The Victor snatched him up by one ankle and slung him right over the parapet. Something snapped, and he cried out in agony as he fell.
Six stories straight down.
The Victor just threw Chief Dyami off the roof, Dona’s neurocomp said. The chief’s leg is broken.
Dona couldn’t even spare the breath to curse as she threw up block after block, trying to keep Ivar from beating her head in. Any other injuries?
His comp says he’s badly concussed, but his T-suit absorbed the impact of his fall. But the Victor just leaped after him . . .
And that’s not going to end well. Dona missed a block, and Ivar’s fist rammed her faceplate, shattering the plastium. Unable to see past the broken visor, Dona punched Ivar with all her strength, making him stagger. Using her sensors as a guide, she pivoted and kicked one foot out from under him. Dona flipped to her feet as Ivar almost tumbled over the parapet after Alerio. He grabbed the edge and caught himself as Dona snatched off her ruined helmet.
And sensed a monk swinging his sword at her from behind. Dona spun, slicing her great sword across the bastard’s gut. The man screamed in agony, then screamed again when she kicked him ruthlessly off her blade. “That’s what you get for jumping me from behind, botfucker,” she muttered.
Damn, she ached to go after Alerio, but she had to take care of Ivar first. Terje was wearing his best crazed psychopath’s expression, complete with bulging eyes and a fixed rictus grin.
She knew that look. He often wore it whenever he was trying to unnerve gullible . . .
Oh, fuck. She stared at him, feeling a chill rolling through her blood. There was something in those eyes, something icy and insane. That’s no act.
Alerio blinked. He was on his feet and circling the Victor, his feet scuffing smoothly through coarse sand. Somehow they’d moved to the base of the fortress, but he had no idea how they’d gotten there.
You have a concussion, his implant told him. The Victor punched you in the head and threw you over the parapet. The fall broke your leg. I used my emergency control of your body to get you back on your feet.
Wait, my leg’s broken? Alerio thought, confused. But I’m walking, and I’m not in any . . . Realization hit. Oh. Pain block.
I also ordered your T-suit to go rigid over the injured tibia. It’s taking the majority of your weight, so you should not make the injury worse. I have accelerated your body’s healing, but the break will require regeneration.
If I live that long. Alerio had to keep fighting until he brought the Victor down.
However the hell he was supposed to accomplish that neat little trick.
He was calculating his next attack on the Victor when his neurocomp spoke. Message from Riane Arvid.
Alerio frowned. Riane was supposed to be on one of the sleds with the team attacking the Victor. Which obviously hasn’t gone so well, or the bastard wouldn’t be trying to pound my head in now. Never mind, put her through.
“Chief, we need your help.” Her mental voice rang with urgent tension.
“You’ve got it, though last time I checked, I’m not exactly psychic.”
“No, but you are the best compcracker I’ve ever known.”
Alerio ducked with all the speed of riaat—just barely avoiding the Victor’s vicious sword swing. “I’m also a bit busy. But your efforts to drive him insane . . .”
“Backfired. Badly.”
“Well, he has killed several of his own people.” Spotting an opening, Alerio charged in, swinging his axe at the giant’s knee. Laughing like a Savannah Hopper, the Victor leaped straight up. The axe missed as he swung his sword.
Alerio threw up his shield and blocked it, then threw himself backward, landing on the shield’s inner curve as he kicked upward with both feet. His armored heels caught the giant in the balls. The Victor howled in pained outrage.
“Good shot, sir!” Riane enthused.
“Yeah, if the fight judge doesn’t deduct points for poor sportsmanship. So what can I do to help take this bastard out?”
“The Victor’s basically one big computer. No organics at all anymore. Nick, Jess, and I have created a . . . well, you could call it a spell. We think it’ll kill him . . .”
“You think?”
“It should work. We already got the first half of it loaded, but his firewall is blocking it. I’ve been battering at his defenses, but I can’t seem to get through. We thought if you could hack his firewall, you could load the other half . . .”
“If he doesn’t kill me while I’m distracted.”
Alerio’s neurocomp spoke up. I can direct your body while you attempt hacking the Victor.
He hesitated. Comps weren’t particularly creative fighters, lacking the instincts humans used in combat—or in penetrating antiviral defenses. On the other hand, an implant’s reaction time was faster. Considering the Victor was basically a computer, that advantage might allow the comp to succeed where Alerio had so far failed.
Fine. Just don’t get me killed.
Alerio let his comp take full control over his body. It instantly sent him soaring upward, somersaulting over the Victor’s sword stroke.
Reassured, Alerio relaxed and sent his mind into virtual space. It was a very old mental skill, one he’d been practicing since he was a boy infiltrating the hated invaders’ computers.
Alerio released his hold on his body until his mind seemed to float skyward like a grav-sled. For an instant, he watched himself dodge and leap, somehow avoiding the Victor. Viewed in virtual space, the giant was surrounded by a glowing mesh that looked impossibly intricate: the antivirus shield designed to keep out hackers. He frowned. The mesh appeared even more complex than the firewalls he’d cracked as an adult Temporal Enforcer.
But complex or not, he had to find a way past the Victor’s defenses. Reaching out, he sent a delicate sensor probe sweeping over the Victor’s virtual shield.
The giant’s head snapped back, the star-flecked eyes finding his virtual body as if he were visible. The Victor’s eyes narrowed.
Oh, shit, Alerio thought.
“Your lover thinks he can crack the Victor like some cheap colony comp.” Ivar barked out a laugh, his voice spiraling into a shrill register that didn’t sound quite sane. “The master’s going to burn out his brain and leave him with the mental power of a hand-calc.”
“The ‘master’?” Dona smirked, though the side of her face was so swollen from his punches, her muscles could barely form a smile. “The Ivar Terje I know wouldn’t call anybody ‘master.’”
That wiped away the grin. His fist blurred at her head.
She tried to block, but her aching arm didn’t respond in time. His knuckles rammed her nose. Blood flew. Dona stumbled back, almost tripping over her own feet. Somehow she regained her balance, shaking off the impact.
Ivar laughed in her bleeding face. “You’re fucked, cow. If you give up now, maybe I’ll feel merciful enough to spare your life.”