toward the medex—
The medex was slow; he tried to hit Sleel on the floor, but it was the matador's foot that found the man's belly, knocking him backward and into the wall.
Sleel came up, twisting, and jumped to his right as far as he could. The mue sailed past, swiped at him with the stik, but missed him by a meter. Sleel turned. Stupid mistake had almost got him killed. He was glad nobody was around to see it.
As the medex tried to get his wind back, Sleel slid in and thrust his good elbow into the man's throat, crushing his windpipe. The medex wasn't going to be breathing through that throat anymore unless somebody cut him a new airhole. The man gagged and fell, both hands clutching his ruined larynx.
The mue made his run. Sleel twirled, ducked, and came up. The broken bone in his left arm grated and the throw was off, but the mue did a lazy half flip and slammed into the wall, head down. He slid, hit on top of his head, and peeled back from the wall. He was tough; he shook it off and came up, but too late.
Sleel had snatched up the medex's weapon and now he moved in with the stik cocked by his right ear.
He snapped his arm down, hard, and hit the mue squarely on top of the head.
The stik broke. So did the mue's skull.
Five full seconds passed while Sleel waited to see if anybody was going to get up and come at him again. Nobody did.
He slowed his breathing and checked out the trio.
The woman was dead. The mue was dead. The medex was about to be dead. You're getting old, Sleel.
Five years ago none of these balloos would have touched you. Course you wouldn't have beenso stupid as to leave the field on, either, and fuck yourself up that way.
Sleel wiped clean the broken stik he held and put it into the medex's hand. He turned the benchpress field off, and walked to the exit. Let whoever found these three figure that they killed each other. The matadors didn't hold with killing, but the way Sleel figured it, when someone tried to take you out, they lost their breathing rights. He'd worry about his conscience later. At least he'd be alive to worry about it.
The rented flitter sailed through the ocean of night, Bork at ease with the manual controls.
To the judge, Geneva said, "Do you know what Spasm is?"
The man shook his head.
Geneva took the magazine out of her right spetsdod. She paused,then pulled another magazine from her pocket, carefully clicking the replacement into place. She said, "Spasm is the old military load for this."
She held the weapon up in front of the man's face. "It puts you into tetany, all your voluntary muscles locked, for six months. Can't move, can't eat, you have to be taken care of in a hospital until it lets go.
No antidote; it's some kind of bioelectric virus, I think.Keeps replicating itself, incurable until it dies on its own."
Dirisha watched the judge break into a sweat.
"Of course, it's banned now. Spasm is. The Republic won't allow its use.Says it's barbaric."
"The trial was legal!The evidence—!"
"Was faked," Geneva said. "Let's assume for a second that you are an honest man and didn't know that.
Not that I believe that, but just for the sake of argument. It doesn't matter. Our friend is going to be released on your order; that's the end of the program here."
The judge licked dry lips.
"Spasm is illegal, but you know how the black market is. You have enoughmoney, you can get just about anything you want." She pointed her right spetsdod at the judge's face. Her smile was that of a saint, of an angel, so sweet wasit.
Dirisha suppressed her own smile. The brat must have been a cat an incarnation or two back.
"Wait!" the judge said. "Wait!"
Chapter Eight
THE WARNING CLAXON hooted as the outer gate of the prison slid open. Sleel, bald, dressed in his prison coverall, stood there with four armed guards boxing him. There was a pregnant moment; then Sleel ambled away from the guards, as if he were on a stroll in the country.
In the flitter across the street, Dirisha
The medex was slow; he tried to hit Sleel on the floor, but it was the matador's foot that found the man's belly, knocking him backward and into the wall.
Sleel came up, twisting, and jumped to his right as far as he could. The mue sailed past, swiped at him with the stik, but missed him by a meter. Sleel turned. Stupid mistake had almost got him killed. He was glad nobody was around to see it.
As the medex tried to get his wind back, Sleel slid in and thrust his good elbow into the man's throat, crushing his windpipe. The medex wasn't going to be breathing through that throat anymore unless somebody cut him a new airhole. The man gagged and fell, both hands clutching his ruined larynx.
The mue made his run. Sleel twirled, ducked, and came up. The broken bone in his left arm grated and the throw was off, but the mue did a lazy half flip and slammed into the wall, head down. He slid, hit on top of his head, and peeled back from the wall. He was tough; he shook it off and came up, but too late.
Sleel had snatched up the medex's weapon and now he moved in with the stik cocked by his right ear.
He snapped his arm down, hard, and hit the mue squarely on top of the head.
The stik broke. So did the mue's skull.
Five full seconds passed while Sleel waited to see if anybody was going to get up and come at him again. Nobody did.
He slowed his breathing and checked out the trio.
The woman was dead. The mue was dead. The medex was about to be dead. You're getting old, Sleel.
Five years ago none of these balloos would have touched you. Course you wouldn't have beenso stupid as to leave the field on, either, and fuck yourself up that way.
Sleel wiped clean the broken stik he held and put it into the medex's hand. He turned the benchpress field off, and walked to the exit. Let whoever found these three figure that they killed each other. The matadors didn't hold with killing, but the way Sleel figured it, when someone tried to take you out, they lost their breathing rights. He'd worry about his conscience later. At least he'd be alive to worry about it.
The rented flitter sailed through the ocean of night, Bork at ease with the manual controls.
To the judge, Geneva said, "Do you know what Spasm is?"
The man shook his head.
Geneva took the magazine out of her right spetsdod. She paused,then pulled another magazine from her pocket, carefully clicking the replacement into place. She said, "Spasm is the old military load for this."
She held the weapon up in front of the man's face. "It puts you into tetany, all your voluntary muscles locked, for six months. Can't move, can't eat, you have to be taken care of in a hospital until it lets go.
No antidote; it's some kind of bioelectric virus, I think.Keeps replicating itself, incurable until it dies on its own."
Dirisha watched the judge break into a sweat.
"Of course, it's banned now. Spasm is. The Republic won't allow its use.Says it's barbaric."
"The trial was legal!The evidence—!"
"Was faked," Geneva said. "Let's assume for a second that you are an honest man and didn't know that.
Not that I believe that, but just for the sake of argument. It doesn't matter. Our friend is going to be released on your order; that's the end of the program here."
The judge licked dry lips.
"Spasm is illegal, but you know how the black market is. You have enoughmoney, you can get just about anything you want." She pointed her right spetsdod at the judge's face. Her smile was that of a saint, of an angel, so sweet wasit.
Dirisha suppressed her own smile. The brat must have been a cat an incarnation or two back.
"Wait!" the judge said. "Wait!"
Chapter Eight
THE WARNING CLAXON hooted as the outer gate of the prison slid open. Sleel, bald, dressed in his prison coverall, stood there with four armed guards boxing him. There was a pregnant moment; then Sleel ambled away from the guards, as if he were on a stroll in the country.
In the flitter across the street, Dirisha
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