tz.cobra strike-第41节

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e　end　of　the　field。〃
　But　the　Dewdrop　can　lift　straight　up。　Would　that　make　enough　of　a　difference？　There　was　no　way　to　know　。。。　but　given　the　national　paranoia；　Pyre　tended　to　doubt　it。　〃I'd　still　like　to　talk　to　you　about　release　of　our　panions；〃　he　told　the　mayor；　just　for　something　to　say。
　Kimmeron　arched　his　eyebrows。　〃You　speak　foolishness；〃　he　bit　out。　〃We　have　you　and　the　body　of　Winward；　from　which　your　so…named　〃magic　powers　can　surely　be　learned。〃
　〃Our　magic　cannot　be　learned　from　a　corpse；〃　Pyre　lied。
　〃You　are　still　alive；〃　the　other　said　pointedly。　〃From　Cerenkov　and　Rynstadt　we　will　obtain　information　about　your　culture　and　technology　which　will　prepare　us　for　any　attack　your　world　launches　against　us　in　the　future。　And　from　your　ship…intact　or　in　pieces…we　will　learn　even　more；　perhaps　enough　to　finally　regain　star　travel。　All　that　is　within　our　hands；　what　could　you　offer　of　greater　value　for　allowing　your　departure？〃
　There　was　no　answer　Pyre　could　give　to　that　。。。　and　it　occurred　to　him　that　a　method　which　allowed　its　users　to　learn　Anglic　in　a　week　might　indeed　let　them　reconstruct　the　Dewdrop　and　its　systems　from　whatever　wreckage　remained　after　its　destruction。
　Which　meant　that　his　gallant　rescue　attempt　was　now；　and　always　had　been；　doomed　to　failure。　Cerenkov　and　Rynstadt　were　beyond　help；　and　Pyre's　own　last　minutes　would　be　spent　right　here　in　the　mayor's　underground　nerve　center。　If　he　could　somehow　find　the　munications　panel…and　then　find　a　way　to　shut　off　or　broadcast　through　the　jamming…and　then　figure　out　how　to　signal　the　Dewdrop　to　get　the　hell　away…and　all　before　sheer　weight　of　numbers　overwhelmed　him…
　And　as　the　impossibilities　of　each　step　lined　up　before　him　like　mountains　the　universe　presented　him　a　gift。　A　small　gift；　hardly　more　than　a　sign　。。。　but　He　saw　it；　and　Kimmeron　did　not；　and　he　had　the　satisfaction　of　giving　the　mayor　a　genuine　smile。　〃What　do　I　have　to　offer；　Mr。　Mayor？〃　he　said　calmly。　〃A　great　deal；　actually　。。。　because　all　that　was　in　your　hands　a　moment　ago　is　even　now　slipping　through　your　fingers。〃
　Kimmeron　frowned　。。。　and　as　he　started　to　speak　Pyre　heard　a　sharp　intake　of　breath　from　the　guard　spokesman　beside　him。　Kimmeron　twisted　to　look　behind　him　。。。　and　when　he　turned　back　his　face　was　pale。　〃How…？〃
　〃How？〃　Pyre　shifted　his　eyes　over　Kimmeron's　shoulder；　to　the　displays　that　showed　the　airfield　tower　and　environs。
　…Or　that　had　done　so　a　few　minutes　earlier。　Now；　the　entire　bank　showed　a　uniform　gray。
　How？　〃Very　simple；　Mr。　Mayor；〃　Pyre　said　。。。　and　suppressed　the　shiver　of　that　boyhood　memory。　Like　MacDonald　before　him　on　that　awful　day　of　vengeance　against　Challinor。。。。　〃Winward；　it　appears；　has　returned　from　the　dead。〃
　
　
　Chapter　21
　
