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both. Just as I predicted. Can you guess what is the first thing I shall have
you two do to each other?"
Grunt could. Spot-on, though not with the whispered refinements Ryoval added.
Lord Mark raged, wept with terror and dismay. Not a vibration rippled Grunt s
slack-mouthed surface, nor marred the flat glisten of his eyes with any inner
purpose.
Wait
, begged the Other.
The Baron walked to a counter or bar, made of some zebra-grained, polished
wood, and unwrapped an array of glittering tools, which no one could quite
see, though Howl stretched his neck. Meditatively, Ryoval looked his kit over.
You have to stay out of my way. And not sabotage me
, said the Other.
I know Ryoval gives you what you hunger for - but it s a trick
.
Ryoval doesn t feed you
, said Gorge.
Ryoval is my food
, whispered the Other.
You ll only get one chance
, said Howl nervously.
And then they ll come after me
.
I only need one chance
.
Ryoval turned back. A surgical hand-tractor gleamed in his grip. Grunt,
frightened, gave way to the Other.
"I believe," said Ryoval, "that I will pull out one of your eyes, next. Just
one. That should have some interesting psychological focusing effects, when I
threaten the remaining one."
Smoothly, Howl gave way. Last of all, reluctantly, Gorge gave way, as Ryoval
walked toward them.
Killer s first attempt to struggle to his feet failed, and he fell back.
Damn you, Gorge
. He tried again, shifted his weight forward, heaved up, stepped once,
half-unbalanced without the use of his arms to save himself. Ryoval watched,
highly amused, unalarmed by the waddling little monster he doubtless thought
he had created.
Trying to work around Gorge s new belly was something like being the Blind Zen
Archer. But his alignment was absolute.
His first kick took Ryoval in the crotch. This folded him neatly over, and put
his upper body within practical range. He flowed instantly into the second
kick, striking Ryoval squarely in the throat. He could feel cartilage and
tissue crunch all the way back to
Ryoval s spine. Since he was not wearing steel-capped boots this time, it also
broke several of his toes, smashed up and down at right angles. He felt no
pain. That was Howl s job.
He fell over. Getting up again wasn t easy, with his hands still shackled
behind him. Wallowing around on the floor trying to get his legs under
himself, he saw with disappointment that Ryoval wasn t dead yet. The man
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writhed and gurgled and clutched his throat, on the carpet next to him. But
the room s computer control did not recognize the Baron s voice commands now.
They had a little time yet.
He rolled near to Ryoval s ear. "I am too a Vorkosigan. The one who was
trained as a deep-penetration mole and assassin. It really pisses me off when
people underestimate me, y know?"
He managed to get back on his feet, and studied the problem, which was, Ryoval
was still alive. He sighed, swallowed, stepped forward, and pounded the man
with repeated blows of his feet till Ryoval stopped vomiting blood,
convulsing, and breathing. It was a nauseating process, but in all, he was
very relieved that there seemed no part of himself who actually enjoyed it.
Even Killer had to muster a determined professionalism, to see it through to
the end.
He considered the Other, whom he now recognized as Killer.
Galen made you, mostly, didn t he
?
Yes. But he didn t make me out of nothing
.
You did very well. Hiding out. Stalking. I d wondered if any of us possessed
any sense of timing at all. I m glad at least one of us does
.
It was what the Count our Father said
, Killer admitted, pleased and embarrassed to be praised.
That people would give themselves to you, if you waited them out, and didn t
rush to give yourself to them. And I did. And Ryoval did
. He added shyly, The Count s a killer too, you know. Like me
.
Hm
.
He pulled his wrists against the shackles, and limped over to the zebra-wood
counter to study Ryoval s kit. The selection included a laser-drill, as well
as a sickening assortment of knives, scalpels, tongs, and probes. The drill
was a short-focal-range surgical type suitable for cutting bone, a dubious
weapon, but a most suitable tool.
He wobbled around and tried to pick it up, behind his back. He almost wept
when he dropped it. He was going to have to get down on the floor again.
Awkwardly, he did so, and lumbered around till he managed to grub up the
drill. It took many minutes of fiddling, but at last he got it turned around
and aimed in such a way as to cut through his shackles without either slicing
his hand off, or burning himself in the butt. Released, he flung his arms
around his swollen torso, and rocked himself like someone rocking a weary
child. His foot was starting to throb. The assorted mass vectors had
apparently also combined to wrench his back, when he d kicked Ryoval in the
throat.
He stared, aside, at his victim/tormentor/prey.
Clone-consumer
. He felt apologetic toward the body he had pummeled underfoot.
It wasn t your fault. You died, what, ten years ago
? It was the one up top, inside the skull, who had been his enemy.
An illogical fear possessed him that Ryoval s guards would break in, and save
their master even in death. He crawled over, much easier now that he had his
hands free, took the laser-drill, and made certain that no one would be
transplanting that brain again, ever. No one, no way.
He sagged back into the low chair, and sat in utter exhaustion, waiting to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]