By the time they got to the lower end of the Northside, dark clouds had rolled in over Chicago, and snow had begun to fall again.
Liaison pulled the armored Americar into an alley a few blocks from the Crusader complex, then she and Breena went around to the trunk and opened it.
Peter turned to Kathryn. “You going to be all right?”
“Me? All I have to do is guard Breena. Are you going to be all right?”
“I don’t know.” And he laughed a full, joyous laugh. “You know, I don’t know.” Freeing himself from the Itami gang had made him giddy. He felt his life finally on track, reaching a culmination.
“You are a very strange man.”
Breena slammed her fist against the window to get their attention. “Show time!” she called out.
Peter opened the door and got out. Breena slipped by him to take a seat in the car, then closed her eyes. “You going to check it out astrally?” he asked.
“Nope,” she said, eyes closed. “I know they’ve got a ward up, and if I try to investigate, all I’ll do is risk tripping it. Your shag should get by their astral security because it doesn’t depend on an astral search. It’s insane, and I don’t like it, but if we want to catch them off guard, this might do it. They might also have an elemental on guard. But we took down two magicians at Byrne—there’s a good chance one of them summoned the elemental. If so, the elemental is gone now. So, you and Liaison are going in cold.”
Liaison rolled her eyes a bit to suggest that Breena just worried too much. Then Peter watched Breena as she relaxed her breathing and began to raise her hands. Small, blue sparks popped off her flesh, the sparks increasing in number until they blocked her hands from view.
Liaison stepped up and pulled on Peter’s arm, indicating that he should get out of the way. When he stepped aside, Liaison leaned into the car. Breena opened her eyes and smiled at her. “Goodbye,” she said, and the two of them opened their mouths slightly and kissed.
They held the kiss as Breena touched Liaison’s cheeks, the blue sparks flowing from her hands and drifting over Liaison’s clothes and skin. As the sparks passed over Liaison, that part of her body vanished from sight. Breena closed her eyes again. Soon she was kissing empty air.
The blue sparks floated down around Liaison’s waist, down her legs, until she had completely disappeared.
Peter guessed Liaison had pulled away when Breena closed her mouth. She stared out the front window with a contented and dazed smile.
“Here,” said Liaison, her voice floating out of thin air. A gun appeared on Breena’s lap. “That’s for you, Kathryn,” she said. “Keep her safe. Oh, and see that small box on her hip?”
Kathryn nodded.
“That’s her talkie with me. Push the button there—right. When I give the signal, it’s time. Got it.”
“Yes.”
The voice addressed Peter again. “Ready?”
Peter saw a flicker of Liaison’s form when he turned to where the voice had come from. “I can see you. I mean, I saw you, just for an instant.”
“It’s just an illusion spell. You know I’m here, so the illusion isn’t that strong for you. It’ll hold against everyone else. Or it should.” She paused, then added, “But we won’t know until we get there. Ready?”
“Sure.”
“Give me your gun.”
He pulled the Predator from its holster, and held it out. Peter felt Liaison’s hand take it, then let go. The moment he did, the gun vanished from sight.
“What have you got?” he asked.
“I took an Uzi from the trunk.”
“You don’t fool around.”
“Nope. Zoze armed us for bear. Ready?”
He took off his holster, but kept the lined duster. “Let’s go.”
As they walked out of the alley, Peter said, “Does she have to kiss you to do the magic?”
Liaison laughed. “No. It just gives her a rush. I don’t know. I guess you have to be there.” After a pause, she asked, “Are you sure they’re not gonna connect you with the fight at Byrne?”
“Positive. Trust me. To these guys, all trolls look alike.”
Peter screamed.
He shouted.
He staggered and danced down the street.
When he was thirty meters from the Crusader headquarters, he laughed and yelled, “Bear! I wish I could find me some soft-fleshed people, three or four of ’em to make it fair, to give me a good fight! I can’t stand the soft folk anymore. All mushy and wet when you cut ’em!”
