But she didn’t, and a smashing sound from the groundcar told him the officer was on the move. Kane had to act.
He unslung his pack and set it at Raven’s side, twining the strap through her slack hand and trusting her to know by seeing it that he was coming back for her and she should not move. He bent low, growling in her ear, hoping that some subconscious part of her would hear and know him. But that was all. And then he left her.
Kane got low and watched the lawman run toward the smoke of the crashed groundcar. He ran fast and fairly steady, too, and that was bad. Kane was all too aware of the hurts inside him. This had better not come to a hand-fight.
He waited only long enough for the officer to get out of sight, and then he was moving, still low, with the human gun in one hand and the other in claws. He circled the groundcar (noting with the cold half of his mind that it appeared to be working pretty well, even if it was hung up. He could move it when this was done, assuming Raven was in any condition to drive, and if she wasn’t, well, maybe it was time he learned for himself), watching the human within struggle with her harness. She was flushed, her face pinched with an expression that was one part fear to nine parts pure exasperation. Pinned in, somehow. Completely helpless.
Kane eased the safety off of his gun and got in close on the blind side of the car. He could hear her now, swearing softly and continuously under her breath, punctuating her words periodically with grunts of effort: “…let go of me, you—ungh!—goddamn thing. Stupid seatbelt bitey-thingy, the only fucking thing that’s—aagh!—damaged and it would be you, you piece of shit! If I have to write to the Ford company and tell them aliens got off the planet with a keg of human hypothalamuses—urrgh!—because their fucking seatbelt clicker locks up on impact, I will! Arrgh! Goddammit!” She banged her little fist on the guidance wheel just as Kane hooked his hand into the door handle, and then covered her face in defeat. “God, I could use a hand here,” she muttered.
Kane ripped the door open and had the gun pressed to the thin skin just below her eye before she could do more than just twitch.
“Very funny, God,” she said, her lips barely moving.
Kane cut the strap of her frozen harness with one pass of his claws, seized her by the throat, and pulled her from the car.
*
The trail vanished after a hundred paces. Just vanished, right before the rotting husk of a fallen tree. Tagen continued on another step, his eyes sweeping left and right as dread bloomed in him. He turned, forcing soldier’s stillness, and retreated along the line of E’Var’s flight, searching for the place his prisoner had split off after backtracking. He was aware of every tree, every thicket, every shadowed place where a Jotan might be sighting on him.
His plasma gun was a comforting weight in his hand, his thumb at home beside the kill-switch. “Surrender yourself,” he called in Jotan. The hot, dry air swallowed his words, giving him the surreal impression that they had not carried at all. “Kanetus E’Var, you can be arrested or killed! Choose!”
No answer, not that Tagen expected anything (unless, of course, it was the expectation of human gunfire splitting him open). Tagen eased out from the false trail, scanning for further signs. “I have you, prisoner! Surrender! You have no hope of escape!”
“No?” a voice called in N’Glish. “Then maybe I could interest you in a trade?”
Tagen dropped and spun, his gun hand aimed without thought or effort. His thumb was already on the kill-switch but he did not fire. If he had, he would have killed E’Var instantly, for he was sighted right at the slaver’s heart.
And at Daria’s wide, terrified eyes. E’Var held her before him, his hand clamped over her mouth and a human’s gun cocked at her temple.
“I realize I can’t help but offer you a clear shot to my head,” E’Var said from somewhere in the world. He was speaking Jotan again, clearly and quietly, so that the words registered without requiring any of Tagen’s concentration. “But these human guns are no toys. If my hand should twitch just a little, your fuck-mate’s brains are going to be spattered over every tree in arm’s reach.”
Tagen could not answer. Daria’s eyes transfixed him. There was no pleading in them, none. It was the look of a woman who sees her destiny and knows she will not escape it. Fears it, perhaps, but does not intend to fight it.
‘What have I done to you?’ he thought faintly. ‘I am sorry, Daria. I am so very sorry.’
“What is that, a plasma gun?” E’Var asked.
“Standard Fleet issue on deep-space assignment.” His voice seemed to come from somewhere behind him. It was a calm voice, almost the tones of a disinterested bystander, as steady as the hand that continued to aim a killing bolt directly at Daria’s pale face and the Jotan heart it shielded.
“Power it down and throw it to me.”
“No.”
E’Var bared his teeth and made an extremely human clicking sound of frustration. It was the first time Tagen had ever heard that sound issue from a Jotan. He wondered if E’Var meant to make it or if it were something that he’d just picked up.
“I’ll kill her if you don’t,” E’Var warned him.
“You’ll kill her if I do. I am not a fool.”
E’Var’s snarl melded unexpectedly into a rueful, queerly likeable grin. “Well, we’d better think of something fast or my hand will get tired. How about you point it at the ground?”
“And will you?”
“No, but I will aim mine for her guts. Not a killing shot, not all at once, anyway. More importantly, if you don’t point yours at the ground, I’ll be forced to try to impress you and that’s going to go poorly for your Earth-cunt here.”
Tagen eyes moved narrowly away from Daria’s face to the slaver’s.
E’Var’s gaze was black and cold and empty as space itself. “Compromise is the highest sign of intelligent reason,” he said mildly. “And unless you’re willing to negotiate, lawman, I might as well blow her open and eat your plasma. As you say, I have no hope of escape and a man without hope can do anything he damn well pleases.”
Tagen’s arm lowered slowly until it was pointed harmlessly at the ground. His thumb remained lightly aside of the kill-switch.
The gun in E’Var’s hand moved from sight to the unknown field of Daria’s back. A shot might travel through, might shatter her spine, might rupture any number of vital organs. In some ways, it was worse than seeing the weapon aimed at her head.
“So,” Tagen said, rising to face E’Var on level. “What is it you mean to do?”
“I mean to get off this hell-shat rock, that’s what I mean to do,” E’Var replied. “And I think I’d better hold on to your fuck-mate until I do it to ensure your cooperation.”
“No.”
“You want to think,” E’Var said softly, “before you say that. This tasty little cunt is a twitch away from an open breeze on her entrails.” He showed his fangs in a hard smile. “Somehow, I doubt you’re quite so willing to kill my hostage this time.”
“Neither am I willing to free a murderer.”
The slaver clicked again, and then cocked his head and looked thoughtful. He put his mouth close to Daria’s ear and, in N’Glish, murmured, “Your fuck-mate is telling me he’ll kill you to capture me.” He moved his hand from her mouth, inviting reply.