“See? What did I say? His accuracy’s compromised.”
“You ever get tired of being a smartarse, Reston?” Mal said.
“Sometimes. But then things get interesting again and I remember who I am.”
Aaronson made an even bigger hash of his third jump than he had the previous two. Hoping to take the impact solely on his good leg in order to protect his injured one, he ended up sprawling awkwardly onto his side. He gamely got up again and made for the next parapet, but it was clear he was in no state to carry on descending the terraces in leaps and bounds like this.
“Fuck it, boss. You go on ahead. I’ll find another way out of here.”
“Don’t be a dickhead, sergeant. We can do this. Just don’t think about it too hard.”
“How many more levels are there? Another twenty at least. I’m never going to manage it. I’m only holding you up.”
“What’re you going to do instead? Fly?”
“Go indoors and through the building. Find that lift.”
“Not a good idea,” said Reston. “There’ll be Serpents all over the place.”
“So? I act all innocent. They don’t know yet that we’ve got a kill order hanging over us.”
“Hey!” came a cry from above. “Forget about me?”
Tlanextic had sprung down from the topmost terrace to the one below, and now the three of them were squarely in his sights once more. The only reason he hadn’t fired yet was because the lightning gun was still powering up for its next shot.
“Listen, you two,” Reston said to Mal and Aaronson. “There isn’t time for this. If we don’t put distance between him and us, we’re dead, don’t you get it?”
“I can’t,” Aaronson said.
“You can,” Mal insisted.
“No, you can, boss. And you will.”
“What?”
“Go.” He said it softly, but in a way that brooked no argument.
“No,” Mal said, equally adamant.
“Yes. I can look after myself. Your best chance is Reston. You want to live? Go with him.”
“He’s got a point, Vaughn,” Reston said.
“Shut the fuck up. This has nothing to do with you.”
The l-gun’s whine reached its highest pitch, a constant shrill note signalling readiness. Tlanextic aimed carefully, determined not to miss a third time.
Reston straddled the parapet. Over Mal’s shoulder, Aaronson gave him the nod, and Reston wrapped his arms around her waist and kicked off backwards.
“No!” Mal screamed as they plunged together.
A table broke their fall, shattering to pieces under them. A servant who had been busy laying out lunchtime cutlery, yelped in fright and scuttled away.
Mal rose, groaning, from the splintered debris of the table, looking up just in time to see Tlanextic open fire at Aaronson. Aaronson darted to one side. It was a valiant but vain effort. The bolt of plasma found its target. A glancing blow, but a hit all the same, thumping into Aaronson’s shoulder and spinning him sideways. He fetched up against the parapet, sprawled half over it. A hole had been burned through his shirt, through which Mal could see blackened skin, fat white blisters, and raw red weeping patches. Worst of all was the smell that reached her, the stench of grilled meat, human meat, her friend and colleague’s.
Aaronson’s eyes rolled. Mal could scarcely imagine the pain he was in. She called to him, but he didn’t respond. His jaw was slack. Shock was setting in. If the parapet hadn’t been propping him up, he would have sunk to the floor.
And now Tlanextic came down a level, nimbly, l-gun singing in his hands. He strode to a vantage point directly overlooking Aaronson, moving with complete assurance, the air of a hunter who knew his prey was injured and helpless and going nowhere. His eyes were narrowed but deadly calm, not unlike the eyes of the moulded golden snake crowning his helmet.
Mal snatched up a leg of the table, the only throwing weapon she could find. She launched it at Tlanextic, but gravity and the angle of elevation were against her and she missed. He pretended not even to notice.
“I’m not what you said I am,” he told Aaronson. “Not at all.”
Aaronson, to his credit, managed to splutter out a reply. “Denial.”
Tlanextic pulled the trigger.
Aaronson’s body rocked as tremendous, searing heat pulsed through it. A hand convulsed into a claw, clutching the parapet, skin fusing to stone. Eyeballs erupted from their sockets like two boiled eggs bursting. Legs kicked.
Then it was over. Aaronson shuddered and lay still, a smoking, twisted wreckage of himself.
What Mal said next came from her gut, a howl of pure rage. “Tlanextic, you cocksucking, motherfucking cunt bastard!” She used her mother tongue. Nahuatl didn’t have as many swear words as English, and none of them was as truly satisfying.
In return, the Serpent colonel offered her a gloating grin. “I have no idea what you just said, Inspector Vaughn, but that’s your pal sorted. And guess what? You’re next.”
“I’ll fucking kill you.” She part drew her macuahitl. “Come down here. I’ll fucking have you, I will.”
“I’ve a better idea. I stay here, you stay there. Soon as my gun’s recharged, I’ll put you out of your misery.”
“Coward. Come down and fight.” Hot, angry tears were flooding down Mal’s cheeks, and she wasn’t ashamed of them. She didn’t care.
“I’d rather just stick where I am, if you don’t mind. High ground. Tactical advantage. Be patient. Couple of seconds from now, this’ll all be over.”
Reston tugged her arm. “Not like this,” he said. “We can’t win against him like this. He’s right, he’s holding all the aces. Let’s run. We can still get away.”
“Leave me the fuck alone, Reston.”
“We run now, we can get him later. It’s the only course of action that makes any sense. Otherwise you’re just going to die, and there’ll be no chance of payback for what he did to your sergeant.”
“Ah, here we go,” said Tlanextic. Yet again, the gun was ready. “Why don’t you two stay standing next to each other like that? Nice and convenient. I can probably get you both with the one shot.”
“Vaughn,” Reston hissed. “Think logically. Don’t just throw everything away.”
Mal wasn’t conscious of making the choice. All she knew was that, suddenly, she was making a dash for the parapet. An l-gun bolt exploded somewhere just behind her, close enough that she could feel the blast impact in her heels.
For the next five minutes, she jumped and ran, jumped and ran, keeping pace with Reston. Her knees began to throb from the repeated jarring of twelve-foot drop after twelve-foot drop. Tier by tier they descended the ziggurat palace, with Tlanextic still tenaciously giving chase. Now and then a lightning gun bolt came their way, but the shots were always wild, Tlanextic taking them on the hoof, hoping for rather than expecting a hit. The benefit from this was that, however briefly he paused to fire, each time it put that little bit more distance between them and him. When they finally made the last jump down to ground level, he was a full five tiers behind.
They were on an open plaza, with nothing to take cover behind other than a couple of ornamental fig trees in cubic urns. Tlanextic would have a clear line of fire once he had reached the plaza himself, which would be in mere moments.
Reston didn’t hesitate. He had spied something across the plaza. Without a word he shepherded Mal towards it. She went uncomplainingly, her own survival instincts telling her she was best off deferring to his survival instincts.
One of the monorail trains had just pulled in at the plaza. Its passengers were a janitorial crew toting mops, buckets and brooms. Reston barged past them up the platform steps, scattering them and their cleaning implements, and leapt into the carriage behind the driver.
“Tell me how this thing works,” he ordered the startled man. “Now!”
“Who the hell are — ”
“Oh, sod it.” Reston yanked the man out of his seat by his tunic and tossed him out onto the platform. “How hard can it be? Vaughn. Get in.”