John Brunner – Jagged Orbit

When after a long long time it did so, she thought about it being used to determine whether the apt was empty or not, and crawled into the kitchen where their gun was kept, dusty at the back of a closet. It was very old-Dan said it had been used in the Blackbury inof the eighties-but in those days things had been built to last and it had still worked when Dan checked it just before Easter.

Straining her ears, discovering that the effect of the joylets had worn off and she could now hear normally again, she detected footsteps outside, and then there was a groan and something she couldn’t place, a verbal sound without content, and then there was a bang on the door and a voice she recognized said, “Miss Clay!”

She pointed the gun, looking to make sure the deadcatch was set.

“Miss Clay! Ah-Bill here! I talked to you this mornremember? I’ve got Mr. Kazer here and he’s hurt!”

What?

Moving slowly, as though through deep water, she secured the deadfall, chained the door, looked out through a crack on its right side with gun leveled and there was a lean, serious-faced young man in a black oversuit holding up Dan with both hands and blood running, dripping, streaming from his belly, down his legs, puddling, smearing, stinking in the hot night air.

He put his hand out weakly to catch the jamb and she couldn’t push the door shut enough to release the chain and the Gottschalk had to drag him back and he screamed faintly and when Lyla got the door open at eternal last he almost fell through. Together she and Bill guided him to the broken bed and laid him on it; he wouldn’t straighten at first so that they could see the wound in his belly but when eventually he overthe pain enough to roll on his back with a bit of help it could be seen that there was a monstrous gash with the shape of organs bulging through. His eyes were shut and his face was paper-white and after a moment his breathing faded.

“Get a doctor!” Lyla said with colossal, incredible effort past the need to vomit.

“No doctor will come out tonight,” Bill said. “There’s a curfew.”

“But we can’t just let him die!” Lyla spun on her heel, ran to the bathroom, looked for disinfectant, dressanything useful, came back empty-handed and weeping, the tears welling out of her eyes with a curious dry tickling like flies crawling down her cheeks.

“I’m afraid he is dead,” the Gottschalk said, and let go the wrist at which he had checked the pulse.

“What?”

“I’m very sorry.” Himself pale, the Gottschalk avoided her eyes, looking down at the blood which had splashed on his black oversuit. “He must have been hit with an axe, I guess, or maybe a sabre. It’s a miracle he was able to get in the elevator and shout loud enough for me to hear when he made it to this floor.”

Lyla stood like a waxwork, registering the words but not reacting.

“Oh, if only people took notice of the warnings we give them!” the Gottschalk went on sorrowfully, shaking his head. “He should have been armed-he should have been able to defend himself! You don’t need training to use things like Blazers, and no” one with a mere axe or sword can get within striking distance against one of them.”

“What did you say?” Lyla brought out very slowly.

“I said if he’d been armed, able to protect himself-” The implications of Lyla’s expression belatedly penethe Gottschalk’s mind and he broke off in alarm.

“Get out. You’re a ghoul. You’re disgusting. You’re not human.”

“Now look here, Miss-!”

“You’re a devil!” Lyla was half-choking on her own sobs; proper words wouldn’t come to match the hate that had exploded in her mind. She had dropped the gun on the table in the kitchen when she put her arm around Dan, or she would have shot the Gottschalk where he stood. Lacking that, what for a weapon? The Lar was in arm’s reach; she caught it up and threw it and it struck him on the forehead. He cried out and put up his hands, foolishly, much too late.

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