Brian Stableford - Asgard's Heart

Myrlin—the thing that was using Myrlin’s body—had taken it away.

From my new position I could see a pair of boots, attached to a body that was hidden by one of the pillars. They had to be Susarma Lear’s. There wasn’t the least sign of movement—if her powers of self-repair had managed to preserve her life they’d obviously had more work to do than mine.

I remembered that Susarma had had a crash-gun. Myrlin had shot her first, then come after me. He had disarmed me, but perhaps he hadn’t gone back afterwards to disarm Susarma.

I wasn’t sure that I could walk, but the low gravity gave me hope. Hyped up as I was, I didn’t seem to weigh anything at all. When I took a step I thought I could feel the needles ripping my intestines, but it might have been my imagination. I clenched my teeth hard, determined not to give myself away by groaning.

I don’t know how many steps I took to reach Susarma’s body, but I got there as quickly as I could, and knelt down beside her.

The crash-gun was still in her hand.

I could see her face through the helmet. It was very pale and drawn, but her brave blue eyes were shut and she appeared to be sleeping peacefully. I knew that she wouldn’t be feeling any pain, whether she was dead or not. I looked at the entry wound where the needles had hit her. She hadn’t taken any more needles than I had, but she’d taken them higher up, around the lowest ribs. No matter how well the Isthomi had rebuilt her, she couldn’t recover if her lungs had been reduced to tatters—but when I put my hand to her breast, I thought that I could feel a faint heartbeat.

I didn’t dare wait until I was sure—I was in a hurry. I prised the gun out of her hand. Her fingers weren’t rigid with rigor mortis , but it seemed as if she opposed me, very feebly. The reflex gave me further reason to think—at least to hope—that she was still alive, and that the ingenuity of the life-support system was equal to the task of preserving her strengthened flesh.

I checked the magazine, and found that the gun had only two bullets left. There were several spare magazines in her belt and I took two out—I didn’t really think that I’d get a chance to reload if seven shots weren’t enough, but I figured that I might as well have it as not.

I stood up, feeling my intestines lurch as I did so, wondering whether the superhumanity treatment the Isthomi had given me was really up to coping with aggravated peritonitis. I switched off my headlight.

I moved as carefully and as quietly as I could towards the open door. I made sure that I couldn’t be seen from within the room, though they weren’t likely to be able to see much looking out from a brightly-lit room into the darkness. From a distance I took a long discreet look to see where everyone was. Pseudo-Myrlin was away to the left, Finn to the right. 673-Nisreen was between them. Pseudo-Tulyar would be the most difficult one—he was sitting down again.

Again?

I shook my head to clear the strange sensation of deja vu which had come over me. I felt dizzy, as though there were something I ought to remember, but there was no time to worry about it.

I paused when I got into position beside the door, leaning against the wall to gain what support I could while I gathered my strength. I looked back the way I had come, but it was too dark to see Susarma’s body. I was as ready as I would ever be. Mentally, I rehearsed the shots that I would have to fire, and prayed fervently that I could aim the crash-gun effectively. It was a kind of weapon I’d never handled before.

My calculations weren’t made any easier by the fact that I couldn’t tell how many shots I’d have to fire. Whatever was in control of Myrlin’s body might not have recaptured all his skills, but had been effective enough to take Susarma Lear by surprise and shoot her down. Myrlin’s body was just as resistant to damage as mine, and wasn’t full of needles. It wasn’t going to be easy to put him away, even with a full clip. And how many shots would I need thereafter? One for Tulyar, to be sure—but what about Finn? Had he come sufficiently to his senses to realise that Tulyar was no friend of his? Might there be just enough humanity left in his befuddled brain to make him see that I was on his side?

I couldn’t spend too long wondering. Somehow, I knew that there was no time to spare.

I slid around the edge of the doorspace, keeping my back firmly against the wall—I knew that I’d need every bit of support I could get, given that the gun would have a much more powerful recoil than a needier. I was levelling the weapon as I moved, supporting my right arm with my left, as I’d seen Susarma do. Pseudo-Myrlin and Finn no longer had their guns in their hands, but they were far from relaxed, and when Finn saw me appear from nowhere and his eyes widened in horror the giant was quick to go for the needier which he had laid down near to hand.

I fired at the invader who was wearing the body of my friend, but couldn’t help wincing as I did so. It wasn’t a perfect shot but he was a very big target, and the bullet ripped into him just below the right collar-bone. He wasn’t braced the way I was and the bullet hurled him backwards, sending him crashing into the console behind him. I wanted to fire at him again, to make sure that he stayed down, but I could see from the corner of my eye that my optimistic hopes regarding John Finn’s essential humanity were not to be fulfilled. His hatred for me had corrupted his reflexes irredeemably, and he was already going for his gun with murderous intent.

I swiveled instantly and fired at him.

I saw the terrified expression on his face as he saw me turning towards him. He had already plucked his needier from his belt, but as I shot him, a convulsive jerk of his hand sent his shots straight upwards into the ceiling.

My bullet hit him in the head, and he went down as if he’d been switched off. Blood and brains filled up the space inside his helmet, and I knew that he wouldn’t be back, no matter how much work the Isthomi had done on his body.

I hadn’t intended to kill him, and if I’d had the option, I really would have knocked him down in such a way that he could get up again when it was all over, but I didn’t have the choice.

I also didn’t have a choice about what to do next, because pseudo-Myrlin was already coming back to his feet again. The bigger they are the harder they fall, but in low gee they can bounce back with astonishing alacrity. He was braced now as well as I was, and he was bringing the needier up to fire. I tried to zero in on the centre of his chest again, and blasted away. It would have done far more good to blow his head off the way I’d blown Finn’s, but that had been a freak shot and I knew better than to try for a repeat. I had to hit the giant again before he cut me in half with the needier, and if I had to hit him four more times to keep him down then that was what I had to do.

Pseudo-Tulyar should have been out of it for a few more seconds, but he wasn’t. His chair didn’t swivel but he had turned in it with unexpected agility, and was covered by its broad back. He must have had a gun very close to hand because it was in his fist now and he was already aiming it— but he didn’t have a chance to fire because 673-Nisreen, the aging man of science, brought down upon his wrist the hard cast which was protecting his own broken arm. Pseudo-Tulyar dropped the gun, and Nisreen grabbed him, wrenching his arm downwards, using the back of the chair as a fulcrum. Pseudo-Tulyar somersaulted lazily over the back of the chair.

I had already fired a second shot at pseudo-Myrlin, who took it square in the chest. Maybe it was too square, because it seemed to have no effect at all. He couldn’t be thrown back again and there wasn’t enough power to stop him even in a great big bullet like that.