The blaster rattled on the concrete, followed by the slow tumble of the corpse. By the time the body lay still, Ryan was on the far side of the building, kneeling against the wall with the window. He guessed he wasn’t far from where the lightly built blonde was lurking.
It would have been inhuman if the second intruder hadn’t been pushed into movement by the sound of the scuffle and the unmistakable noise of sudden, violent dying. There was a single hissed word. ” Apasnost ?” Apparently the man was asking his now-dead companion if there was danger.
It was sufficient for Ryan to locate his second target, who was more or less where he’d imagined, just to the right of the partly open door, already starting to move around the outside of the room.
Now, eye fully accustomed to the scant light, Ryan could make out the flicker of movement. Like a python sliding noiselessly from its den, Ryan went after the short figure, blood-slick blade probing the air ahead of him,
“What the fuck was that? Ryan? Ryan, are you there?”
Rick’s voice, deafening in the silence, nearly put Ryan off his attack. The freezie blundered to his feet, trailing lengths of the torn cloth that he’d been using as a blanket. In the ghastly yellow light he looked like some wild-eyed corpse, dragged from its tomb, still bound with the ragged cerecloths.
“Ryan! Where Oh, Jeeeez!”
He’d fallen over the outstretched hand of the corpse, tripping and landing facedown in the spreading lake of warm blood.
The muzzle-flash of a handgun lighted a small area by the door, and Ryan heard the whine of a bullet as it ricocheted off the far wall in a flare of sparks.
“Fireblast!” he muttered, hoping that the noise of the shot wouldn’t bring some inquisitive sec guard on the run. Now, time was vital. The attacker had to be put away.
Fast.
“Help me, Ryan!” Rick shouted, floundering on the floor, becoming tangled up with the body. “There’s a dead man down here.”
In the passing stillness Ryan caught the faint click of a blaster being cocked again. He hurled himself across the building, aiming at where he knew the small blond man was waiting for him. It wasn’t a situation for a cunning and subtle approach.
The long-bladed panga made contact, a yelp of pain and shock exploded from the darkness. But the feel of the blow was enough to let Ryan know he’d delivered only a glancing wound.
He rolled over on one shoulder in a breakfall, coming up in a classic knife-fighter’s crouch. His lips creased in a mirthless smile. Now he could hear his opponent clearly, quietly sobbing to himself less than a dozen feet away. Ryan’s night sight was way behind Jak Lauren’s, but it was still better than most men’s. Now he could see the dark silhouette of the intruder.
“Ryan?” Rick whined. “I’m scared, Ryan. Help me.”
Outside, Ryan heard the rumble of a convoy of large transport wags moving along the road. The lights of the first vehicle shone coldly through the frosted glass, bouncing off the far wall of the workshop, providing enough illumination for Ryan to see the wounded Russkie. He did indeed bear a passing resemblance to Jak Lauren. Slight of build with a shock of blond hair that glowed white in the reflected glow of the wags’ headlights, the youth had a narrow, pinched face, with hollowed cheekbones and deep-set eyes. He was holding a crudely made zip-blaster, not much more than a .22 caliber. It was in his left hand, pointing toward the floor. Dark blood flowed down his right arm, from a deep stab wound near the elbow.
” Nyet ,” he said, seeing Ryan at the same moment. He shuffled a couple of steps to his left, away from the one-eyed man with the panga.
Rick saw them both at more or less the same time, opening his mouth to yell, then closing it again.
Ryan considered throwing the panga, but it was a crude weapon for accuracy. The little gun continued to hang toward the dusty concrete, almost as if the young Russian had completely forgotten that he was holding it.