The Noise Revealed (22 page)

They dodged and weaved their way to the edge of the marketplace, where the crowds began to thin. Kyle was just starting to think they might be in the clear when a blast of air and a thunderclap of raw sound picked him up and flung him from his feet.

Explosion. Heat washed over him, shrapnel stung both his cheek and his hands, instinctively raised to protect his face.

Suddenly he was back in the War, a young engineer experiencing his first firefight; the heat, the noise, the juddering impact that jerked his arms where he was clinging on for grim death, afraid of being tossed around the engine room, the vibration from their ship's response, from heavy guns chattering and missiles belching forth into the void. Then the explosion - the thing he'd been most afraid of - fire and heat blasting across the room, catching one newly-met colleague full on, shredding clothing and skin before the poor wretch even had time to scream. No way of knowing whether this was the end, the ship in its death throes, or something more localised - perhaps their own machinery rupturing in the face of the constant concussion - before he was knocked from his feet and into oblivion. Only to feel hands lifting him up, to regain consciousness and recognise boots and uniforms and know that he was still alive, to be overwhelmed by the blessed relief of survival, closely followed by the guilt of knowing that others hadn't been so lucky, that there were friends he'd never see again.

"Come on, Kyle, move that sorry arse of yours!" Leyton's voice dragged him back to the here and now. His ears were buzzing. The voice sounded muffled, distant.

He blinked away dust and felt a sharp pain down his left temple. "Leyton?" For the second time in a matter of minutes, the other man was helping him up.

"Yes. Who were you expecting, a choir of fucking angels?"

Smoke and dust drifted in the air. People were screaming and shouting. Leyton was pulling, urging him onwards, not giving him time to think. He glimpsed bodies.

A small child, a girl in a pink and white polka-dot dress, stained white ribbon in her blonde hair, sat amidst the rubble and half-buried limbs, her face contorted into a parody of fear and grief as she wailed her distress. No one seemed to be paying her any attention. A darkly bearded man stumbled across their path, hand held to the side of his head, blood flowing from between protective fingers, as he stared around, with the look of someone struggling to make sense of it all.

Leyton eased the injured local impatiently out the way, while still gripping Kyle and dragging him in his wake. "Got to put distance between us and the explosion," the big man muttered.

"What was it?" Kyle asked.

"A bomb. Don't ask me who or why. Could be local terrorists stirring things up or it might have been intended for us, but either way it's going to draw attention, and we can't afford to be around when the authorities arrive and start asking questions."

Morbid curiosity remained a constant, no matter what star a person is born under; disasters and accidents can always be counted on to draw a crowd. At first the two of them threaded a path through those still too stunned to move, but soon they were swimming against the tide, heading away from a scene that everyone else was anxious to get near.

"Good old human nature," Leyton muttered. "Where would we be without it?"

Kyle worried about the fact that they were doing the opposite to everyone else. Wouldn't people remember them because of it, wasn't this going to make them stand out?

A siren sounded. The first of many, no doubt. Whether this was police or ambulance, he had no idea, nor did he have any desire to find out.

Then the crowds in front of them parted, to reveal a figure, a woman standing in their way; tall, lithe, and wearing a dark blue one-piece suit that was probably designed to grant freedom of movement, but also showed off her compact, muscular figure. Bizarrely, for a garment that close fitting, the result was to make her look somewhat androgynous. Difficult to see her face, which was half-obscured by a tinted visor, but there was no mistaking her purpose. She stood with feet firmly planted and a bulky, mean-looking gun pointed unerringly towards Leyton - Kyle being a little behind his new protector.

"Hello, Jim. Long time no see."

"Boulton!" The name hissed through Leyton's clenched teeth like an unpalatable swearword.

