Technobabel

19.

Let us eat and drink; for tomorrow we shall die. -Isaiah 22:13

Hammer flattened against the wall as the second burst of autofire cut through the air and ricocheted off the walls. The damned security guards had moved faster than he figured, blocking off both the passage to the stairwell and the elevator. Sloane had taken a couple of slugs and was leaning up against the wall near Hammer's feet. His armor kept the bullets from penetrating, but he probably had some cracked ribs at least. Geist crouched beside him, quietly chanting and laying his hands on Sloane's arm and chest, healing the injuries. Tootall stood across the hall, just out of sight of the security men around the corner, with Tojo hugging the wall not far behind him. Hammer looked over at the big troll and gave the nod. Tootall ducked around the corner and began laying down a hail of fire from his AK-97 assault rifle, forcing the corporate guards to duck for cover. Hammer knew his team couldn't hold out for very long before the corpers decided to rush them. They had to break through the guards or fall back to avoid getting caught in a crossfire, which meant they needed to end this quick. Hammer turned to Geist, who leaned back from Sloane with a sigh. Hammer hoped the healing spell hadn't taken too much out of the mage. Sloane rose slowly to his feet and acknowledged Geist's help with a nod.

"We need to get past these fraggers now. Do you think you can take them?" Geist gave Hammer a look that left no doubt he thought he could handle any mundane threat. "I can, but I need to see them if I'm going to hit them, and I need a distraction to give me time to act." Hammer nodded and turned to Tootall. He spoke quietly into his mike, and the troll's headset picked it up across the hallway. "We need to give those corpers something to think about for a few seconds so Geist can take 'em out. Hold for my mark." Tootall gri

Gunfire echoed faintly through the corridor, and the two technicians turned and looked back toward their boss with concern written on their faces. Their job descriptions might have included monitoring grueling interrogations, but not dealing with armed opponents capable of fighting back. Miles Lanier kept his gun leveled at Babel's back and looked past him at the techies. "Keep going," he said. "Our people will keep them off us until we can get to the parking garage and out of here." The small group reached the stairwell door and one of the techies slashed his passcard through the mag-lock. The red light burning over the mechanism remained unchanged. "The lock won't respond, sir," he said to Lanier. Lanier took a step around Babel toward the door when the lights in the corridor went from red emergency lights to normal lighting, silencing the alarm system, followed by a loud bang from the stairwell above. Lanier glanced over at the door and away from Babel. In that moment, Babel acted, the monofilament-edged slasher extending from his arm like a striking snake. Time slowed to a crawl, and he swung at Lanier, aiming for his extended gun hand. Dr. Ferrera screamed a warning to Lanier, but the man had already caught Babel's movement out of the corner of his eye. He stepped back quickly to get out of the way, tripping himself up and falling against the security door. The edge of the blade caught Lanier's pistol and knocked it from his hand, sending it clattering to the floor with a silvery gash along the side. Lanier immediately dropped into a crouch to avoid Babel's next attack, matching his speed. The cyberblade passed harmlessly over his head, cutting a narrow gash in the metal of the security door. Lanier snapped out one leg in an expert kick, catching Babel in the knee. The technoshaman fell back in a burst of pain, struggling to stay on his feet as Lanier made a grab for his fallen weapon.

Babel leapt forward again toward Lanier when one of the techies decided to be a hero by tackling him. The two went down on the floor in a heap, but Babel quickly rolled to the top. He straddled the hapless technician's chest and grabbed his throat with one hand, holding the point of his cyberblade menacingly close. At the click of a hammer being drawn back, both men looked over at where Lanier had his gun trained on them. "Let him go," Lanier said, "and get up slowly." Babel looked down at the fearful face of the technician and back at Lanier. He could threaten the techie, try to use him as a hostage, but he knew that would be hopeless. If Lanier was any match for his reputation, he wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice one man to hold onto Babel, and then Babel would have nothing to bargain with. Lanier was corporate, and Babel knew how little the megacorporate big noises cared for their employees when push came to shove. He slowly got to his feet and stepped away from the prone technician, the carbon-fiber blade silently retracting into his forearm as he did so. "Impressive cutter," Lanier said. "But you could use a little more training in how to use it. Now stay right there." Lanier took a key-card from the inside pocket of his suit-jacket and tossed it to the technician, who was getting to his feet. "Use this," he said and the techie scrambled to obey. Lanier's key-card overrode the maglock, and the light flashed green. The technician reached for the handle when the door flew open with a sudden bang, striking him in the face. He crumpled against the wall and fell into a heap. Lanier took no notice of the technician's fate. He spun on the ork coming through the door, pistol in hand. The ork held a hand-ca