“Cut that out!” Laureline reprimanded. “How can I fix you if you keep moving?”
“If you don’t hurry, there won’t be anything left to fix!”
Valerian fired into the charging pack. They dropped, but then he heard an awful, final click-click and realized with a sinking feeling he’d just run out of ammo. If there were any more, or if the guards came after him—
“There, that’s better! Don’t move!” said Laureline, peering deep into the mechanical entrails of the Sleeve.
Valerian’s gaze darted to each place where an attack might come. It had flickered back to the pile of dead Pit-Ghors when one of them shuddered, gnashed its sharp teeth, and started to drag itself to its feet. It shook itself, then its eyes refastened on the Sleeve, and it started to lurch toward them, gathering speed with every step.
“Faster, Laureline!” Valerian yelped. “There’s one coming this way and I’m out of ammo!”
“I’m doing my best, Major!”
“Do it faster!”
Laureline threw her hands up in the air. “Want to do it yourself?”
“Laureline, dammit, they are coming. Put your hand back on that thing!”
Somehow that didn’t come out sounding quite right.
“All right, so stop complaining and hold still.”
Valerian’s mouth was dry. He didn’t mind facing danger. He minded facing danger with an empty weapon. Major Gibson’s voice sounded in his ear.
“You’ve been detected,” the major was shouting. “Split up!”
Splitting up was pretty much impossible at the moment. Valerian’s heart jumped into his throat as he saw that the wounded Pit-Ghor heading for him had company. Some of his buddies had also recovered sufficiently to get to their feet and were closing in on Valerian.
“There’s three of them now!” he told the major. “I can’t hold them much longer.”
“A few more seconds, Major,” Laureline chimed in. Her fingers were flying over the snake pit of wires, and her face was still and set in concentration.
“Attack!” shouted a guard.
Laureline snapped the case closed. Her eyes blazed as she looked into Valerian’s.
“You’re good!”
“Thanks!”
Even as he spoke he was rolling to one side, dodging the attack from the first Pit-Ghor. It overshot him and wheeled around, lunging at the oh-so-tempting Sleeve with its fangs bared. Valerian stopped breathing as he jabbed his fingers down, punching in the numbers on the keypad.
His arm disappeared and the Pit-Ghor sprawled pathetically in the dirt, its great jaws snapping down on only air.
Valerian pulled his arm out of the Sleeve and touched it. He’d had so much of virtual reality today he felt he had to make sure it was still there. He grinned and squirmed out of the hole, then pulled off his helmet, throwing it away and shaking his hair.
“Okay? You got everything?” asked Laureline, following him and grabbing the case that contained the converter. “Can we go now?”
Without waiting for an answer, she hastened back toward the eastern gate, and Valerian was hot on her heels.
“Your cover’s blown,” came Gibson’s voice in their ears as they ran. “Zito’s friend’s screen just flashed your images. Keep moving. Don’t change course.”
“We don’t intend to,” Laureline stated.
Igon Siruss did not often move swiftly, and even when he did, it was not particularly fast. His guards had notified him that they had Agent Valerian trapped, and he had come with mild rapidity. Now he stood at the end of the street, but all he saw were some unhappy-looking guards and some dead—or baffled—Pit-Ghors, who scampered around, futilely sniffing the ground.
“Sorry, boss,” one of his Kodhar’Khans said.
“He made it to his world,” another supplied. “We’re not sure how, but he did.”
Fury welled inside Igon. His first impulse was to rip the guards apart with his bare hands. He could; it was messy and he preferred to leave that sort of thing to others, but he certainly could.
But no. There would be time to deal with them later.
He had learned a human saying a long time ago: Revenge is a dish best served cold. Most of the time, Igon found this to be true. But not today.
Today, he wanted his revenge swiftly, speedily, and preferably bloodily.
“Bring me a Megaptor!” he roared.
CHAPTER NINE
Major Gibson gave the orders to his unit to exit the brightly colored bus and stand ready to cover the team’s escape through the gate. It sounded like Major Valerian’s mishap with the Sleeve had resulted in half of Big Market following in hot pursuit.
Gibson had heard nothing but good things about Sergeant Laureline—a fast thinker, a good fighter in a combat situation, a stickler for details, respectful of the chain of command. He had heard good things about Major Valerian as well, but unlike that bestowed upon the young sergeant, Valerian’s praise had come with qualifiers.
A bit impulsive, some had said. Arrogant, but damn good at what he does, someone else had put in. Reckless… but he’s got seven medals and he’s not even thirty yet, a third party had said.
Gibson suspected that the kid hadn’t even read the mission instructions. And now, Valerian, the very respectable sergeant, and the priceless converter were all on the other side of the thick red wall.
His eyes were on Zito’s screen, flickering occasionally, irrationally, to the eastern gate. Then they widened as Gibson saw a large spot on the screen. Something very, very big was chasing after the two agents—and closing the gap with sickening speed.
“The Siirts on the other watch towers have primed their weapons,” Zito reported.
“Attack! Level red. I repeat, attack! Level red!” the Siirt puppet shouted.
“Cops are closing in on them, sir,” Zito added.
“Cover them!” Gibson shouted.
“What do we do now?” came Laureline’s voice in his ear.
There was only one answer Gibson could give them. “Run!”
They did.
Small dust clouds appeared behind them, stirred up by each frantically placed footfall as the two agents raced toward safety. Gunfire was erupting all around them. Valerian glanced up to see the puppet Siirt controlled by Zito was opening fire on his buddies. The poor guy looked horrified at what he was being forced to do. The gate was just up ahead. The pair hurled themselves through it at top speed, not slowing as they raced toward the bus.
Like the people conducting the mission, the vehicle that had ferried them here had also been undercover. Now, though, it was already well into abandoning its camouflage of a rickety old tour bus. The front portion, including headlights and bumper, was opening like a book, its two sides coming together to form a defensive and decidedly uninviting shield. Twin lights rolled out to either side. Similar armor was being provided to each wheel, folding over it protectively as heavy metal plates slammed down on the bus’s side.
The old, grimy windows lowered, to be replaced with grates with holes precisely wide enough to admit rifle barrels spaced at militarily perfect intervals. Similar grates with longer, horizontal bars scrolled over the windshield. With a grinding whir, a turreted gun emerged and folded itself into position. Other weapons appeared along the now heavily armored military vehicle, bristling and ready for action.
Bullets spattered around Valerian and Laureline. Gulping in air as she ran, clutching the case and its precious cargo tightly to her chest, Laureline heard the sound of something on their heels. Despite her better instincts, she looked behind them—and lost the air she’d just inhaled in a horrified gut-punch realization.