far.
"Thirty seconds." The tech calling time looked into his viewer. "Cats' blood, Rimo, the posterior illuminator is in the frame. Get over there and move it, stat!"
The named tech scurried to move the offending light. Dirisha watched him circle behind the President, her spets-dod held ready to shoot if the man moved a hair toward Sen. Instead, the tech got one foot tangled in the base of the illuminator as he tried to move the light, and fell. He almost went headlong, but managed to save himself from falling by slamming into the emergency exit. Ouch. The tech shoved away from the door.
"Come on, Rimo! We're at ten seconds!"
Rimo grinned with embarrassment and tugged at the illuminator.
"Okay, okay, now move out of the frame!"
Rimo scampered back behind the holoproj camera.
Dirisha looked at the tech directing.
"Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one—go!"
President Sen smiled, and as he did, one of the technicians behind the camera suddenly pulled a strip of metal away from the camera's base and screamed. "Death to dictators!" Then the woman lunged forward.
Before the would-be assassin had moved half a meter, Dirisha shot her, the cough of her spetsdod loud in the room. What a stupid attack, she never had a chance, why—?
The double cough of a second set of spetsdods reached Dirisha even as she spun to face the movement she saw peripherally. A gray figure, coming from the emergency exit! President Sen slapped at his cheek where he'd been hit.
Before she could bring her spetsdods around to return the fire, Dirisha felt the double sting of two more spetsdod slugs stitch her belly. Damn! She couldn't even take one of them with her, for the gray figure danced back into the exit before she fired! Her darts hissed through the open doorway harmlessly.
Damn, damn, damn! She and Sen were dead—!
Dirisha straightened from her crouch. President Sen lifted himself off the desk. The suicidal tech with the metal strip stood and brushed at her slightly-tangled hair.
The gray figure stepped back into the room. Pen.
"I just killed your charge," Pen said, "And you along with him. How did I do it?"
Dirisha sighed. She thought back over the past few minutes. The clumsy, stumbling techs. The one-way lock.
"Sen's palm print, on the lock."
The tech called Rimo stepped forward and supinated his right hand. He peeled a thin sheet of plastic away from his right palm and held it up. Dirisha could see the whorls and lines on the material. She shook her head.
"You had clues," Pen said.
Dirisha nodded, feeling disgusted. "Sen's habit of pushing against his desk top."
"What else?"
"The clumsy techs. That gear is too expensive to let a hyperspaz play with it. It was a set-up for the lock fall."
"What else?"
"The diversionary attack. There was no way it could have succeeded—even Sen could have protected himself against that."
Pen nodded. "Cut it."
The walls of the "President's office" began to fade, as holoprojic images created by a magnetic-viral computer dimmed and allowed reality to seep back into the room. Dirisha and the others—all students or instructors—found themselves standing in the middle of a large domed structure, empty save for themselves. Dirisha knew that the other matador students would either be watching her test live, or would see the recording of it later. She sure had screwed it up.
Pen said, "Hindsight is wonderful, but it comes too late. Fortunately, this scenario was only a game. Learn from what you have seen here—no one should make the same mistake Dirisha did. Take nothing for granted." Pen paused. "I'd like to see the assassin."
A door opened and a figure entered the dome.
Dirisha smiled at the approaching woman, and shook her head ruefully. "I should have known," she said.
Geneva didn't smile. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Dirisha said. "It's the best thing you could have done for me. It might save my life, someday."
"I know. That's why I did it."
Pen spoke to an unseen audience. "If you
"Thirty seconds." The tech calling time looked into his viewer. "Cats' blood, Rimo, the posterior illuminator is in the frame. Get over there and move it, stat!"
The named tech scurried to move the offending light. Dirisha watched him circle behind the President, her spets-dod held ready to shoot if the man moved a hair toward Sen. Instead, the tech got one foot tangled in the base of the illuminator as he tried to move the light, and fell. He almost went headlong, but managed to save himself from falling by slamming into the emergency exit. Ouch. The tech shoved away from the door.
"Come on, Rimo! We're at ten seconds!"
Rimo grinned with embarrassment and tugged at the illuminator.
"Okay, okay, now move out of the frame!"
Rimo scampered back behind the holoproj camera.
Dirisha looked at the tech directing.
"Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one—go!"
President Sen smiled, and as he did, one of the technicians behind the camera suddenly pulled a strip of metal away from the camera's base and screamed. "Death to dictators!" Then the woman lunged forward.
Before the would-be assassin had moved half a meter, Dirisha shot her, the cough of her spetsdod loud in the room. What a stupid attack, she never had a chance, why—?
The double cough of a second set of spetsdods reached Dirisha even as she spun to face the movement she saw peripherally. A gray figure, coming from the emergency exit! President Sen slapped at his cheek where he'd been hit.
Before she could bring her spetsdods around to return the fire, Dirisha felt the double sting of two more spetsdod slugs stitch her belly. Damn! She couldn't even take one of them with her, for the gray figure danced back into the exit before she fired! Her darts hissed through the open doorway harmlessly.
Damn, damn, damn! She and Sen were dead—!
Dirisha straightened from her crouch. President Sen lifted himself off the desk. The suicidal tech with the metal strip stood and brushed at her slightly-tangled hair.
The gray figure stepped back into the room. Pen.
"I just killed your charge," Pen said, "And you along with him. How did I do it?"
Dirisha sighed. She thought back over the past few minutes. The clumsy, stumbling techs. The one-way lock.
"Sen's palm print, on the lock."
The tech called Rimo stepped forward and supinated his right hand. He peeled a thin sheet of plastic away from his right palm and held it up. Dirisha could see the whorls and lines on the material. She shook her head.
"You had clues," Pen said.
Dirisha nodded, feeling disgusted. "Sen's habit of pushing against his desk top."
"What else?"
"The clumsy techs. That gear is too expensive to let a hyperspaz play with it. It was a set-up for the lock fall."
"What else?"
"The diversionary attack. There was no way it could have succeeded—even Sen could have protected himself against that."
Pen nodded. "Cut it."
The walls of the "President's office" began to fade, as holoprojic images created by a magnetic-viral computer dimmed and allowed reality to seep back into the room. Dirisha and the others—all students or instructors—found themselves standing in the middle of a large domed structure, empty save for themselves. Dirisha knew that the other matador students would either be watching her test live, or would see the recording of it later. She sure had screwed it up.
Pen said, "Hindsight is wonderful, but it comes too late. Fortunately, this scenario was only a game. Learn from what you have seen here—no one should make the same mistake Dirisha did. Take nothing for granted." Pen paused. "I'd like to see the assassin."
A door opened and a figure entered the dome.
Dirisha smiled at the approaching woman, and shook her head ruefully. "I should have known," she said.
Geneva didn't smile. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Dirisha said. "It's the best thing you could have done for me. It might save my life, someday."
"I know. That's why I did it."
Pen spoke to an unseen audience. "If you
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