Part 16 (1/2)

The chute came down on top of him, smothering him in artificial silk. For a few moments he was incapable of doing anything but lying there, enshroudeda”but he knew that he wasn't dead, and there was a certain relief and exhilaration to be found even in that simple fact.

When he was finally able to make the attempt to sit up, and then to stand, he did so very gingerly, not knowing which of his many aches might flare up when pressure was put on it. At first, it seemed that his elbows had taken the worst of ita”but then he tried to transfer his weight from his right foot to his left and realized that he would not be walking properly for some time to come. His left ankle blazed with pain, and he knew that if it was not actually broken it was very badly sprained.

He cursed, but felt oddly unsurprised and resentful. It seemed somehow to be only fair that he should not have escaped from this lunatic adventure entirely unscathed.

He pulled the chute away and peered out, blinking against the glare of the late morning sun. The desert was not yet at its worst, but it soon would be. He limped to a rocky shelf and sat down, looking around for Kid Zero's chute; but the ground was all ridges and spires and jagged outcrops of rock, and although he was high upa”only just below the flat top of a curved ridgea”he couldn't see his erstwhile prisoner. He could see Pasco, though, floating downa”apparently as lightly as a wind-borne feathera”a couple of hundred yards away.

The SecDiv man obviously had skill enough to avoid the worst of the rocks. Carl churlishly expressed a private hope that Pasco might break his leg anyway, but he knew that his prayer had gone unanswered when the big man's chute billowed, settled, and then was quickly swept aside as Pasco came swiftly to his feet. Although they were a long way apart Carl could see that the man with the ruined face already had his gun in his hand, and was looking furtively around for possible danger.

Carl didn't move; he just watched as Pasco sprinted towards him.

”You okay?” the big man shouted up at him.

”No,” Carl shouted back sourly. ”I'm not okay. Ankle's gone.”

Pasco didn't seem to be listeninga”he was looking round anxiously as he began to clamber up over the rocks.

”Where's the Kid?” he demanded. ”Which way?”

Carl shook his head. He didn't know which waya”he had lost his sense of direction while concentrating on his own troubles.

Pasco grimaced in irritation, but didn't say anything. He moved away from the rock-face against which Carl was perched, looking one way and then the other before turning to crane his neck, peering at the top of the ridge behind him.

Carl saw the expression on Pasco's face change even before he heard the engine of the bike, and he ducked as he guessed from the combination of signals that the machine was going to come straight over the top of him.

Pasco obviously thought that the leaping bike was going to crash right into him, because instead of standing his ground and firing he dived away to his left. Carl had never seen a bike-jump like ita”the thing flew over him and soared into the air with unbelievable grace. Maybe it would have hit Pasco if he'd stayed where he was, but it would only have clipped his head, because it landed a full ten feet further on, bucking and bouncing over the rocks as the rider steadied it before bringing it around in a wide arc.

Its tires screamed as it came about, but the rider didn't want to waste any time at alla”which was a wise decision, considering that Pasco still had his gun in his hand and was getting madder with every moment.

Again the big man had to dive as the bike came straight at hima”but if he hadn't time to fire, neither had the man on the bike, no matter how close his firing studs were to the right handgrip. The rider had to give one hundred per cent to steering the bike across the rough terrain, and his first-strike weapon had to be the bike itself.

This time, Pasco wasn't quite quick enough. The bike caught him a glancing blow as he tried to evade its charge, and sent him tumbling down a slope into a gully. The bike couldn't get down there without trapping its wheels, so it was as safe a retreat as Pasco could ask for, and the rider knew it. The bike swerved and ran down another slope, just as Carl finally managed to haul his own gun out of its holster.

Carl got off one shot as the biker disappeared from view, but he knew that he hadn't hit the man. Ignoring the pain in his leg he stumbled over to the narrow fissure into which Pasco had fallen, and dropped down beside the other man. Their position was defensible, but it had the disadvantage of a very restricted view. They couldn't see the biker and they couldn't see Kid Zero.

Carl had the sensation of having been here before. Once again they were waiting for the birds to come and bail them out.

But Pasco wasn't content with that. ”Stay here!” he said to Carl, with an insistence which suggested that he hadn't quite registered the fact that Carl was in no shape to run around. Then he was gone, hurrying along the gully in the direction opposite to the way the bike had gone. Within five seconds, he too was out of sight.

Carl crouched down, hugging the protective angle of the gully's end. The roar of the bike's engine had briefly overloaded his hearing, but now the engine had stopped altogether, and the silence seemed unnaturally deep. Carl judged that he would be safer a dozen feet further back, where the walls of the gully loomed higher and the shadows were deeper. Painfully, he began to inch his way along.

