Down And Dirty

"I don't think you've got what it takes, Cowboy," Da

"All right," shouted Bre

"But not here. In his office. And Deadhead." The ace looked up and paused in his energetic chewing. "Bring a spoon."

Bre

Isida, my roshi, what takes precedence? The quest of a man's soul, or the transitory friendships of this world? There was no answer. Somehow Bre

Tachyon's narrow face was composed. He was clearly resigned to death. Bre

Deadhead belched and patted his stomach. "Wish I hadn't had that piece of pie. Hope I got room for this. Hey, how we go

"Oh, shit!" yelled the Oriental.

"Mind reading's not such a great power, huh?" gritted Bre

"Why don't we just take him down there?" whined the boy, holding his nose against the stink.

"Because I don't want to." Tension and fury crackled in the words.

They filed into Tachyon's office, Bre

"I'll handle this, Cowboy. You don't seem to have the stomach for it."

It wasn't a conscious decision. Bre

Tachyon hit the floor as two simultaneous muzzle flashes almost blinded him. A body fell across him.

"Shit! He's got a gun," he heard Bre

Thrusting with elbows and knees, Tachyon belly-crawled across the thick carpet. A foot took him hard in the ribs, and he bit back a gasp. The man took a header, discharging his Uzi in a long burst as he fell. Someone screamed.

Feeling for the knob, Tachyon seized it in a sweat-slick hand, threw open the door, and darted through. He slammed it quickly behind him, and bullets blasted through the thin wood, peppering his cheek with splinters. He ran.

Steadying himself with a hand, he swung around the corner just as the door burst open, and the pursuit began. Again Bre

Fifteen, becomes fourteen, becomes thirteen, becomes maybe twelve, if that first Uzi blast hit one of them. So call it six to one. Still terrible odds, and too many for mind control unless he could separate them, and he didn't like that idea at all.

So where to go?

"This is the Place of Death."

Tachyon jerked open the door to the stairs and leaped like a hunted deer, taking two steps at a time. They were one landing behind.

"But the buck lived… Because he came first, ru

It was a desperate gamble. It had to be taken. Two floors below huddled his people. If his pursuers remembered, returned to threaten them…

He fished out his keys, put on a final burst of speed. His breath was sobbing in his raw throat. He couldn't see Croyd through the wide observation window of the isolation room. The lock turned, and he waited, hand on the knob. The hunting pack burst out of the stairwell, baying with excitement. "There he is!"

He entered the room with a forward roll. Flashed past Croyd, who was crouched waiting by the door. But not for a compact bundle, tucked in close and rolling. Tachyon bounced to his feet.

"Croyd, help rne. They're after us!"

A hand reached out. Tach flowed through it, allowing the momentum to carry Croyd a good three feet past him. Avoidance was his only hope. If Croyd ever got a grip on him, the ace would break him like fragile glass. The red eyes were maddened, the pale face twisted, inhuman.

The hunters arrived. Tachyon threw himself into a long flat dive that carried him toward the bed. Croyd snarled, confused, questing. His eyes met those of the leading gunman. The Uzi came up, but the man let out a wail like steam being vented from a locomotive and began to melt. Within seconds he had sunk to his knees in an ever-widening pool of frothing pink ooze.

Croyd's hand lashed out at another, co

Suddenly there was a flare of incandescence, and a hunter became a human torch. Within seconds all that was left was the stink of burnt tile and cooked flesh, and a blackened patch on the floor.

One of the three survivors got off a shot. The bullet buried itself in Croyd's bare foot. Throwing back his head, the albino howled in pain. He gripped the gun and ripped it from the man's hand. Croyd then proceeded to beat him with the barrel. Skin cracked and tore as the gunsight ripped into the tender flesh of his cheeks.

At Tachyon's feet another man writhed. The convulsions were so violent that he was literally bent like a bow, head to heels. Blood ran from his mouth where he had bitten through his tongue.

Black Queen. Without joker manifestation. Three out of seven. Blood and line, let rne live. I want to live.

Fear was a living thing, gripping him by the throat, stopping the breath in his lungs. Tachyon struggled for air. The boy, Lee, had been at the back of the pack. Terrified, he threw down his gun and fled. Croyd tossed aside his attacker, who collapsed like a bloody puppet, and raced in pursuit.

Tachyon, turning his head as if his neck were made of glass, eyed the carnage. Gazed down his own slim length. Gave a sob of joy. Pushing off the wall, he swept up an Uzi and ran into the hall. The window over the fire escape had been wrenched out of the. wall. Leaning out he saw a shadowy figure vanishing between the Dumpsters in the alley. Hating himself, he fired, heard the whine of bullets ricocheting off brick and metal and no other sound. Croyd was gone.

His ankles had gone limp, and he almost fell. A strong arm slipped around his waist, and the Takisian gave a cry of terror. He lashed out with his mind power and froze as he recognized the mind.

"Bre

They had a few minutes before the police arrived. Tachyon sat behind his desk, poured two stiff brandies, and saluted the impassive human.

"I count you… friend. Thank you."

Bre

"Took me a damn long time to make up my mind."

"You had much at stake. I am grateful."

"Shut up. You've thanked me enough. Well, I better get out of here." Bre

"The police… and who else?"

"What do you mean?" Bre

The human turned slowly back to face him. "It's dangerous."

"You're telling me something I don't already know? This man has preyed upon my people, my holding, and made war on me. It must stop."