Red Limit Freeway s-2

by John Dechancie

  "So you've found me," I said. "What's your intention?"

  "Ourrr intention is to give you an honourrrable death, Jakefrrriend. It is ourrr obligation. You are the Sacrrred Quarrry, the honorrrable game. You must die well, and we shall see that you do."

  "Thanks, I was really worried about that."

  "You were?" The question seemed genuine. "Then rrrest assurrred."

  I pointed to the pouch hanging from his shoulders. Something big was in it. "Got your lunch in there?" I asked.

  "Lunch?" He looked down. "I see. No, the game was not honorrrable. I did not eat it."

  He reached into the pouch and drew out Tivi's severed head, dangling it by its beautiful yellow-white hair.

  The shock left me nauseous and stunned. It was murder so casual, so unthinking that anger was almost impossible. Instead a huge void opened up in me, an emotional emptiness, a helplessness. The meaning of events past and present drained away, leaving only a chilling perception of the blind malignity of the universe.

  "Why?" was all I had the breath to say.

  "It was…" the alien answered, somewhat at a loss to explain, and somewhat, I thought, apologetic. "It was necessarrry."

  "I'll kill you," I said.

  "You must trrry," Twrrrll said. "Otherrrwise you would do me no honorrr."

  The Reticulan replaced the head into the bag, then drew forth a knife with a curving black blade and a jade-green hilt. He strode forward.

  I turned and ran, stopped short when I saw another Reticulan coming down the passageway. I ducked into the maze of pipes. I crawled, vaulted, and sidled my way through until I broke into another passageway. And met another of Twrrrll's companions. I ran from him, found a doorway opening onto a corridor and turned into it. The corridor went about ten meters and debouched into a chamber clogged with more machinery and pipes.

  There was no way out.

  I looked around for a weapon. In a pile of debris in front of the far wall I found a narrow plastic pipe. I hefted it. It had mass, at least, and would have to do.

  Two Reticulans carrying ceremonial knives were walking calmly down the corridor. Twrrrll turned into the doorway behind them.

  I picked a spot on the floor that would give me maneuvering room and stood my ground.

  "So," TwrrrIl said when they all stood in front of me. "We shall begin the consummation of this affairrr."

  The alien on the left went into a crouch and advanced, sweeping the black-bladed dagger in wide arcs before him. He tried to circle but I swung the pipe a few times and thwarted him. I shifted to the right, feinted a broad cut and tried a jab to his face. He ducked neatly, counterthrusting at my legs. I jumped and backed off.

  He tried circling again, this time ducking my swings and slashing at my arms, and though a Reticulan's reach is long, he missed. But he successfully circled me. My back was to his companions, but they made no move toward me. Just to be sure, I backed myself against the far wall so that my present opponent was to the right and the rest to the left. The alien glided forward, surprising me by his lightness of foot. He stopped just out of pipe's reach and danced from side to side, leaning in and out of range, inviting a try for a knockout swing, which he would block, then move inside. I countered that tactic by not giving in to the temptation. Instead, I kept jabbing to keep him at a distance, waiting for his move. It came soon enough.

  His left hand flicked out, grabbing the end of the pipe. He rushed in, bringing the knife-wielding right up in a thrust to my groin. I jumped to the left, spun around, bringing my arms over my head and twisting the pipe from his grasp, then rushed around him and delivered a solid thwack to the back of his head as he passed. The alien went crashing into the pile of debris, banging his face against the hard masonry of the wall. He was down for only a second, though, and I halted my followup. Pivoting on double-jointed knees, he swung around with knife low, ready to spring to his feet as I attacked. Seeing that I had stopped, he slowly got up.

  My heart sank. That blow to the head would have iced any human and nine out of ten aliens. I backed into my original position. Twrrrll and the other one were still blocking the door.