　It　was　so　unexpected…so　totally　unexpected…that　Winward　never　even　had　a　chance　to　react。　One　minute　he　was　walking　around　the　tower　with　his　Qasaman　escort；　surreptitiously　searching　the　building　and　immediate　area　for　weapons　and　additional　guards　and　trying　to　work　out　exactly　what　he　would　say　when　they　reached　whoever　he　was　being　taken　to。　Just　walking　peacefully　。。。　and　then　the　leader　muttered　something　and　turned　around　。。。　and　before　Winward　could　do　more　than　focus　on　the　other　the　night　lit　up　with　a　thunderous　flash　and　a　sledgehammer　slammed　into　the　center　of　his　chest；　blowing　him　backwards　into　nothingness　as　the　crack　of　the　lethal　shot　echoed　in　his　ears。。。。
　The　blackness　in　his　brain　faded　slowly；　and　for　what　seemed　like　hours　he　drifted　slowly　toward　the　reality　he　could　faintly　sense　above　him。　The　pain　came　first…dull；　throbbing　pain　in　his　chest；　sharp；　stinging　pain　in　his　eyes　and　face…and　with　that　breakthrough　the　rest　of　his　senses　began　to　function　again。　Sounds　filtered　in：　footsteps；　doors　opening　and　closing；　occasional　inprehensible　voices。　He　discovered　he　was　on　his　back；　bouncing　rhythmically　as　if　being　carried；　and　every　so　often　he　felt　a　trickle　of　something　run　down　his　ribs　under　his　tunic。
　　　And　slowly；　he　realized　what　had　happened。
　He'd　been　shot。　Deliberately　and　maliciously　shot。　And　was　probably　dying。
　The　only　general　rule　he　could　recall　from　his　first…aid　training　was　that　injury　victims　should　not　be　unnecessarily　moved。　And　so　he　remained　still；　eyes　closed　against　the　pain　there；　as　he　waited　for　loss　of　blood　to　dim　his　consciousness　back　into　darkness。
　But　it　wasn't　happening。　On　the　contrary；　with　each　passing　heartbeat　he　felt　his　mind　sharpening；　with　strength　and　sensation　rapidly　returning　to　his　limbs。　Far　from　dying；　he　was　actually　ing　back　to　life。
　What　the　hell？
　And　it　was　only　then；　as　his　body　and　brain　finally　meshed　enough　to　localize　his　wound；　that　he　realized　what　had　happened。
　The　Qasaman　had　shot　him　in　the　center　of　his　chest。　Directly　over　the　breastbone。　The　breastbone　which；　coated　with　ceramic　laminae；　was　functionally　unbreakable。
　The　aftermath　was　less　clear；　but　its　main　points　weren't　hard　to　figure　out。　The　bullet's　impact　had　knocked　the　air　out　of　him；　possibly　even　temporarily　stopped　his　heart；　and　for　the　past　few　seconds　or　minutes　he'd　been　fighting　to　get　oxygen　back　into　his　system。　His　face　and　eyes　must　have　taken　the　impact　of　burning　propellant　to　sting　as　they　did；　and　for　a　painful　heartbeat　he　recognized　that　he　might　have　been　permanently　blinded。
　But　somehow　even　that　didn't　seem　important　at　the　moment。　He　was　alive；　he　was　reasonably　functional…
　And　the　Qasamans　thought　he　was　dead。
　They　would　pay　for　that　mistake。　Pay　in　blood。
　Starting　right　now。　Winward's　eyes　might　be　unusable；　but　the　optical　enhancers　set　into　the　skin　around　them　were　harder　to　damage　and　fed　into　the　optic　nerves　further　back　inside　the　skull's　protection。　They　weren't　really　designed　to　replace　normal　vision；　but　a　minute's　experimentation　showed　that　a　zero…magnification　setting　bined　with　the　lowest　light…amp　level　provided　an　adequate　picture。
