“Correct,” said Hak. “Now, follow my instructions precisely. Open Ponter’s shirt.”
“How?” said Mary.
“There are closures along the shoulder. They split apart when squeezed simultaneously from both sides.”
Mary tried one, and it did indeed pop open. She continued until she had Ponter’s entire left shoulder and arm exposed. The entrance wound was surrounded by terraces of bright red blood, filling the declivities of his musculature.
“The scalpel is activated by pressing on the blue square—do you see it?”
Mary nodded. “Yes.”
“If you depress the square halfway, the laser will come on, but at low energy, so you can see where its beam is directed. Pressing in all the way will fire the laser at full strength, and it should sear shut the clipped artery.”
“I understand,” said Mary. She used her fingers to open the wound so that she could see within.
“Do you see the artery?” asked Hak.
There was so much blood. “No.”
“Press the activation square halfway in.”
A bright blue dot appeared in the middle of the gore.
“All right,” said Hak. “The damage to the artery is eleven millimeters away from where you are pointing, on a line between your current position and Ponter’s left nipple.”
Mary repositioned the beam, marveling at the perspective Hak’s sensing field gave him.
“A little farther,” said Hak. “There! Stop. Now, use full power.”
The dot flared in brightness, and Mary saw a whiff of smoke go up from the wound.
“Again!” said Hak.
She pressed the square in once more.
“And two millimeters farther along—no, the other way. There! Again!”
She fired the laser.
“Now move an equal distance farther along. Yes. Again!”
She pressed hard on the blue square, and more vaporized tissue assaulted Mary’s nose.
“That should be enough,” said Hak, “until he can be treated by a doctor.”
Ponter’s golden eyes fluttered open. “Hold on,” Mary said, staring into them, and taking his hand. “Help is on its way.” She took off her coat, and placed it over him.
Tukana Prat continued to run after the man. One of the Gliksin enforcers was shouting “Stop!” and it was only belatedly that Tukana realized the imperative was directed at her, not the escaping man. But none of the enforcers could run as fast as Tukana; if she gave up her pursuit, the man with the gun would get away.
Part of Tukana’s mind was trying to analyze the situation. Guns, she was given to understand, could be deadly, but the element of surprise was gone now; it was unlikely the… assailant—that was the word—would turn and fire again. Indeed, he seemed intent solely on getting away, and, given that he was Gliksin, it probably didn’t occur to him that as long as he held on to the recently fired gun, Tukana would have no trouble tracking him.
The street was crowded, but Tukana had little difficulty making her way through the throngs; indeed, these humans seemed quite interested in clearing out of the way of the charging Neanderthal as fast as possible.
The man she was chasing—and it was a man, a male Gliksin—seemed shorter than most of his breed. Tukana was devouring the distance between them rapidly; she could almost reach out and grab him.
The man must have heard the thunderous footfalls behind him. He chanced a look over his shoulder, and swung the arm holding his gun back. “He is aiming at us,” said Tukana’s Companion through her cochlear implants.
Tukana hadn’t even thought about the blood in her nose; the airways were more than big enough to accommodate the huge intake that went with running. Indeed, she could feel the strength surging within her as her muscles became more, not less, oxygenated. She brought her legs down on the ground side by side, then pushed off, leaping forward, crossing the gap between her and the Gliksin. The man did fire, but the projectile went wide, although screams came from the crowd. Tukana fervently hoped they were only screams of terror, not that the bullet intended for her had hit someone else.
Tukana slammed into the man, knocking him forward onto the pavement, the two of them skidding ahead several paces. Tukana could hear the footfalls of the enforcers closing up the distance from the rear. The man beneath her tried to twist his spine around and get another shot off. Tukana seized the back of his strangely angular, narrow head in her massive hand, and—
It was her only choice. Surely, it was…
And smashed the man’s head forward, into the artificial stone covering the ground, the skull shattering, the front of his head breaking open like a ripe melon.
Tukana could feel her heart pounding, and she took a moment just to breathe.
Suddenly, she became aware that three of the four enforcers had caught up with them, and were now deployed in front of her, guns out, each held in two hands, aimed at the downed man.
But, as Tukana rose to her feet, she saw the look of horror on one of the Gliksins’ faces.
The enforcer in the middle doubled over and vomited.
And the third enforcer, wide-eyed, said, “Jesus Christ.”
And Tukana looked down at the dead, dead, dead man who had shot Ponter.
And, as she stood there, the sound of sirens grew nearer.
Chapter Eighteen
“Crisis mode!” shouted Jock Krieger as he hustled his way down the halls of the Synergy Group building in Rochester. “Everybody down to the Conference Room!”
Louise Benoît stuck her head out of her lab’s door. “What’s up?” she said.
“Conference Room!” called Jock over his shoulder. “Now!”
It took no more than five minutes to get everyone assembled in what had been the palatial living room, back when people had actually lived in this mansion. “Okay, team,” said Jock. “It’s time to earn those big bucks.”
“What’s happening?” asked Lilly, from the imaging group.
“NP just got shot in New York,” said Jock.
“Ponter shot?” said Louise, her eyes wide.
“That’s right.”
“Is he—”
“He’s alive. That’s all I know about his condition right now.”
“What about the ambassador?” asked Lilly.
“She’s fine,” said Jock. “But she killed the man who shot Ponter.”
“Oh my God,” said Kevin, also from imaging.
“I think you all know my background,” said Jock. “My field is game theory. Well, the stakes just got very, very high. Something is going to happen now, and we’ve got to figure out what, so we can advise the president, and—”
“The president…” said Louise, her brown eyes wide.
“That’s right. Playtime is over. He needs to know what the Neanderthals are going to do in response to this, and then how we should respond to whatever they do. Okay, ladies and gentlemen—we need ideas. Start them coming!”
Tukana Prat looked down at the man she had killed. Hélène Gagné had caught up to her, and now had cupped Tukana’s elbow. She helped the Neanderthal woman walk along, leading her away from the dead body.
“I did not mean to kill him,” said Tukana, softly, dazed.
“I know,” said Hélène, her tone soothing. “I know.”
“He…he tried to kill Ponter. He tried to kill me.”
“Everybody saw it,” said Hélène. “It was self-defense.”
“Yes, but…”
“You had no choice,” said Hélène. “You had to stop him.”
“To stop him, yes,” said Tukana. “But to…to…”
Hélène swung Tukana around and gripped her upper arms. “It was self-defense, do you hear me? Don’t even hint that it might have been something else.”
“But…”
“Listen to me! This is going to be messy enough as it is.”
“I…I have to speak to my superiors,” said Tukana.
“So do I,” said Hélène, “and—” Hélène’s cell phone rang. She fished it out and flipped it open. “Allo? Oui. Oui. Je ne sais pas. J’ai—un moment, s’il vous plaît.” She covered the mouthpiece, and spoke to Tukana. “The PMO.”