Timothy Zahn - The Domino Pattern

And with his quivering, oversized throat hanging right over my face, there was only one logical target. Releasing my grip on his wrists, I curled my hands into fists and jabbed upward as hard as I could.

I had expected it to be like hitting a tube of slightly undercooked mostaccioli. To my dismay, it was more like slamming my fists into well-insulated plastic pipe. Whatever the Filly genetic engineers had done to Muzzfor’s throat, they’d put some heavy-duty musculature around it.

And with that, my last reserve was gone. My hands dropped back to Muzzfor’s wrists, but I had no strength left to try to tear them away from my throat. I couldn’t hear the high-pitched whine anymore, and in the distance the clatter of bodies against metal as Vevri and Qiddicoj beat themselves against Sarge likewise faded into the roar of blood rushing in my ears. Muzzfor’s face was an expressionless mask, the sort of face Bayta often wore. My thoughts drifted toward Bayta, wondering if Muzzfor and the others would leave her alive or if whatever I’d done to trigger the Modhri’s wrath would bring her the same sentence of death.

And then, without warning, something shot into view around Muzzfor’s arms and barreled full-tilt into the Filly’s side, hurling him off me and ripping his hands away from my throat. Gripping my neck, gasping in great lungfuls of air, I rolled onto my side.

I found myself faced with an incredible sight. Prapp was straddling a prone Muzzfor, pounding his fists against the Filly’s head and torso with the same determination he’d used in his earlier attack against me.

But even as I lay there trying to figure out what the hell was happening, Muzzfor seemed to get either his composure or his wind back. One hand slammed against Prapp’s throat, snapping his head forward like the clapper of a bell. Prapp went limp, and with a surge of legs and arms Muzzfor sent the Tra’ho sailing helplessly to slam into the floor three meters away. An instant later Muzzfor was back on his feet, his cold, soulless eyes turning back to his unfinished business with me—

Just as Vevri and Qiddicoj slammed into him in a perfectly coordinated high/low double tackle.

Muzzfor gave a bellow as he hit the floor again, a deep, furious ululation that momentarily froze me where I knelt.

If Vevri and Qiddicoj were affected by the roar, it didn’t show. They were all over their target, punching and clawing at him with an almost mindless fury.

I still didn’t know what the hell was going on. All I knew was that Muzzfor had tried to kill me, the Modhri was no longer on his side, and I was damned if I was going to sit out the rest of this fight.

But even as I got to my feet, Vevri abruptly gave out a choked-off scream and rolled off the downed Filly. As I staggered forward Qiddicoj gave a similar scream and also fell backward, clutching at his stomach. He curled into a fetal position around himself, but not before I saw the blood spreading out across his clothing.

And then Muzzfor was on his feet again, his fingers dripping two different shades of red. He turned toward me, and as he did so his hands curved themselves into raptor talons. Something else the genetic engineers had no doubt graced him with.

For a moment we locked eyes. Then, lifting the talons to point at my stomach, he stalked toward me.

“At least tell me why you want me dead,” I croaked, taking an angled step backward. He continued toward me, and I matched him step for step, walking us around in a slow circle that was taking me back toward the rear of the car. I was still breathing heavily; with luck, he would assume I was just trying to buy time. “What did I ever do to you? Tell me, damn it. What did I ever do to you?”

Muzzfor didn’t answer, but just kept coming. I continued to back away, not daring to look behind me and see if I was about to back into a chair or some other obstacle. The Filly was getting closer, and I imagined I could see a fresh surge of bloodlust in those empty, empty eyes.

He was still coming when two of Sarge’s legs stabbed like twin spears into his back.

For a moment Muzzfor just stood there, his gaze on the bloodied metal legs poking out of his chest, a disbelieving expression on his face. Very much the way Kennrick had reacted to his own unexpected defeat and death, a small, detached part of my mind noted. Then, without a sound, the Filly’s eyes closed, and he sagged against the Spider legs still holding him mostly upright.

“He is dead?” Sarge asked into the silence.

“He’d damned well better be,” I said. Angling in cautiously from the side, just in case, I went up to Muzzfor to check.

The examination didn’t take long. Filly genetic engineers could do a lot of strange and interesting things to their clients, as Muzzfor himself had more than proved. But there were only so many places you could put the heart and lungs. “Yes, he’s dead,” I confirmed, stepping thankfully away from the dangling corpse. “Almost no thanks to you, I might add. What were you doing, waiting for scorecards to be passed out?”

“No,” Sarge said, an odd tone to his voice. “I could not …it is difficult to explain. I could not think, nor could I properly react to the threat facing me.”

“Compton,” a voice whispered.

I swore as I stepped past Sarge and Muzzfor and hurried toward the three bodies lying crumpled on the floor. In those last tense minutes, I’d completely forgotten about the Modhri.

Prapp and Vevri weren’t moving, but Qiddicoj was still breathing weakly. “Defender, get the doctors up here,” I snapped as I dropped to my knees beside the wounded Filly. “ Now . And get me that LifeGuard,” I added, pointing to the orange case on the wall.

“No use,” Qiddicoj murmured. Or rather, the Modhri within him murmured. “I’m sorry, Compton. Please believe this was not my doing.”

“I know it wasn’t,” I assured him. “Lie still, now—the doctors are on their way.”

The Modhri shook his head. “No use,” he said again. “The other Eyes are already dead, and this one will soon join them. When that happens, I too will die.”

He looked down at his blood-soaked midsection, then up at me again. “It was a call in my mind and my ears,” he said. “The same as I heard two nights ago. Only this time, I was not ordered to lie, but to kill.” He coughed, bringing specks of blood to his lips. The blaze on his long face, I noted, had gone deathly pale. “Even knowing it ordered me to evil, I had no power to resist.”

Abruptly, a piece fell into place. “Was the compulsion tied to that high-pitched sound I kept hearing?” I asked.

“Yes,” Qiddicoj confirmed. “When it ceased …the orders were still there, but I no longer had to obey.”

And the sound had ceased right after I’d punched Muzzfor in his genetically modified throat. The damn thing hadn’t been created so that he could sing high opera. It had been created as a weapon.

But a weapon against whom? The Spiders? The Modhri?

A metal leg appeared in my peripheral vision, and I looked up as Sarge handed me the LifeGuard. I set it down beside Osantra Qiddicoj, keying the selector for Filiaelian, and started connecting the arm cuff.

“Compton.”

“Lie still,” I said. I finished the cuff and leaned over him with the breather mask.

His hand lifted, brushing weakly against the mask. “No use,” he said. “Compton. Remember our bargain.”

“I will,” I said, moving the mask around his flailing arm and pressing it over his nostrils.

“A shame it must end now,” the Modhri said as I keyed the LifeGuard. His voice was so weak I could barely hear it. “We worked …well …together.”

“Yes, we did,” I agreed, an odd feeling trickling through me. The Modhri was my enemy …and yet, this particular mind segment and I had somehow been able to unite against a common threat.