Horza was walking on his hands round the youth, one leg gripped, the other hanging down, trying to take some weight on the
deck. Zallin
stared at the Changer and whipped his hands round, as though trying to twist Horza’s foot right off. Horza read
the motion and was throwing his
whole body round even as Zallin started the maneuver; he ended up back where he’d started,
his foot held in Zallin’s hands and his own palms
crabbing across the deck as he tried to follow the movements of the youth.
I could go for his legs; sweep in and bite,
Horza thought,
desperately trying to think of something.
The instant he starts to slow down I’ d have a chance. They wouldn’t notice. All I need is
—Then, of
course, he remembered again. They had taken those teeth out. Those old bastards—and Balveda—were going to kill him
after all, in Balveda’s
case from beyond the grave. As long as Zallin had his foot like this, the fight was only going to
go one way.
What the hell, I’ll bite him anyway.
He surprised himself with the thought; it was conceived and acted upon before he had time really to
consider it. The next
thing he knew he had pulled on the leg which Zallin held and pushed as hard as he could with his hands, flinging himself
between
the youth’s legs. He fastened his remaining teeth into the boy’s right calf.
“AAH!" Zallin screamed. Horza bit harder, feeling the grip round his foot slacken slightly. He jerked his head up, trying
to tear the youth’s
flesh. He felt as though his kneecap was going to explode and his leg would break, but he worried the
mouthful of living flesh and punched up
toward Zallin’s body with all his might. Zallin let go.
Horza stopped biting instantly and threw himself away as the youth’s hands came slamming down toward his head. Horza got to
his feet; his
ankle and knee were sore, but not seriously injured. Zallin was limping as he came forward, blood pouring from
his calf. Horza changed tactics
and pounced forward, striking the youth square in the belly, beneath the rudimentary guard
of his huge arms. Zallin put his hands to his stomach
and lower ribcage and crouched reflexively. As Horza went past he turned
and brought both hands down on Zallin’s neck.
Normally the blow would have killed, but Zallin was strong and Horza was still weak. As the Changer steadied and turned he
had to avoid
colliding with some of the mercenaries lining the bulkhead; the fight had traversed the hangar, from one end
to the other. Before Horza could
get in another blow, Zallin was upright again, his face contorted with frustrated aggression.
He screamed and rushed at Horza, who
sidestepped neatly. But Zallin stumbled in his headlong rush, and by pure luck his head
thumped into Horza’s stomach.
The blow was all the more painful and demoralizing for being unexpected. Horza fell and rolled, trying to send Zallin straight
over the top, but
the youth fell on him, pinning him to the deck. Horza wriggled, but nothing happened. He was trapped.
Zallin raised himself up on one palm and drew the other hand up behind him into a fist as he leered at the face of the man
beneath him.
Horza realized suddenly that there was nothing he could do. He watched that massive fist go up and back, his
own body flattened, his arms
pinned, and knew it was over. He’d lost. He got ready to move his head as fast as possible, out
of the way of the bone-splintering punch he
could see would be unleashed at any moment, and tried again to move his legs,
but knew it was hopeless. He wanted to close his eyes, but
knew he had to keep them open.
Maybe the Man will take pity. He must have seen I fought well. I was just unlucky. Maybe he’ll stop it…
Zallin’s fist paused, like a guillotine blade raised to its highest point, just before release.
The blow never fell. As Zallin tensed, his other hand, taking the weight of his upper body on the deck, skidded; it went shooting
out from
under him as it slipped on some of the youth’s own blood. Zallin grunted in surprise. As he fell toward Horza his
body shifted, and the Changer
could feel the weight pinning him lessen. He heaved himself out from underneath Zallin as the
youth rolled. Horza rolled in the other direction,
almost into the legs of the mercenaries who stood watching. Zallin’s head
hit the deck—not hard, but before the youth could react Horza threw
himself onto Zallin’s back, locking his hands round his
neck and bringing the youth’s silver-haired head back. He slid his legs down either side
of Zallin’s body, straddling him,
and held him there.
Zallin went still, a gurgling noise coming from his throat where Horza’s hands held him. He was more than strong enough to
throw the
Changer off, to roll on his back and crush him; but before he could have done anything, one flick of Horza’s hands
would have broken his neck.
Zallin was looking up at Kraiklyn, who stood almost right in front of him. Horza, too, lathered in sweat and gulping air,
looked up into the
dark, deep-set eyes of the Man. Zallin wriggled a little, then went motionless again when Horza tensed
his forearms.
They were all looking at him—all the mercenaries, all the pirates or privateers or whatever they wanted to call themselves.
They stood round
the two walls of the hangar and they looked at Horza. But only Kraiklyn was looking into Horza’s eyes.
“This doesn’t have to be to the death," Horza panted. He looked for a moment at the silver hairs in front of him, some of
them plastered with
sweat to the boy’s scalp. He looked up at Kraiklyn again. “I won. You can let the kid off next place you
stop. Or let me off. I don’t want to kill him."
Something warm and sticky seemed to be seeping from the deck along his right leg. He realized it was Zallin’s blood from the
wound on his
leg. Kraiklyn had a strangely distant look on his face. The laser gun, which he had holstered, was lifted easily
back out of its holster into his left
hand and pointed at the center of Horza’s forehead. In the silence of the hangar, Horza
heard it click and hum as it was switched on, about a
meter away from his skull.
“Then you’ll die," Kraiklyn told him, in a flat, even voice. “I’ve no place on this ship for somebody who hasn’t the taste
for a little murder now
and again."
Horza looked into Kraiklyn’s eyes, over the motionless barrel of the laser pistol. Zallin moaned.
The snap echoed round the metal spaces of the hangar like a gunshot. Horza opened his arms without taking his eyes off the
mercenary
chief’s face. Zallin’s limp body tumbled slackly to the deck and crumpled under its own weight. Kraiklyn smiled
and put the gun back in its
holster. It clicked off with a fading whine.
“Welcome aboard the
Clear Air Turbulence.
" Kraiklyn sighed and stepped over Zallin’s body. He walked to the middle of one bulkhead,
opened a door and went out, his
boots clattering on some steps. Most of the others followed him.
“Well done." Horza, still kneeling, turned at the words. It was the woman with the nice voice again, Yalson. She offered him
her hand once
more, this time to help him up. He took it gratefully and got to his feet.
“I didn’t enjoy it," he told her. He wiped some sweat from his brow with his forearm and looked into the woman’s eyes. “You
said your name
was Yalson, right."
She nodded. “And you’re Horza."
“Hello, Yalson."
“Hello, Horza." She smiled a little. Horza liked her smile. He looked at the corpse on the deck. Blood had stopped flowing
from the wound in
one leg.
“What about that poor bastard." he asked.
“Might as well dump him," Yalson said. She looked over at the only other people left in the hangar, three thickly furred and
identical heavy-
set males in shorts. They stood in a group near the door the others had left by, looking at him curiously.
All three had heavy boots on, as though
they had just started to suit up and had been interrupted at the same moment. Horza
wanted to laugh. Instead he smiled and waved.
“Hello."
“Ah, those are the Bratsilakins," Yalson said, as the three furry bodies waved dark gray hands at him, not quite in synch.
“One, Two and
Three," she continued, nodding at each one in turn. “We must be the only Free Company with a clone group that’s
paranoid."
Horza looked at her to see if she was serious, just as the three furry humans came over to him.
“Don’t listen to a word she says," one of them said, in a soft voice Horza found surprising. “She’s never liked us. We just
hope that you’re on
our
side." Six eyes looked anxiously at Horza. He did his best to smile.