Aubry lay unconscious, his great dark head lolled onto his left shoulder. Bloodeagle stood above him, his breathing meticulously controlled to prevent a panic response. He was fully trained in medical procedures, and just as well-trained in bomb disposal. But the combination of the two areas was enough to give him nightmares.
The bomb and its triggering processor were sheathed by a titanium-ceramic tube within the living core of Aubry’s left femur. Access could be gained through the thigh muscle. The muscle grain had been split once, and reentry should be relatively simple.
Still, under conditions like this …
Aubry’s leg was completely covered by a plastic bubble, through which Bloodeagle performed his terrible, delicate miracles. He peeled back the epidermis. He went in between the adductor magnus and semitendinosus, angling toward the side. The blood vessels were carefully peeled back and arranged by the thin delicate arms of the Gorgon field-autosurgeon unit. But the autosurgeon didn’t know how to remove a bomb. Its textbooks and tapes could guide Bloodeagle, but not replace his judgment.
And so he fought panic. So far he was winning, but the fight wasn’t over yet.
There. He gripped the end of the capsule and began teasing it out. He stopped, and whispered into his throat mike. “All clear?”
Jenna’s voice came back to him. “All … shit. A jeep just landed on your roof. No, the roof next door. This doesn’t look good.”
“How many? Just a little more time.”
“Maybe three. Could be a random patrol.”
“Can you buy me some time? I need five minutes.”
Jenna smiled grimly. “Or die trying.”
“Jenna …” Bloodeagle said softly. “That’s not your job. Remember your promise to Aubry. Stay peripheral. Somebody has to get word to the Scavengers if … anything goes wrong. Promise me. Like you swore to Aubry.”
“Damn you.”
“Promise me, dammit!”
There was a long pause, filled with nothing but electronic crackle. Then: “All right. I promise.”