"Shaddup!" another voice hissed.
There was a long moment of silence, then a muffled command—followed an instant later by a thunderous crash, a shout—cut off abruptly by a ponderous blam! followed instantly by a roar like a burst dam, mingled with yells, thumps, crashes. A foamy wash of water surged along the cross corridor, followed a moment later by a man sliding on his back, then another, two more, the log, fragments of a door, more men.
In the uproar, Retief moved along to the elevator, felt over the control panel, located a small knurled button. He turned it. The panel came away. He fumbled cautiously, found a toggle switch, flipped it. A light sprang up in the car. Instantly Retief flipped the light switch; the glow faded. He waited. No alarm. Men were picking themselves up, shouting.
"... them broads dropped a hundred-gallon bag of water ..." Someone complained.
"... up there fast, men. We got the door okay!"
Feet thumped. Yells sounded.
"No good, Wes! They got a safe or something in the way!"
Retief silently closed the lift door, pressed the button. With a sigh, the car slid upward, came to a gentle stop. He eased the door open, looked out into a dim-lit entrance hall. Footsteps sounded beyond a door. He waited; the clack of high heels crossing a floor. Retief stepped out of the car, went to the door, glanced into a spacious lounge with rich furniture, deep rugs, paintings, a sweep of glass, and in an alcove at the far side, a bar. Retief crossed the room, poured a stiff drink into a paper-thin glass and drained it.
The high-heeled steps were coming back now. A door opened. Two leggy young women in shorts, with red-gold hair bound back by ribbons—one green, one blue—stepped into the room. One girl held a coil of insulated wire; the other, a heavy-looking gray-enameled box eight inches on a side.
"Now, see if you can tinker that generator to get a little more juice, Lyn," the girl with the wire said. "I'll start stringing...."