She held the baton before her, not having time to give another full swing. Martel’s arm came up from below, in a direction not predicted by Floreina’s combat implant. His fist connected with her stomach as the side of her baton connected with his face, and she brought the full weight of her body down onto his.
Everything went blank for a moment, and her vision seemed to expand, while the room contracted and stretched. The combat implant ordered her to enter a purely defensive posture for three seconds, and to breathe deeply.
The two collapsed to the floor.
As they fell, Floreina covered her face with her arms and focused on expanding her lungs and regaining her senses.
She recovered quickly, but before being able to make another choice, she felt Otin’s fist crack against her cranium. A moment later a hand frantically grabbed for her air filter.
And almost from the back of her mind, she heard an explosion, her linkage implant informing her that Mahran had detonated the explosive charge to blow an access route to their room.
Martel clutched Floreina’s neck with one hand, shoving her off, and with the other, ripped the mask from her face.
She rolled over and hit the floor hard. Floreina immediately switched to oxygen efficiency mode, blocking all subconscious muscle connections. More chemicals released to relax her nerves and allow her breathing to calm.
But the mode only lasted for a moment as Martel pulled his hand away after removing her mask. He brought it to his own face, took a deep breath, and quickly looked back down at Floreina.
She reached up, frantically grabbing for the mask. She punched intermittently, and held her breath.
But Martel brought his own fist down, and connected with her nose.
Everything went black. For several milliseconds her implants lost connection and she was alone in the dark with her natural thoughts.
But it did not last for long. Her implants shifted to other emergency subroutines focused on keeping her conscious and aware through excessive trauma. Her veins surged with steroids and adrenaline.
Punches laid down on her from every angle, and her arms came up without a thought to block her head. Martel sat atop her, holding the mask to his face with his left hand and laying down punches, most contacting her arms and hands. She kicked, bringing her knee up to the small of his back. He jolted forward, but held strong, and continued punching.
So this was probably it. They had her down. They had her air filter. She couldn’t hold against all three of them at the same time, and felt her consciousness fading.
The reminder program brought to focus the switch to detonate Mahran’s heart.
And she touched the menu, suddenly feeling the kicks and punches from a distance as she focused on the options available to her.
She knew she had to take him out. The secrecy of the modern slave market was too important.
But something held her back. Could she really be certain he wasn’t a moment away, a baton in one hand and a knife in the other?
So she pulled back from the menu, and brought herself to the moment and kicked again, kneeing Martel in the back, clenching her teeth, and staring upward into his frantic eyes.
“Give me the mask,” Reihmar coughed. “I can’t breathe!”
Martel’s hand moved from his face to hand the mask to Reihmar, and as he did so, Floreina released her arms and reached up to grab the mask. She pulled, but Martel clung tight and pulled back. Clawing at the material, she felt it rip, and decided that destroying it was probably the most realistic option.
The mask tore apart as Martel wrenched it from Floreina’s clutches. He tossed it to his partner.
Floreina brought her arms back to cover her face as a familiar scream echoed through the suite, and Floreina remembered back to the explosion just ten seconds earlier.
She felt the punches coming down on her arms, but at the same time, saw the weakening of her attackers; the toxins in the air taking their effect.
And behind them, poking suddenly above Martel’s head, was a familiar and beloved sight, hidden behind another filtration mask.
Mahran was dressed in nothing but the safety mask and the pair of boxers he had worn to sleep that night.
Floreina watched as Mahran swung his baton in a wide arc, just as Martel turned up to look at him. The rod smashed unhindered into Martel’s upper jaw. Teeth shattered, his lip split, and Martel fell backward, his right hand moving to clutch his suddenly battered face.
Floreina pushed with her heels on the carpet, trying to gain a hold, to draw herself away, but had little success.
Before he hit the ground, Martel caught himself and swung toward Mahran, but fell short. Mahran gave Martel a swift kick to the chest and sent him fully to the floor. Martel’s hand flew backward away from his face, leaving a splattering of blood across the carpet and bedsheets.
A body crossed Floreina’s vision. She saw Otin’s pants from below as he leapt over her to attack Mahran.
Mahran sprinted backward, dodging Otin’s rapid-fire attacks. The slave finally took a swing with the baton just before slamming into the wall. Otin caught Mahran’s arm before it made contact, and in the same motion, slammed him against the wall. All four of their arms went up, as Floreina noticed the combat knife clutched in Mahran’s left hand, just as she had envisioned. Otin grasped Mahran’s left hand with his right, and pushed the knife against the wall, simultaneously doing the same with their other set of hands to hold the baton against the wall.
Otin pressed himself against Floreina’s slave, and attempted to snatch the mask off his face with his teeth.
As she watched, however, her combat implant suddenly ordered her to block, and she instinctively brought her hands up to protect her from a frantic slap. Reihmar struck, and she pulled her elbows tight to protect her face. The large man fell atop her, fumbled for balance, then brought a hand to Floreina’s throat.
