Timecaster

TWENTY-FIVE

Rocket with a Nife was so redundant I almost laughed at it. Sort of like giving a shark a machine gun. Nifes were for total psychos, so it wasn’t a stretch that he owned one. But the thought of facing an assailant with a Nife made me want to vomit.

To reinforce my feelings on the matter, Rocket swung the Nife at the overturned pool table. He sliced off the corner, the thin blade cutting through the slate like it was a watermelon.

I was dead. The thought was both depressing and liberating. The only thing left for me to decide was how I wanted to go out.

The decision didn’t take long.

I wanted to go out swinging.

Rocket sauntered over, taking his time. His face was a bloody mess, making his smile all the creepier.

“You know what this is?” he asked, waving the Nife in front of him.

I scanned the floor around me for weapons, then realized it didn’t matter. The Nife would make easy work of a thrown chair or a plastic table leg. If I had a chain saw, it would make easy work of that as well.

I considered my utility belt. The supplication collar needed a Tesla field to work. The wax bullets in my Glock would sting, but not much else. I had some flex-cuffs, but they weren’t big enough to get around Rocket’s wrists even if I could get close enough. My nanotube reel was empty. I didn’t see what good my flashlight or various tools would do, and my folding knife was still stuck in the roider’s ass.

I was fuct.

“It’s a Nife,” Rocket said. “I’m going to use it to slice off your eyelids, so you can’t look away while I skin you alive.”

I thought of something tough and flippant to say back, but I didn’t trust my voice not to quiver.

Rocket strolled toward me, taking his time. He waved the Nife in front of him, knowing I couldn’t take my eyes off of it, knowing I was imagining how it would feel when it cut me. According to all accounts, being sliced with a Nife didn’t hurt at first. Being only a few nanometers thin, it was so sharp a person didn’t feel it going in. It was only after the body part dropped off that the pain began.

Escape was impossible. Rocket was between me and the exit. I moved left. He mirrored it. I moved right. He mirrored it. Even if I ran for it and tried to dive past him, all he had to do was extend his arm and the Nife blade would open me up like a zipper.

“I need more fucking drugs!”

McGlade was awake again. With his good hand, he was shoving pills into his mouth like they were M amp;M’S. If the pills were morphine, it was enough to make an entire frat house OD.

Rocket moved in closer, wiggling the Nife at me. Like before, he was backing me into a corner. I held up my hands, pictured all of my fingers being lopped off, then kept them at my sides. The only chance I had, if it could even be called that, was grabbing his wrist when he lunged. I’d have to time it perfectly.

All too soon my heels hit the wall. I couldn’t retreat any farther.

“Okay, you win,” I managed to say. “I surrender.”

Rocket barked a laugh. I watched his eyes. His eyes would telegraph his move a millisecond before the blade flashed.

I waited, zoning out a bit while also maintaining full concentration. It was a bit like timecasting. Letting instinct guide me, tell me when he was going to His pupils widened, his hand blurring. I dodged left, slapping my hand on top of his wrist as the Nife cut empty air.

I tried to execute an arm bar, getting my other hand under his armpit and pushing him forward, using his elbow as leverage against him. But in this case, it was like putting a judo hold on an oak tree. He ignored the attempted joint lock, lifting up his arm and me along with it, shaking me off. I landed on my back, my head bouncing off the floor.

I didn’t know I’d been nicked with the Nife until I saw the blood seeping out of my knuckles. The same knuckles McGlade had just repaired with the living stitches. I made a fist, saw my white bones peek through the split in the skin.

Then the pain hit, accompanied by a slow, sickening roil in my stomach. The roil became a full-blown tsunami when Rocket straddled me and sat on my legs.

“Which eye first?” Rocket said. “Left or right?”

I stared at him, unable to speak.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Rocket cackled, and the Nife flashed alongside my head. Rocket reached down, then held something next to his mouth.

Shit. He’s got my ear.

“Can you hear me now?” he said, into my severed ear.

Ironically, now that my ear was detached from my head, it was actually harder to hear him. I did hear McGlade when he screamed, “The eyes! Do the eyes!”

Asshole. Why did I ever befriend that bastard?

“Shoot his fucking eyes out, Talon!”

I reached for my Glock, my brain making the connection before McGlade explained it. Wax bullets stung, but weren’t fatal, and without the Tesla lightning, I’d disregarded using them. But McGlade was right-a shot in the eyes would blind somebody. And with Rocket on top of me, I couldn’t miss.

