like that!
Her numb hand loosened slowly around the stanchion.
The footsteps above her stopped, returned; she looked up.
Horza’s face was above her, staring down at her.
She hung there, twisting in the air, for an instant, while the man looked into her eyes, the gun near his face. Horza glanced
round, over the
catwalk, where Xoxarle had gone.
“… help…" she croaked.
He knelt and, taking her hand, pulled her up. “Arm’s broken…" she choked, as he caught her by the neck of her jacket and pulled
her onto
the surface of the suspended gantry. She rolled over as he stood up. Foam drifted down through the wavering light
and dark of the huge,
echoing cavern, and flames cast momentary shadows when the lights guttered.
“Thanks," she coughed.
“That way." Horza looked round, the way he had been heading, the way Xoxarle had gone. She did her best to nod.
“Horza," she said, “let him go."
Horza was already backing off. He shook his head. “No," he said, then turned and ran. Balveda curled up, her numbed arm going
to the
broken one; toward it, but not touching it. She coughed and put her hand to her mouth, feeling inside, spluttering.
She spat out a tooth.
Horza crossed the catwalk. He felt calm now. Xoxarle could delay him if he liked; he could even let the Idiran get to the
transit tube, then he
would just step into the tubeway and fire at the retreating end of the transit capsule, or blast the
power off properly and trap the Idiran: it didn’t
matter.
He crossed the terrace and ran into the tunnel.
It led straight into the distance for over a kilometer. The way to the transit tubes was off to the right somewhere, but there
were other doors
and entrances, places where Xoxarle could hide.
It was bright and dry in the tunnel. The lights flickered only slightly, and the sprinkler system had remained off.
He thought of looking at the floor only just in time.
He saw the drips of water and foam while he ran toward a pair of doors which faced each other on either side of the tunnel.
The line of drips
stopped there.
He was running too fast to stop; he ducked instead.
Xoxarle’s fist flicked through the air, out from the left-hand doorway, over the Changer’s head. Horza turned and brought
the gun to bear;
Xoxarle stepped from the doorway and kicked out. His foot caught the gun, sending its barrel up into the
Changer’s face, slamming into Horza’s
mouth and nose while the gun sprayed laser-fire over the man’s head into the ceiling,
bringing a hail of rock dust and splinters down over the
Idiran and the human. Xoxarle reached out while the stunned man was
staggering back. He took the gun, tearing it from Horza’s hands. He
turned it round and pointed it at Horza as the man steadied
himself against the wall with one hand, his mouth and nose bleeding. Xoxarle tore
the trigger guard from the gun.
Unaha-Closp raced through the control room, banked in the air, flashed through the smoke and past the smashed doors, then
darted down the
short corridor. It flew down the length of the dormitory, between the swaying nets, through another short
tunnel and out onto the terrace.
There was wreckage everywhere. It saw Balveda on the catwalk, sitting up, holding one shoulder with the other hand, then putting
her hand
down to the floor of the gantry. Unaha-Closp tore through the air toward her, but just before it got to her, as her
head was coming up to look at it,
the noise of laser-fire came from the tunnel on the far side of the cavern. The drone banked
again and accelerated.
Xoxarle pressed the trigger just as Unaha-Closp hit him from behind; the gun hadn’t even started to fire as Xoxarle was thrown
forward, down to
the floor of the tunnel. He rolled over as he fell, but the gun’s muzzle staved into the rock, taking all
the Idiran’s weight for a moment; the barrel
snapped cleanly in two. The drone stopped just short of Horza. The man was lunging
forward for the Idiran, who was already recovering his
balance and rearing up in front of them. Unaha-Closp rushed forward
again, diving then zooming, attempting an uppercut like the one that had
caught the Idiran out once before. Xoxarle fended
off the machine with one swiping arm. Unaha-Closp bounced off the wall like a rubber ball,
and the Idiran swatted it once
more, sending the drone spinning back, dented and crippled, along the corridor toward the cavern.
Horza dived forward. Xoxarle brought his fist down on the human’s head as he lunged. The Changer swerved, but not fast enough;
the
glancing blow he received hit the side of his head, and he crashed onto the floor, scraping along the side of the wall
and coming to rest in a
doorway across the tunnel.
Sprinklers spat from the ceiling near where Horza’s gun had fired into it. Xoxarle rounded on the fallen human, who was trying
to get to his
feet, his legs wobbly and unsure, arms scrambling for purchase over the smooth rock walls. The Idiran brought
up his leg to stamp his foot into
Horza’s face, then sighed and put his leg down again as the drone Unaha-Closp, riding unevenly
in the air, its casing dented, leaking smoke,
wobbling as it advanced, came slowly back up the tunnel toward the Idiran. “…
You animal…" Unaha-Closp croaked, its small voice broken and
harsh.
Xoxarle reached out, grabbed the machine’s front, raised it easily in both hands over his head, over Horza’s head—the man
looked up,
eyes unfocused—then brought it down, scything toward the man’s skull.
Horza rolled, almost tiredly, to one side, and Xoxarle felt the whimpering machine connect with Horza’s head and shoulder.
The man fell,
sprawling on the tunnel floor.
He was still alive; one hand moved feebly to try to protect his naked, bleeding head. Xoxarle turned, raised the helpless
drone high over the
man’s head once more. “And, so…" he said quietly as he tensed his arms to bring the machine down.
“Xoxarle!"
He looked up, between his upraised arms, while the drone struggled weakly in his hands and the man at his feet moved one hand
slowly
over his blood-matted hair. Xoxarle grinned.
The woman Perosteck Balveda stood at the end of the tunnel, on the terrace over the cavern. She was stooped, and her face
looked limp
and worn. Her right arm dangled awkwardly at her side, the hand hanging by her thigh turned outward. In her other
hand her fist seemed closed
around something small which she was pointing at the Idiran. Xoxarle had to look carefully to
see what it was. It resembled a gun: a gun made
mostly of air; a gun of lines, thin wires, hardly solid at all, more like
a framework, like a pencil outline somehow lifted from a page and filled out
just enough to grip. Xoxarle laughed and brought
the drone swooping down.
Balveda fired the gun; it sparkled briefly at the end of its spindly barrel, like a small jewel caught in sunlight, and made
the faintest of
coughing noises.
Before Unaha-Closp had been moved more than a half-meter through the air toward Horza’s head, Xoxarle’s midriff lit up like
the sun. The
Idiran’s lower torso was blown apart, blasted from his hips by a hundred tiny explosions. His chest, arms and
head were blown up and back,
hitting the tunnel roof then tumbling down again through the air, the arms slackening, the hands
opening. His belly, keratin plates ripped open,
flooded entrails onto the water-spattered floor of the tunnel as his whole
upper body bounced into the shallow puddles forming under the