  The alien rushed again, coming under the pipe as I swung at his knife hand. The knife came within a decimeter of my eyes. I slashed back to the right and smacked his thin right forearm. The knife went skittering across the floor. He ran to get it and I rushed him, hitting him across the back. He fell prostrate. As he tried getting up I stepped on the bony, segmented ridge that ran up his back, jumped over his head, wheeled around and bashed his skull with all my might. I bashed it again. The alien raised his head and started to rise, coming to his knees. I hit him again and again. Cracks opened up along the chitinous shell of his skull, leaking a pale pink fluid. Again I brought the pipe down. A flap of skull detached itself and fell to the side, exposing a bright pink mass of brain tissue. I thumped the pipe down repeatedly, smashing the brain into pulp, pink sprays of mist shooting out as each blow landed. The alien stayed on his knees. He brought one leg slowly up. I hit him again, and as he raised his head I smashed his face with a vicious crosswise blow. One eye broke off and clattered to the floor like a broken piece of a camera. He fell on his side. I kicked his face and sent him keeling over backwards. He rolled over and I followed up with blows to the spine and back of the head. He got to his knees and began to rise.

  I kept hitting him. And hitting him. He fell, tried to rise again. My arms were tired, each blow less forceful than the last. But his head was coming apart, half his brain now exposed and turned to pink mush. Spongy fragments of it clung to the end of the pipe. I swung and swung and swung again.

  "Stay down!" I was yelling. "Bastard!" I screamed it with each blow. "Bastard!" The pipe fell again. "Bastard!" Again. "Bastard son of a bitch!"

  He rose to his knees again.

  "You're dead, you son of a bitch, dead!" I gathered all my strength into one breath, straddled his body and crashed the pipe down on his skull once again. A fine pink mist shot up, and a thick gush of foamy pink fluid flowed out of the hole in his skull.

  But he started to get up again.

  I screamed in frustration and backed away to get my breath. Waiting until he got to one knee and brought his head up, I stepped in to deliver a smashing blow to the back of the neck.

  Like a snake sag, his huge left hand shot out and caught the end of the pipe in a grip of iron. I tugged but couldn't get it free. As he came to his feet he grasped it with the other hand. I kept tugging and twisting to no avail. He raised his end of the pipe, slid his right hand down its length to about the midpoint and applied pressure to the farther end. The pipe groaned and began to bend. I lost my grip on it and backed off. He twisted it into a half-pretzel and flung it away, striding toward me. I backed until I came up against a red hot duct. I yelled and jumped forward, bringing my hand around to my back where I had been singed. In doing so, I discovered Susan's strange nonweapon still in my back pocket. I drew it out. The alien lunged and wrapped one huge hand around my neck, one around my head. He squeezed. I jabbed the tool into his face, poking the lone eye with it. I kicked him, smashing my boot into his genital area. He wasn't soft there. He wasn't soft anywhere. He squeezed tighter and tighter. My head felt as if it were about to crack. The smell of turpentine and almonds invaded my nostrils, overpowering me. I choked, struggled for breath, bringing the tool up to poke at the horny shell of his face. He squeezed tighter, the one eye still working and rotating lazily for focus. I drew one last breath before my windpipe closed. I was passing out. I brought the tool up before my eyes, thumbed what I hoped were the right switches and reached out, catching his narrow bony neck in the C-shaped clamp at the end of the thing. I jerked on the trigger ring and a brilliant flash blossomed in my eyes. The Reticulan's head fell off, thumping to my feet.

  But he didn't let go. Tugging on the alien's wrist, I reached out and applied the tool to his upper arm. A small, furious blue flame like a welding arc cut through chitin and flesh. I rotated the tool, s
coring a circular cut. The arm detached, and I yanked it away from my neck and dropped it. The grip on my head loosened. I brought my forearm up against the alien's wrist and got free.

  I stepped away and looked as the body took three steps backward, tottered for a moment, then toppled over. Even as it lay there, the legs still worked in spastic walking motions and the remaining arm twitched convulsively. Mesmerized, I watched. Presently, the legs stopped working and began to quiver.

  I turned my eyes to the two remaining Reticulans, who had been observing impassively the whole while.

  Then I collapsed to my knees, breath coming in wracking sobs. A coughing fit overcame me. If Twrrrll and his buddy had wanted to make their move then they would have had me. But they stood there watching.

  "Splendid, Jake-frrriend," Twrrrll said. "Most beautiful. If my brotherrr could speak, he would thank you for a consummately honourable death. You have ourrr thanks as well."

