"Good
thinking," Mabel approved. She removed her backpack and took out
a couple of fist-sized objects from it. "Smoke grenades."
She primed them and tossed one after another into the room.
The
smoke grenades hissed and discharged their contents into the level,
filling the area with smoke.
"Pink!?"
George blurted out the color of the smoke, just before the turrets
started shooting wildly.
"Any
other bright ideas?" Mabel raised her voice at George above the
din of gunfire, bullets whizzing and impacts.
"I
don't understand," George said back in an equally strained
voice.
"It's
because the turrets are tracking where the beam breaks," Tricia
told him.
"What?"
George asked for an explanation.
"It's
the same system used by the turret on our transport," Mabel
explained. She tapped the laser pointer on her sniper rifle. "I
aim this at the target and where the laser hits, that's where the
turret aims."
"The
smoke just made the laser break all over the place," Tricia
added.
George
had guessed wrongly the purpose of the black walls. It was to absorb
the laser, preventing the light from scattering. When the beam was
broken by an intruder, the turrets would 'see' the break and fire.
"So
what do we do now?" George asked.
"That's
what we're supposed to ask you," Mabel snapped back.
"Squirt,
think of something," Iona encouraged.
George
concentrated in thought. Okay, he knew how the turrets worked. He
knew what they could do. But how was he to get his party across the
level unharmed? Was there a way to evade detection? Or to resist the
bullets? Or to prevent the turrets from firing?
It was
difficult to think with all the noise the turrets were making.
Especially since he was a bit apprehensive of somehow getting shot.
And it was definitely difficult to think with Iona pulling his arm
and asking him to hurry up. That girl had the strength to toss him
into the pink-cloud chaos out there. Or pull off an arm.
Come on,
there had to be some way.
Then
George noticed that it was not as noisy as before. No bullets were
flying. Instead, there was a steady sound of clicks coming from the
other side of the room.
"I
think the turrets are out of bullets," Tricia said.
"Way
to go, Squirt!" Mabel happily gave him an approving backhanded
pat on his shoulder.
Tricia
rose up. "We'd better disable them permanently," she
decided as she advanced on the turrets.
Iona
followed after the armored Vixen into the thinning smoke. There were
sounds of hard metal being hammered by something pointed and sliced
by something sharp.
After a
while, the noise stopped. "All clear," Tricia announced.
The
smoke had dissipated enough for George to see the rest of the level.
There were twelve turrets, all smashed or sliced. Bullet holes
riddled the walls and the floor. There were a few too on the ceiling.
A passage between two of the turrets at the back was the exit.
Mabel
moseyed across the level. "Man, if Laura were here, she'd insist
on picking through the turrets for anything useful."
"Yes,"
Iona agreed, "And we'd have to wait for her."
"She's
a maniac when it comes to machines," Mabel added.
"Well,
she's not here," Tricia pointed out, "Let's get going."
She stepped towards the passage.
George
hurried after the Vixens. He wanted to be out of the room quick.
There were still laser pointers and being painted by them made him
nervous, even if there were no working turrets.
The
passage was short and it led to stairs that went up. On the next
level was a brick wall with a solid metal door on it. George guessed
that it was the highest level. Presumably, the most valuable treasure
was behind the door.
Iona
tried pushing the door. "Locked," she said.
"Of
course, it is." Mabel pointed at the keypad next to the door and
turned to George. "Okay, Squirt, get to work!"
George
sighed and examined the keypad. Being ordered around reminded him of
home. Papa had always ordered him around in the workshop, assigning
him various tasks. And Mama had always asked him to do things at
home, assigning him various chores. It was something he had hoped to
get away from when he ventured out into the wasteland. Sigh.
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