She looked at the furry behemoth with no small amount of uncertainty, hesitant to take … it … up on its offer. She looked back over her shoulder at Cutter, who was now standing right behind her.
“It’s ok,” he reassured her. “It only kills when told to. It can’t think on its own.”
She wasn’t convinced. It had enough forethought to wait on her and now offer its assistance. That indicated not only thought and emotion, but a range of it, as well. There was more to this … thing … than just killing. Still, she had no desire to anger or offend it. Hesitantly, she extended her hand.
The massive digits that closed around her tiny hand were gentle, the fur soft. She had no doubt it could’ve crushed every bone in her hand and wrist with the slightest of squeezes, as quickly as a man might crush a sparrow’s egg. She’d even feared that might happen accidentally; the brutish beast not knowing its own strength. But she immediately sensed the creature had more coordination and finesse than first appearances belied. It stood silent as it helped her off the ship. When she looked up at him, it turned away, like a vampire from across.
“Thank you.” She felt obligated to say something. It grunted back a soft acknowledgement, nothing gruff or beastly; more of a shy, awkward response.
He would not be so polite with Cutter. As he stepped up, Sherman’s massive arm reached across the hatch, effectively blocking him from stepping out.
“Sherman have brain,” he growled low and deadly. His eyes looked into Cutter’s, and now they were filled with menace. Gone was the shyness. The killing machine was back. Just like that. “Sherman think for self.”
“Awww, did I hurt the poor monster’s feelings?” Cutter mocked. His hand slid down slowly toward his pistol.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” advised Grant, behind him now. “I dunno why your first instinct is always to violence, but I assure you … he’ll crush your skull before you even clear your holster. I’ve seen it before … many times before.”
“You haven’t seen me before … I might get lucky,” Cutter countered. “I might get off a lucky shot.”
“You might,” Grant agreed. “But then, I’d have to shoot you.” Cutter felt Grant’s pistol barrel gouge him in the back. “It won’t end well for you either way. And if you think about it, you’re a bit selfish, wouldn’t you say?”
“How’s that?” Cutter felt the bullshit getting deep, but nevertheless he moved his hand ever-so-slightly away from the gun’s grip.
“You and I … we live by the sword and all that … we are what we are … but I have to assume you care for the lovely lady there in some form or fashion, or else you wouldn’t be here.”
Cutter sighed impatiently. “You’re a long-winded fuck. Anybody ever tell you that?”
“I also know what it’s like to lose someone I care about, Mister Hawkins. But, very well, I’ll cut to the chase, as you humans so often like to put it. And it’s a simple question for you to ponder. If Sherman or I kill you, do you feel comfortable leaving your lady friend in that kind of company?”
Cutter knew precisely the company he was referring to. Forrest, Cee Tee and the Dentons had exited the house and were now walking toward them. The AnthroSplice was right. Cutter might not give a damn whether he lived or died, but Lulah … she was his. No way in hell those rich fucks or that bastard manhunter was ending up with her.
It took a conscious effort to force himself to relax, but Cutter moved his hand slowly away from his gun. In a sign of capitulation, he slowly raised both hands.
“Sorry,” he sheepishly told Sherman. “No hard feelings?”
The big Rottweiler splice didn’t seem to buy the half-hearted apology, but Grant moved quickly to defuse the situation. “C’mon, big guy. He did say he was sorry.”
“Hmmph!” Sherman grunted, unconvinced, but he moved his arm out of the way.
“Is that Senator Denton and his wife?” Lulah turned back to Cutter, looking like a deer trapped by a pack of coyotes. She looked at Grant. “You might as well take that gun, put it to my head and pull the trigger.”
“Lulah,” Cutter started, but she quickly cut him off.
“You’ve killed me, Cutter!” She felt her legs wobble, and her knees give. She would’ve fallen to the ground if Sherman hadn’t grabbed her arm and held her up, dangling her awkwardly like a broken doll, while hot tears began to flow down her cheeks.
“You bastard!” she sobbed out. “You think they’ll ever let me go?” In her heart, she already knew the truth. They couldn’t let her go. She would forever be a liability. There’d be no trading her for Amber. They couldn’t take the chance she might talk.
She knew she would never see her children again and, right then, it rushed her soul and spirit.
“Oh, dear!” Grant suddenly muttered and shoved past them, for a loud commotion had unfolded down the walkway.
Seven had been moving deliberately in the direction of Frost and the Dentons. He never said a word. The look on his face said it all. He was silent right up to the moment he swung at Cee Tee, his fist connecting with the comtech’s left jaw. A small white projectile shot from the man’s mouth and Cee Tee staggered backward. Still, Seven was silent. Through the veil of rage, he vaguely heard Cherry Denton scream and Frost cursing angrily. There were other voices, but he couldn’t tell who, nor did he care. And then, someone had him from behind, pulling his arms back and restraining him.
“Easy, man!” Grant tried to reason with him, as he put Seven
