The alien named Tsûuri—the Pearl, Valerian thought— looked very ill at ease.
“Hey,” grunted Igon, “I’m not running a tea room here. What do you want from me, Mr. Law?”
“Igon Siruss,” Valerian stated, “you stand accused of stealing a Mül converter belonging to the Human Federation. But before I drag your sorry ass in, I’ve got to recover stolen property.”
The moment stretched out in silence. No one moved.
Valerian continued to press the muzzle of his gun to Igon’s neck. The Pearls kept their weapons trained on the guards, looking increasingly panicked.
“Valerian,” came a familiar and welcome female voice in his ear, “I’ll be on your right, three o’clock, three feet away.”
He smiled, slightly. “Got it.”
“Huh?” Igon said. “What do you mean?”
“You,” Valerian retorted, pressing the muzzle even more firmly into the thick neck, “don’t move.”
A moment later, as if by magic, a large carrying case appeared at Valerian’s right—at three o’clock, three feet away.
Laureline.
“Now,” said Valerian to Igon, “take it nice and easy and put the critter’s carrier into this box.” Even before he spoke, Valerian saw growing horror on Igon’s face as it dawned on him that he was about to A) lose the converter, B) get arrested, and C) could do nothing to prevent either misfortune.
“That converter is ours,” blurted Tsûuri suddenly. Fear and determination mingled on his face. “We are prepared to buy it back. Name your price!”
“I’ll double it!” yelped Igon.
Despite the illogical, bizarre, but very real dream connection Valerian had with the Pearls and the critter, he shrugged slightly. Whatever was going on here was no concern of his; he had his orders.
“Sorry, guys, I’m not into sharing. Move it!”
Slowly, reluctantly, looking almost as if he wanted to cry, the smuggler placed the converter into Laureline’s case.
Gibson’s voice spoke into Valerian’s ear. “Guys, move on, now.”
“Converter in the box,” said Valerian to the listening Gibson.
“Copy,” said Laureline’s disembodied voice beside Valerian.
Valerian kept his weapon trained on the smuggler. A moment later, Gibson’s voice spoke in his ear. “Good job, Sergeant. Undetected. Back to base.”
“Affirmative,” Laureline’s voice replied promptly. “Valerian? We’re good. Get out of there.”
“I’m on my way,” Valerian responded. He hesitated, then grabbed the pearl from the table. It, too, was evidence. Igon watched, helpless, fuming.
“I’ll find you, Federal Agent Valerian,” he sputtered, almost choking on his rage. “Wherever you are in the universe, I’ll find you! And I will kill you!”
Valerian grinned. “Good luck with that!”
He was done with this. The whole thing with the Pearls was too weird for him to handle right now, his arm was itching inside the encasing Sleeve, and Laureline still owed him an answer to his question.
Keeping the Sleeve-hidden gun trained on Igon, Valerian slowly moved around the table back toward the door, punching the code into the rear keypad of the Sleeve as Cooper had instructed.
The Sleeve should have disappeared.
It did not.
Valerian glanced at the guards at the door, who were staring in utter confusion as a disembodied arm holding a gun floated toward them.
“Tell your guards to step aside,” Valerian ordered. Igon, still seething, did not obey immediately. “Now. Or not. I think removing your head would do wonders for your looks.”
Igon growled in anger, sounding almost exactly like the angry Pit-Ghor straining at its leash. “Let him pass,” he snarled, finally.
The Kodhar’Khan guards obeyed reluctantly, taking a few steps backwards. So did one of the Pit-Ghors, though it snarled.
The Pit-Ghor named Fluffy, however, wasn’t as well trained.
Just as Valerian had stepped through the curtain, out into the street and had almost finished a second attempt at keying in the code, the animal gave a great bellow of frustration and lunged after him so violently the leash snapped.
Its massive jaws closed on the enticing floating metal box that covered Valerian’s arm.
“Ahhhh!” Valerian shouted. “Bad dog! Bad dog!”
The Sleeve was not just a piece of cutting-edge technology, it was also made of very strong metal, so Valerian’s arm was not in danger of being severed in a single bite. But the beast had put the rest of him in jeopardy. He tried to turn the cumbersome Sleeve against the animal, squeezing the gun’s trigger.
The sound of gunfire was like a spark of flame to an old-fashioned powder keg. Suddenly everyone was firing. Bullets whizzed past Valerian, and he threw himself into an odd, contorting dance so they wouldn’t be able to guess where his invisible body was.
The sound of combat was coming from inside, too, and out of the corner of his eye, as he continued to attempt to detach a ravening Pit-Ghor from his arm, Valerian saw that the two Pearls had taken advantage of the chaos to flee.
The female glanced over her shoulder as they ran down the street, and even in the midst of the madness Valerian was struck by her ethereal beauty and wondered again just what the hell was going on.
“Valerian’s in trouble!” Laureline’s voice, in his ear. Valerian dropped to the ground, flailing wildly, trying to dislodge the monster-dog.
“Your mission takes priority,” Gibson replied. “Keep going. Cooper? Cover him!”
Finally, with a well-placed kick to the Pit-Ghor’s belly, Valerian managed to wrest free. Dodging the hail of bullets, he raced around the back of Igon’s shop to join Cooper.
Cooper had already “armored up,” wearing two Sleeves and carrying a machine gun in each hand.
“The keypad’s broken!” shouted Valerian. “I can’t get my arm back.”
No sooner had he gotten the words out than Igon’s goons came pelting around the corner after him, guns blazing.
“Get back to Gibson!” Cooper shouted. “I’ll cover you!”
Valerian obeyed, sprinting off as fast as he could while Cooper opened fire and the guards returned it.
He wanted to believe that Cooper—he who would win a bar fight against anyone, any size, any time— would survive the attack. He had two machine guns and military experience.
But the Kodhar’Khans had guns, too, and they had more of them.
Cooper, if he fell, would do so in the line of duty.
Valerian had experienced a plethora of bizarre things in his twenty-seven years. But this situation was right up there in the top few. He was in one world, and his arm was in another, and the result was comical and potentially deadly chaos.
His body, firmly grounded in the “real” world, was invisible and untouchable thanks to Cooper’s spray earlier. He wasn’t about to bump into anybody or anything in Big Market other than tourists—or, he amended, real bodyguards and those they guarded. But his Sleeved arm, trapped in the virtual part of the current reality, was completely uncooperative. Try as he might, that damned exposed arm kept smacking unreal heads, catching on non-existent merchandise, and in general putting the rest of the real body at high risk.
Normally Valerian was on good terms with his appendages, but not today.
Definitely not today.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lumwak’s duty shift at Siruss’s “shop” was not due to begin for over an hour, and he was permitting himself a much-needed break. The pay was good, excellent in fact, but Lumwak could not help but notice the high attrition rate of the crime lord’s “staff.”