If she wanted to strike, now was the time…
“I beat ten Werangs in training, once,” she said.
“With the emphasis on once,” Will said. “This is the real world, not training!”
“Stay here, then.” She left cover before Will could stop her and took a running leap off the roof. She vaulted over the first-floor rooftop below as well and landed on the ground running. Her legs buckled severely, but she managed to recover.
This body has limits, she reminded herself. It’s not my own. She turned her attention to the Werangs that were fighting amongst themselves ahead. Focus.
Damn it, Rhea, come back! Will sent. It’s not worth your life!
She ignored him. She wouldn’t stand by while a fellow human being was in danger. Or in this instance, a fellow cyborg.
She glanced at her overhead map, and at the view from the drone overlaid just underneath it: none of the bigger Werangs from the other side of the farmhouse were attempting to run her down. They hadn’t seen her. Good.
She reached a small shed and ducked behind it. Leaning with her back against the wooden planks, she took a moment to collect herself, then aimed past the edge to scan the different Werangs ahead of her. Their backs were to her as they harried the cyborg. Without a clear shot at the eyes, firing at this range was useless—the thick hides would easily absorb her blows. Occasionally one of those heads tilted favorably, giving her a shot, but the moment was fleeting.
Have to get closer.
A better firing angle would help, too.
She spotted the two Werangs that were attacking one another and decided they would be her first targets.
She left cover and weaved between the outbuildings, attempting to come at the pair from the flank. She kept her pistol aimed at them as she ran. Her hand remained relatively stable the whole time, her wrist and upper arm acting as a three-axis gimbal so that her aim proved just as accurate as if she were standing still. It was a trick she had learned while training with Bardain, a mind-machine technique that had come to her “most naturally,” as he put it.
When the eye of one of the dueling Werangs finally came into her line of fire, she took the shot.
The Werang turned its head at the last instant, owing to its opponent raking a clawed paw down its side, and her shot missed, grazing that shark-like face. It squealed in pain—from both her attack and its opponent’s. The creature began to tilt its head toward her again as if intending to look at her, but its attention was quickly drawn back to the other Werang, whose jaws were fast coming down on its throat.
Neither of their eyes were within her field of view at the moment, nor were the eyes of any of the others beyond, who yet had their backs turned to her while they assaulted the cyborg in the trees.
Rhea swerved wide in an attempt to get a better firing angle. Outbuildings went by in a blur. A moment later she passed the estate’s empty grain silos. Between the metallic cylinders, she caught sight of the fighting Werangs: the first had pinned the second to the ground and was slowly draining the life out of it. She had attained the firing angle she sought: the eye of the one on top was within sight.
She immediately slowed and aimed between two of the silos. She squeezed the trigger, hitting the topmost Werang square in the eye.
The stricken creature released the first and backed away howling. Yellow blood squirted from its eye.
The second Werang, no longer pinned, stood up, and took a moment to shake its head, then it pounced on the squealing creature, pinning it in turn. Just like that, their positions had swapped. The trapped creature tried to stave off the aggressor with its tentacles, but the latter’s jaws were set in a viselike grip.
Rhea dashed between the silos and ran directly toward the two Werangs. She leaped onto the furry leg of the one on top and scrambled upward rapidly, bunching up the hair in her fists to form handholds. Up close, the creature stank, and she wrinkled her nose, doing her best to ignore the smell—a mixture of feces, sweat, and pheromones. Pieces of shed fur attached all along the inside of her arms and legs, clinging to her gray uniform. When she reached the Werang’s back, she clambered to her feet, and raced toward the head. Her feet sank into the bristly fur with each step.
The beast stirred, moving its head slightly from side to side in an attempt to see what was on its back, but meanwhile it refused to relinquish its hold on the Werang it held down.
She reached the area on the neck where black fur transitioned into gray sharkskin and leaped off in an arc. As she passed the rightmost eye, she fired directly into it, at point-blank range. Yellow blood spurted from the wound, and the creature slid off the first Werang, following her to the ground.
Rhea rolled when she hit the hard earth and clambered to her feet, raising her weapon, ready to fire at the Werang in case it got up again.
It did not.
Because its chest didn’t rise and fall, she assumed it was dead. In training, the smaller Werangs could die from an energy blast to the eye, especially if such a blow came from extremely close range.
She shifted her aim to the second Werang, which was no longer pinned. Its eyes had rolled up in its head, and yellow blood pooled underneath the neck wound the other attacker had inflicted. It, too, no longer breathed.
Loud footfalls brought her back to the fight at hand, and she turned her attention on the remaining Werangs. She noted that there were four other bioweapon corpses scattered about the bases of the broken trees: the cyborg was holding his ground well, considering that unlike her, he didn’t
