its final howl faded into the night, a dozen spine leopards boiled up into view from beneath the bank and charged.
Lorne dived to his right, flicking target locks on the three nearest predators as he sailed through the air. He landed hard on his side, his vision jolting with the impact as he triggered his antiarmor laser. His body swiveled around as his nanocomputer took control of his servos, pivoting him around his shoulder and swinging his left leg up to fire a triple blast into the spine leopards he’d targeted. He blinked to clear his vision, only to spot the rippling wakes in the tall grass that meant two more of them were headed toward him.
There was no time for even his nanocomputer to get his leg into position for these two. Rolling over onto his back, he pointed his right-hand little finger at the first of the predators and triggered his arcthrower. The high-voltage current snapped through the grass, riding the ionized path that his fingertip laser had burned through the air a microsecond earlier, and the spine leopard jerked and collapsed. There was a multiple flash of blue laser fire from somewhere to his left, and the second predator skidded to a halt in the brush.
And with that, the world was suddenly quiet.
Lorne frowned, running a quick mental count. That couldn’t possibly be it—he and de Portola couldn’t have accounted for more than half the predators he’d seen charging them. And with a group this big there was usually a second wave, as well.
“You chirpies always make such a big a deal about these things?” Khahar asked into the silence.
Frowning, Lorne sat up. The two Marines were just standing there, more or less where they’d been when the attack began, their faces wreathed in self-satisfied smirks.
Scattered on the ground around them were eight dead spine leopards.
“They’re getting themselves all dirty, too,” Chimm added. “Not very professional, are they?”
“Hey, we can’t all be Dominion Marines,” Khahar chided his partner. “Give them some slack.”
“Sure thing,” Chimm said. “But they promised to show us some action.” He raised his eyebrows blandly at Lorne. “That wasn’t it, was it?”
For a couple of heartbeats Lorne was seriously tempted to flatten both men with a blast from his sonic. But common sense kicked in, reminding him that it wouldn’t gain him anything except a brief moment of childish satisfaction.
On the other hand, if he kept his temper he might be able to learn something. Getting slowly to his feet, he adjusted his opticals’ infrared settings and gave the two Marines a good, hard look.
Mostly of what he saw was the standard human infrared pattern, topped off with the condescending cheerfulness he’d already noted. But there were two interesting anomalies. The first was the thick rank epaulets, which had an strong layer of heat everywhere except along the inside edges close to the Marines’ necks. Parrot guns, almost certainly. The second anomaly was a close-knit grid of slightly higher warmth throughout their uniforms, especially along the front of their torsos and down their thighs to their knees.
“Nicely done,” de Portola said with a grunt as he hopped back up and brushed at his back and butt where he’d been rolling around on the ground. “I never even saw you draw.”
Lorne looked down at the Marines’ belted sidearms. Neither of the guns had so much as a hint of infrared to them.
The sidearms hadn’t been fired. They’d probably not even been drawn. Pure camouflage, put there to distract a potential enemy form their real weaponry.
“You weren’t supposed to see us,” Chimm said loftily. “Like the sergeant said, not everyone can be Dominion Marines.”
“I’m sure we backwater amateurs have a lot to learn,” de Portola said with far less sarcasm than Lorne would have felt justified in using. “Spine leopards aren’t easy to kill, either. Those things must pack a real punch.”
“And have some nice
Lorne dived to his right, flicking target locks on the three nearest predators as he sailed through the air. He landed hard on his side, his vision jolting with the impact as he triggered his antiarmor laser. His body swiveled around as his nanocomputer took control of his servos, pivoting him around his shoulder and swinging his left leg up to fire a triple blast into the spine leopards he’d targeted. He blinked to clear his vision, only to spot the rippling wakes in the tall grass that meant two more of them were headed toward him.
There was no time for even his nanocomputer to get his leg into position for these two. Rolling over onto his back, he pointed his right-hand little finger at the first of the predators and triggered his arcthrower. The high-voltage current snapped through the grass, riding the ionized path that his fingertip laser had burned through the air a microsecond earlier, and the spine leopard jerked and collapsed. There was a multiple flash of blue laser fire from somewhere to his left, and the second predator skidded to a halt in the brush.
And with that, the world was suddenly quiet.
Lorne frowned, running a quick mental count. That couldn’t possibly be it—he and de Portola couldn’t have accounted for more than half the predators he’d seen charging them. And with a group this big there was usually a second wave, as well.
“You chirpies always make such a big a deal about these things?” Khahar asked into the silence.
Frowning, Lorne sat up. The two Marines were just standing there, more or less where they’d been when the attack began, their faces wreathed in self-satisfied smirks.
Scattered on the ground around them were eight dead spine leopards.
“They’re getting themselves all dirty, too,” Chimm added. “Not very professional, are they?”
“Hey, we can’t all be Dominion Marines,” Khahar chided his partner. “Give them some slack.”
“Sure thing,” Chimm said. “But they promised to show us some action.” He raised his eyebrows blandly at Lorne. “That wasn’t it, was it?”
For a couple of heartbeats Lorne was seriously tempted to flatten both men with a blast from his sonic. But common sense kicked in, reminding him that it wouldn’t gain him anything except a brief moment of childish satisfaction.
On the other hand, if he kept his temper he might be able to learn something. Getting slowly to his feet, he adjusted his opticals’ infrared settings and gave the two Marines a good, hard look.
Mostly of what he saw was the standard human infrared pattern, topped off with the condescending cheerfulness he’d already noted. But there were two interesting anomalies. The first was the thick rank epaulets, which had an strong layer of heat everywhere except along the inside edges close to the Marines’ necks. Parrot guns, almost certainly. The second anomaly was a close-knit grid of slightly higher warmth throughout their uniforms, especially along the front of their torsos and down their thighs to their knees.
“Nicely done,” de Portola said with a grunt as he hopped back up and brushed at his back and butt where he’d been rolling around on the ground. “I never even saw you draw.”
Lorne looked down at the Marines’ belted sidearms. Neither of the guns had so much as a hint of infrared to them.
The sidearms hadn’t been fired. They’d probably not even been drawn. Pure camouflage, put there to distract a potential enemy form their real weaponry.
“You weren’t supposed to see us,” Chimm said loftily. “Like the sergeant said, not everyone can be Dominion Marines.”
“I’m sure we backwater amateurs have a lot to learn,” de Portola said with far less sarcasm than Lorne would have felt justified in using. “Spine leopards aren’t easy to kill, either. Those things must pack a real punch.”
“And have some nice
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