  "Happy―" I tried to answer, but another bout of coughing interrupted me. When I was finished I gasped, "Happy to oblige."

  The second Reticulan stepped forward, then stopped. Twrrrll reached into his pouch and withdrew something, handed it to his brother-in-the-hunt.

  The alien shook the thing and it unfurled. It was a diaphanous net made of tightly-woven green thread. He advanced slowly toward me, dagger in left hand, net in the other.

  I took a deep breath. "Hell," I said.

  I got up.

  The second Reticulan advanced cautiously, holding the net out and tracing patterns in the air with the dagger. I grasped the cutting tool with both hands and went forward to meet him. As I did, I felt the tingling flow of adrenaline signaling that my body was on emergency power. My second wind.

  The alien lunged, slashing low at my legs as he passed. I jumped out of the way. He circled, made another pass, this time feinting with the dagger and throwing the net. I backed off, waiting for the real attack. He took his time. He began patrolling a wide perimeter, trying to back me into the near corner of the room. I let him do it for a while, then I rushed to attack, broke off and ran to the middle of the floor. Twrrrll wasn't more than three meters from me. I saw my chance and turned on him. 'that pouch of his was roomy. He was training a small handweapon on me. It could have been a dart-thrower-which would have passed unnoticed by the scanners upstairs.

  "I have no wish to use this dishonorrrable device on you, Jake-frrriend," Twrrrll told me. "But I will do so if you act dishonorrrably."

  I backed away toward the other wall. The second Reticulan crossed the room and began patrolling a wide section of floor. He would eventually corner me and make me vulnerable to the net if I did not attack. But as I would have to close with him to do any damage he'd surely net me that way, too. I needed a second weapon. I sidled away toward the pile of junk against the far wall, glancing over every few steps to see if a likely object was available. I saw a long piece of light structural metal, probably aluminum, bent in the middle and jagged at one end. I sidestepped to the right and picked it up. The alien eyed me impassively as always, but I thought I detected a slight change of posture reflecting a rethinking of his strategy.

  I thought a bit, too. I realized that most of the first Reticulan's attacks as well as those of my present opponent had been directed at nonvital parts of my body. With a shudder I realized why. The object had been to wound me, saving me for the final honor of the vivisection table. And that had been my advantage. Otherwise, I probably wouldn't have won the first round.

  And there was plenty of doubt about my winning this one unless I could put that advantage to good use.

  I continued sidestepping to the right as he backed me closer to the far corner. I let him approach, turning slightly to begin backstepping, took two steps toward the corner, then sprang forward suddenly off one foot. He cocked the net hand back, ready to throw, but saw the jagged end of the aluminum rod coming up to snag it, and held back. I closed with him, swiping at his face and chest with the cutting tool. I backed him off for a few steps. Then he stooped under and tried a slashing cut at my upper thigh. I barely avoided it and swung at his forearm, triggering the cutting tool but missing him. The end of the tool left a brilliant trail in the semidarkness.

  He backstepped twice, then lunged, feinted with the dagger, took three steps to my left and snapped the net like a whip at my legs, the end of it wrapping neatly around my left calf. I whirled away to unwind myself, but not before he yanked and jerked me off my feet. I fell on my side and rolled, losing a grip on the aluminum rod. I pivoted on my knees to find it, reached for it, but by that time he was above me. The damp, sticky shroud of the net enveloped me. With a life of its own it contracted instantly, covering me like warm taffy. I struggled and tried to rise, pushing out with my arms and stretching the fabric of the net. It turned resilient and pulled back, contracting like a muscle. I felt a burning pain at the back of my knee, yelled, and collapsed. I flopped over and strained to get the cutting tool away from my face. Triggering it, I slashed at the net, made a small hole and poked my arm through. I brought the tool up to the alien's face. He was bending over me inserting the knifeblade carefully through the webbing in order surgically to cut the tendons of my legs. He ducked the tool, grabbing my forearm near the elbow, his grip monstrously strong. I twisted my arm and swung the end of the tool in wicked little swipes at his face, the tool-end flaring brightly. I grabbed a handful of net and yanked. His knife made a long slit in the fabric. I got my left leg out and kicked up, driving my heel into his eyes. He fell back, trying to keep a grip on my arm, but I twisted away, reached over, and, with the tool sputtering and burning, described a long curving line along the length of his torso. I rolled away, got to my knees and hacked at the netting. My other leg came free and I rose, gathering the sticky mass of the net about me as I ran to the other side of the room.

