at the trooper.
Pressed the trigger, as if she were at the range and had all the time in the world. But her nervousness told; she kept firing the gun even as the man fell, following him down, half a dozen shots.
The rest of it went both slow and fast. The other three troopers, two men, one woman, appeared as if thrust by rockets. Taz swung her pistol up from the still-falling man and toward the second man, but it was like moving a heavy weight through gel; she couldn't believe how slow it was.
Jerlu's shotgun went off. Some of the unburned propellant sprayed onto Taz's neck and face, stinging where it touched bare skin. The sound was like a bomb, bounced and funneled from the walls over them in a hard wave. The woman trooper's face disappeared, wiped clean by the heavy metal shot that sleeted into her.
Taz's pistol thrummed and whumped, spewing deadly missiles at her second target. The trooper was trying to stop and turn, and he managed neither well, but he did point his carbine in her direction.
The tiny red dot of Jerlu's laser sight danced in slow motion and came to a vibrating semistop on the carbine of Taz's target. What was he doing-?
The little red spot was like an electron's orbit. Taz had all the time in the galaxy to see it; it reminded her of nothing so much as a small child playing with a flickstick at night, waving it in a tight, squashed circle so fast that a human eye made it into a line and not dots. The persistence of vision, they called that, Taz remembered.
The shotgun spoke again, and the carbine shattered into plastic and spun fibers and crystal.
"Wrong one!" Taz heard herself yelling.
The last trooper in the quad had more time to work with, and he used it. A short burst from his carbine stitched up from Jerlu's right hip to his sternum, ten or maybe a dozen rounds on full auto. Blew fist-sized holes through the cool's back, shoved liquefied bone and globs of muscle and internal organs through the holes as the explosive rounds went off inside him.
Taz screamed something, she would never know what, and pulled her pistol toward the trooper, still firing. She wasn't counting shots; the spring gun held eighteen rounds in the triple-stacked magazine and she was putting them into the air as fast as she could pull the trigger.
By the time she lined up on the trooper, he was almost lined up on her with his carbine. Her pistol fired a final time and ran dry just as she saw his startled face over the end of the barrel.
It was enough. The needle caught him somewhere unseen and he crumbled, his weapon firing, chipping craters in the wall behind her a meter over her head.
Jesu Christo!
She had fired all eighteen shots, pulled the trigger each time, in something under maybe three seconds.
Six shots a second. She'd never been that fast in practice before.
The troopers were all dead or dying. Jerlu was certainly dead.
Taz sagged against the wall. When she breathed in, it was a sigh, almost a sob.
"Hey, point?" came a voice from her earphone.
She took another breath, let it out raggedly. Forced herself to as much calmness as she could muster. She had never fired at a living person before, only lacs in practice. But she'd just killed three people and nearly been killed herself. She had to pee so bad she thought she was going to explode. She might just pull down her pants and squat right here. Piss on the walk. Nobody would care if she did, why not?
"Point?"
"Clear," she said. But gods, she had to pee . . .
Her full bladder woke her from the dream, and Taz rolled out of bed and the dream, headed for the fresher. She could see how old people might start wetting the bed. She had been going to urinate in her dream and there must be a fine line between knowing you were asleep and dreaming and thinking you were in some appropriate place to spring a leak.
Saval's being here must have triggered the memories of the revolution. She couldn't really consider herself a heroine or anything, but she had drawn blood,
Pressed the trigger, as if she were at the range and had all the time in the world. But her nervousness told; she kept firing the gun even as the man fell, following him down, half a dozen shots.
The rest of it went both slow and fast. The other three troopers, two men, one woman, appeared as if thrust by rockets. Taz swung her pistol up from the still-falling man and toward the second man, but it was like moving a heavy weight through gel; she couldn't believe how slow it was.
Jerlu's shotgun went off. Some of the unburned propellant sprayed onto Taz's neck and face, stinging where it touched bare skin. The sound was like a bomb, bounced and funneled from the walls over them in a hard wave. The woman trooper's face disappeared, wiped clean by the heavy metal shot that sleeted into her.
Taz's pistol thrummed and whumped, spewing deadly missiles at her second target. The trooper was trying to stop and turn, and he managed neither well, but he did point his carbine in her direction.
The tiny red dot of Jerlu's laser sight danced in slow motion and came to a vibrating semistop on the carbine of Taz's target. What was he doing-?
The little red spot was like an electron's orbit. Taz had all the time in the galaxy to see it; it reminded her of nothing so much as a small child playing with a flickstick at night, waving it in a tight, squashed circle so fast that a human eye made it into a line and not dots. The persistence of vision, they called that, Taz remembered.
The shotgun spoke again, and the carbine shattered into plastic and spun fibers and crystal.
"Wrong one!" Taz heard herself yelling.
The last trooper in the quad had more time to work with, and he used it. A short burst from his carbine stitched up from Jerlu's right hip to his sternum, ten or maybe a dozen rounds on full auto. Blew fist-sized holes through the cool's back, shoved liquefied bone and globs of muscle and internal organs through the holes as the explosive rounds went off inside him.
Taz screamed something, she would never know what, and pulled her pistol toward the trooper, still firing. She wasn't counting shots; the spring gun held eighteen rounds in the triple-stacked magazine and she was putting them into the air as fast as she could pull the trigger.
By the time she lined up on the trooper, he was almost lined up on her with his carbine. Her pistol fired a final time and ran dry just as she saw his startled face over the end of the barrel.
It was enough. The needle caught him somewhere unseen and he crumbled, his weapon firing, chipping craters in the wall behind her a meter over her head.
Jesu Christo!
She had fired all eighteen shots, pulled the trigger each time, in something under maybe three seconds.
Six shots a second. She'd never been that fast in practice before.
The troopers were all dead or dying. Jerlu was certainly dead.
Taz sagged against the wall. When she breathed in, it was a sigh, almost a sob.
"Hey, point?" came a voice from her earphone.
She took another breath, let it out raggedly. Forced herself to as much calmness as she could muster. She had never fired at a living person before, only lacs in practice. But she'd just killed three people and nearly been killed herself. She had to pee so bad she thought she was going to explode. She might just pull down her pants and squat right here. Piss on the walk. Nobody would care if she did, why not?
"Point?"
"Clear," she said. But gods, she had to pee . . .
Her full bladder woke her from the dream, and Taz rolled out of bed and the dream, headed for the fresher. She could see how old people might start wetting the bed. She had been going to urinate in her dream and there must be a fine line between knowing you were asleep and dreaming and thinking you were in some appropriate place to spring a leak.
Saval's being here must have triggered the memories of the revolution. She couldn't really consider herself a heroine or anything, but she had drawn blood,
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