Free Ambush by Sigmund Brouwer Page B

more?”
    â€œPlease don’t shoot him again,” I heard Ashley beg above the pain that seemed to roar in my ears. “Project 3 is in the top drawer of your desk.”
    I lifted my head as if it had been jerked by a puppet string. I stared at her in shock that she’d told him. The last thing I’d done with the ant-bot before waking in my own body was scurry from the computer to the edge of the desk and drop in that drawer. Was she betraying me again?
    â€œYou’re lying to me,” Dr. Jordan told her.
    â€œNo, I’m not. Your own office is the last place in the world you’d look.”
    Slowly Dr. Jordan moved to his desk. He opened the drawer and bent over to see better. A second later he plucked something out and balanced it on his palm. He looked at it against the light. “It really is the ant-bot,” he said, grinning. “Clever. Very clever. Too bad you didn’t remain one of us.”
    â€œYou’ve got what you want,” Ashley said. “At least let us join his mom and dad now.”
    Dr. Jordan’s grin widened. “Hardly. It’s time for Tyce’s execution. And if they don’t release the prisoners on Earth, a half hour later you’ll follow. After all, why waste good scientists and techies when I can get rid of the two who have made my life the most miserable over the past week?”
    â€œNo!” Ashley shouted. “I told you where to find what you wanted. You have to—” She stopped shouting as Dr. Jordan pointed the neuron gun at her.
    â€œThat’s better. Noise gives me such a headache.” Before facing the computer and satellite feed, he spoke to me one more time. “Time to make you a television star. It will be a performance to die for.”

CHAPTER 21
    Normally the person contacting Earth sat in a chair in front of the satellite feed, a simple black box with a small video lens.
    But Dr. Jordan shoved the chair aside, returned for me, and pushed my wheelchair forward until I was a couple of feet away, staring directly into the eye of the camera.
    â€œThis will be so simple,” he said. “You’re a sitting duck. Perfect height to catch all the expressions on your face.”
    â€œI feel sorry for you,” I said.
    It caught him off guard. “ You feel sorry for me ?”
    â€œYou think you’re winning, but in the end you’re going to die too. Because no one lives forever. When it’s your turn, you’ll have reason to be afraid of dying.”
    During the oxygen crisis, I’d finally been able to believe the most important thing a person can learn. Dying doesn’t mean the end, so dying isn’t the worst thing that can happen to a person. Not when God is waiting.
    He sneered. “Spare me that faith nonsense. No one has power over me. I’ll do what I want for as long as I want. And that will last for years and years after you’ve turned to dust.”
    Dr. Jordan turned his back on me. He had no reason to worry that I could do anything. Not from my wheelchair. Not unless he fell into my lap.
    I had to twist my head to watch him step over to his computer. The satellite feed ran through a program on the computer. If the computer started properly, I truly was dead. I knew I’d need God’s help through the last moments of neuron gun torture.
    But if the computer wouldn’t operate …
    He snapped on the power button. I was hoping for a sizzle or pop, hoping the paper clip I’d struggled to lay across the power relay inside the computer box would short-circuit the system.
    And I got far more than I hoped for.
    Instead of a sizzle or pop, the entire computer screen exploded, sending a surge of blue light toward Dr. Jordan’s stomach!
    I think it was more the surprise than the electrical surge that threw him back.
    He staggered toward me with a small yelp. He bumped into my wheelchair and began to fall.
    Right across my lap!
    What I