War Games by Karl Hansen Page B

saliva,” Peppardine said. “A drop in the eye is enough to paralyze every nerve. Its bioelectricity cells can never fire now.” She turned to me and smiled. “You owe me a favor now. When can I collect?” Again the seductive note. Would she deliver this time? I wondered. Then a shiver ran up my spine. I looked at the airbear, paralyzed with euphoria, soon to die of pleasure. Playing with her claws would be a dangerous game. She could either please or punish. Her kiss could either soothe or kill. I remembered stories of depraved frenzy hidden behind the walls of paralyzed force of one of Nyssa’s floating towers–golden chains, spider-silk ropes, shining knives with jeweled blades, braided whips, rituals of torment in the night–and a sudden burst of violence ending it all. Yes, a very dangerous game. A game I should enjoy.
    “Come on, Detrs,” Vichsn said from behind. “Get moving. We don’t have all day.”
    I turned to look at her, but her face was hidden behind the mirror surface of her helmet visor. I’d thought I’d heard something in her voice. Something that pleased me. Maybe she was worried about Peppardine and me. Fine. Let her worry. If I had my way, she’d soon have something to worry about.
    “Let’s go, Detrs,” the Gunny said. “And be a little more careful this time.”
    I was more careful, but we didn’t encounter any more airbears.
    We moved slowly through the crystal forest. Broken shards of shed leaves lay scattered on the ground. Sometimes a crunching sound was heard when someone accidentally stepped on one. When that happened, we all froze, expecting to see flashes of pulsar fire from concealed snipers. But none came until we approached the elves’ abandoned camp.
    All that remained of it were the skeletons of criss-crossed saplings that had been their lean-to shelters, with smoldering cinders of oxide crystals in front, where their campfires had been.
    The Gunny had us disperse around the periphery. Combrids scattered from tree to tree, using the trunks for cover, before finally taking positions at various vantage points. We watched the deserted camp for a long time. Sometimes elves left nasty surprises. Especially if they had sufficient warning before they left.
    I cursed the spooks at Corps Intelligence as I waited. They were safe in their spook houses in orbit around Titan. When one of their sensors buzzed, we were the ones sent into the forest for target practice. Then I cursed the Lord Generals of High Command for good measure.
    Everything stayed quiet. There was no detectable movement in the camp. Helmet sensors showed only an ebbing infrared glow where campfires cooled.
    Finally, the Gunny had six of us advance, keeping the rest of the platoon in concealment. As before, I was on the point; Vichsn and Trinks flanked me, but were a little behind. Three other combrids followed.
    As I entered the camp, I scanned the surrounding forest carefully. Everything remained quiet. Sensing fields were not disturbed. But drops of sweat had formed along my back. Something was wrong. I’d learned a long time ago to trust my intuition. I knew we were walking into a trap, but there wasn’t a mousy thing I could do to avoid it. We were bait, to force any elven snipers into revealing themselves. Target practice.
    I was almost at the center of the camp when the trap was sprung. My intuition saved me. All six of us were well within the clearing. The elves probably figured six were all they were going to get. Did I say elves? Make that elf, as it turned out. Anyway, the hairs on the back of my neck rose. I hit the ground, yelling a warning to the others at the same time. But my warning came too late. As I was going down, I sensed a quick flurry of movement behind crystalline foliage, followed by a burst of automatic pulsar fire fanning out across the clearing. A bright pulse passed over me, where I had been millisecs before. But Trinks wasn’t quick enough. I saw him crumple as a pulsar quantum