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energy reserves. Nonathlete though he was, if he just kept his head and his
balance he might yet outrun them. Or encounter a lonely police cruiser, or a
city bus, or even a couple of sanitation workers. Cornering, killing, and
quartering a lone pedestrian was one thing, but the presence of witnesses
might be enough to dissuade them.
Despite his fervent prayers, the way ahead remained empty. Word the Admikhana
were on the hunt had, through some unfathomable street gossip osmosis, managed
to precede him. Dark, tapering alleys beckoned on both sides of the
increasingly narrow street, but they reminded him too much of gaping
serpentine gullets for him to chance seeking sanctuary in any of them. And if
he elected to dart into one, and chose wrong, he might quickly find himself
cornered in a place where no one would even be able to hear him scream.
Lights. He needed lights, and people, and activity. He needed to cast himself
into the protective maelstrom of energy that was city nightlife.
Instead, he rounded one more corner only to run into another man.
The impact shook him twice: physically, from the unexpected bodily contact,
and mentally, because as he staggered backward from the collision he
recognized the shape he had run into as the man who had been pursuing him and
who had caused him to stumble wildly into this insane part of the city in the
first place.
What was worse, much worse, was that the man recognized him.
"Taneer Buthlahee." Though the voice was oddly calm, as if reciting one name
lifted from a long invisible list, there was no mistaking the satisfaction
that underlay the tone. "I've been looking for you for quite a while. It's
been an expensive and often frustrating search. But now it's over." A long,
lean arm reached for the scientist. Without thought or hesitation, Taneer
slapped it away. Always a mild sort, for him such a reaction bordered on the
extreme. The explanation was that the response had been entirely instinctive.
A slim specter velcroed to the night, the taller man frowned. "Don't be
difficult, now. I'm supposed to return you intact or at least, coherent. I
don't want to hurt you."
When he advanced a second time, his movements were a blur, and not just
because they were masked by darkness. The man's other hand grabbed Taneer by
the collar of his shirt before he could duck and spun him around. Though
slender, the arm that slipped up to lock in place under his chin and across
his neck was immovable. Reaching up with both hands, a struggling Taneer was
unable to dislodge it. His fingers dragged futilely across flesh that was
rippled with veins that bulged like tree roots. He might as well have been
trying to untangle himself from one of the steel cables that held up the
bridges over the Hooghly. New voices filled the night. Shapes that were female
but not especially feminine came barreling around the same corner he had just
turned. Taneer's eyes widened at the sight of the homicidal mothers. With
extreme terror shooting a burst of adrenaline through his system as forcefully
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as any pusher, he broke free of his captor's grasp, staggered a few steps, and
took off running. Cursing in an especially crude jumble of English, Hindi, and
German, Chal turned to corral his quarry, but found his attention diverted.
Never ones to discriminate in their choice of meat, the Admikhana were on him
before he had taken another step.
Driven by a combination of frustration and anger at having had his objective
snatched away from him, Chal Schneemann fought back. That he did not run like
the other man, like most of the men they had pursued, slowed the reactions of
the Admilchana somewhat. That he was well armed and clearly schooled in the
use of the weapons he carried caused several of them to hesitate further. The
brief delay was all a professional like himself needed.
Eyes wild with hunger and bloodlust, one woman brought her long knife around
in a wide arc parallel to the street. Gauging the distance with knowledge born
of long practice and too much experience, Chal simply leaned back just far
enough for the blade to miss him by centimeters. In response, one hand
withdrew from an inside breast pocket a small gun not much bigger than his
open hand. The shot from it was as silent as it was deadly. The tiny syringet,
no bigger than a small nail, struck his attacker in the neck. She looked
surprised, brought the knife around for a backhand swing, swallowed hard once
or twice, and collapsed as the potent neurotoxin contained in the hypod
paralyzed the muscles in her upper body. Unable to breathe, much less to
scream, she went down as if axed.
The gun that appeared in the tall man's other hand was larger, less subtle,
and almost as fast-acting. The second-closest woman to him was knocked
backward by the concussive force of the compact explosive shell that blew
apart her sternum and shredded the vital organs within her chest. Unlike the
silent syringet, the noise of the explosive shell shattering bone and flesh
stunned most of the remaining attackers into momentary immobility. Clearly,
the last thing they had expected when they had commenced their hunt of the
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