A thick wall of brick topped with wire surrounded the complex. At the center of the compound was a smooth, sterile-looking building three stories high. It reminded him of people, smooth people, pure humans, needing everything clean and featureless and as boring as death. He noticed several narrow slits for gunners built into a stone facade on the roof of the building.
He laughed again.
A spotlight snapped on from a tower at the corner of the compound. The spot quickly found him, washing over him and creating a glowing disk three meters in diameter.
Peter stopped and stared down at the ground, as if confused by the light. Then he knelt and touched the ground, carefully, like a drunken scientist suddenly fascinated by a flower.
“Hey, drekhead!” someone from the tower shouted. “Slot it!”
Peter looked up and around, looking for angels that surrounded him. He staggered toward the tower from which the light shone. The spotlight followed him, making Peter stop in his tracks to look down again. He took two steps forward. The light followed. He took three steps to the right. He was a child who has just discovered his shadow.
“Looks like you’re having fun,” said Liaison from just outside the edge of the light.
“I AM!” he screamed. “’Cause I hate soft, stupid flesh!”
He danced around the street, leading the light on a merry chase, stopping suddenly sometimes, trying to confuse it.
“SLOT IT OUT OF HERE NOW!” The voice boomed from a loudspeaker.
“Who is that?” Peter yelled.
“LEAVE THE AREA!”
“Are you a softie? You got that soft flesh I love to squoosh?”
A few guards poked their heads over the top of the wall.
“Can I scrag him?” one shouted.
“NO!” came the loudspeaker voice.
Another voice shouted, “We’re going to have enough trouble with Byrne. Let him buzz off.”
Peter pointed at one of the men on the wall. “Are you a coward? Are you? You a coward? Come on! Come down and fight me!”
The men scowled at him, but didn’t budge.
“Fraggin’ cowards. Afraid to take on a troll unless you can do it by shooting me down with your fancy guns. You fraggers! I’ll take four of you at once. That’s right. Four of you.”
The men looked at one another.
“Five!” Peter shouted. “I’ll show you fraggin’ wastes of carbon who should be running things. Or are you too busy pulling on each other back there?”
The heads dropped down behind the wall. There was a moment of loud arguing, and then the gate unlocked.
“Bye,” said Liaison.
As the gate opened, it revealed eight guards. Three of them held rifles pointed at Peter.
“Hey!” said Peter, laughing and raising his arms. One of the men, apparently the leader, smiled at Peter.
He held a tape recorder up in front of him. “You want to fight?”
“Yeah!”
“You sure you want to fight?”
“Sure I’m sure, drekbrain.”
“Just because it’s fun, right?”
“Right. ’Course, I won’t mind mashing your soft little pink heads into little pink pudding. But that’s just me.”
The leader switched off the tape recorder and handed it to one of the men with a rifle. “No weapons. Just hand to hand.”
“Sure. Whatever.” Thank the spirits, Peter thought.
The leader nodded to two of the men without rifles. They walked up to Peter and frisked him. They were good at their job. “Clean,” one said, finally.
“All right,” said the leader, drawing something out of his pocket. “Five on one. Right?”
“Right.”
“Great.”
Peter saw each of the men place studded knuckles on his hands. “Hey, wait a minute—”
“Say what, chummer?”
“You get those.”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t get nothing.”
“Right, you get nothing. You don’t want this to be too easy, do you?”
“What do you mean?” Peter said, stalling for time. He was almost certain, but not positive, he could still take the guards on. But maybe if he kept them talking long enough, Liaison would be back out with the data and he could skip the whole thing.
“I mean, you’re a big strong troll. We’re just puny ‘softs,’ right?”
“Right. But…”
They were on him with a quick rush.
Though Peter moved quickly, his opponents worked well as a team, cutting off a possible dodge to either side. Pain sliced at his shoulder, and in that instant he remembered Breena hadn’t healed him yet. A sudden dread passed through him.
