against one Imperial Trooper who might or might not be able to use his legs. It seemed fair to Bill.
Sid or Sam called out, “Stu! Sheldon!” Two more goons came in. They looked just like the first two. One of the four called out, “Sherman! Steve!” And then there were six.
Could they be clones? Bill had worked with clones before, and hadn't much liked the experience, but he looked carefully at the six men standing around his bed and realized that they weren't quite identical. Someone had picked them very carefully, but there were little differences like the size of the nose and the bushiness of the eyebrows, Bill wondered if they'd really been picked, or maybe put together, sort of like himself. But he didn't get the chance to ask.
“OK, Brevet Lance Corporal Bill, you're coming with us. No questions.” Even if they weren't identical, the six men were so much alike that it didn't matter which of them had spoken, and Bill had no idea in any case. It hardly mattered, since these had to be the men from the interrogation and torture division. And even if Bill could handle two of them easily, and four with difficulty, taking on all six was a surer death than going with them.
Unless —
Bill swung his legs over, out of the bed and toward the floor — or toward two of the Eyerackians. As his right foot came close to the nearest one, he activated the Poison Knife Blade.
A condom popped out of its slot and skimmed across the room. The twins, startled, watched its flight.
While they were distracted, Bill activated the built-in laser in his Swiss Army Foot and swung it around the room. The end of the tape measure swept out and poked a couple of the twins, forcing them to back off or risk a nasty cut.
Bill leaped to his feet and swung out with his fists, to take out two of the twins in one stroke.
Unfortunately, while the treatments had restored his legs to their usual strength and muscle tone, they had also made them very, very tired. Bill collapsed in a heap on the floor.
One of the twins collected the condom and put it back in the foot. “You won't be needing this just now,” he said. Another reeled the tape measure back into its slot. A third went into the corridor and returned (Bill thought it was the same one, but it could have been yet another one of them) with a wheelchair.
It took four of them three tries to get Bill off the floor and arranged neatly, if not comfortably, in the wheelchair. And at last the entire group formed up around him; one in front, one behind, pushing, and two on each side.
As they passed through the door and into the corridor Bill saw that there was a small crowd gathered, doctors and orderlies and patients and Bill's roommate and even several nurses. When Bill and his escorts emerged, the hallway erupted into applause.
Bill cowered into the wheelchair.
The goons stopped and struck poses, basking in the admiration of their comrades, accepting the glory for (as Bill saw it) subjugating a fearsome and dangerous foe. After a minute or so of heroic basking, one of the twins leaned down to Bill. “You don't want to overdo the aloof thing. The crowd loves to get an acknowledgement from their celebrities.”
Bill looked around at the crowd. They weren't screaming for his blood after all. “This is for ... me?”
“Of course. Give them a little wave and we can get going.”
Cautiously, limply, Bill waved one hand.
The noise in the corridor doubled. One doctor fainted and had to be carried away.
Bill blew a kiss.
The noise doubled again. Dr. Presume and the impressive nurse came up and presented a bouquet of roses to Bill.
“I'd like to thank all the little people who made this possible,” Bill began.
A twin leaned down. “No speeches. We've got our orders, and we're on a schedule.”
Bill waved once more to his fans, and he and his escort sailed down the corridor to a waiting elevator.
“What now?”
“Weren't you briefed?” The speaking twin shook his head
Sid or Sam called out, “Stu! Sheldon!” Two more goons came in. They looked just like the first two. One of the four called out, “Sherman! Steve!” And then there were six.
Could they be clones? Bill had worked with clones before, and hadn't much liked the experience, but he looked carefully at the six men standing around his bed and realized that they weren't quite identical. Someone had picked them very carefully, but there were little differences like the size of the nose and the bushiness of the eyebrows, Bill wondered if they'd really been picked, or maybe put together, sort of like himself. But he didn't get the chance to ask.
“OK, Brevet Lance Corporal Bill, you're coming with us. No questions.” Even if they weren't identical, the six men were so much alike that it didn't matter which of them had spoken, and Bill had no idea in any case. It hardly mattered, since these had to be the men from the interrogation and torture division. And even if Bill could handle two of them easily, and four with difficulty, taking on all six was a surer death than going with them.
Unless —
Bill swung his legs over, out of the bed and toward the floor — or toward two of the Eyerackians. As his right foot came close to the nearest one, he activated the Poison Knife Blade.
A condom popped out of its slot and skimmed across the room. The twins, startled, watched its flight.
While they were distracted, Bill activated the built-in laser in his Swiss Army Foot and swung it around the room. The end of the tape measure swept out and poked a couple of the twins, forcing them to back off or risk a nasty cut.
Bill leaped to his feet and swung out with his fists, to take out two of the twins in one stroke.
Unfortunately, while the treatments had restored his legs to their usual strength and muscle tone, they had also made them very, very tired. Bill collapsed in a heap on the floor.
One of the twins collected the condom and put it back in the foot. “You won't be needing this just now,” he said. Another reeled the tape measure back into its slot. A third went into the corridor and returned (Bill thought it was the same one, but it could have been yet another one of them) with a wheelchair.
It took four of them three tries to get Bill off the floor and arranged neatly, if not comfortably, in the wheelchair. And at last the entire group formed up around him; one in front, one behind, pushing, and two on each side.
As they passed through the door and into the corridor Bill saw that there was a small crowd gathered, doctors and orderlies and patients and Bill's roommate and even several nurses. When Bill and his escorts emerged, the hallway erupted into applause.
Bill cowered into the wheelchair.
The goons stopped and struck poses, basking in the admiration of their comrades, accepting the glory for (as Bill saw it) subjugating a fearsome and dangerous foe. After a minute or so of heroic basking, one of the twins leaned down to Bill. “You don't want to overdo the aloof thing. The crowd loves to get an acknowledgement from their celebrities.”
Bill looked around at the crowd. They weren't screaming for his blood after all. “This is for ... me?”
“Of course. Give them a little wave and we can get going.”
Cautiously, limply, Bill waved one hand.
The noise in the corridor doubled. One doctor fainted and had to be carried away.
Bill blew a kiss.
The noise doubled again. Dr. Presume and the impressive nurse came up and presented a bouquet of roses to Bill.
“I'd like to thank all the little people who made this possible,” Bill began.
A twin leaned down. “No speeches. We've got our orders, and we're on a schedule.”
Bill waved once more to his fans, and he and his escort sailed down the corridor to a waiting elevator.
“What now?”
“Weren't you briefed?” The speaking twin shook his head
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