As the driver obediently swung their vehicle in the indicated direction, an energized Lopé saw what she was pointing at. Two heavy horses, both percherons, had not made their escape with the rest of the herd.
What the hell…? Lopé stared.
One lay on its side on the ground. It was utterly motionless, its eyes open and unblinking, all four legs stretched straight out from its body. Fully exposed to the view of those in the car, its underside was neatly slit from groin to chest. There was no blood. There was no cascading viscera, no organ dump. There was, however, plenty of room for machinery, instrumentation, and a passenger.
The percheron was a mesyn—part mechanical, part synthetic. The robotic components were required in order for it to function, Lopé knew. It wasn’t a full synthetic, like the Walter model that had been assigned to the Covenant. The composite life form gave new meaning to the definitions of horse and rider. It was also an unparalleled example of camouflage—of a sort no one ever could have foreseen.
Indistinguishable from its counterpart, the second mesyn continued to move back and forth as it and its concealed operator stalked a subject among the trees. Here they grew too close together for the car to proceed any further—another argument in favor of the equine synthetics.
He and Rosenthal drew their sidearms as they piled out. Rosenthal sprinted to her right as Lopé admonished the driver to stay with the car and keep watch. He moved to the left, and they warily approached the confrontation that was taking place in front of them.
Beyond the mesyn horse, two men were retreating. One of them—a lithe, muscular man—was backing away using an arm to hold the other individual close in front of him. At the same time he kept the muzzle of a small pistol pressed tightly against his captive’s neck.
Abruptly the horse-machine opened its mouth to spit several small-caliber shells in his direction. The slugs chewed up the ground to the left of the entwined pair. Warning shots, Lopé theorized. He recognized neither of the two men.
Taking cover behind a tree he nodded across to Rosenthal, who had done likewise. Then he leaned around the bole, aimed his weapon, and shouted.
“This is Daniel Lopé, sergeant, Weyland-Yutani security! Identify yourselves!” The figure with the gun replied immediately. He didn’t, however, take his eyes off the second mesyn.
“Yoji Ngata, kodenbushi,” he called back. “Weyland-Yutani special operative, Tokyo department!” He nodded as best he could at the man he was dragging backward. “I have in custody one Duncan Fields, the so-called prophet of the organization headquartered at this property!”
Before he was finished the head of the mesyn swung in Lopé’s direction and unleashed a barrage of chain shells that tore away bark and part of the tree behind which the sergeant had taken cover. Ducking around the trunk, he took aim and began firing. Off to his right he could hear Rosenthal opening up with her own weapon.
“Aim for the head!” He could see puffs of faux flesh flying as the shells from his pistol tore into the mesyn’s synthetic flesh. “Aim for the eyes!”
Trying to deal with the new threat from the sergeant and the private, the operator inside the pseudo-percheron ended up cutting nothing but wood. Rosenthal again proved her skill by taking out one of the mesyn’s camera eyes. When Lopé succeeded in shattering the other, the organo-mechanical composite began to stagger, though bullets continued to fly erratically from the mouth muzzle.
It gave Ngata time to get his captive behind a tree. With delicate features and straight black hair falling down to his eyes, he looked more like a musician than a free-ranging security operative. He was breathing hard from the effort of keeping his prisoner between them and the second mesyn.
“Thank you, Sergeant Lopé!” Ngata yelled out. “It was becoming difficult to continue.” He looked around the tree where he had dragged his captive. Finally they ducked behind an old sycamore, its broad trunk offering plenty of cover.
Lopé nodded, peering again around the flank of the oak behind which he had taken shelter. The still erect mesyn began stumbling about. Its operator had ceased firing.
“Stay put!” Lopé called out, making a face as he shifted his attention to the Tokyo operative’s captive. “For someone who’s caused so much trouble, you don’t look like much.”
Fields had long since ceased struggling against Ngata’s powerful grip, but he met the sergeant’s gaze evenly. “I never meant to cause anyone any trouble. I just tell people what I dream, what I see. It is their decision to try and save mankind from itself.” To the sergeant he looked more tired and resigned than angry. “Now I just want it to end.”
Lopé snapped back. “Maybe you should have left the saving to those equipped to do it.”
Before Fields could offer a comment the sergeant had stepped out from behind the oak. Beckoning to Rosenthal he started forward, crouching low while moving from side to side as he advanced, careful never to move in a straight line.
His caution proved unnecessary. With its optics shot out, the mesyn was blinded. Approaching the staggering composite from behind, Lopé took careful aim at the rear left knee. Silently he gestured for Rosenthal to do likewise to the knee joint of the left foreleg. Motioning up and down with his hand he counted down to three, barked “Now!” and fired several rounds.
The knees shattered, spitting flesh and shrapnel. As the mesyn collapsed to the ground its operator attempted to fire at the unseen assailants. It continued firing until several clicks indicated that it was out of ammunition.
Lopé waved Rosenthal off to the right and took up a position facing the mesyn’s ventral side. Bearing in mind Glynis Hazelton’s explosive self-immolation in a city alleyway, each of them stayed at a safe distance. Though the mesyn was now effectively sightless and immobilized, they had not shot at its ears.
“I repeat, this is Sergeant Daniel Lopé of Weyland-Yutani security! You are surrounded. Your prophet is in custody. You are immobilized. We will not move within range of your weapons’ system, and there is nothing more you can do.” His grip tightened on his pistol. “There’s no reason to sacrifice yourself. Come out and raise your hands. If I see the slightest indication of a booby-trap or concealed explosive device of any kind, I will shoot you down without hesitation.”
No response. From across the way, Rosenthal looked questioningly toward her superior. Lopé gestured for her to be patient. Behind them, Ngata held onto his captive while regaining his strength.
A whirring sound came from the mesyn’s guts as belly and chest split open. The diminutive female figure who rolled out of the prone operator’s position kept her hands above her head. As the sergeant tracked her every movement she rose, calmly brushed herself off, and started walking backward. Lopé pursued slowly, maintaining the same distance between them.
“Stop there.” He gestured with the muzzle of the pistol. “Stop walking.”
“Sorry, Sergeant.” Yukiko spread her hands to show that she held no weapon, no button, nothing that could activate a concealed explosive device. “I have to leave before your other people arrive. What you say is true. I have sacrificed—but not enough. Not yet.” Her expression was grim, her voice taut. “I am not afraid to give my life in the service of mankind, and I will continue to do everything I can on behalf of the Prophet, to save our unworthy species from—”
“I know, I know.” He continued following her. “The demons out there. Sorry to disappoint you, but there’s nothing out there but interstellar gas, dust, and if we’re lucky, a handful of habitable planets. You’ve been wasting your time. You’re wasting it now. Lie down on the ground and put your hands behind your back.”