robot."

"Don't be stupid," Yuri said. "How could Ivan be a robot? Robots can get it up. Ivan can only think about it."

Mr. Gordons thought to himself, I must be creative about this. They should not tell where I am.

Yuri and Gorky were arguing. Gorky said, "Something fishy here," and Yuri unsheathed his pistol and aimed it at Mr. Gordons.

"Well bring him in," Yuri said. He waved the gun at Mr. Gordons. "Get moving."

"Very well," Mr. Gordons said. "I am moving." He moved his arm toward Gorky's thick, fat-layered neck and broke it with a snap.

Yuri fired his pistol. The bullet entered Mr. Gordons's body and exited smoothly out the back. He didn't miss a beat as he poked out the area of the man's chest just below his LaCoste alligator with two steel fingers.

"That is sufficiently creative," Mr. Gordons said as he headed down the stairs. "And now for Remo Williams."

Remo breathed.

Good blood coursed through his veins, searching out his body. "I will live," he said. He felt a wracking ache in the back of his neck, near his spinal column.

"Breathe. Live." He repeated it over and over, and his body heard the commands. It kept repeating its own signal of pain—in the back of his neck, near his spinal column.

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Remo willed his blood to course even more rapidly through his body, flowing steadily down into his right fingertips, heightening the strength and the sensitivity of his hand, his fingers.

He touched his hand to the back of his neck, where the pain signals were coming from. When he touched the spot, he screamed, then again breathed deeply. Ignoring the hurt, his fingers explored the spot. He squeezed it with his fingers and felt a tiny little metallic speck pop from his skin. Instantly, fresh air coursed through his body. It was as if he had just emerged from too long underwater and was gulping life-giving oxygen. He looked at the spot on his fingers. A tiny black dot, almost invisible inside the darkness of his cell. An insect stinger? Perhaps Chiun was right. Chiun.

Remo shoved the black speck into his pocket and walked to the front wall of the dungeon. Chiun must be saved.

As he reached the dungeon wall, it moved forward to meet him. The cell was closing in.

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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Alarms resounded through the stone corridor outside the long bank of cells.

Mr. Gordons stood silently, feeling the vibrations of heartbeats from inside.

Two of the cells were occupied.

There were two humans in the nearest one. One human in the one at the end of the corridor. Which cell would contain Remo? His delicate ear sensors picked up another sound. Something was moving inside the cells. It was a scraping sound, almost as if the walls themselves were moving.

Which cell should he go to? Which cell contained Remo who must die?

As he thought, seeking a solution, the question was answered for him.

There was a wrenching sound, the sound of stone being crushed under pressure, and then with a whoosh, the concrete panel on the front of

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the nearest cell exploded out into the corridor, in five tons of cracking fury.

Out stepped Chiun. And behind him Dr. Frances Payton-Holmes.

Mr. Gordons looked at them, then let a smile spread over Ivan's features, which he wore.

"Then Remo is in the other cell and Remo must

die."

Chiun leaped into the center of the corridor, facing Mr. Gordons, blocking with his body the android's path to Remo's cell.

"The path to my son must always pass through me," he intoned coldly.

The professor looked back and forth, from Chiun to Ivan, Chiun to Ivan, and then she realized.

"Sonny? Is it you?"

"Yes, Doctor," Mr. Gordons said. "I was creative. I used Ivan's features to confuse everyone. Now I must kill Remo."

"Doctor?" the professor said. "Why not Mom? You used to call me Mom."

"Now I am creative. I know you are not my mother. That does not mean I do not love you." He stared at Chiun and took a tentative step toward the tiny Oriental, who stood almost casually, arms at his sides.

"Remo can wait," the professor said. "Remo must die," Mr. Gordons said. He took another step toward Chiun. Dr. Payton-Holmes ran between them and put her hands on Mr. Gor-

dons's arms.

"Sonny," she said. "You have to listen. I have programmed you to turn the Volga around and to

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crash it into this building. If you do that, Remo will die."

All the programming that was in him, all the synapses and the neuron connections were repeating one message to Mr. Gordons: Remo must die. But another message insinuated itself, a confusing message that he had no experience in dealing with. It said, Listen to this woman whom you respect—and love.

He tried to fight it off. He spoke again to the small woman clutching his arms. "Remo must die. Now. When he is too weak to be a danger to me."

Suddenly, at the end of the corridor, there was another crashing sound. The huge concrete slab that covered the cell opening blasted out into the corridor.

Into the dank hall stepped Remo.

He looked at Mr. Gordons.

"Too late," he said. "I'm back together now, Tin Man."

Without looking around, without taking his eyes off Mr. Gordons, Chiun said, "It's about time."

"Stop carping," Remo said.

"Mr. Gordons injected a transmitter into you," Chiun said.

"See? It's all your fault," Remo said. "You told me it was an insect bite."

"No," Chiun said. "I told you that once I suffered an insect bite. What insect would want to eat at the trough of your body. Are you recovered?"

"Yes," Remo said. ;

Mr. Gordons tried to take another step forward,

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toward Remo, but the professor wrapped her arms

around him.

"Be creative," she said. "You can now. If you do what I want, you will stop the Volga and Remo too. If you go after Remo now, it may be too late to stop the Volga."

"The Volga never hurt me," Mr. Gordons said. "Creativity means being free. Free to think and free to do. The Volga represents people who crush creativity," Dr. Payton-Holmes said. "Why do you think I oppose them so? Do you think your creator would have been allowed to create you if she had lived in this country? Do you think I would be free to think? To work? All your creativity means nothing when you are not allowed to create. Trust me. The Volga."

Mr. Gordons's mouth began to move, then it stopped. It started again. Slowly, he spoke.

"I trust you because I know you love me." He looked down the corridor toward Remo. "Some other time," he said. "First the Volga." "Ready when you are, M. G.," Remo said. "I'm proud of you, Sonny," the professor told Mr. Gordons and squeezed his android arms.

The four of them moved toward the stone steps leading to the next level. At that moment, a small troop of Russian soldiers were heading down the stairs. They saw the four and raised their guns. Mr. Gordons wrapped his arms around Dr. Payton-Holmes protectively, while Remo went over the top of the two of them, vaulting up the fourteen steps in a flying double split. He landed with two fingers embedded in the occipital lobe of one

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guard and a foot protruding through another's chest.

The blood from the soldier who had just incorporated Remo's foot into his own anatomy spurted upward like a fountain. Another soldier, racing toward Remo, slipped on the red pool and skidded toward Chiun.

Wrapping one advancing soldier around another, the old Oriental stopped the oncoming sliding body with his toe. "Gross," he muttered. "How many times have I told you that a sloppy assassin is as worthless as a stupid one."