“Just keep moving, Tiff.”
“Shouldn’t we call for help?”
“It may be nothing,” the stuntman said, though his tone said he didn’t believe it himself. “If it is, though, I don’t think they’d give us time to use our wrist radios. No, I figure our best bet is to try to make it to the loading dock, then-shit!”
A lone figure appeared ahead, blocking their path … a figure that was noticeably larger than any of the three following them. It was as if the man had materialized out of the shadows, though he stood so motionlessly that he might have been there all along and simply escaped their attention.
“Okay, listen close, Tiff. We don’t have time to argue,” Doc murmured. “The odds ahead of us are still better than what’s behind us. I’m going to brace this character, and you’re going to keep going. Got that? Don’t stop, don’t look back until you get to the loading dock. Once you’re inside, get on the radio and tell them where I am and what’s going on-but only after you’re inside.”
“But …”
“Just do it!” the stuntman hissed, then started angling away from her.
“Hold it right there, fellah!” he called to the figure ahead, who was now moving toward them in a curious, floating stride. “I said hold it!”
The figure kept coming, and Doc reached for his tranquilizer pistol … far, far too late.
The stuntman’s work had given him experience in fight scenes and falls that looked quite impressive in the holos, but in actuality were planned and choreographed to minimize the risk of serious injury. The few real fights he had been in were of the barroom variety, and even those were far behind him, since he had become much more of a homebody after his marriage. Nothing in his past, however, had prepared him to deal with, or even recognize the speed and agility of a professional athlete … even a retired one.