The other was an oriental, his hair in braids ending in tiny ringlets. He possessed a surly confidence bordering on egomania.
Suzi stopped dead.
The first man gave a start, and put his hand on the arm of his partner.
His mind was the perfect twin of Suzi's, Greg saw. The two of them flush with loathing and alarm, ricocheting back and forth, building.
"Suzi," said the man in the suit. "The oddest places. Yes?"
"Leol Reiger, still trailing way behind as per flicking usual."
"Depends what I'm after."
"Baronski," Suzi said firmly, and turned to Greg. "Was he?"
The initial confusion in Leol Reiger's had mind twisted to sharp alarm at the mention of Baronski's name.
"Yeah, he knows Baronski."
Leol Reiger's eyes never left Suzi. "Who's your friend, Suzi?" he asked softly.
"Never seen him before in my life."
"Chad," Leol Reiger said.
The younger oriental man grinned at Greg. "Hey, voodoo man, you do this?"
Greg was caught by surprise at the speed with which Chad's psi arose. Ordinary misty thought currents suddenly gleamed like chrome, rich with arrogant power. Chad's espersense unfurled, black daemon wings taking Greg into their implacable embrace.
The sensation was like a hot wet tongue slipping right through his temple, licking round his brain. Gone before he could harden his mind against it.
And he'd never even bothered to take the most elementary precaution. Jumped like a total novice. Chad must be loaded with sacs; themed neurohormones stored at critical sections through the brain, lifting the psi faculty from dormant to active like throwing a switch.
"Mr. Greg Mandel is a gland psychic," Chad said, his grin widening to mock.
"Really?" said Leol Reiger.
Greg could sense Suzi's annoyance, twined with a small thread of exasperation that she should be let down like this. He increased his gland's secretion, shame damping down as a cool anger surfaced in his thoughts; remembering the games the Brigade used to play in barracks. Squaddies' games, the kind played after days in combat, when life and dignity had been reduced to zero. The ones the Mindstar project directors had frowned upon, too dangerous for their valuable personnel to indulge in.
"And a Mindstar Brigade veteran as well," Chad went on. "A real top gun in his day. Like, a century ago."
"So what is this?" Leol Reiger asked. "You running a pensioner's outing, Suzi?"
"I'd hate to think you were treading on my turf, Leol. That'd piss me off real bad," Suzi growled back.
Greg tried to keep track of the observers' reactions. They were alert and interested by the confrontation. Nothing to do with Leol Reiger, then.
"Back off, bitch," said Leol Reiger. "And you," he flicked a finger at Malcolm Ramkartra, "keep your hand away from that shoulder holster. I'll chop you into fucking dogmeat, else. Got it?"
"That's enough," Greg said. "You two aren't going to see Baronski, he belongs to us now. Fuck off, the pair of you."
"Jesus, a geriatric control-freak," Leol Reiger sneered. "Chad, deal with him."
Greg thought of a knife, bright steel shimmering, needle tip pricking the skin on the bridge of Chad's nose.
Chad began to laugh, his thoughts flaring as the sacs discharged again and the neurohormone dose hit his bloodstream. "Gonna crack your mind open like an eggshell, war hero."
Greg tensed his mind behind the imaginary blade, and –
— reality flickered—
— and pushed. Chad's thoughts were too hard, too closely packed. The knife slithered across their congealed surface, denied an opening.
"Best you can do?" Chad asked.
"Yeah."
"Too bad."
"That's why I always bring my little friend along," Greg said, nodding at a point behind Chad.
Screams broke out in the well. People were pushing and shoving as they raced past the end of the corridor, terror in their faces. Display stands went crashing to the ground. One of the barrows was overturned, oranges and nectarines tumbling about across the tiled floor.
The beast was about the size of a lion, jet black, covered in an ice-smooth exoskeleton. Talons made skittering noises against the tiles as it padded round the corner into the corridor. Its head was a streamlined nightmare, eyes buried in deep recesses, razor fins on its crown, tapering reptilian muzzle.
Chad gaped at it, frozen in disbelief.
"Shit almighty," Suzi squawked in panic.
Leol Reiger stumbled a step backwards, his pale face shocked. The beast screeched, a metallic keen that threatened to shatter glass. Chad threw his hands over his ears, yelling in fright. The sound cut off.
"Kill," Greg said.
"No!" Chad wailed. He turned to run.
The beast leapt, forelimbs catching Chad's left shoulder, extended talons slashing. Blood squirted. Chad was flung into the walkway's handrail. He screamed at the pain as his mangled arm took the full weight of the impact. Tears squeezed out of his eyes. He doubled over, clamping his right hand over his left shoulder, blood bubbled through his fingers, staining his sleeve.
"Jesus Christ, call the fucker off."
Leol Reiger went for his weapon, hand fumbling inside his suit jacket. Malcolm Ramkartra's arm moved with a smooth fast piston motion, as if his body was working in accelerated time; his Tokarev pistol pressed against Leol Reiger's neck. "Don't," he whispered happily.
The beast turned, head swinging round to focus on Chad. Its long muzzle snapped shut with a crack like a rifle.
Chad whimpered, cowering, staggering backwards. "Please God, don't let it."
He was bowled over by the beast, his head smacking on to the tiles. The beast's powerful muzzle opened centimetres from his face, and it let out a long undulating howl. A narrow gap in the exoskeleton between its hindlegs split open, grotesque genitalia arose.
Chad's mouth shrieked soundlessly, and—
— reality flickered—
— and he puked.
There was no beast, no blood, no shredded arm. Chad was curled up on the floor, hands wrapped round his head, sobbing quietly. The stench of vomit and piss curled the air.
Leol Reiger was staring down at him an amazement. "What the fuck—" Amber eyes jerked up to fix Greg, betraying the wild flames of consternation that were burning in the mind.
"No expense spared, eh, Leol?" Suzi said. "You always have the best on your squad."
"Take him away," Greg told Leol Reiger in a dead voice. "And don't come back."
"Shit on you," Leol Reiger spat. He kicked Chad. "Up, you useless bastard. Get up."
Chad dropped his hands from his face, blinking tears from his eyes. He looked round in lost confusion. Saw Greg and flinched.
"Get up."
Chad grasped the walkway rail, breathing heavily, and hauled himself to his feet.
Greg could feel the first twinges of the neurohormone hangover scratching away behind his temple. With the effusion level he'd used they would soon accelerate into stabs of white-hot lightning crackling round the inside of his skull.
"Bugger, but I hate eidolonics," he muttered.
Leol Reiger and Chad turned the corner out into the well, Chad reeling like a drunk. Several shoppers watched their progress.
"I never knew you could do that," Suzi said.
Malcolm Ramkartra was looking at him with a studied expression, respectful, and more than a little disconcerted.
"Oh yeah," Greg said. "But it costs."
Each of the observers had become a whirlpool of excitement. One of them began to follow Leol Reiger.
"Who was that?" he asked Suzi.
"Leol fucking Reiger, real bundle of fun. Likes to think he's a premier-grade tekmerc, but he's just a jumped up hardliner with an attitude problem."
"I thought the two of you were trying to out-cool each other to death."