The silence was unbrokena”until he heard the warning rattle.

Carl froze instantly, knowing exactly what he'd got himself into. There was a nearby crevice in the rock, nearly head high. Steeped in shadow as it was he hadn't been able to see into ita”but the snake inside could certainly see out, and was telling him in no uncertain terms that he was too d.a.m.ned close.

He could see the snake's head now, jaws already agape.

Carl knew that the creature didn't really want to strike at hima”but he also knew that it was a prisoner of its instinct, and that if he moved again, in whatever direction, the striking reflex might be triggered.

He looked down at the hand which held his pistol, wondering if he could alter its att.i.tude so that the barrel of the guna”which was currently pointed at the ground, could be focused on the snake. The angle would be very awkward, but he thought that he could fire from therea”the question was, could he hit a target as small as the snake's head? The range was no problem, but judging the angle of shot and taking the recoil were by no means easy. A more arrogant man might have brought his arm up gunfighter-style and tried to beat the snake's strike, but Carl wasn't that stupid. The snake was already coiled and readya”it had the drop on him.

Somewhere away to his right there was a burst of machine-gun fire. He heard both the stutter of the weapon and the sound of the bullets ricocheting off the rocks. Whether or not there was a pistol shot mixed in with the burst, he couldn't tell.

He winced because he thought the sudden burst of noise was sure to make the snake strike, but the creature's head didn't move. Those eyes were still fixed on him, coldly and hypnotically.

Carl decided that trying to shoot the snake was too chancy. He decided that he might be able to move away instead, if he went very slowly. If the snake had any sense, it would let him go.

If.

But he couldn't move. He couldn't a.s.sert sufficient conscious control over his muscles. He willed himself to move, but his body wouldn't obey. He couldn't do anything except keep his eyes fixed on the snake's head, as though he really were hypnotized.

It's only a horrorshow, he told himself. It's only a game. But he had told the lie too often and now it was impotent, even as mere ritual.

How long the impa.s.se would have continued before he plucked up the nerve to break it Carl had no idea, and the matter remained unsettled because it was broken anywaya”by the arrival of a third party.

Carl didn't see the third party arrive, but when he heard the soft voice he didn't have to turn round to know how close he was.

”Don't move, Mr Preston,” said Kid Zero.

The command was so utterly absurd that Carl had to suppress an urge to giggle.

In fact, it was the Kid who laughed, very softly. He laughed because he could see what kind of double trouble Carl was in.

”With friends like yours, Mr Preston,” said the Kid gently, ”you don't really need enemies. Unfortunately, you have a lot of them. It isn't going to be easy for GenTech to own the world, when there are so many people in it who are determined not to be owned.”

”Can you shoot the snake?” asked Carl, without moving his lips at all.

”Why should I shoot the snake?” asked the Kid silkily. ”I like snakes. That might be Lady Venom's little sister. I don't like you, Mr Preston. If you weren't who you are, you mightn't be such a bad guya”but as things stand you're GenTech's man, and you're Zarathustra's man. I'm rooting for the snake.”

There was another burst of machine-gun firea”and this time, unmistakably, there was returned fire from Pasco's magnum. But the sound came from quite some distance away.

Carl tried to suppress a tremble. Again, he felt certain that the snake would strike. But it didn't. In fact, it relaxed its gaping jaw, and withdrew its head into the shadowed depths of the crevice. Then, with a long lazy sc.r.a.pe of scale against scale the coils of its body withdrew likewise into some deeper covert.

Carl staggered back from the position in which he had been frozen for what seemed like an eternity. He came to rest with his back against the other wall of the fissure and his ankle throbbing fearsomely. He turned his head to look at Kid Zero, who was covering him with a thirty-eight.

”Drop your gun, Mr Preston,” said the Kid.

Carl obeyed. ”Who is that guy on the bike?” he asked, sourly.

”A friend of mine,” said the Kid. ”Not just an enemy of my enemies, but an authentic twenty-two carat friend. Kick the gun over here.”

Again, Carl did as he was told. He knew that Kid Zero wasn't going to shoot him now. The Kid and the snake had a great deal in commona”they were unreasonably discreet with their deadliness. They struck only when they were forced by circ.u.mstance to strike; unpredictability was part of their individuality, but they were not indiscriminate in their lethals.

”The mercy boys are on their way,” said Carl, for no particular reason. They had both been here before, and they both knew the script.

”Story of my life,” said the Kid. ”The mercy boys are always on their way. So far, they've always arrived too late.”