I had a headache, and wanted more than anything for Sata to shut up. But as long as he was talking, he wasn’t killing me.
“In a locker in Airlock C, near the docking station, are two atmosphere suits of my own design, retrofitted with chutes. They’re insulated against cosmic rays, pressurized, and have rebreathers. They also have air jets, for getting to the earth’s atmosphere. Once gravity takes over, the suits will protect against the heat of reentry and the electricity of the Tesla field-though admittedly, I’ve never tested them. No one has ever skydived from two hundred miles up before.
“If you’re able to stop me, the suits will be unnecessary. But if you’re not, the TEV has a timer on it. You’ll have twenty minutes to jump out of the space station and get a safe distance away before Chicago disappears. We’ll then continue our game in Milwaukee. I hope you know your geography. You can adjust your aim accordingly as you plummet. Wisconsin is just west of the state that looks like a big mitten.”
Sata smiled again, obviously enjoying himself. “The highest known free fall was from twenty miles above the earth. The world-record holder attained speeds in excess of six hundred miles per hour. I expect to beat that. Though, by next week, a world record won’t matter very much, because there won’t be a world left.”
“What about the nanopoison?” I asked. I was feeling lighter in my chair. We’d risen higher than the mesopshere, passing the Karman line. The blue and white of sky had been replaced by the enormous blackness of space. I knew enough about gravity to understand that weightlessness didn’t happen because you were far from earth. In low-earth orbit, you weighed only 11 percent less than you did on the surface. Being weightless happened when you went into orbit around a planet, because an orbit was essentially a free fall around a curve. You could float in zero-G because you were falling at the same rate your ship was falling.
“That’s wonderful, Talon. You actually have delusions of winning. Alter-Talon has the antidote, of course. If you survive this game, there will be others to play. Which brings us to our current situation. At Airlock C, I’m going to mollybond the TEV to the wall, program the angle of the wormhole beam, set the timer, and leap to safety. Your goal is to try and stop me. It’s sort of like hyperfootball, with higher stakes.”
“Thanks for the info dump,” I said. “But what if I don’t want to play your game, Sata?”
His jubilant face darkened, becoming sinister. “Then I’ll call Alter-Talon, and you can listen in while he skins your pretty little wife.”
FORTY-SIX
I unbuckled my seat belt and stood up, convinced Sata wasn’t going to hit the brakes. He didn’t go through all of this meticulous planning for me to die in the lift car. I, however, had no such compunctions. If he died in the lift car, I was fine with that.
Sata eyed me, looking curious and somewhat superior, like a cat watching a mouse. Besides his TEV, I assumed he was armed. But he was pretty gung ho about going mano a mano, so I doubted he’d use weapons.
“You’re wearing bo?gu,” Sata said. “Clever of you. But it won’t be enough.” He set down the TEV and reached behind his neck, drawing an aluminum sword.
So much for him not using weapons.
I advanced anyway, taking small, quick steps, keeping my balance centered. I could feel my heart start to race and my palms get sweaty. Insane as Sata’s motives were, he had a point about the world being unexciting these last few years. I had become a cop to protect and serve. Right here, right now, was the essence of who and what I was.
Time to kick this old fart’s ass.
I ran to him, jumping into the air, aiming a flying kick at his chest. Not a regulation kendo attack, but I wasn’t worried about points this time.
My foot connected, and it was like hitting a wall. Sata’s feet remained firmly planted. I pushed myself away from him, landing on all fours, and checked out his footwear.
Antigrav shoes. There were magnets in the rubber soles, which adhered to the steel floors of the lift car and the space station.
In my rush to get here I’d forgotten to bring a pair for myself.
Sata walked robotically toward me, lifting and planting his feet in an awkward manner. He raised his shinai and swung at my head, the sword a blur. I lifted a padded forearm to block, but as soon as he hit me he pulled back and struck again, tagging me in the side.
Even with the chest plate on, it hurt like a bitch. The metal shinai had more weight and speed than the traditional bamboo version. I rolled to the left, bumping into a row of seats, ducking again as Sata knocked off a headrest. Then he raised the sword up in both hands, like Arthur freeing Excalibur, and drove the tip right into my gut.
I braced for it, blowing out a gust of air through my pursed lips as the sword connected with my diaphragm. Ignoring the pain, I latched onto the shinai with both hands. I was determined to rip it from Sata’s grasp.
I heard the zap at the same time I felt it, a burning sensation that ran all the way up both of my arms. I immediately let go of the sword, somehow managing to bring up my leg and kick Sata out of range.
“My own design,” Sata said, admiring his weapon. “I’ve infused the shinai with a cattle prod. Makes things more interesting.”
He thrust the tip at me, ramming my hip. It was like I’d been struck with a mining pick. I cried out, smashing my forearm against the sword, knocking it away. Then I pulled myself to my feet using a chair, rubbing my thigh furiously to get some feeling back in my leg. I considered pulling out the Nife, but decided to hold off for the time being. Accidentally disabling the car or cutting through the fuselage would kill us both. Plus, based on something he’d said, I had a feeling I’d need the Nife later. If I revealed the Nife now, I could very well miss a last-chance opportunity.
I second-guessed my reluctance when Sata zapped me again, this time in the shoulder. It lit up my nerve endings like they’d been soaked in acid and then set on fire. I danced away from the blow, did a quick spin-kick, and hit Sata between his legs. He wore a supporter, my foot bouncing harmlessly off. I was going to have to rethink my affinity for the groin shot; it never seemed to work.
Sata swung the shinai like a hyperbaseball bat. I went in low and got inside the arc, clipping him under the jaw with my elbow. When his head snapped back, I chopped at his neck with the edge of my hand. His throat was corded with muscle, and my blow did no damage. I might have to rethink my opinion of steroids as well. The only thing staying roid-free had gotten me was multiple beatings.
I picked up the detached headrest and backed away, standing on the balls of my feet. Sata glanced at my makeshift weapon and shook his head, looking disappointed.
“I expected more from you, Talon-kun. Back when we first met, you showed so much promise. You reminded me of-”
“I’d rather get beaten to death than endure another one of your endless monologues,” I interrupted. “Now, shut the fuck up and fight, old man.”
He thrust the sword at me. I blocked with the headrest, did a tight spin-kick, and knocked him upside his diseased head. Sata staggered, pitching onto some chairs, leaving his back exposed. If I got my arm around his neck, I could choke off his air and end this right now. I dropped the headrest and jumped at him, bracing myself to land on his shoulders.
But instead of landing I sailed right over him, heading straight for the rear wall of the lift, moving in what felt like slow motion.
We’d ascended high enough to reach zero gravity.
I held my hands out in front of me, Superman-style, and soared into the wall. My fingertips brushed against it, and I bent my elbows, kissing the metal, and then pushed myself back toward Sata.