Angel of Destruction Read Free Page B

hatred as surely as though it had been fear.
    Dalmoss shot her in the middle of her body, and her shoulders and head fell backwards over the top edge of the communications console while her legs fell in opposite directions, to each side of her shattered pelvis, as her arms flew wide.
    What a mess , Fisner thought. And Dalmoss had prudently used his sidearm. Had he used one of the others’ more powerful weapons — it didn’t bear thinking on.
    Just as well that the false Langsarik colors didn’t have to be particularly clean to be recognizable for what they were.
    “And now you, firstborn and eldest brother,” Dalmoss said respectfully.
    This was the most challenging part of this raid; but Fisner almost welcomed it. He would put any lingering doubts about his courage to rest, he would bear witness to his devotion to the Holy Mother with his body. And not least of all, he would bear witness with his words as well, damning witness against the Langsariks — so long as he survived, and his testimony was properly handled.
    “I’m going over here to the auxiliary call,” Fisner explained, setting the scene, proud of himself for being able to speak so calmly. He was afraid. But he would not falter. “You shoot me down, I fall, you leave. Near miss, but there must be enough damage to make it convincing.” They’d been over all that already. They’d carefully chosen the angle of the shot, and where Dalmoss should aim. “Here I go — to reach the auxiliary call, and give the alarm — ”
    He had his back turned, so he didn’t have to see Dalmoss raise his weapon.
    And when the blow came it was so huge and shocking that he completely lost track of what he was doing.
    People were dragging him along the ground, why was that?
    Lifting, pressing his hands against the console.
    Something was wrong with him.
    The right side of his body seemed to have disappeared, and yet he could see it well enough — arm, leg, foot, hand.
    He was bleeding, and his clothing was torn. Something in his mind noticed that no blood gushed, though it seeped quickly, and took that for an encouraging sign.
    He lay against the auxiliary communications console with his face to the panel. Someone moved his hand; and there was a light, there, very close to his eyes. Green. Communication. Sending.
    “Help me,” Fisner croaked. He was supposed to say something. What was he supposed to say? He needed help. Yes. Langsariks had attacked the Okidan Yards. “This is Okidan. Feraltz. We’re raided. Dying. Help.”
    His hand dropped away from the toggle, then his body followed, sliding slowly to the floor.
    He didn’t feel the impact as he fell.
    He lay on the floor and stared at the wall stupidly until the room went black on him.
    Langsariks.
    Langsariks had done this.
    It was all the Langsariks’ fault that this had happened.

    ###

    Standing at the aide’s station in the small Combine hospital, Garol Vogel scanned the status report. Fisner Feraltz, Combine citizen, Givrodnye national. Injuries sustained at the hands of armed pirates at the Okidan Yards in the Shawl of Rikavie, Rikavie system.
    Rikavie system: port of departure, Charid — where the Langsariks had been settled by the Bench, just over a year ago, now. Checking the date on the status report Garol made a quick calculation. Twenty days. They’d brought Feraltz here as soon as he could be stabilized for distance transport; Port Charid had a small clinic of its own, and they could handle just about anything there, but Feraltz was Dolgorukij, and Dolgorukij suspected that nobody else really understood the intricacies of a Dolgorukij physique.
    And perhaps they were right.
    Injuries including but not limited to mass soft tissue laceration, especially of the right portion of the body. Knee joint requiring replacement, ankle may require fusing, biomedical netting wrap on long bones of thigh and lower leg, silica glazing therapy in effect over 85 percent of rightmost surface of hip.
    “Lucky to