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As one, Carson, Keemut and Kolly all moved. Kolly grabbed the soldier’s arm and swung him around as Keemut attempted to sidestep the medic; Carson began to run at Coombs. He didn’t know what good it would to do, but he’d be damned if he’d let Coombs arrest him without a fight. As Carson closed in on the man, Coombs stepped forward and hit Carson in the solar plexus. The blow sent a bolt of fire through Carson, drove the air from his lungs, and dropped him to the concrete. He convulsed. He couldn’t breathe. He wanted to scream but he had no air. He felt hands securing his arms behind his back and, for a second, Carson thought he was going to die of oxygen starvation. Then his chest hitched and he could breath again. He saw Kolly restrained by Keemut. He was on his knees with his arms held twisted behind his back. Blood dripped from the medic’s mouth and his eyes seemed unfocused. “You bastard. Let him go.” Carson’s voice cracked. “I don’t think so,” Coombs said as he stepped into view. With a flick of his wrist he released a small, pen like device from a concealed hollow within his armoured forearm. “Coombs,” Carson pleaded, “don’t do this.” The man pointed the pen at Kolly, ignoring Carson, and depressed a stud on the side of the device. A needle thin beam of red light shot out of the pen and hit the medic in the chest. The laser dot lasted no more than heartbeat; then it was gone. “Release him,” Coombs said. Confused, Keemut looked up at Coombs. “Sir?” “You heard me, soldier. Let him go.” Coombs turned to Carson as the medic climbed to his feet. “I don’t think you appreciate just how serious things are. So I’m going to enlighten you.” “Coombs, whatever your problem is, it’s with me,” Carson said. “Leave Koll…. Leave Kolldip out of it. He’s a civilian and a medic. You can’t punish him for doing his job and looking out for us.” “Too late.” “What have you done?” In answer Coombs smiled and Kolly screamed. The medic clawed at the clips on his breastplate. The Blastex shell snapped open and Kolly threw the armour away from him. He tore his therm-suit undergarment open and fell to his knees. His face twisted in agony, as his silvery flesh began to steam. Carson tugged against his restraints. He felt the line cord Coombs had used give and redoubled his efforts. The thin cord cut into his wrists but the flex increased. Blood burst from Kolly’s nose and mouth. His body whipped backwards and slammed into the concrete concourse. His arms and legs thrashed and beat against the ground, the tempo building as he bucked and twitched. This was inhuman. Carson could not believe Coombs. Kolly was an innocent; if he died from whatever Coombs had done, Carson swore he would kill the man. With one final agonised scream, Kolly froze; all his muscles’ locked rigid. His spine arched until only his head and heels touched the ground. Then he collapsed, all tension gone, and smoke began to billow out of his chest cavity, as the synflesh melted and ran like candle wax. “It’s an SE emergency activator,” Coombs said, as he tossed the pen like device into the air, flipping it end over end, and then catching it. “You bastard.” “Is that the best you can do, Carson? Somehow I expected a better vocabulary from a journalist.” He laughed. “But then I suppose if you’d been any good you would have realised the truth before now and never agreed to this assignment.” Turning from Carson to Keemut, Coombs pointed at Kolly’s remains. “Get rid of that,” he said. “Dump it in the gutter with the others.” Dazed by what his officer had just done, Keemut seemed to shudder and, as Carson watched, a look of revulsion crossed the Sim’s features. Coombs had already turned his back on the soldier and so missed the expression of loathing. “Time’s up,” Coombs said, looking down at Carson. “No more prevaricating. No more moralistic bullshit. Just you and me.” Still trembling from shock, Keemut ignored the order and walked towards Coombs. The soldier’s face was now unreadable, no emotion showed at all, but Carson guessed it was still there, buried just beneath the surface and waiting to erupt. “Don’t,” Carson said. No matter what he had sworn to do, he didn’t want another unnecessary death on his conscience. If Keemut dared question Coombs’s command, the officer would likely fry him without a second thought. “Unlucky,” Coombs said, thinking Carson had spoken to him. The first blow, a punch to the back of the neck, slammed Coombs to his knees. The second, a roundhouse kick to the side of the head, sent him sprawling across the concourse. Keemut pressed his advantage. He stomped his heel down toward Coombs’s face, his boot missing the man’s head by centimetres as the officer rolled clear. Coombs lashed out, but missed connecting with Keemut’s face as the soldier blocked his attack and followed through with a savage, jabbing kick into Coombs’s ribs. The SE emergency activator had spun out of Coombs’s hand when he had first fallen and Carson saw it had spun to the far edge of the concourse. The Sim’s attack had flipped Coombs within a hand’s width of the device and, as the man reached for it, Carson yelled for Keemut to look out. Coombs snatched up the activator. The left right combination Keemut delivered snapped Coombs’s head back and popped his nose. Blood gushed, but Coombs’s held onto the device. He blocked the next attack. Keemut stepped back and snapped a sidekick at Coombs’s throat. The impact lifted Coombs and dropped him like a sack of bricks. The floor smacked into the back of his head and the activator flew from his hand.
The dull thud made Carson cringe. |