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It was a little disconcerting moving helplessly like this through the darkness, particularly when the occasional missile whined by. By accident, I hoped. This street was narrow and blocked at both ends by Cliaand troops. If they knew what was happening they could sweep the street with a deadly crossfire. But hopefully they were involved with the robutlers for the moment. All we had to do was quietly cross the 20 meters or so of open road, to the apartment dwelling on the other side. If we reached this u
I was counting my steps so knew I had almost reached the building—which meant half of our number were safe—when the voice called out nearby.
"Is that you, Zobno? What did the sergeant say about robots? It sounded like robots?"
The line stopped, instantly, in breath-holding silence. We were so close. The voice was male and it spoke Cliaandian.
"Robots? What robots?" I asked as I pulled the hand from my shoulder and placed it on Angelina's shoulder before me. "Move," I whispered in her ear. Then left the line and stamped heavily towards him in my new boots.
"I'm sure he said robots," the voice complained. Behind me I was aware of the faint stir as the line started forward again. I stamped and coughed and moved closer to the unseen speaker. My hands before me ready for a quick clench and crush as soon as he spoke again.
All of which would have worked fine, and have given me a little sadistic pleasure, if the evening breeze had not sent eddies around the corners of the building. The wind moved coolly on my face and a rift opened in the smoke. I was looking at a Cliaand trooper, helmed and armed with his gaussrifle at the ready, a shocked expression stamped on his face. With good reason. Instead of gazing upon a fellow trooper he saw an unknown individual with snapping fingers, red eyes and unshaven jaw, dressed in totally transparent dungarees and ladies' boots, with bundles and packs slung on his shoulders. Gape was about all he could do.
This paralysis lasted just long enough for me to reach him. I grabbed him by the throat so he couldn't shout a warning, and by the gun so he couldn't shoot me. We danced around like this for a bit and the smoke closed over us again. My opponent wasn't shouting or shooting—but neither was he submitting. He was burly and well muscled and holding his own. Luckily he wasn't too bright and kept both his hands on the gun and tried to get it away from me. Just about the time he realized he could hold it with one hand and slug me with the other I got a foot behind his heel and went down on top of him. Before he hit the ground he managed to get two quick punches into my midriff which did me no good. Then we landed and I knocked all the air out of him. This freed my throat hand and, before he could suck in enough breath to shout with, I rendered him unconscious.
I sat on him, waiting for my head to stop spi
"What's that noise? Who is it?"
I breathed in a deep shuddering breath, let a bit of it out and worked for control of my voice.
"It's me." Always a good answer. "I tripped and fell down. I hurt a finger…"
"Then you'll get a medal for it. Now shut up."
I shut up, took the gaussrifle from my limp companion and stood up—and realized that I was completely lost in the smoky darkness.
Not a pleasant sensation at all. The smoke was thi
Panic! Or rather a moment of panic. I always allow myself at least a brief panic in any tight situation. This flushes out the bloodstream, starts the heart pumping faster, releases a jolt of adrenaline and provides other nice things for an emergency. But only a little panic, time was pressing. And after the basic bestial emotion drained away, lips dropped back over fangs and hair on neck down again and all that, I put the old logic center to work.
ITEM: I was not alone. The silent line of escapees may have marched into the building and safety, but my Angelina would not desert me. I knew, as clearly as if I could see her, that she was outside that door to survival and waiting for me.
ITEM: She had her sense of direction, I didn't. Therefore she would have to come to me.
"This finger is killing me, Sarge," I whined, then whistled in supposed agony. One short whistle and one long one. The letter a for Angelina in the code that I knew she knew well. That I needed help I knew she would figure out for herself.
"Stop that whistling and noise," the other voice growled back, ending in a note of suspicion. "Say, who are you?"
I groped through my memory for the name I had heard a few moments earlier.
"It's me, Sarge. Zobno. This finger…"
"That's not Zobno!" a second voice called out. "I'm Zobno…"
"No, I am," I shouted. "Who's that said that?"
"Both of you come here—now!" the sergeant ordered. "I'm going to start shooting in five seconds."
The real Zobno stumbled through the smoke and I didn't dare say a thing or move. And I could already feel the slugs tearing through me—when something plucked at my sleeve and I jumped.
"Angelina?" I whispered, and received a silent answer when she threw her arms about me. I reached for her but she wasn't waiting; taking my hand she pulled me after her. There were voices behind us in the smoke then the sudden whine of a gaussrifle and shouts of command.
I stumbled over an invisible step and waiting hands pulled me through the doorway.