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On hands and knees, keeping a wary eye out for any other unexpected arrivals, he crawled over to
inspect the ruined apparatus. It was wonderfully, even imaginatively, made. Though twisted sharply to
one side, the head was still largely intact, the tiny tracking cameras located behind the eye shields still
locked in scanning position. The beak was cracked open, so he could see inside the mouth.
A sharp pinging emerged from the debris and he yanked his hand back. The extendable pressure dermic
that occupied the place where a bird's tongue would be just missed making contact with his exploring
fingers.
Rising, he brought his right foot down hard on the quivering head, and applied his weight. Struts and
supports molded from finely wrought composite cracked noisily. Like the stinger of a dying wasp, the
dermic stabbed wildly, seeking flesh to penetrate. Only when Cardenas was certain the device was
utterly defunct did he draw back his foot, and only then did the dermic, nearly as long as his hand when
fully extended, cease trying to impale him.
Breathing hard, he looked around warily, his gaze flicking from walls to ceiling, from the open doorway
behind him that led to the facade of a bathroom to the darkened glass at the opposite end of the
workplace. The attack had caught him almost completely off guard. Who needed human sentries? They
were conspicuous, likely to draw suspicion to themselves, potentially corruptible, and expensive. The
seemingly deserted annex was not so deserted after all.
Overhead, Taieesh Import and Export provided perfect camouflage. What better cover for a center of
illicit operations than a legitimate business whose employeeswere utterly and honestly ignorant of the
unlawful activities that were going on beneath their very feet? It was akin to running a counterfeiting
operation from inside a bank vault.
His eyes continued to scrutinize the far corners of the chamber. There had been three of the birds. How
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the devil had they gotten in? It occurred to him that ventilators that brought in clean air could also admit
other things. Things that had been programmed to navigate their way through tubes and conduits. To
navigate and to kill.
Lights glowing dimly behind the swath of dark glass hinted at the existence of still another room,
accessible through the single rear door. There was no sign of movement save for the cleaning robots. Did
The Mock and his underlings do their work only at night? That would go a long way toward explaining
the emptiness in which he found himself. It didnot mean that Mockerkin left his principal place of
business unattended, relying for defense only on the sham reality of the import-export enterprise above.
The shattered remains of the wrecked aerial assassin that lay in a still crackling and popping pile at his
feet attested to that.
Standing in the middle of the room, he was too exposed. There was too much room for flying killers to
maneuver. He wanted more cover.
Something told him not to try for the passageway that led to the surface. The short ramp that led to the
storage closet and the bathroom beyond would be a perfect place to stage an ambush. Anyway, he
wasn't ready to leave.
Keeping an eye on the temptingly vacant exit, he turned from where he was standing and strode briskly
toward the rear door. Almost as soon as he turned his back on the exit, a second replicant gull came
lunging in through the rear passage, having to turn sideways so that its wings would fit through the
opening. A glance was sufficient to allow Cardenas to spot the fully extended dermic that was aimed right
at him.
Pulling the shocker from his windbreaker pocket as he ran, he fired once, and missed. With only enough
time for one more quick shot before the vacant-eyed assassin reached him, he stopped running, whirled,
and dropped. Taking the best aim he could as he slid backward on the floor, he fired. The bird-thing
erupted in a shower of sparks less than a meter from his face as he threw up his free hand and turned
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