Page 114 of Bride of the Enemy Alien

That is not the response I expected. I glance at him. “That was creepy.”

His smile is back in its full resplendent confidence.

“Your patterns are remarkably consistent.”

“Heh,” I snort. “I get that a lot.”

I’m six steps from the console when Syin moves.

He crosses the distance to the console guard faster than someone as big as him should move. His lochaber catches the guard’s weapon and knocks it aside before he can raise it.

Renn moves in the other direction. The passage guard shouts right as Renn slams into him. He doesn’t get a second word out before Renn drops him.

The two guards beside Rhazek move and I run. Not to Rhazek. To the receiver.

Gray reaches for the cracked panel and as he does I throw the salt and ash into the rod cradle. Green light explodes sideways.

He jerks his hand back with a curse. The false count breaks apart into a burst of ugly, uneven pulses. Rhazek arches against the restraints and the hook under his throat burns bright, and he grunts, loud and painful sounding.

“Sorry,” I yell.

His answer isn’t a word, but I choose to believe it means keep going. I hit the console hard enough to bruise my hip, grab the rod, and pull.

It doesn’t move. Of course it does not. Nothing important ever comes loose when I need it to.

I jam the bone knife into the seam beside the cradle and lean my weight into it. The metal gives a fraction.

Gray lunges for me. I duck, trying to avoid him. Syin’s tail catches him across the legs and he crashes into the side of the console.

“Thanks, that was useful,” I tell Syin.

“Break it.”

“Working on it.”

A weapon discharges behind me. Stone bursts from the shelf where we were hiding. Renn swears. I don’t look. If he can swear, he can still fight.

The knife slips deeper.

I twist.

The rod tears free.

The receiver screams.

It’s not really a scream, but my teeth hurt like it is. The green strands above the console whip apart. The blue-violet glow from the epis basin drops back into the glass instead of hanging in the air.

The room goes dark and silent.

“Ha. Fuck you.” I laugh.

Gray looks at the dead cradle, then at me. He’s not angry. Not in the slightest. His face is calm, calculating, and still with that damned certainty. That scares me more than anger would.

“Clean transmission interrupted,” he says.

“Good, that was the point.”

“It is nothing. Merely slower.”