Hirsen hated Newgen with all his soul. Only Delagarza’s hate could match his.
It saved his life. He saw the glimmer in a dark corner of the room, underneath the piping. A faint shimmer in the air that he would’ve missed in his post-victory bliss.
The world seemed to slow down.
Hirsen grabbed Lotti and threw her down with him on top. She didn’t realize what was going on, had no time to yell. As they fell, Hirsen raised his pistol and fired, over and over again in the general direction of the shimmer. He hit the floor, hard, air rushing out of his lungs.
Instead of puncturing the wall, some bullets bounced off a mirror-like surface. The shimmer short-circuited, revealing flashes of a humanoid figure in the middle of dashing for cover.
Tactical Reactive Camouflage Cloth. A product of Tal-Kader’s Defense Systems subdivision. Or, as Hirsen thought of it, a royal pain in the ass. Last time he heard of it, it was still in development.
The humanoid figure shot back. He was carrying an enforcer’s rifle, capable of punching cleanly through concrete. Hirsen rolled away from Lotti to draw the bullets away from her and emptied his pistol’s clip at the figure’s shimmer.
The bullets bounced off a mirror-like helmet. Not enough armor penetration. Hirsen’s body shook as if a gorilla had sat on him, and he lost all mobility in his right arm. A flower of blood spread out from his reg-suit, at shoulder-height, dripping on and out of the water-proof cloth.
Shit. Was his artery hit? If it was, he was as good as dead, even if he slowed his heart rate. But he had more pressing concerns than that. Distracted, he allowed his subconscious to isolate the pain and trauma away, a grounding technique installed in his psyche courtesy of the corporate monks on Newgen’s paycheck.
The figure stumbled around, the barrel of his rifle trailing drunkenly in Hirsen’s general direction. He stopped firing. Hirsen wondered if he may have nailed him after all.
Lotti got up to one knee and opened up, full auto, on the figure. Reactive Cloth shorted and died as the fragile panels broke at the onslaught. The man covered his head with one armored gauntlet and rushed at Lotti. He could’ve been thrice her size, but he was fast. They collided with the grace and inevitability of a car crash. Hirsen heard Lotti’s collarbone snap like a twig even through the buzz in his ears from all the gun noise.
The ganger gasped and smashed hard against the wall. The man fiddled with his helmet. The visor had cracked, blinding him. He threw the helmet out. It didn’t surprise Hirsen to find himself staring at the grinning visage of Major Nicholas Strauze.
“Samuel Delagarza,” Strauze said, “hot damn, you’re a cockroach full of surprises, aren’t you? Let’s put an end to that.”
He raised his rifle. Hirsen threw his gun at Strauze’s face. The enforcer deflected it with his weapon, a half-a-second distraction. Hirsen charged at him without as much as a groan. His kick connected with the rifle and tore it away. He threw a punch with his good arm, aiming at the enforcer’s throat.
Strauze used his elbow to deflect the strike and countered with a fluid jab that forced Hirsen back. In a single movement, Strauze launched a lightning-fast kick at the agent’s knees. Hirsen side-stepped and tried to hit Strauze’s pressure point near his chest. The enforcer darted to the right and, in the same motion, made a roundhouse kick that sent Hirsen barreling to the floor.
Hirsen rolled away, enhanced senses doing their best to keep him in the fight. He jumped to his feet. “A fucking roundhouse kick? Really? That’s what Tal-Kader’s teaching its people? Shameful.”
“And yet, you ate it up.” Strauze flashed him a shark-like grin.
Strauze was toying with Hirsen, and they both knew it. They exchanged blows again, but blood-loss left Hirsen dizzy, slowed him down, made his form sloppy. Strauze smacked the agent’s knee away and elbowed him in his destroyed shoulder.
Hirsen’s vision went red. Neural bio-circuits informed him he was undergoing shock. Synthetic hormones and pain dampeners rushed to his brain and body, but they were overwhelmed. Hirsen stumbled, tripped over his own feet, and then Strauze swept his legs of the floor, then stomped on his leg, neatly breaking his tibia.
The agent blacked out for a second before trauma-dampeners in his body activated and jolted him back to consciousness. Emergency mantras sang in his head, along with motivational visions designed to provide him with an extra boost of fighting spirit. The pain carried them away, an unrelenting red river. Hirsen’s spiritual guide disappeared mid-speech as flashes of agony drew reason and strength away.
“You fight like an agent,” Strauze mocked him from somewhere far away. “It’s true, then? The legendary Daneel Hirsen? Man, we used to hear stories about you back in training, made you look like some kind of action hero. Everyone itched to be the one to put you down, you know. I’m kinda disappointed; you didn’t turn out to be much. I expected more of a fight. This is the second time we kill you. Then again, you did manage to trick Doctor Kircher’s nanobots. Mind sharing your secret before you die? It may help me paint you in a better light when I tell the story.”
Hirsen laughed wetly. “I tricked you too, remember? You forgot about that part.”
Strauze’s smile lost its edge. “Well, you know what they say. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice—”
“But I did fool you twice,” Hirsen said. “I played you like a goddamn fiddle.”
“You do realize you’re lying in a pool of your own blood, don’t you?”
“Eh. It’s a chance I had to take. To get you here.”
“Get me here? That’s how you’re playing it? Pathetic. I outplayed you, Hirsen. I intercepted your transmission to your Outlander’s friends. It never reached the EIF fleet. It wouldn’t have helped you, anyway, I heard Erickson killed them all, you know? You’re alone here, you and the Reiner bitch, and in a few minutes, both of you will be nothing else but a promotion in my lap. At least you’ll be dead. Tal-Kader’s probably got something far nastier in store for your ganger trash.”
Hirsen laughed again. It hurt to do so, but he did it anyway, because he knew it pissed Strauze off. “I never had any friends in Outlander. I sent you that transmission because I wanted you here. See, the ship I talked about? Made it up. I’m going to ride your ship to the EIF. Can you imagine what a great bar story that’s going to make?”
As Hirsen expected that erased Strauze’s smile from his ugly face. “Is that right? Well, since I’ll be the one telling it, I guess I’ll just say whatever I want.”
Hirsen wanted to say something like Boy, Tal-Kader should really start teaching its minions to confirm their kills, but Lotti didn’t play ball with his dramatic instincts. She just jumped Strauze, roaring like an absolute maniac, a trail of bloody saliva staining her chin, and an ice-pick in her fist.
She hit at Strauze’s head like a carpenter trying to hammer a nail to a wall in a single strike. There was a wet popping sound, and Strauze screamed. His fist shot wildly and threw Lotti away, to reveal the ice-pick lodged solidly into the bloody socket where his eye had once been.
The enforcer fell to his knees, wailing in a high pitch that drilled at Hirsen’s ears. Strauze’s hands fingered the pick, like he couldn’t believe it was there. A half-hearted attempt to pull it out resulted in a wail of agony. Blood soaked the man’s face, which was deformed by sheer animal agony.
Hirsen crawled his way to Lotti’s rifle. He confirmed it was still loaded. He took careful aim, compensated against his blurry vision, and shot Major Strauze’s brains out.
31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE