opportunity.
I second-guessed my reluctance when Sata zapped me again, this time in the shoulder. It lit up my nerve endings like they’d been soaked in acid and then set on fire. I danced away from the blow, did a quick spin-kick, and hit Sata between his legs. He wore a supporter, my foot bouncing harmlessly off. I was going to have to rethink my affinity for the groin shot; it never seemed to work.
Sata swung the shinai like a hyperbaseball bat. I went in low and got inside the arc, clipping him under the jaw with my elbow. When his head snapped back, I chopped at his neck with the edge of my hand. His throat was corded with muscle, and my blow did no damage. I might have to rethink my opinion of steroids as well. The only thing staying roid-free had gotten me was multiple beatings.
I picked up the detached headrest and backed away, standing on the balls of my feet. Sata glanced at my makeshift weapon and shook his head, looking disappointed.
“I expected more from you, Talon-kun. Back when we first met, you showed so much promise. You reminded me of-”
“I’d rather get beaten to death than endure another one of your endless monologues,” I interrupted. “Now, shut the fuck up and fight, old man.”
He thrust the sword at me. I blocked with the headrest, did a tight spin-kick, and knocked him upside his diseased head. Sata staggered, pitching onto some chairs, leaving his back exposed. If I got my arm around his neck, I could choke off his air and end this right now. I dropped the headrest and jumped at him, bracing myself to land on his shoulders.
But instead of landing I sailed right over him, heading straight for the rear wall of the lift, moving in what felt like slow motion.
We’d ascended high enough to reach zero gravity.
I held my hands out in front of me, Superman-style, and soared into the wall. My fingertips brushed against it, and I bent my elbows, kissing the metal, and then pushed myself back toward Sata.
He was waiting for me, his shinai resting on his shoulder. I flailed my arms, trying to change my speed and/or trajectory, but I kept drifting straight at him. I was about to learn how it felt to be a slow-pitched hypersoftball.
Sata smacked me in the arm. It hurt, but before he could get his zap on I was floating away from the blow in the opposite direction. Thank you, Mr. Newton, for your Third Law of Motion.
I hadn’t spent much time in zero-G, but I knew the challenges it posed from the few times I’d had space sex with Vicki. Unless we held each other tight, a single pelvic thrust would send us in flying opposite directions. Amusing at first, but it eventually got frustrating. That was why space hotel bedrooms came equipped with suction cups and bungee cords.
There were no such luxuries in the lift car. But I did remember the can I had taken from the security bin earlier. It was one of those feminine deodorant sprays, guaranteed to make your nether region smell like cherry pie. While I’m pretty sure nature never intended for women to smell like bakery goods, Vicki told me the reason these sprays were so popular was due to an ingredient that stimulated nerve endings. One spritz and sensitivity quadrupled.
But I had a different use for it. I pressed the spray button and the hissing gas functioned as an accelerant, halting my momentum. Another quick spray and I was able to spin around in midair. I rotated too far, twirled three hundred and sixty degrees, and then slowed myself down and faced Sata. He sniffed the air.
“Do I smell… pie?”
I sprayed it again, heading for the ceiling. It was just high enough that Sata wouldn’t be able to reach me, even with his sword.
My relief didn’t last long. Sata walked up the wall in his magnetic shoes, and then clomped onto the ceiling.
I sprayed myself back down to the floor. He followed. By then, the can was almost empty, and my mouth was watering for cherry pie. I tucked the can into my men and tied a seat belt around my leg, waiting for Sata to approach, believing I could defend myself if I was anchored down.
Not my wisest move.
The word pinata came to mind as Sata let loose with an electrically charged barrage of hits, pummeling me so quickly that all I could do was cover up and hope he got tired.
He didn’t get tired. Luckily, the knot around my ankle came loose and I floated away from him, a blob of blood trailing from my mouth and floating silently through the air in my wake.
This time, Sata didn’t chase me. He drew his Glock.
My hands and head were my vulnerable spots, so I covered my face with my padded forearms, and kept my palms on my scalp. I heard the shot, felt the impact in my chest, and waited for the Tesla bolt to come.
It didn’t come. Instead of a wax Taser bullet, Sata had fired a mollybond round. Newly attached to my bo?gu was a length of jelly rope. I watched Sata reel in a bit of length, then shoot himself in the leg.
We were now tethered together.
He grabbed the rope and tugged. It stretched, then contracted, and we began to drift toward each other. Sata raised his shinai. Once again I thought about the Nife, wondering if it was still too soon. Sata was better at hand-to-hand combat. He could block it, and take it from me, and then Chicago would be lost. Then I thought about getting hit with the sword again, and decided to risk the chance.
I reached around, grabbing for the blade – and Sata kicked his leg back, pulling the jelly rope like a rubber band. I flew at him at a quick clip as he drew back his shinai.
My face versus Sata’s sword.
His sword won, connecting with my cheek. I spun on my axis, lines of blood spilling from my lips and twirling around me like a DNA helix. I pulled in my arms to reach the Nife and spun even faster, the world blurring around me, unable to focus on anything. But I kept my head, closing my eyes to ignore the rotation, feeling around the back of my utility belt, wrapping my fingers around the handle of the Nife and unsheathing it.
Time to give this son of a bitch a bunch of new orifices.
That was when the lift stopped and bounced me off the ceiling, making me drop the Nife.
The impact slowed my spin, but I still had no idea which way was up. Though I suppose in zero-G there was no up. I blinked a few times, and peripherally noticed the lift doors open. I hit the floor, focusing on the door, wondering what was going to happen next.
The cab filled with light as our welcoming party of cops unleashed a torrent of Taser fire.
That lasted half a second before Sata imploded them, flying bullets and all.
“It’s cold out there,” he said. His voice was wistful as he glanced out the lift window into the blackness of space. “Only three degrees above absolute zero. I hope they were wearing warm socks.”
I tried to call him a monster, but my mouth wasn’t working right. Instead, I took a frantic look around, searching for the Nife. Sata walked out of the car, his magnetic soles clomping against the metal floor, dragging me behind him like a child’s balloon on a string. I tried to grab onto something, missed a chair’s arm, and was pulled out of the elevator, Nifeless. I shouldn’t have ever unsheathed the damn thing.
The space station’s decor liberally borrowed from science-fiction movies, with a lot of polished chrome and bright lights. Doors were circular and they opened automatically using proximity sensors. Hallways were large tubes with twenty-foot diameters, the walls rounded and smooth. A large projector flashed a WELCOME sign at us in thirty different languages. Muzak played the classic theme from Star Wars Episode 19: Darth Jar Jar.
“The trick is adjusting the focal length of the wormhole,” Sata said as I trailed behind him. “If I zoomed out too much, I could have taken out the entire space station along with those morons. But don’t get any ideas. Once I set the timer, I’m locking the focus. You won’t be able to change it. Unless you can somehow make the entire space station face the opposite way, the wormhole will hit Chicago.”
Sata imploded two more security guards, who were flying at us with jet packs on their backs. An alarm went off, red lights flashing. I tried to get a handhold on the ceiling, but it was smooth and I bounced off. Sata tugged me past a giant picture window, and I stared, impotent, at the enormous blue-green earth. So beautiful. So vulnerable.
Sata caught me looking.
“Don’t be depressed, Talon-kun. There are infinite other earths, and this one is vastly overpopulated. Besides, I’m only sending them to a dinosaur planet, where they have a fighting chance. I could send them to an
