It is worth saying for the look on General Tournier’s face. This man is seriously insulted. As for his staff officers, they’re slicking sideways glances at him. This is fine, because it means they’re not looking at me.
‘Neen,’ I say.
Stabbing a guard, Neen flicks the blade to his sister. She kills the one next to her, then goes after a man behind. I’m busy extracting my elbow from the skull of the nearest Silver Fist. And the man who patted down Franc has a new mouth. As I watch, she reaches into the gash and yanks his tongue through the slit.
Serious anger issues, that woman.
We’re good, and we’re quick. Six dead in less than a second. But guns are being levelled across the room.
‘Neen,’ I say. ‘The SIG.’
Neen wants to say it’s dead. Instead, he hooks his foot under the holster and boots it up to me.
Catching the SIG, I rip it free.
‘Haze,’ I say.
The lights go out. Actually, everything goes out. Lights, temperature control, oxygen recycling units, cheesy classical music, the lot.
‘Hollow-point . . .’
The SIG-37’s loaded up already.
I fire at their muzzle flashes and they fire at mine. Only I’m not where I was because I’m already somewhere else. All of my troopers have hit the deck and rolled towards the nearest bulkhead, which helps. Although I almost trip over Rachel.
She yelps, and then yelps again when I boot her out of the way.
It’s dark, and then it’s not, because my eyes adjust and I watch the general aim his gun. Seems I’m not the only one with night vision. This isn’t looking good. ‘Move,’ suggests my gun.
‘Too late,’ says the general.
‘Not really,’ says the man standing directly behind him.
Smashing his brandy glass, Colonel Vijay rams it into the general’s neck, and twists savagely on the stem to widen the wound. Blood spurts halfway across the room, and then weakens until a final dribble wets the general’s boots like piss.
Vijay does this blind. In total darkness. Having memorized his position.
I’m impressed. ‘Sir,’ I say, ‘the command is yours.’
‘Carry on, Sven.’
The next job is less pretty.
The general’s little ADC has his dagger out and is jabbing it frantically at the darkness around him. He’s as likely to stab his own side as ours; but he is frightened beyond caring.
Was I like that? I wonder. When Lieutenant Bonafonte put his gun to my head in the dump. The day the Legion burnt down my village and slaughtered the Junkyard Rats on the road below the edge of Primary One.
No . . . Death would have been welcome. It was probably why Bonafonte spared me. He always was a perverse bastard. Reaching forward to snap the ADC’s neck, I find myself hesitating.
Now, I don’t hesitate, ever. I do.
That is the way this shit works. Stop to think about what you’re doing and you’re dead. That’s what Bonafonte told me, and he was right.
Look what happened to him.
I’m glad it’s dark and no one saw. Realizing this makes me angrier still. Since when do I give a fuck what anyone else thinks? But this kid could be me; if I’d grown up rich, of course . . . In a proper house, with schooling and stuff like that.
Grabbing the little ADC’s wrist, I twist until he drops his dagger. And then I push my face close to his. ‘Hit the deck,’ I tell him. ‘Crawl towards the door. Get yourself out of here.’
He nods, as if this is obvious. As if he should be listening to orders from an enemy. And while he’s still nodding, I jab my own blade hard through the side of his skull and cut his brain stem.
He dies without knowing it has happened.
The others I kill brutally. Gutting some and sweeping the feet from under others, stamping on their necks. I go through that room like the wind, taking down all in my path. Three Silver Fist I simply kill with a single sweep of my blade, opening their throats in a row and welcoming the hot liquid that jets out to spray me. I’m just wiping my mouth when the panic lights come up.
Probably looks like I’m licking my fingers.
Shil turns away and Rachel signs against the evil eye. Even the colonel looks at me strangely. ‘All done?’ he asks.
‘All done, sir.’
‘Good,’ he says. ‘Then let’s get out of here. But first . . .’ Hacking the general’s head from his body, Colonel Vijay lifts his trophy by its braids, and smiles.
‘Sir,’ I say, ‘you want me to rip his implant?’
‘Oh no,’ he says. ‘I’m sure OctoV would prefer the whole head.’
Chapter 50
The aux line up. They’re not meeting my eyes. In fact, they’re doing everything but looking directly at me. Must be the blood on my uniform. So I have Neen bring them to attention and walk myself down the line. That way they have no choice. Rachel is crying, but quietly. Franc looks lost inside herself. And I can’t read Shil’s expression at all.
‘Report,’ I order Neen.
‘All present, sir,’ he says.
And he’s right. Because Haze is in the doorway behind us, looking like sin on a bad day. At a nod from me, Neen tosses him a spare Silver Fist rifle, and we all watch as he fumbles the catch.
Colonel Vijay sighs.
‘What now, sir?’ I ask.
‘We find ourselves an escape deck,’ he says.
‘Sir,’ I say. ‘What about the missing U/Free observer?’
‘He’s gone, Sven. Got that from the general himself.’
‘Dead, sir?’
The colonel looks at me, glances at the others, and then walks me across to a corner of the general’s suite, his head bent close to mine. ‘Sven,’ he says. ‘There was no observer. OK? Let it go . . .’
It’s my turn to stare.
‘We needed cover stories. That was our second. You know, the first one was we’re on a cultural mission. And then, for the people who don’t believe that . . . we’re looking for a missing U/Free.’
‘And the U/Free agreed to go along with it, because they think we’re here to sign their treaty? But really,’ I say, glancing at his trophy, ‘we’ve been here to collect that all along and there was no observer?’
‘You’ve got it,’ he says, slapping me on the back.
There are days I fucking hate politics.
Racing up the corridor, a Death’s Head trooper from the Ninth Regiment freezes, unsure what’s happening. After a second, he salutes. Idiot.
‘A false alarm,’ I say.
He gapes at me.
‘Malfunctioning sirens,’ says Colonel Vijay. ‘Return to your unit.’
The man nods and turns. Only a Silver Fist captain is turning the corner behind him and he isn’t as stupid. He is, however, slow. He’s still pulling his pistol when I put a throwing spike in his throat. Colonel Vijay kills the original trooper, who dies still looking puzzled.
Bundling down a corridor, we head for a door. The elevators are locked down. That is good, because it keeps the enemy away. Also bad, because it means we might need to fight on the stairs. Should the Silver Fist work out that having elevators arrive and not leave is a better option still, then we’ll really have a battle on our hands.
‘Sven,’ says my gun as I skid-turn, and rip my fighting arm into the throat of a sergeant rounding a corner towards me.
Colonel Vijay shoots the man behind him. The man behind that turns to run and dies with one of Franc’s knives in his back.
‘What? ‘ I demand.
‘Remember me?’
You can always tell when the SIG’s jealous. It gets snippy. ‘This arm’s useful,’ I say.
‘No,’ says the gun. ‘It’s rusty, out-dated, and ugly.’ The SIG places special emphasis on the last. ‘And it’s slowing you down.’
‘It’s not.’
‘Weighs more than a combat trike,’ it says. ‘Bloody thing was meant to handicap you. Only you’re so stupid you decided to keep it.’
‘You’ll get your chance soon enough.’
‘So you keep saying.’