Leyton moved before Kyle could even think of reacting, and the engineer found himself shoved hard, thrown to one side even as the larger man dived in the opposite direction. Energy spat from the woman's gun, searingly bright. Kyle shut his eyes immediately but was still left dazzled and temporarily blinded, making it impossible at first to tell if Leyton had been hit or not. The sharp crack of gunfire from the other man's direction suggested he was still alive at least. Kyle squinted, blinking away distracting afterimages, and was able to make out Leyton crouching behind an upturned barrow. It provided little protection as far as Kyle could see. The woman had evidently changed weapons, because a stream of bullets was rapidly destroying the flimsy wooden cart. Leyton threw himself towards something that promised to be a little more solid - a white, bulky block which might have been a commercial freezer unit. As he leapt, he returned fire at Boulton with a handgun.

Kyle felt relieved, both because Leyton was clearly all right and because nobody was actually shooting in his direction as yet. But the relief was short lived. A firefight in the aftermath of an explosion seemed guaranteed to draw the sort of attention they'd been zigzagging to avoid for the past ten minutes. Groups of serious-looking men were probably converging on this very spot right now, and Kyle had a feeling they'd be even less impressed by his arguments of 'wasn't me' than Low had been.

He wasn't carrying a gun, had never felt inclined to - seeing himself as more of a lover than a fighter - but he had a knife in his belt along with a laser-blade cutting tool that would shear through flesh and bone as readily as metal and carbon fibre. All he had to do was get within arm's reach of this woman, presumably a professional, armed with an energy gun, a hand pistol and goodness knew what else. That was all. Yet the neck-prickling threat of anonymous men spurred him on, and, despite his previous protests, he knew he'd thrown in his lot with Leyton from the moment he had taken out Low and his goons.

So, against all better judgement, against all sanity, he started to crawl. Not towards the woman - that would have been suicide - but obliquely, in her general direction. He moved quickly, knowing that whatever he was going to do had to be done soon if at all; before Leyton got himself killed, before the anonymous men closed their tightening net. The plan was to outflank her, to come up behind the woman while Leyton held her attention. At first he scrabbled on his belly, but once he came to a stretch of tall stalls that were still intact, he pulled himself to his feet and ran, crouching low.

He circled, coming around in a rough arc. The sound of gunfire drew closer - louder, and more alarming - but at least that told him he wasn't yet too late.

Kyle hadn't seen the woman, not since Leyton had thrown him out of danger, hadn't raised his head for fear of giving himself away; his ears had been enough to guide him this far. She was close, he knew that: just the other side of this stall, if he was any judge. He drew his knife and gathered himself, feeling every bruise and cut and ache the last hour had dealt him, but putting all such concerns aside as he prepared to leap out and grapple the enemy. Just as he went to move, a section of the timber in front of him ripped apart and something slammed into his right arm a little above the elbow. Excruciating pain came a split second after he saw the blood.

He'd been hit. Even as the pain registered and his mind pieced together that unpalatable fact, a blue-clad form came flying over the market stall, slamming into Kyle and bowling him over. The woman.
How had she known he was there?

He felt himself dragged, jerked from behind, more quickly than he could think to react. Agony lanced through him as the movement jarred his injured limb. An arm, a bar of solid bone and muscle, closed across his neck, prised itself beneath his chin with choking force. He felt the woman's taut, lean body against his back, as firm and unyielding as a sheet of steel, and the pressure of a gun nozzle at his temple.

"Leyton, I've got him," Boulton called out. "The man you came here for. The stupid prick thought he could sneak up on me."

The gun briefly vanished from against his head. She jabbed the barrel viciously against his arm, into the wound, catching him by surprise. He cried out.

"He's wounded, but not fatally so, not yet. Come out now or that'll change. Give yourself up and I'll let him go, you have my word."

Kyle had never seen himself as a hero, but he hated this woman with a vengeance; hated her for shooting him, for holding him now so helplessly, for prodding his wound merely to provoke a reaction, and for dismissing him with such contempt, for seeing him as no more than a bargaining chip to be played, tossed aside, damaged or broken as she saw fit.

Life had been a real bitch of late, and at that moment all of Kyle's frustration and resentment, at the bad breaks and the persistent unfairness of his lot, focussed sharply on this bitch in particular. If his time really was up, then so be it.