  It took some doing, but I got free. My hands, face, and clothes were covered with stickum. The alien was lying supine but slowly started to rise. I rushed back, but he was on his knees by the time I got to him. I waded in, swinging the flaring end of the tool at his face. He struggled to his feet, one hand pressed to the carbonized gash in the chitin of his thorax and abdomen. Frothy pink fluid leaked from the wound. He fended off the tool with the knife, poking at my wrist and forearm. I backed him into the far corner, hacking at him, the tool-end flaming continuously. He bumped into a cylindrical machine component, stepped to the left, banged his crown against an overhead pipe, and bent his head. I swung for his neck, missed, and nicked a vertical tube to my left. The tube sputtered and hissed. I backed away―just in time―as a stream of hot yellow liquid spurted from it, shooting across the room in a low arc. The alien used the interruption to get out of the piping and lope toward the front of the room. I ducked under the stream of stuff, feeling stray drops of it land burningly on my back, and went after him. I caught him good across the back, opening up another seared-edged wound. He stopped, whirled, and slashed blindly at me. I ducked and came up with the tool, inscribing another gash along his torso that cut across the first wound, curved around, and intersected it again. I backed away, got my weight on one foot, and sprang at him again. The alien was doubled over in pain. I rushed at him, tried to get his neck in the guiding clamp. He ducked out and knocked the tool aside with his forearm. I swung low and nicked his right thigh, stepped away from his quick swipe at my face, went in again, and made a crosswise incision in his chest. The chitin of his torso cracked open and fell away in jagged pieces. Inside was a conglomeration of mechanical-looking organs that began spilling out into the Reticulan's hands. Things that looked like clear plastic tubing wriggled out, severed ends leaking rosy ichor. A mass of orange gelatinous goo oozed forth along with a writhing charm-bracelet of odd polyhedral organs. Pink froth puddled on the floor. I brought the tool down and struck his crossed arms. The mass of his insides fell with a splat to the floor. He dropped the black-bladed knife.

  I took him apart. First the arms. Then one leg. He toppled ove
r and I methodically cut him into pieces like the overgrown lobster that he was. It took several minutes.

  When I was done, I looked up to find the room filling with smoke. The far side of the room was in flames and steaming liquid covered the floor.

  I looked toward the door. Twrrrll was coming toward me, knife in hand. I ran into a cloud of smoke and fumes, covering my nose and mouth, and sweeping ahead with the flaming cutting tool. I circled blindly, ran into a wall, felt my way along it, found the doorway, and ran through.

  Chapter 13

  It wasn't long before I met other souls down in that technological inferno. A fire brigade rushed past me dressed in fireproof suits, carrying equipment. They gave me puzzled glances, but did not stop.

  I smiled and waved, limping toward the stairwell they had poured out from. I was hurt, though not mortally. The hamstring muscles of my left leg had been butchered a bit, but not completely severed. My right thigh had taken a puncture wound, and that was really hurting. I reached the stairwell and began to climb, but Nogon in bright uniforms―security guards, it turned out-met me before I'd gotten very far up. They took me into custody.

  The hour that followed is a little vague in my mind. I was led back through the basement and into an express elevator. We ascended for an hour, it seemed. We alighted onto an office floor, and there I was bound with itchy leatherlike handcuffs and plopped into a chair in a dark office. Motions were made which indicated that I was not to leave. Two guards were posted. The others rushed out, closing and locking the door. I sat there in a daze for about ten minutes. Then the other security people returned and led me to a different office, sat me down, and went out again. This happened twice more. At that point I began to blank out.

  I believe I was taken to some sort of infirmary, but little was done. Doctors―if they were doctors―looked me over and decided I wasn't worth bothering with. I felt basically okay.