But something was different. He couldn’t clutch down like a healthy man. He swung his right arm, flinging wildly and coming weakly down on Floreina’s arms. He coughed an ugly cackling sound and a spurt of blood came forth to splash across Floreina’s face. He stared in sudden shock, clearly not having realized the extent of the damage from Floreina’s trap.
From the top of her vision, her assistant application recorded Mahran suddenly pushing forward against his attacker. Catching Otin off guard, Mahran drove him backward against a nearby desk.
Mahran’s leg drove upward suddenly in an attempt to hit Otin’s groin, but Otin turned, blocking with his own knee. Mahran pushed hard, Otin leaning awkwardly over the top of the desk.
And without warning, Mahran dropped the baton to the floor, pulled his right arm backward, then just as quickly drove a fist into Otin’s face.
Otin appeared to collapse, finally weakened by the contaminants in the air.
Floreina watched Mahran from the back of her mind wrenching the knife free and driving it into Otin’s chest as she turned toward her own attacker, grabbing his arm with her left hand and driving forward with her right to shove the heel of her hand into his nose. She grabbed Reihmar’s neck and pushed, injecting herself with one last surge of artificial adrenaline.
The man fell back and rolled off. Floreina forced herself up to roll on top of him. She gripped his neck with her right hand and began battering his face with her left.
Floreina looked up just long enough to recognize her loyal slave ripping his knife from Otin’s chest and dropping his body to the floor. He dashed forward, transferring the knife to his left hand and pulling the mask from his face. He placed it directly over Floreina’s mouth so she did not need to move her hands from their deadly task.
She breathed deeply, the filtered air bringing cool, soothing relief from the pain in her lungs. Mahran handed her the knife, and she paused only momentarily before bringing it down to Reihmar’s neck. He blocked with both hands, but she pushed down hard. Floreina watched intently the detail of the moment as the knife connected with the man’s f
lesh and dug in. She became acutely aware of the alternate awareness she had entered; maniacal; focused on the moment, and on the task at hand.
Her soul had become one with the situation, with the room, with the people and with the event.
Her eyes gleamed as she stared into his, feeling the blood suddenly draining over her hands.
Several long moments later, she pulled the knife from Reihmar and held it lightly in her hand. She took a deep breath and looked at Mahran who sat before her in stunned silence. He took the mask, put it over his own face, took a quick breath and returned it to her.
She held it for several long moments, trying to regain proper breathing, but soon realized she needed to hand it back.
She gave the mask back, and motioned to him to take a couple more deep breaths.
They continued, Floreina still sitting atop Reihmar’s lifeless body, passing the device back and forth, trying to calm her nerves and collect an inventory. Her medical implant came back with a damage report, analyzing the cuts and bruises across her body. She had a mild concussion, some lung damage, and a broken nose, but no broken bones, and no collapsed brain tissue.
Mahran jerked quickly, dropping the mask to the floor. He snatched the knife from Floreina’s hand with his right hand and with his left went up to strike her on the shoulder and push.
Floreina’s momentary panic brought her to the slave control menu, but her combat program threw a warning in her way to inform her that Mahran’s motion was more likely directed at a target behind her.
She turned to see Martel kneeling and shaking on the carpet, one hand clutching his face and the other holding Floreina’s steel baton. He swung in a wide arc, but Floreina fell sideways, off Reihmar. Mahran pushed himself over top of her to drive the knife into Martel’s shoulder. Martel screamed a gagging cry as Mahran twisted the knife, then withdrew it and struck again with a permanent blow.
The baton fell harmlessly to the floor, and a second later, Mahran let the knife drop, and rolled off Floreina. Mahran picked the mask off the carpet and took a deep but quick breath before handing it back to Floreina.
They crawled away and sat beside each other, passing the mask back and forth. After a minute Floreina found the remnants of her other mask and tried to piece it back together, to no avail.
“I still have a backup in the air vent,” Mahran said.
Floreina paused before taking the filter. “We need to vent the gas before the next safety check opens the vent closures and sends this out to the population.”
Mahran rose and started moving toward the main room with the ruptured ceiling.
Floreina forced herself up, feeling aches and pains across her body and followed Mahran.
It took a few extra minutes as a result of needing to share the mask, but Floreina hoisted Mahran up into the air vent and he dropped the mask to her and grabbed a backup. He took several more minutes to vent the gas and put on clothes.
She changed into her backup clothes that she had stashed in the closet, along with body bags and a cleaning droid. She lay on the couch in the main room and focused on her medical implant feedback.
The painkillers were kicking in, the adrenaline was clearing and the array of chemical stimulants were dissipating, leaving Floreina a shell of what she had been a few minutes earlier…
She felt her combat application still roaring with information processing, although behind the scenes, replaying the combat scenario, analyzing every movement and mistake. But she didn’t pay much attention, and just sat back and let it do its thing.
Mahran came down and rested on the chair to the side of Floreina for several moments.
“Set up the cleaning system,” Floreina ordered. “I’m sorry, I’m beat—like literally—and I need to rest; otherwise I’d do it myself and let you rest, since you did such a superb job today… but, you know… a lady needs her beauty sleep.”
