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Authors: Sheri S. Tepper
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throat as he watched Jun backing toward the medical kit. “I’m just not sure painkillers will put him out. Those fumes he breathed make the victims three or four times as strong and quick as usual.”
“We can try, can’t we?” Sam asked, still dancing. He had led the ominous, silent driver almost to the door and was now turning to bring him back again. “Can’t risk leading him outside. He might see somebody else moving.
“I’ve got the ampules,” whispered Jun.
“You think you could … ah, put them down somewhere in the direction I’m moving in. Like on the breaker guard of that small harvester?”
Jun moved quietly toward the harvester and sneaked the kit onto the guard.
“Open!” pleaded Sam. “For God’s sake, man, I’m not going to have time to open it.”
Jun took the kit down again and opened it, shaking half a dozen of the ampules into his hand and laying them in a pile on the flat guard.
“Now,” said Sam, still conversationally, still dancing, still keeping the man moving, the bar moving, the expressionless, silent man moving. “Now, there’s an emergency med alert over by the kit. Would you please go press that button and say, very clearly, that we need restraints and immobilizers.”
“Sam, you could at least take that cutter into your hand,” pleaded Close.
“I need my hands,” said Sam. “Why don’t you get over behind that harvester, Theor. So Hever won’t see you when we come around.”
Theor went.
The silent man attacked, rushing Sam, swinging the bar in a lethal arc. Sam moved to one side, put out a foot, tripped his attacker and danced away, toward the harvester. The ampules were within reach and he grabbed them, dropping all but two into his pocket. He stripped off the needle guards and palmed the two ampules. As Hever came up off the floor, Sam sped by, slapping him on the back with both hands.
He dropped the empty ampules and palmed two more.
“Come on, Hever,” he whispered. “Give old Sam the bar, like a nice guy, will you.”
Hever did not hear, did not care, did not change expression. The two ampules might as well have been water. If anything, he moved slightly faster. The bar swung again, missing Sam’s head by inches. Sam ducked under the swing and slapped Hever on the chest with both hands. Hever clutched at him. Sam dropped and rolled, coming to his feet with his hands already at his pocket, reaching for the last two ampules.
“Restraints and immobilizers,” Jun was saying, over and over again. “There’s been a fuel pod leak. We need restraints and immobilizers. Hurry, please.”
“Sam, for God’s sake,” pleaded Theor Close. “You could at least take off one of his legs. He can be sent to Phansure and grow a new one!”
“Not soon he can’t,” panted Sam. “He’d be out of commission for a long time, and I need him. Production’s already down.” He darted forward, then back, then forward. “Besides, it’s painful losing a limb. It’s painful growing new ones!”
The bar swung again. This time it caught Sam a glancing blow, a mere brush down one arm, and the arm fell at his side, the hand clenching, the ampule dropping.
“Damn,” said Sam. “Oh, damn.” He dropped to one knee and picked the ampule up again, trying to bend the arm. It moved reluctantly.
Hever moved in, the bar swinging ….
And then he fell. All at once. Forward, almost where Sam was kneeling. He fell, and squirmed briefly, and was still.
Three settlers appeared at the barn door with restraints and immobilizer guns.
“Is he dead?” asked one.
“He’s got four ampules of painkiller in him,” said Sam. “And he could still come out of that raging. Don’t take any chances with him.”
“What about you, Sam?”
Sam shrugged with a decidedly pained expression. “I think my arm is broken.”
Theor and Betrun went with Sam to the infirmary, and stayed with him while his arm was examined and put into an immobilizer, while he was given a shot of
“We can try, can’t we?” Sam asked, still dancing. He had led the ominous, silent driver almost to the door and was now turning to bring him back again. “Can’t risk leading him outside. He might see somebody else moving.
“I’ve got the ampules,” whispered Jun.
“You think you could … ah, put them down somewhere in the direction I’m moving in. Like on the breaker guard of that small harvester?”
Jun moved quietly toward the harvester and sneaked the kit onto the guard.
“Open!” pleaded Sam. “For God’s sake, man, I’m not going to have time to open it.”
Jun took the kit down again and opened it, shaking half a dozen of the ampules into his hand and laying them in a pile on the flat guard.
“Now,” said Sam, still conversationally, still dancing, still keeping the man moving, the bar moving, the expressionless, silent man moving. “Now, there’s an emergency med alert over by the kit. Would you please go press that button and say, very clearly, that we need restraints and immobilizers.”
“Sam, you could at least take that cutter into your hand,” pleaded Close.
“I need my hands,” said Sam. “Why don’t you get over behind that harvester, Theor. So Hever won’t see you when we come around.”
Theor went.
The silent man attacked, rushing Sam, swinging the bar in a lethal arc. Sam moved to one side, put out a foot, tripped his attacker and danced away, toward the harvester. The ampules were within reach and he grabbed them, dropping all but two into his pocket. He stripped off the needle guards and palmed the two ampules. As Hever came up off the floor, Sam sped by, slapping him on the back with both hands.
He dropped the empty ampules and palmed two more.
“Come on, Hever,” he whispered. “Give old Sam the bar, like a nice guy, will you.”
Hever did not hear, did not care, did not change expression. The two ampules might as well have been water. If anything, he moved slightly faster. The bar swung again, missing Sam’s head by inches. Sam ducked under the swing and slapped Hever on the chest with both hands. Hever clutched at him. Sam dropped and rolled, coming to his feet with his hands already at his pocket, reaching for the last two ampules.
“Restraints and immobilizers,” Jun was saying, over and over again. “There’s been a fuel pod leak. We need restraints and immobilizers. Hurry, please.”
“Sam, for God’s sake,” pleaded Theor Close. “You could at least take off one of his legs. He can be sent to Phansure and grow a new one!”
“Not soon he can’t,” panted Sam. “He’d be out of commission for a long time, and I need him. Production’s already down.” He darted forward, then back, then forward. “Besides, it’s painful losing a limb. It’s painful growing new ones!”
The bar swung again. This time it caught Sam a glancing blow, a mere brush down one arm, and the arm fell at his side, the hand clenching, the ampule dropping.
“Damn,” said Sam. “Oh, damn.” He dropped to one knee and picked the ampule up again, trying to bend the arm. It moved reluctantly.
Hever moved in, the bar swinging ….
And then he fell. All at once. Forward, almost where Sam was kneeling. He fell, and squirmed briefly, and was still.
Three settlers appeared at the barn door with restraints and immobilizer guns.
“Is he dead?” asked one.
“He’s got four ampules of painkiller in him,” said Sam. “And he could still come out of that raging. Don’t take any chances with him.”
“What about you, Sam?”
Sam shrugged with a decidedly pained expression. “I think my arm is broken.”
Theor and Betrun went with Sam to the infirmary, and stayed with him while his arm was examined and put into an immobilizer, while he was given a shot of
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