I jammed my gun up to his face, pulling the trigger as fast as I could. Had Rocket been expecting it, he could have cut my gun in half before I fired the third round. But he did what anyone else would have done if someone fired a gun into his face, point-blank; Rocket flinched and tried to get away, raising his hands to protect himself.

I fired until I was empty, and managed to get up onto my butt. Rocket was on his knees, hands clutching his face. He’d dropped the Nife. He’d also dropped my ear. I searched the floor for both of them, and managed to find my ear. I holstered my gun and reached for it, surprised how small it looked.

“My eyes!” Rocket moaned. “My fucking eyes!”

I tenderly picked up my ear and tucked it into my shirt pocket. I was tempted to crawl around, try to find the Nife, but I was afraid I’d cut off my fingers or my knees if I accidentally brushed against it.

Turned out I didn’t have to find it. Someone else already had.

“McGlade! Put down the Nife!”

McGlade had it in his good hand. He was coming up behind Rocket. “I got this, Talon.”

“Murder is against the law, McGlade.”

“Chill out. I’m not killing him. I’m just making sure he’s disarmed.”

He swung the Nife twice. Both of Rocket’s severed arms fell to the ground. McGlade thought this was hilarious, and laughed like a hyena.

Rocket, eyes bleeding, said, “What happened? I can’t feel my arms!”

“They’re right in front of you,” McGlade said. “You just need to pick them up.”

The blood was impressive. Rocket bled out in about sixty seconds. Prior to his messy death, he did actually try to reach down and grab his severed arms with the small stumps still attached to his shoulders.

“You need a hand?” McGlade asked him before he flopped over, dead.

“Dammit, McGlade. I wanted to question him.”

“You still can.” McGlade held up the Nife. “You want me to get him to open up for you?”

“Give me that.”

I grabbed his wrist, then carefully took the Nife away. Rocket’s Nife sheath, also made of carbon nanotubes, was on the back of his pants. I took it, slipping the Nife inside and hooking it to my belt.

“This isn’t right.” Stoned out of his brainpan, McGlade was flapping his hand in front of his face, twirling the broken part like a propeller.

“McGlade, stop that. You need to throw up or you’re going to overdose on morphine.”

“I’m fine, Talon. I feel fine. Look.” McGlade help up his arm, and his fingers touched his elbow. “It’s just a minor fracture.”

“That’s great, buddy. But what’s that over there?”

I pointed up. He looked. I made a fist and belted him in the solar plexus. He doubled over and puked pills all over his shoes.

“Shit, Talon! WTF? Oh, look. Someone dropped morphine.”

He tried to pick up the slimy pills, but he was using his bad hand, and all he was doing was sweeping them back and forth across the floor. I helped him to his feet, and together we staggered out of the P amp;P.

“You’re hurt!”

I glanced in the direction of the voice. It was Yummi. She ran over, but I was pretty sure I didn’t hold the same sex appeal with a missing ear and a hand squirting blood, so I didn’t get on my guard.

“What happened? Where’s your ear?”

“In my pocket.”

“I got something in my pocket, too, baby,” McGlade said. He absently reached for his fly with his broken arm, and thankfully wasn’t able to grab his zipper.

“I live nearby,” Yummi said. Her cheeks were still flushed from our previous encounter.

“We need to get to a hospital,” I told her. “And I don’t think I’m up for sex right now.”

“I am,” McGlade said. “I’m up for it.”

“He took some morphine,” I explained.

McGlade smiled. “My arm is broken.” He waved it at her, and it flopped back and forth.

“I can see that. I have a medical doctorate.”

“Can you fix his arm?”

“Yes. And reattach your ear. Is anything else hurt?”

“My balls,” McGlade said. “I need you to take special care of my balls.”

“How much morphine did he take?” Yummi asked.

“All of it,” McGlade said. He grinned, his smile as wide as a zebra’s ass.

“I’m four blocks away from dissytown. Can you both make it?”

I looked at my knuckles, then thought about my ear. I needed a hospital. Health care was free, even to dissys, but it still meant a report. I may not have had a chip anymore, but it was likely someone could recognize me.

“I don’t think we have a choice,” I said. “Thanks.”

“You’ll pay me back.” She smiled, her eyes flashing challenge. “And I know the perfect way how.”