Timothy Zahn - The Green And The Gray

Caroline took a deep breath. "You don't have to do this, Sylvia," she said, trying one last time.

"There has to be another way."

"There," Sylvia said, pointing.

Caroline followed the direction of her finger to the balcony still awash in the wayward tear gas. A

pair of Warriors had emerged from the now quiet trees and low hedges of the park below, running across the ground toward a position beneath the balcony's edge. As they braked to a halt, each flung something upward toward the railing. Caroline braced herself for an explosion or another burst of tear gas; instead, the Warriors suddenly rose off the ground, pulling themselves upward hand over hand through the drifting mist on invisible lines. "Of course," she murmured. "Trassks as cables and grappling hooks. Tear gas doesn't bother you, then?"

"Yes, but not to the same extent as it does you Humans," Sylvia said. "In this case, these two Warriors are merely holding their breath and keeping their eyes closed."

They reached the balcony, ducking down into the drifting cloud, and Caroline caught glimpses of quick movements as they beat back whatever opposition was still left up there. One of them partially emerged from the cloud with something that looked like an oversized shotgun and pointed it past the Winter Garden at the other balcony. There was the jerk of a recoil, and another tear-gas canister flew across the open area to wrap the balcony in a white cloud of its own.

"And now we complete the neutralization," Sylvia said calmly. From one of the trees lining the walk another pair of Warriors appeared and sprinted toward the balcony with their own grappling hooks in hand.

"And they're doing all this blind?" Caroline asked.

"Not entirely," Sylvia said. "Their eyes are shut, true, but the Farspeaker currently floating beside one of the docks can put some of what she sees into their minds, giving them a fair idea of what's around them. The rest of the details they fill in with hearing and touch."

Caroline watched in silence as the two Warriors made it up onto the second balcony and disappeared into the tear gas cloud. A minute later, they reappeared, rappelling to the ground and then twitching their grapples to free them. There was a shout from somewhere, and Caroline winced as a burst of gunfire ricocheted off the building behind them.

The Greens didn't wait for their attackers' aim to improve, but turned and raced back across the plaza, bullets chewing up bits of the pavement at their heels as they ran. Caroline tensed, wondering if they would make it back to the trees in time and wondering how they would get back inside without any of the cops seeing them. They were nearly there when another short Shriek split the air, rocking her back on her heels and startling her eyes momentarily shut. When she opened them again, the two running Warriors had vanished.

"And now only those on the south side of the boat basin remain," Sylvia commented calmly.

"They're already masked against the gas, so the Warriors are having to approach with a little more prudence. Ah."

"What?" Caroline asked, turning and peering to the south.

"No, not there," Sylvia said, pointing her back the opposite direction. "There. The police backup forces have arrived."

Caroline turned again. "Where?"

"They've just come around the sides of the buildings," Sylvia said. "Moving in very carefully." She shook her head. "Not that that's going to help, of course. Whatever information Roger gave them, he seems to have failed to mention who and what we truly are."

Caroline felt her stomach tighten. "He just wanted the police to keep you from attacking the Grays," she murmured. "He didn't want the government hauling you off somewhere to be studied like lab rats for the rest of your lives."

"More likely he didn't want to end up in a psychiatric ward," Sylvia said cynically. "At any rate, half a tale is going to buy him exactly nothing. In fact, unless they have something more impressive in reserve, we're hardly even going to be inconvenienced. Here they come."

Caroline looked again across at the buildings. Sylvia was right: she could see shadowy figures moving stealthily along the sides of the buildings. "They can search the buildings all they want,"

Sylvia told her. "Sooner or later, they'll come close enough to the trees."

She gave Caroline a faint smile. "Just relax," she said soothingly. "It'll soon be over, and you'll be able to go home."

"And the Grays?"

"As I said," Sylvia said softly, turning back to face the approaching cops. "It'll soon be over."

Across the broad balcony something popped into a cloud of white smoke; and the next thing Roger knew Fierenzo had hauled him to his feet, nearly wrenching his left shoulder out of its socket in the process, and was dragging him across the balcony toward the door they'd just come in through.

"What—?"

"Close your eyes and hold your breath," the detective snapped, tightening his grip and picking up his pace.

And then it belatedly clicked, and Roger took one last quick breath and squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the coldness of the cloud wash over him. They hit the door running, Fierenzo slamming it open and pulling Roger through.

The next minute was a flurry of echoing footsteps and massive disorientation as Roger ran blindly down the empty corridor with only Fierenzo's hand on his arm to guide him. Even with his eyes closed he could feel them starting to tingle and sting. His nostrils felt the same way, and he wondered uneasily what would happen when he finally couldn't hold his breath any longer and was forced to inhale. He had no idea what kind of gas the Greens had used, but if he was incapacitated now it would all be over. The Greens and Grays would have their war, with New York City squarely in the middle of it.

They slowed slightly to turn a corner, then picked up speed again. Roger's chest was beginning to ache from the strain of holding his breath, and he had that creepy sensation that any second now Fierenzo would accidentally slam him full-tilt into a wall or janitor's cart. They'd surely already passed the elevator by now—

"In here," Fierenzo said suddenly, his voice sounding oddly muffled. His hand veered Roger to the right, and there was a hollow thud as the detective shoved a door open and pulled him inside a room.

They ran a few more paces, and Roger noted that the echo in here seemed different.

Fierenzo jerked him to a halt. "Hold still," he ordered.

And before Roger could even guess what he had in mind, there was the sound of a faucet being cranked on, and a spray of cold water washed over his face, splashing across his eyes and up his nose.

He gasped in surprise, sputtering and coughing as some of the water got into his open mouth and tried to go down the wrong way. "Hold still—I'm trying to clean you off," Fierenzo said, letting go of his arm. "Get rid of that jacket."

Roger nodded, and started stripping it off. He was midway through the procedure when the spray stopped. "Okay, open your eyes," Fierenzo said.

Carefully, Roger eased his eyes open. Fierenzo was just pulling a gas mask away from his own face, sniffing cautiously at the air. "You okay?" the detective asked.

Roger gave a couple of experimental blinks and took a careful breath. There was an unpleasant tingle in the air, but it didn't seem to be affecting him any worse than some of the hay fever attacks he'd had as a child. "I think so," he confirmed.

"Good," Fierenzo said, dropping the mask into the next sink over and pulling off his own jacket.

"Give your face another rinse and then shut it off."

"Right," Roger said leaning down and throwing double handfuls of water into his face. "We don't seem to be doing very well out there," he commented.