And I heard thoughts:
What the hell is that Jesus Christ in a is that Bloat? thing bottle!
Belatedly, the sirens were wailing over the Rox. Kafka was yelling below me. "Bloat! Can't you hold them back?"
"Uh-uh," I told him, slowly and wearily. It took a lot more effort to talk than I would have thought. "I can't. I'm tired." I sounded like a kid too late for bed. Carry me in, Daddy; I'm so sleepy.
A pair of choppers danced thunderously around the building, then banked away to land. Automatic gunfire crackled, sounding almost too thin to be real, except that I could hear the mindvoices wailing in panic and fear.
A wave of terror rang through the headvoices of the Rox. Then there were just too many thoughts and too much going on, and the images overwhelmed me, buried me.
Chaos. Just chaos. I don't remember much of it, only individual scenes plucked from the general carnage. Images piled one on top of another, experienced almost simultaneously…
… I could sense the ghost of Chrysalis haunting Elmo's dreams. There was an urgency to her voice as she stroked his cheek. "Get out!" she said, her voice at odds with her soft caress. "Get out!"
In Elmo's head, there was a sound like running footsteps. Under their impact, the dream walls of the Crystal Palace dissolved. Chrysalis disappeared, but I could feel him holding to that sweet dream touch.
Another ghost. Another memory.
Elmo must have opened his eyes, for he was thinking, Shit, are they here again? while a half-remembered sound of rotors echoed in his mind. Gotta get up! She said so!
Then I caught a brief stolen image of a gun butt arcing toward his face and then a fusillade of pain that cut out everything. The anguish was excruciating, instant, and blinding. Just before Elmo blacked out entirely, I heard him thinking, Jesus, they're going to fucking kill me.
… the noise of the helicopters had awakened Blaise, for I caught his thoughts spilling from the windshield. There was an image: the blue beam of a searchlight throwing crazed shadows on a wall. Erotic dream images mingled with shabby reality for a moment before his mindwalls came up and shut him away…
Croyd was jittery. Thoughts wheeled like bats in his head. Choppers went right by the tower, two of 'em, and more lights out in the bay coming in… this is crap, just crap… gotta move, gotta be goddamn careful… can't get caught here.
I followed Croyd's stream of thoughts down from his tower and into the building proper. He was near Elmo's room when the stream of consciousness suddenly halted. From what any of us had seen, Croyd's new body-he looked like an armadillo mated with a man-was fast and strong, as well as pretty well armored. His eyesight sucked, but his hearing was good; scent was even better.
Smell machine oil, sweat. Something else. Look around the corner; goddamn this lousy eyesight… That has to be Elmo… shit, those are troopers.
Through Croyd's ears, I could hear the distinct deadly clicking of a weapon being readied, and then Croyd-with a psychic yell that rang in my own head-charged them…
I could tell that the one named Danny was pissed because Ray wanted to waste time with the damn dwarf, but then, Ray was the squad leader, a by-God new sergeant… and it was Ray's call. just get it over with… this place gives me the creeps… fulla jokers and God knows what around that fucking blob in the lobby. Danny was listening to Ray laughing. He didn't really want to see the dwarf's head turn into strawberry jam. Just wanna get outta here…
Danny heard Ray's CAR-15 fire, but at the same time something like a big fast armadillo crashed into them-from the snatches of vision I caught, I knew it was Croyd. No!… shit, kill the damn thing… Danny was firing, and-a brief headflash-Ray was rolling on the ground grabbing at his throat,… shit, the joker crushed his windpipe… and Croyd was clawing at Jerry who screamed too, and Danny let go with a burst that tore into Jerry, and Jerry went down, no, no! and a ricochet hit Danny, Jesus, I'm hit! Fuck, it hurts, it hurts, and the armadillo had snatched up the dwarf and scooted down the hall, limping but alive…
Molly Bolt had jumped a Huey pilot… wonder how the fuck you're really supposed to fly one of these things P… not that it really matters, just turn the stick over this way and that way… kinda fun
… I could feel the vertigo tug at her as the craft began to buck and cant over. The troops crouched in the open rear were shouting (I heard their thoughts, too, of course). Shit… who's that? I caught a glimpse through Molly's eyes as she glanced over her shoulder. A military pistol was pointed at her. A GI, a young black man, looked at her with strange sad eyes. "Goddamn, Chuck, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." Shit!!… and then there was a pinwheeling shock of disorientation as Molly jumped away.
I could feel her for long seconds afterward, gasping, waiting to feel the shattering impact of the bullet, before she realized that she was in her own body again.
Captain Hayes was thinking that it was hell to have a fight with your old lady just before a mission. Marge, damn it, they kill people. You understand? They'd carve you up on the street because you looked wrong at them. They're vicious and mean. They're animals. He kept replaying the argument in his head. Marge argued that they were just kids, just kids, and she didn't understand. Shouldn't have told her in the first place. She's just worrying, that's all. Just worried about me.
Hayes was worried too. I could feel it and see it in the quick headflashes between thoughts. He clung to the throbbing, shaking walls of the Huey, staring at the packed troops in the craft's belly. Good men, all. None of them deserve to die, but some will. The bastard kids here will see to that, no matter what Marge says. Hayes cleared his throat; the forming words interfered with his thoughts. "Thirty seconds," he shouted over the din of the rotors.
… can see the place now, flares lighting the place like it's Nam all over again… choppers wheeling around that fucking toy palace like big angry vultures…
"We're landing in jumper territory."… of course they know that, but if I talk, they can't think about what's going to happen… "So make sure you watch your partner."… big fucking ball of of flame, JESUS! was that a Huey?…"Remember that your guns are rigged."… can't see it now, but that was one of ours going down, shit… "So you're the only ones who know the trick."… had better work had better damn work… "You see one of our guys pulling the trigger and nothing's happening, they may-may-have been jumped. So don t shoot 'em; use the tranks." Or just shoot quick anyway… "Policy is fire only when fired on," (… which may get us dead…) "but I want you to do whatever it takes. Don't worry about policy. Stay alive however you gotta do it. Understand?"
His men shouted affirmation back to him.
The Huey jerked (man, those shacks across the way are going up like crazy), dropped. I saw an image of dirt swirling crazily in sudden floodlights.
"Go, GO, GO!" Hayes was shouting, and his people were spilling out the door toward the jumper buildings. Like a ghetto, a slum. Like what I remember of Saigon, just before we left… Hayes was lagging behind, his people already in the buildings as he crossed the open ground in front.
A burst of small arms fire caught him then. He screamed and went down. The horror of what he saw drove out all the words for an instant. I saw the remnants of his body as he did. We both knew, even as the pain hit and the vision started to go.
… let it end, God, just let it end please… can't believe they actually shot me, all that time in Nam and not a scratch… still see my hands all slick and warm… there was so much blood, so much, too much and all mine… cold and black… they always said that there'd be light and voices and family, but there's only blackness… blackness… Marge?…