On the warehouse floor, the three clones were advancing cautiously along an aisle to one side of the vast area when Hugo spotted them. He drew the other two to one side, pointing at six black clad men who were coming down the stairs. At the bottom, the six paused briefly to talk, heads close together, and then split into couples, each pair taking a different route into the warehouse.
‘They look as though they mean business,’ said Alain.
‘But they don’t seem to be armed,’ whispered Brontë.
‘Lucky we are, then,’ grinned Hugo, brandishing his tins.
‘They must be assuming the obedience protocol will give them the upper hand.’
‘Just as well Xavier spliced in that other line of code last night. The override will make us the winners in any kind of a physical confrontation. We need to split up - each of us take one pair, disable them and meet at the top of the stairs.’ Alain helped himself to two more weighty cans from a shelf and turned up the left hand aisle, flexing his shoulders.
Hugo passed Brontē a shrink-wrapped parcel and took one for himself.
‘Washing line,’ he said. ‘Dual purpose - cosh or restraint. See you in a minute.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To turn out the lights. We have night vision, I suspect they don’t.’
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