Together, Mal and Aaronson flung themselves off. In the nick of time, too, as a lightning gun discharge struck the exact spot where they’d been perched.
Mal landed on all fours. Aaronson came down more heavily next to her, cracking one knee on the terrace’s flagstones, but he was up again in a trice and limping for the next parapet. Mal ran after him.
Reston, ahead, was preparing to make the jump. He glanced round, just in time to see Tlanextic appear at the edge of the upper terrace.
“Move!” Reston yelled out to the two Jaguars.
Tlanextic drew a bead on Mal.
“Quick!” Reston grabbed her hand.
Mal was about to bark at him to let her go. How dare he touch her! But next thing she knew, Reston had plunged over the side, dragging her helplessly with him. They crashed in a heap together on the next terrace down, Reston taking most of the impact with his own body. Aaronson followed, hurdling the parapet. He landed even more badly than last time, his ankle twisting under him with an audible crunch.
“Oww! Fucking shit!”
He rolled onto his back, clutching his leg, grimacing.
Reston and Mal, meanwhile, quickly disentangled themselves from each other. Mal scurried over to her sergeant’s side.
“Is it broken?”
“Don’t think so,” Aaronson gasped. “Hurts like a bitch, but I think I only sprained it.”
“Then you can walk on it. Get up.”
Aaronson staggered to a standing position. “I’m sorry, I’m crap with heights, you know that. It’s throwing me off. I’m not thinking straight.”
“Let’s just keep going.”
Mal helped Aaronson to the next parapet, taking his weight while he hobble-hopped alongside her.
“One more jump and we should be out of range,” Reston said. “Tlanextic’s already got a poor shooting angle, and it’ll only get worse. Unless he follows us down, that is.”
As if in response, an l-gun bolt struck the terrace a few feet from where they stood. The impact left a smeary blue afterimage in their vision and a black sunburst of charring on the flagstones.
“See? What did I say? His accuracy’s compromised.”
“You ever get tired of being a smartarse, Reston?” Mal said.
“Sometimes. But then things get interesting again and I remember who I am.”
Aaronson made an even bigger hash of his third jump than he had the previous two. Hoping to take the impact solely on his good leg in order to protect his injured one, he ended up sprawling awkwardly onto his side. He gamely got up again and made for the next parapet, but it was clear he was in no state to carry on descending the terraces in leaps and bounds like this.
“Fuck it, boss. You go on ahead. I’ll find another way out of here.”
“Don’t be a dickhead, sergeant. We can do this. Just don’t think about it too hard.”
“How many more levels are there? Another twenty at least. I’m never going to manage it. I’m only holding you up.”
“What’re you going to do instead? Fly?”
“Go indoors and through the building. Find that lift.”
“Not a good idea,” said Reston. “There’ll be Serpents all over the place.”
“So? I act all innocent. They don’t know yet that we’ve got a kill order hanging over us.”
“Hey!” came a cry from above. “Forget about me?”
Tlanextic had sprung down from the topmost terrace to the one below, and now the three of them were squarely in his sights once more. The only reason he hadn’t fired yet was because the lightning gun was still powering up for its next shot.
“Listen, you two,” Reston said to Mal and Aaronson. “There isn’t time for this. If we don’t put distance between him and us, we’re dead, don’t you get it?”
“I can’t,” Aaronson said.
“You can,” Mal insisted.
“No, you can, boss. And you will.”
“What?”
“Go.” He said it softly, but in a way that brooked no argument.
“No,” Mal said, equally adamant.
“Yes. I can look after myself. Your best chance is Reston. You want to live? Go with him.”
“He’s got a point, Vaughn,” Reston said.
“Shut the fuck up. This has nothing to do with you.”
The l-gun’s whine reached its highest pitch, a constant shrill note signalling readiness. Tlanextic aimed carefully, determined not to miss a third time.
Reston straddled the parapet. Over Mal’s shoulder, Aaronson gave him the nod, and Reston wrapped his arms around her waist and kicked off backwards.
“No!” Mal screamed as they plunged together.
A table broke their fall, shattering to pieces under them. A servant who had been busy laying out lunchtime cutlery, yelped in fright and scuttled away.
Mal rose, groaning, from the splintered debris of the table, looking up just in time to see Tlanextic open fire at Aaronson. Aaronson darted to one side. It was a valiant but vain effort. The bolt of plasma found its target. A glancing blow, but a hit all the same, thumping into Aaronson’s shoulder and spinning him sideways. He fetched up against the parapet, sprawled half over it. A hole had been burned through his shirt, through which Mal could see blackened skin, fat white blisters, and raw red weeping patches. Worst of all was the smell that reached her, the stench of grilled meat, human meat, her friend and colleague’s.
Aaronson’s eyes rolled. Mal could scarcely imagine the pain he was in. She called to him, but he didn’t respond. His jaw was slack. Shock was setting in. If the parapet hadn’t been propping him up, he would have sunk to the floor.
And now Tlanextic came down a level, nimbly, l-gun singing in his hands. He strode to a vantage point directly overlooking Aaronson, moving with complete assurance, the air of a hunter who knew his prey was injured and helpless and going nowhere. His eyes were narrowed but deadly calm, not unlike the eyes of the moulded golden snake crowning his helmet.
Mal snatched up a leg of the table, the only throwing weapon she could find. She launched it at Tlanextic, but gravity and the angle of elevation were against her and she missed. He pretended not even to notice.
“I’m not what you said I am,” he told Aaronson. “Not at all.”
Aaronson, to his credit, managed to splutter out a reply. “Denial.”
Tlanextic pulled the trigger.
Aaronson’s body rocked as tremendous, searing heat pulsed through it. A hand convulsed into a claw, clutching the parapet, skin fusing to stone. Eyeballs erupted from their sockets like two boiled eggs bursting. Legs kicked.
Then it was over. Aaronson shuddered and lay still, a smoking, twisted wreckage of himself.
What Mal said next came from her gut, a howl of pure rage. “Tlanextic, you cocksucking, motherfucking cunt bastard!” She used her mother tongue. Nahuatl didn’t have as many swear words as English, and none of them was as truly satisfying.
In return, the Serpent colonel offered her a gloating grin. “I have no idea what you just said, Inspector Vaughn, but that’s your pal sorted. And guess what? You’re next.”
“I’ll fucking kill you.” She part drew her macuahitl. “Come down here. I’ll fucking have you, I will.”
“I’ve a better idea. I stay here, you stay there. Soon as my gun’s recharged, I’ll put you out of your misery.”
“Coward. Come down and fight.” Hot, angry tears were flooding down Mal’s cheeks, and she wasn’t ashamed of them. She didn’t care.
“I’d rather just stick where I am, if you don’t mind. High ground. Tactical advantage. Be patient. Couple of seconds from now, this’ll all be over.”
