Vyotsky made an effort to reach the smoking gun where it lay, but that was in Jazz’s direction, which was the wrong way. He tried harder, and of course failed. The SMG was all of fifteen inches beyond his straining fingertips – hardly a great distance – but it might as well have been a mile, or not there at all. The motorcycle, too, lay in the wrong direction.
Jazz reached the bike, hauled it upright, stood astride the front wheel and wrenched the handlebars back into position from where they’d been knocked slightly askew. He ignored Vyotsky’s groaning. Then he wheeled the bike forward and picked up the Russian’s gun. And at last he spoke:
‘Sound and light are the only things that seem to work in both directions here,’ he said. ‘We can hear each other, talk to each other, and even though you’re ahead of me -toward the other end of the Gate, I mean – your words get back to me. Likewise your picture, for I can see you. But while we’re standing like this, nothing solid can ever come from you to me. Reverse our positions, and sure enough I’d be dead, except that isn’t the case. So there’s no way you could have harmed me, Ivan: no bullets, no sticks or stones, nothing. These three rounds – ‘ he kicked the three spent projectiles aside, ‘ – they fired the gun! If you weren’t so burned-up with hate, you’d have worked it out for yourself.’
It all sank in, and finally Vyotsky scowled and nodded.
Then, still holding his chest, he sat up. ‘So get it over with,’ he said. ‘What are you waiting for?’
Jazz looked at the other and grimaced. ‘God, what a wanker you are! Hasn’t it dawned on you yet that we may be the only human beings this side of Earth? You and me? Not that I’m much for male companionship, but I can’t see myself killing off half the human population just for the fun of it. Last time that happened it was Cain and Abel!’
Vyotsky was finding it hard to follow Jazz’s logic. He wasn’t even sure it was logic. ‘What are you saying?’ he said.
‘I’m saying that, against my better judgement, I’m giving you your life,’ Jazz told him. ‘See, I’m not the sort of murderous lunatic that you appear to be. Yesterday, in my cell – if I’d had you then in this position – things might be different. And your own fault because you worked me up to it. But I’m damned if I can kill you here and now.’
Vyotsky tried to sneer, managed only a wince. ‘Lily-livered chickenshit son of a – ‘ He jerked himself to his feet.
Jazz lowered his own SMG and put a single round between Vyotsky’s feet. It whupped where it ricochetted off the ground. ‘Sticks and stones,’ he reminded, ‘can’t hurt my bones, but names can certainly do yours a hell of a lot of damage!’ He got on the bike and kicked it into life.
‘You’re leaving me here, without my gun?’ Vyotsky was suddenly alarmed. ‘Then you might as well kill me after all!’
‘You’ll find your gun waiting for you when you come through the Gate,’ Jazz told him. ‘But remember this: if I ever catch you on my trail again, it’ll be a story with a different ending. I don’t know how big that world is up front, but from here at least it looks big enough for the two of us. It’s your decision. So that’s all from me, Comrade. Here’s hoping I won’t be seeing you.’
He put the bike in gear and rolled forward past Vyotsky, upped the gear and picked up a little speed, looked back once, briefly. The big Russian was watching him go. It was hard to say what sort of an expression he was wearing. Jazz sighed, climbed through the remaining gears and headed for the sunlit scene ahead. But in the back of his mind something kept telling him he’d made a bad mistake . . .
Another mistake was this: failing to recognize where the Gate ended and the strange world beyond it began!