"Don't you listen to her, Leyton," he yelled out, defying the death grip at his throat. "Just kill the cow and be done with it."

She clubbed him then, with the gun, releasing him at the same time so that he went sprawling over; landing on his good arm, thankfully.

"Your choice, Leyton," Boulton called. "He's dead on the count of three."

Kyle looked up to see her crouching, holding the bulky, slightly awkward-looking gun in one hand. It was levelled at the bridge of his nose. He could see right up the smoothly turned barrel.

"One."

Her gaze darted from him to the direction Leyton had to be in and back. No sign or sound of a reaction.

"Two."

Kyle tried to clear his head. He shifted position, knowing it was too late to do anything but still determined to try. This was it, a corner of his mind realised. He was amazed at how calm he felt. He stopped moving and braced himself, eyes focused on the mouth of that barrel. He wondered if he'd actually see the bullet, just for a split second, the instant before it smashed into him and tore his life away.

"Th..."

It wasn't exactly a blur that slipped around and behind Boulton then. Kyle clearly saw a girl, or rather a young woman. Tall, lithe, athletic, with a tumble of dark hair and a pretty, perhaps even beautiful, face. The problem was that by the time he'd seen her she was already somewhere else. It was as if his eyes and his mind were having to play catch up. They couldn't report and interpret her actions as swiftly as she actually performed them.

He watched her glide, dance, slip behind Boulton. The older woman stopped speaking, the fatal count incomplete. Her eyes widened and no longer seemed to be focused on him. Then he noticed the brown-red line that circled her throat. She started to topple, to fall sideways. His most immediate reaction was relief that at least she wasn't going to fall on top of him. As she fell, her head came loose, separating from the body to hit the ground and bounce once, twice, rolling over and around, coming to rest with blank eyes staring straight at him.

There was no blood. Whatever had cut through Boulton's throat and neck must have cauterised the wound instantly. Laser blade, an analytical corner of his mind reasoned, like the one tucked into his belt, though his could never have done this. It would take a weapon, an assassin's tool, to achieve what he'd just seen.

He stared up at the girl, who had stopped moving and so was clearly visible for the first time. She
was
beautiful, he realised, with large, dark eyes and otherwise petite, elfin features. He didn't say anything, stunned beyond the ability to speak, too shocked by what he'd just witnessed to even consider thanking her for saving his life.

All he could think was that
nothing
could move that fast. Nothing human, at any rate.

Chapter Thirteen

There were times in recent days when Leyton could convince himself that he didn't miss his gun at all. This wasn't one of them. Confronted by another eyegee; or, rather, by someone who was
still
an eyegee, he immediately ran through all the things he would have done were the gun still with him. As things stood, with his being outmatched in terms of technology and firepower, all he could do was dodge and hide and hope that he got lucky, while Boulton had her gun to report his every move and guide her every shot.

Any delusions he might once have entertained about life being fair had been shattered long ago, but this really sealed the deal.

Kyle's effort came completely out of the blue. He would never have had the engineer down for that sort of bravery. Of course the gun saw him coming and of course Boulton was ready for him, but that didn't take anything away from the man's courage. After all,
he
wasn't to know how futile trying to sneak up on an eyegee was, or how much trouble it would put them both in.

Almost a shame, really, after a noble effort like that. Leyton saw no alternative but to abandon Kyle, to save his own skin and get the hell out of there before the other ULAW operatives or local security - whoever they might be - closed in. It meant the whole trip had been a waste of time, foiled by Boulton, but better that than it should cost him his own life or freedom to boot.

Then Kethi made her move.

No question; it was impossible to sneak up on an eyegee. Unless, of course, you could move like
that
.

Leyton watched the whole thing and still didn't quite believe what his eyes were reporting. She'd been holding out on him - he'd no inkling she could do anything like this. It wasn't simply a matter of her movements being fast, they were on a completely different level, as if for that brief period, time somehow travelled at a different rate for her. It was over in a split second. The gun wouldn't have had a chance to warn its bearer of the threat. Who or
what
was he allied with here?