Mahran rose slowly. “Yeah, you sure have been acting like a lady…” he said. “Like a delicate flower.”
______ ______ ______
Hours later, Floreina knelt next to Otin’s neatly wrapped body and stared at the black plastic mass. Feelings contradicted one another. Her body seemed enveloped in aches and pains, yet consumed by the calming pleasure of the automatic pain killers. The fear of being caught contrasted with the joy of suddenly obtained wealth. The slow withdrawal from her combat drugs left her in a strange, calm, distant, contemplative mood.
She poked Otin’s face, holding it for a moment, feeling the flesh through the heavy plastic and staring at the vague shape of the man’s face. “It’s kinda sad,” she mused. “There was a mind and soul in this body earlier today… someone who was thinking about stuff and had a list of things that were important to him…”
She lifted Otin’s head and dropped it, letting it land with a thud back to the carpet. “Now he’s just gone… and nobody cares… not even any records on this station…”
She glanced at the suitcase containing the combat boosters as she had hundreds of times since she had acquired them, and smiled. “I got what I came for.”
Mahran sat against the bed, his arms wrapped around his legs, chin resting on his knees. He stared blankly at his master, as though he were as confused as she.
“I can’t believe it.” He shook his head. “It’s over… I was so scared, and now it’s almost over… but at the same time… I… killed these people… I don’t know what to think… I’m going to be free later today… on my own; to make my own choices… and my family… it’s overwhelming… but I fear that I'll miss you… ”
Floreina dropped Otin’s head to the floor again, and gazed back at her slave, simultaneously entranced, fascinated and saddened.
“You know, Master,” Mahran said. “I would never betray you… I know you’re our protector, and I wouldn’t do anything to stand in the way of that… you’ve been so good to me… even without the heart detonator, you know you have nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, I know,” she said.
“I’ve seen you looking at me strangely lately, like something’s wrong… like you don’t trust me.”
“No, no.” Floreina paused, searching for an excuse. “I'm just thinking I’m gonna miss you too.”
______ ______ ______
Refusing the desire to give herself another steroid boost, Floreina wrapped her arms around Reihmar’s legs, trying to get a solid grip against the smooth plastic body bag. They had spent six hours dragging the corpses through the air ducts to this third hotel room she had rented for the weekend, and now Floreina somehow expected herself to do a sprint from here to the garbage chute carrying this fat man.
They exited the room and Mahran peered around the corner. They darted forward across the hallway toward the garbage chute as they had twice before, and Mahran threw open the doorway. They ran in, and without a pause opened the chute and shoved the body in.
They left without a word.
But as they turned back into the entryway of the hotel room, a security officer came around the corner of the next hallway.
“Excuse me,” he said, approaching them.
Floreina’s emotional suppression systems booted up, allowing her only a second of heart aching fear. “What’s up?” she asked, cocking her head innocently.
“We’ve had some reports of strange security activity around this area.”
“How so?” Floreina asked.
“Security sensors have somehow gone down along this corridor. I can’t get a visual on the cameras from this floor.”
“Huh,” Floreina exlclaimed, shrugging. “I haven’t noticed anything.”
“Is this your hotel room,” he motioned toward the room with the door already half open.
Floreina’s implant quickly warned her that the officer was likely trying to coax her into lying. Since she was already opening the door, he already knew the answer.
“Yes,” she replied.
“May I come in and have a look around?” he asked.
; Her head drew backward questioningly. “No,” she replied, immediately thinking of the vent still hanging open, and the millions of ISK worth of drugs sitting just inside. She closed the door.
“Why…” asked the officer. “Is it a problem? I just want to check to see if any of the standard sensors are online.”
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I have personal items in there.”
“That doesn’t mean anything to me,” he said. “Please. I really need to take a look; it’s a matter of security.”
Her routines coaxed her along, reminding her that the officer had no legal right to search the room as long as she didn’t start shaking or showing other outward signs of nervousness, and the mental blocking from her implants would take care of that. Mahran was the only real risk, so she kept talking to keep the officer distracted.
She shook her head. “Sorry. I’m easily embarrassed, and like I said… very personal items in the room there… ” She smiled coyly toward Mahran.
“What happened to your face?” he asked. “You get beaten up?”
“Oh, yeah,” she replied. “Got beaten up earlier… some punks tried to mug us.”
“Uh, huh…” replied the officer, cocking his head and staring her down. “What’s your name?”
“Susiani,” Floreina replied.
“If I check the logs for this area, am I going to come across a mugging with your name on it?”
“No sir,” she replied. “We didn’t report it.”
“Uh, huh…” The officer didn’t break eye contact. “Your boyfriend here didn’t have anything to do with it did he?”
She shook her head. “No, sir.”
But the radio on the officer’s shoulder buzzed and a voice came over, barely audible to Floreina. “We’ve got a domestic disturbance in the C-87 section. Sounds like we need someone there pretty quickly.”
“Okay, I’ll take it,” replied the officer. He smiled at Floreina and shot a glare at Mahran. “I’ll be coming back in a little while.”
Against A Rock Page 9