　Between　the　four　head…and…upper…torsos　bobbing　at　the　edges　of　the　view；　he　could　see　a　ceiling　passing　overhead。　Carefully；　keeping　the　motion　slow；　he　eased　his　head　a　few　degrees　to　the　side。　A　couple　of　doors　went　by；　the　party　turned　a　corner；　and　abruptly　they　were　through　open　double　doors　and　into　a　white…walled　room　with　bright　steel　fixtures　extending　to　the　ceiling　in　various　places。　The　four　stretcher…bearers　set　him　down　on　a　hard　table；　and　he　let　his　head　loll　so　to　leave　it　turned　to　his　right；　toward　the　exit。　The　men　left；　closing　the　doors　behind　them；　and　he　was　alone　Though　probably　not　for　long。　The　room　he　was　in　was　very　obviously　a　sick　bay　or　surgery；　and　in　the　Qasamans〃　place　Winward　would　want　a　preliminary　dissection　started　on　a　dead　Cobra　as　quickly　as　possible。　The　doctors　were　probably　prepping　in　another　room；　and　could　arrive　at　any　time。
　Forcing　himself　to　again　move　slowly；　Winward　eased　his　head　up　and　down　until　he　located　the　glassy　eye　of　a　fisheye　monitor　camera。　It　was　in　a　back　upper　corner；　out　of　direct　line　of　any　of　his　lasers　or　his　sonic　disrupter。　He　could　lift　his　hands　and　fire；　of　course；　but　if　someone　was　watching　the　monitor　closely　the　alarm　would　be　raised　before　he　even　got　through　the　double　doors　into　the　hall。　Using　his　omnidirectional　sonic　to　shake　up　the　picture　before　shooting　wouldn't　help　appreciably；　either。　What　he　really　needed　was　a　diversion。
　Behind　him　there　was　the　sound　of　a　door　opening；　and　a　second　later　four　white…gowned　people　came　around　the　maze　of　support　equipment　and　into　view。
　And　a　diversion　abruptly　became　vital。　The　soldiers　and　stretcher…carriers　outside　might　miss　his　slow　breathing　or　the　fact　that　the　skin　of　his　chest　was　still　bleeding；　but　the　approaching　doctors　hadn't　a　chance　in　hell　of　doing　so。　He　had　to　keep　them　away　before　they　found　out　he　was　still　alive。
　The　leader　was　within　a　meter　of　him　now。　Activating　his　omnidirectional；　Winward　ran　it　to　its　lowest　frequency　setting　and　held　his　breath。
　Their　reaction　was　all　he　could　have　hoped　for。　The　leader　jerked　to　a　stop　as　the　inaudible　waves　hit　him；　the　second　in　line　stumbling　into　him　as　she　staggered　slightly。　For　a　minute　they　all　stood　together　in　a　little　knot　just　beyond　the　most　unfortable　zone；　conversing　in　voices　that　sounded　both　concerned　and　irritated。　Winward　waited；　gritting　his　teeth　himself　against　the　gut…rattling　sound　as　he　waited　for　their　next　move。
　It　came　quickly；　and　was　one　more　indication　of　how　much　the　high　mand　wanted　the　Cobra　dissected　immediately。　Waving　the　others　back；　the　leader　picked　up　a　sharp…looking　instrument　from　a　nearby　tray　and　stepped　to　the　table。　He　reached　down　to　pull　back　Winward's　tunic…
　And　jumped　back　with　a　strangled　gasp　as　the　Cobra's　sonic　disrupter　flash…heated　the　skin　of　his　hand。　Followed　by　one　of　the　others；　he　dashed　around　the　table　to　the　back　door；　shouting　as　he　ran。
　The　door　opened　and　closed；　and　for　a　moment　the　last　two　Qasamans　huddled　together；　whispering　in　fear　or　awe　or　both　to　each　other。　Winward　tried　to　guess　what　they'd　try　next；　but　the　grinding　of　his　sonic　bined　with　the　throbbing　pain　in　his　chest　and　face　was　fogging　his　mind　too　much　for　him　to　hold　a　coherent　train