He moved to the right and shoved himself forward, hoping to bowl over the guard that charged toward him. He and the guard crashed into each other, but Peter had mass on his side. He hurled himself into the man and slammed him down onto the snow-covered pavement.
Peter tried to keep his feet free of the man, but tripped and stepped into the guard’s groin. The man howled, and Peter stumbled low to the ground for a few steps.
In that time, the other guards had gathered around him and now slammed their fists into his back. He tried to twist away from the blows, but he was out of maneuvering room and the guards nailed several punches into his spine. A sharp pain ran up and down his back, and for a moment he couldn’t see.
Their studded knuckles weren’t just metal. They also had some kind of electrical shock. Peter had never seen anything like them before. His vision cleared just as he slammed into the ground. He brought up his hands to block his fall, but his palms slid across the snow and his face crashed into the pavement. He rolled over quickly, but the guards came in fast to batter his abdomen and face with swift kicks. The damage was light, but Peter knew it would eventually take its toll. Was this really the best plan available?
He swung his arms wide—like making angels in the snow, he thought crazily—and smashed the ankles of the guards with his fists. They fell onto the street with loud grunts. While they rolled on the ground, Peter scrambled up. Lifting his head, he came face to face with the first guard he’d knocked over, who was also just getting up.
The guard swung his fist up again, but this time Peter blocked the blow with one hand and punched the man in the jaw with the other. The guard staggered back several meters and fell onto his back.
Peter whirled around to face off against the rest of the guards. He’d taken his blows, but now he felt in the spirit of the occasion. Even his pain had dissipated, dispelled by a rush of adrenaline.
The guards got to their feet, but then stood swaying a bit. Peter balled his hands into fists. A warm pleasure ran through his thoughts. He knew he could take the fraggers who’d shot up Byrne, and take them up close.
“Peter. There’s a problem,” Liaison said softly to his right.
“You’re not fraggin’ kidding!” Peter screamed. He jumped a bit, and the guards took it as fear. They stood a bit straighter.
Peter grunted. He pulled back slightly, cutting around to me right to keep Liaison out of earshot of the guards. He moved slowly enough that they didn’t chase him.
“There’s no way into the building. The door is locked and has a keypad on it. There’s no way to pick it with all the guards walking around the compound. They won’t see me, but they’ll see the exposed electronics when I pull the face plate off.”
Peter grunted again. “Just wait!” he shouted at the guards. Then he added softly, “For someone to go inside.”
“I did. Almost everyone outside the building is watching the fight, though some are still watching the perimeter. Everyone inside is probably watching the fight over cameras.”
Peter glanced up at the walls of the compound. Guards stood on the gunnery platforms and watched the proceedings through barbed wire.
“And I don’t think we’ve got time for someone to get bored and wander back into the building.”
The sound of chopper blades filled the air. Peter looked up and saw a Stallion flying in from the north. Probably the one from Byrne returning after the search.
“Right!” Peter screamed. “I’ll show you pervos just like my brother showed you up in Byrne.”
The guards all lowered their fists.
“What are you doing?” Liaison whispered harshly.
“What?” demanded Peter of the guards.
The leader raised his hand and pointed at Peter. “Your brother was at Byrne?”
“You bet. He wasted a half-dozen of you pervos!”
The two guards by the door raised their rifles. Peter braced himself for the impact of the bullets. The leader shouted, “Wait! You! Get your hands up.”
“What?” Peter said stupidly.
“Get your hands up, trog!”
Peter raised his hands. “Aren’t we going to fight?”
“No. Where’s your brother now?”
Peter laughed. “I’m not going to tell you that. He’s my—”
“Shut up! Where is he?”
“I told you, I’m not gonna tell you. Come on,” he said, and lowered his hands and balled them into fists. “Let’s fight.”
Each of the guards with rifles fired at the ground by Peter’s feet.
“Hey!”
“Tell me now.”
“BRING HIM INSIDE. WE’LL STRAP AND ZAP HIM.”
“Get your hands back up and move in through the gate.”
Peter did.