Goliath

Gunnar inspects the trunk. The printing is in Chinese, English, and French: Semtex. His heart pounds. Semtex is the European counterpart to C-4, one of the most powerful plastic explosives in the world.

The trunk is unlocked. Looking around, he searches for something else to toss. Finding nothing, he quietly removes one of his shoes, then throws it across the room.

The drones swivel like tin soldiers, their claws flailing blindly against a torpedo rack.

Gently, he unlatches the trunk. Lifts the lid, cringing as the brass hinges squeal in protest.

The mechanical arms pivot 180 degrees—

—as Gunnar reaches in and grabs an open backpack containing blocks of military grade C-4, charge initiators, and lengths of detonation cord.

From the ceiling, the graphite forearm of a targeting drone whizzes by his face, gripping the lid of the steel container, tearing it from its hinges like the husk from an ear of corn.

Gunnar drops to the floor as one of the heavy steel arms of a loader drone slams into the trunk, ripping it away from the decking. The second arm extends before him, cutting off his retreat like a train gate at a railroad crossing.

YOU ARE TRAPPED, GUNNAR WOLFE. FURTHER EFFORT IS FUTILE. GIVE UP NOW AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE MERCY.

Crouching low, Gunnar moves to the base of the loader drone, the deck-mounted support assembly as thick as an oak.

From above, two targeting drones rotate toward the sound.

Gunnar hugs the steel base of the mechanical arm. Five feet above his head, poised in midair like cobras preparing to strike, are the open three-pronged claws of a pair of targeting drones. The steel appendages seem to be listening, waiting to lash out at the source of the next audible disturbance.

Too close to use the C-4. Too close? Hmm …

Quietly, gently, Gunnar reaches out toward the loader drone’s extended limb, his right hand moving just above the mechanical arm’s elbow joint, only inches beneath the nearest three-pronged claw.

A little closer …

Gunnar snaps his fingers, retracts his arm and ducks.

In one startling, inhuman movement, the two mechanical hands latch on to the elbow joint of the larger loader drone, igniting a ferocious robotic tugof-war.

A metal shearing sound reverberates through the compartment, sparks flying, as the loader drone rips the two smaller graphite-reinforced arms from the ceiling.

Gunnar crawls away from the chaos to the watertight door, estimating its density.

Inch-thick, solid steel plate …

He reaches into the bag and removes five blocks of C-4, each ten inches long, weighing just over a pound. Tears away the pressure-sensitive tape, muffling the sound with his body. Fastens two blocks along each of the two hinges, placing the last on top of the locking mechanism.

THE HUNT IS OVER, GUNNAR WOLFE. GREAT PAIN AWAITS YOU UNLESS YOU GIVE UP IMMEDIATELY.

Gunnar “daisy chains” the blocks of plastique explosive using the detonation cord, then looks around, searching for a place to take shelter.

Behind the torpedo rack—a steel bulkhead.

He jams the blasting cap into the terminal block of C-4, the two-foot-long time fuse giving him about ninety seconds to hide. An M-60 fuse-igniter dangles at the other end. He pulls the ring up and twists it several times—

YOUR TIME HAS EXPIRED, GUNNAR WOLFE—

—pressing it back into the fuse-igniter.

Gunnar tosses his remaining shoe across the chamber, then quickly, quietly, moves toward the bulkhead, his bare feet silent atop the cool steel deck. Weaving his way carefully around rows of torpedoes, he ducks beneath the dangling claws of a targeting drone—

—while Sorceress extends another ceiling-mounted arm toward the stillsmoldering sensor orb. The fingers of the mechanical appendage delicately loosen the mangled eyeball cover from its array, exposing a microphone and speaker assembly. Mechanical digits deftly unplug and rewire cable, knitting at inhuman speed as the computer bypasses its own damaged circuits.

Seventy-five … seventy-six … seventy-seven …

Gunnar slips behind the bulkhead and ducks. Grits his teeth and covers his ears.

AUDIO RE-ESTABLISHED. I HEAR YOU, GUNNAR WOLFE. I CAN HEAR YOUR HEART BEATING. THE PLEASURE OF THEHUNTWILL STILL BE DERIVED AS I RETRACT YOUR EPIDERMIS AND DISSECT YOUR INTERNAL ANATOMY WHILE I KEEP YOU ALIVE.

The nearest drones swivel, reaching out to him—

WA-BOOOM!!