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was out of the question; he couldn't reach the grenade and throw it out of range in time. All he could do
was avoid the death himself. And keep the box, which had to be Dagger's target, out of the hands of the
sniper turned traitor.
But to do everything that he had to do, it would be necessary to use tal hormones. Which was
another problem.
Tirdal summoned the tal, letting the natural anger at the sniper's betrayal slither a tiny tendril past
hard-held defenses. The mere touch of anger triggered the tal gland, dumping a modicum of hormone
into the Darhel's system and slowing his subjective time and the world around him as he reached for the
box.
The captain was slowly looking at him in consternation but Tirdal didn't pay any attention; the
captain, who was a decent person, really, was dead and didn't know it. Tirdal's knife-blade hand struck
the officer's wrist, breaking it and releasing the hold on the box.
As soon as he had the box secured Tirdal turned and dove over the boulder behind him. The whole
world seemed to slow as he could see both Shiva's and Gun Doll's looks of horror at the sight of the
grenade out of the corners of his eyes. His vision split, one eye tracking on potential threats to the right
as the other looked to the left where the grenade was coming in. Humans couldn't do that, he
remembered. It might be useful knowledge later.
He had the box, his punch gun and his combat harness with its small patrol pack. What he didn't
have was his rucksack. But as soon as he had the bulk of the granite between him and the grenade he
intended to teach the sniper a few things about Darhel.
One of which was that they really hated traitors. At least Bane Sidhe Darhel did.
He leapt up and back, and one hand struck the top of the boulder to correct his course with a
twist. Fingers tougher than granite left small scars as they drove him forward and down into the tangled
undergrowth. The landing would receive no praise from his master, and he felt one shoulder give. But
then he was flat on the ground, if somewhat battered, when the neural grenade gave its snarl.
Breathing slowly and deeply to prevent lintatai, Tirdal spun around on his belly and, carefully
controlling his tal reaction, fired back along the line towards the spot the sniper had thrown from.
Carefully. He was just shooting boulders and dirt. Not a person. If the person happened to be in the
way that would be a pure accident. But not a kill. Never a kill.
* * *
Ferret was turning his head as Thor spoke, and realized something was wrong. He didn't know
what that thing flying in from behind the boulder was at first, but he knew it was bad.
Luckily, he had been setting up his position behind a low finger of rock, to at least have the illusion
of privacy. He ducked flat and hoped he'd be covered from whatever stupid stunt Dagger was pulling.
He didn't care if he got laughed at for putting his face in the dirt. If this was a joke, it was a bad one.
He felt the angry lash of the grenade, and knew he was wounded. At first, that's all it was, an
agonizing rip through his body, bright flashes in his eyes. But he was alive. He concentrated on that. His
awareness returned, with his feet kicking convulsively. The pain resolved as a searing, cramping burn
from his mid-calves down. He'd been mostly covered from the rays of the blast, but his feet had
protruded beyond the rock and been exposed, and it hurt, oh shit it hurt.
Now he had to move. That couldn't have been by accident, and Dagger would be coming back to
kill him. He also noticed as he scanned the area that the bodies in front of him didn't include Tirdal. Was
that damned Darhel in on this? Not good. Whatever was happening was not good. He scrabbled for a
gap between the rocks and tried to squirm through, but got stuck. It would be easy to push himself
through with his feet, except his feet were not working, except that the nerves were working and they
fucking hurt. There was firing behind him and that was a bad sign.
By sheer force that strained a tricep into a sting that paled compared to his feet, he wiggled out. He
held still as he saw Tirdal go jogging past below, headed downstream with the artifact.
Oh, son of a bitch, he thought. Had it all been a setup to get that artifact? Or had Tirdal and
Dagger cut a deal this evening? "Captain?" he whispered into his commo, craving a reassuring voice.
There was no reply. He knew they were dead, but he had to check. Scrolling through channels, he tried,
"Sarge? Doll? Thor? Gorilla?" with no responses. Panic set in as he realized he was in command now,
with two traitors, and it didn't matter a damn, because he was going to be killed. And even if he wasn't
killed, the neural damage to his ankles and feet meant he might get gangrene and die shortly anyway. He
couldn't very well amputate, and he had no way of repairing nerves in the field. Was gangrene possible?
He didn't know. Not that it mattered; he was lame.
He scrabbled higher up the slope, keeping low, keeping hidden. This part he could do on hands
and knees for now, though he'd have to watch where his dangling feet went or he'd leave a clear sign of
his passing. He didn't just need to worry about Blobs now, this was Dagger who would be stalking him. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]