earth that’s entirely covered in lava. Or one where it rains sulfuric acid. Or where everyone has incurable jock itch. I actually found an earth like that. As expected, the people there are grumpy, and there’s an understandably high rate of suicide.”
I stretched, and caught my fingers in the grating around a lighting fixture. “Are you enjoying playing God, Sata?”
“Yes. Very much so,” he said, continuing to walk away. “I read the Bible in college, in a mythology class. That Old Testament God was a rascal, but He didn’t have nearly the fun He could have if He’d abused his power a bit more. Ah, here we are. The air lock.”
Sata came to a set of square double doors and pressed in a code on the keypad. They hissed open. I wound the jelly rope around my wrist, taking up the slack.
“Once I enter the air lock and seal the doors behind me, you won’t be able to open them again until I’ve gone,” Sata said. “So this is it, Talon. We’re on the one-yard line, and I’m about to make a touchdown. If you want to stop me, this is your last chance. The clock begins… now.”
Sata removed the TEV from his chest and flipped it around. Then he closed his eyes.
An LED-apparently for my benefit-appeared on the back of the device. It flashed 20:00, and then began to count down.
I gave the jelly rope a big tug, then released the ceiling, flinging myself at him.
FORTY-SEVEN
The look of surprise on my sensei’s face told me he hadn’t been expecting my attack. He barely had time to raise his sword when I was on him, wrapping my hand around his TEV strap. Then I reared back and punched him in the face.
Because of the lack of gravity, the blow didn’t have my weight behind it. But I was still able to break the bastard’s nose. I hit him four more times in paid succession-pop pop pop pop-blood exploding around his head-Sata choking on it as he gasped for air-then the shinai coming up and digging into my armpit.
He juiced me, a blue spark and loud crack accompanying the familiar jolt of pain. I released him, planting my feet on his chest, jumping away with all of my strength. I flew backward. The jelly rope stretched. Sata waved his palm in front of his face, trying to push away the floating blood. Then, just like an antique paddleball game, the rope reached its peak elasticity and I bounced right back at him.
I flew in face-first, knocking his shinai to the side as I latched onto his hair. Then I dropped my other arm, locking his elbow up under my armpit so he couldn’t use the sword again. Knees digging into his sides, I released his hair and gripped his throat, letting out a roar of anger as I did.
I squeezed, trying to rip out his trachea. Sata made a wonderful gagging sound, his whole body shaking, and I concentrated on putting all of my effort into strangling the son of a bitch.
Then I noticed the rhythmic motion to his shakes, and how his gagging sounded, in fact, like something else.
Sata was laughing.
I brought back my hand, ready to pound his nose again. Sata jackknifed his body and the next thing I knew I was pinned under one of his feet, the tip of his shinai jammed into my mouth and pressing against my very terrified tongue.
“That was it?” Sata asked, still giggling. “That was all? Such a disappointment you’ve been, Talon-kun. All your years of training and experience, all leading up to this very moment, and that was your best effort?” He wiped a sleeve across his nose. “It was like being hit by a child.”
“Mmmph mmnmgm,” I said. That was fuck you with a sword in my mouth.
I braced myself for the zap, but instead he withdrew the shinai and punted me in the ribs. As I floated away, Sata touched the sword tip to the jelly rope, zapping and severing it.
“Enjoy watching Chicago disappear,” he said.
Then Sata walked into the air lock and closed the doors behind him as I drifted off, unable to do anything but watch.
I cursed myself for taking out the Nife too early. Now was when I needed it most. Instead, it was floating around in the lift somewhere, and the lift was fifty yards down the hallway, which might as well have been a thousand miles away. I flailed my arms, trying to swim through the air, with predictably pathetic results.
Momentum was taking me toward the large picture window, but too slowly. At this rate, Chicago’s entire population would be eaten by dinosaurs before I even got halfway there. I looked out the reinforced glass, at the hotels and casinos tethered to the space station, their flashing neon out of place in this environment. Once Chicago disappeared, the tether would, too. Thirty thousand more people I wouldn’t be able to save. If there were an award for the world’s biggest loser, I wouldn’t win that, either.
I’d blown it. Big-time. If I only had some antigrav shoes, or a jet pack.
A flashing billboard on the Hyatt showed an advertisement for a synthetic heroin, with ipecac nanobots in case of accidental overdose. Then it switched to an ad for FDS, now in key-lime-pie scent.
FDS. Feminine deodorant spray.
I quickly pulled the aerosol can from my shirt and gave it a shake. Still a little left. I sprayed the remaining contents behind me. There was enough accelerant left to boost my speed and change my direction. I held the button down until the can was empty, sailing through the air, toward the elevator.
Paranoia kicked in once I entered the lift car. I didn’t see the Nife. If I flew into it, I could easily cut off a limb. Or worse; I could bump the Nife, and it could stick into the wall and breach the hull, which would cause the car, and possibly the space station, to lose pressure and get crushed.
I opened my eyes wide as they could stretch, looking this way and that way, trying to spot the Nife handle. Scanning the rows of seats, I noticed something floating near the floor. I kicked the ceiling, giving myself a tiny bit of push to get a closer look.
The object was the headrest Sata had knocked off. I pushed myself off a chair, reached the rear of the car, and twisted around, wondering if I should go left or right.
Where was it? Where was the little bastard? Why did I have to pull it out? Why couldn’t I have Then I felt it. A tiny tickling at my throat.
My whole body went rigid. Holding my breath, I glanced down my right cheek and saw the Nife handle, floating alongside my neck.
Had the blade already severed my throat? Was I already dead and didn’t feel it yet?
I watched, waiting for the blood to come spurting out.
No blood came. But that was hardly reassuring. The Nife could be jammed in so deep it was plugging up the blood.
Carefully-oh, so carefully-I raised my left hand and touched the end of the handle with my thumb and index finger, careful not to nudge it any closer to my skin. I waited a moment, making sure my hand was steady, and then slowly pulled it away, like I was playing HyperJenga and the tower was ready to fall. When I got a safe distance I slapped my other hand up to my throat, expecting to feel the inside of my trachea.
I had a small scratch, nothing more.
Breathing again, I carefully sheathed the Nife, and then sighted down the hallway. Coiling my legs under me, I kicked off the wall and headed for the air lock. My trajectory was slightly off, so I made a slight correction by throwing the empty can to my left.
I was almost halfway there when more security guards showed up.
There’s no feeling of vulnerability that quite compares to floating in zero-G. There’s a sense of detachment when you leave solid ground, making you feel helpless. I can testify this emotion intensifies when four guys point Tasers at you. I covered my face with my forearms and they had at me, firing round after round, Tesla lightning attacking the entire right side of my body.
While my armor and food preservative wrap protected me from the volts, the impact of the bullets was significant enough to knock me off course, and I eventually butted up against the picture window, glancing at an ad for McDonald’s extra-value meals, now only $79.95.
