The burnt-out unit had cooled, but the stench of overheated oil and melted insulation still hung in the air trapped in the blue haze of smoke.
"Can any of the rest be assembled in the meantime, Doug? I'll help...."
He busied himself with the blackened junk. "It could, but it's not worth the chance. It's got to be so damn perfect. I've got to know exactly what I'm going to be able to get out of the pack. Got to have at least 1,000 Volts—or should I say Kemps—anyway. Damn the DC...."
He hadn't found out about the utility power in the house until he'd blown up the transformer. It was a little thing, direct current rather than alternating current, but it meant time, and there wasn't much time. He knew there'd be no chance of his getting through the games undetected, even if he found a way somehow to stomach such a horror.
There was a gentle chiming sound.
"The front door, Doug!"
"Guess I really threw a scare into 'em! You go up first, I'll douse the lights."
There were two of them, and their uniforms were white. Their helicopter idled on the front lawn. They saluted.
"Quadrate Blair, if you'll accompany us please."