pounding in his head, then heard other thought-streams join it,
(WITH YOUR HANDS UP)
making a river. And then Ted's voice was there, not just joining the others but amping them up, turning what had been a river
(YOU WON'T BE HURT)
into an ocean. Without realizing it, Sheemie changed his prayer. Our Father and P'teck my pals became go south with your hands up, you won't be hurt. He didn't even stop this when the propane tanks behind the Damli House cafeteria blew up with a shattering roar."
FOURTEEN
Gangli Tristum (that's Doctor Gangli to you, say thankya) was in many ways the most feared man in Damli House. He was a cantoi who had-perversely-taken a taheen name instead of a human one, and he ran the infirmary on the third floor of the west wing with an iron fist. And on roller skates.
Things on the ward were fairly relaxed when Gangli was in his office doing paperwork, or off on his rounds (which usually meant visiting Breakers with the sniffles in their dorms), but when he came out, the whole place-nurses and orderlies as well as patients-fell respectfully (and nervously) silent. A newcomer might laugh the first time he saw the squat, darkcomplected, heavilyjowled man-thing gliding slowly down the center aisle between the beds, arms folded over the stethoscope which lay on his chest, the tails of his white coat wafting out behind him (one Breaker had once commented, "He looks like John Irving after a bad facelift"). Such a one who was caught laughing would never laugh again, however. Dr. Gangli had a sharp tongue, indeed, and no one made fun of his roller skates with impunity.
Now, instead of gliding on them, he went flying up and down the aisles, the steel wheels (for his skating gear far predated rollerblades) rumbling on the hardwood. "All the papers!" he shouted. "Do you hear me?... If I lose one file in this f**king mess, one gods-damned file, I'll have someone's eyes with my afternoon tea!"
The patients were already gone, of course; he'd had them out of their beds and down the stairs at the first bray of the smoke detector, at the first whiff of smoke. A number of orderlies-gutless wonders, and he knew who each of them was, oh yes, and a complete report would be made when the time came-had fled with the sickfolk, but five had stayed, including his personal assistant, Jack London. Gangli was proud of them, although one could not have told it from his hectoring voice as he skated up and down, up and down, in the thickening smoke.
"Get the papers, d'ye hear? You better, by all the gods that ever walked or crawled! You better!"
A red glare shot in through the window. Some sort of weapon, for it blew in the glass wall that separated his office from the ward and set his favorite easy-chair a-smolder.
Gangli ducked and skated under the laser beam, never slowing.
"Gan-a-damn!" cried one of the orderlies. He was a hume, extraordinarily ugly, his eyes bulging from his pale face. "What in the hell was th-"
"Never mind!" Gangli bawled. "Never mind what it was, you pissface clown! Get the papers! Get my motherfucking papers!"
From somewhere in front-the Mall?-came the hideous approaching clang-and-yowl of some rescue vehicle. "STAND CLEAR!" Gangli heard. "THIS IS FIRE-RESPONSE TEAM BRAVO!"
Gangli had never heard of such a thing as Fire-Response Team Bravo, but there was so much they didn't know about this place. Why, he could barely use a third of the equipment in his own surgical suite! Never mind, the thing that mattered right now-
Before he could finish his thought, the gas-pods behind the kitchen blew up. There was a tremendous roar-seemingly from directly beneath them-and Gangli Tristum was thrown into the air, the metal wheels on his roller skates spinning.
The others were thrown as well, and suddenly the smoky air was full of flying papers. Looking at them, knowing that the papers would burn and he would be lucky not to burn with them, a clear thought came to Dr. Gangli: the end had come early.
FIFTEEN
Roland heard the telepathic command
(GO SOUTH WITH YOUR HANDS UP. YOU WON'T BE
begin to beat in his mind. It was time. He nodded at Jake and the Orizas flew. Their eerie whistling wasn't loud in the general cacophony, yet one of the guards must have heard something coming, because he was beginning to pivot when the plate's sharpened edge took his head off and tumbled it backward into the compound, the eyelashes fluttering in bewildered surprise. The headless body took two steps and then collapsed with its arms over the rail, blood pouring from the neck in a gaudy stream. The other guard was already down.
Eddie rolled effortlessly beneath the soo LINE boxcar and bounced to his feet on the compound side. Two more automated fire engines had come bolting out of the station hitherto hidden by the hardware store facade. They were wheelless, seeming to run on cushions of compressed air. Somewhere toward the north end of the campus (for so Eddie's mind persisted in identifying the Devar-Toi), something exploded. Good.