I gave the proxy new orders. “Go to the lab on level 2. Force protection condition delta.”
The androids moved as one, forming up and heading for the stairwell. Samara and I had to jog to keep up. The proxies cleared the doorway into the stairs just as Andrea and I had done, only much faster. Their coordination even without network support was impressive. If they ever developed sentience, they’d be monsters on the battlefield. Was that what had bothered me so much about Huxley?
I pushed the thought from my head and refocused on the task in front of me. As the proxies filed up the stairwell, I led Samara down. We moved faster than before, owing largely to the pressure I felt to support Raven and Vincenzo. The attackers may have prioritized the lab, but they had used explosives against me in an underground complex; they were clearly willing to go to extreme lengths even in a diversionary encounter.
The halls were quiet when we reached holding. “These are prison cells, but you’ll be safer in there than anywhere else,” I said as I unlocked the door. “I don’t know how long it’ll be, but the enemy can’t keep this up.”
“Prison cells? Are there prisoners?”
“Just one, but she’s locked up. Don’t worry.”
The maglock disengaged, and I pushed the door open. As I turned to hold the door for Samara, I caught a glimpse of a figure in motion. It had been pressed against the wall by the door and was now twisting through the air toward me. In an instant, my jaw clapped shut and bursts of light flooded my vision. Heat radiated from the side of my face and I came damn close to blacking out as I spun and the floor rose to meet me.
I felt a weight pressed on the back of my neck. My arm was wrenched back, and I realized that someone was trying to get control of my gun. They were applying pressure and torque in all the right ways, but a prosthetic doesn’t have pressure points or nerve bundles to exploit. I kept a grip on my weapon and steadied my arm against their efforts. I flexed my wrist and fired three shots toward what I guessed would be their head.
The weight on my neck fell away and my arm came free. I scrambled to my feet and watched Katerina Capanelli roll into a fighting stance. I raised my weapon and in the moment of pause before it all went to hell, I sent Andrea a message.
Katerina free
To tell the truth, I’m not really sure that’s how the message read on Andrea’s end. Dataspike messaging depends on subvocalization, not the most reliable or efficient way to send a message. I’d been getting better and better at it, but with the near-concussion I’d just experienced, there was every possibility that the message Andrea received was nothing but gibberish.
I could almost see the calculation in Katerina’s eyes. She had a choice: fight or flight. She could run through the open door, maybe find support from the Jovians, and escape the building, or she could attack me, take my weapon, and finish what she’d started over Europa. Would she be fast enough to do either with my gun in play? Her eyes darted to the door, then back to me.
She smiled and said, “who’s your friend, Tycho?” Then she ducked and took the first step toward the door.
I realized what she was thinking. Katerina knew her value to Section 9. She was going to use Samara as a hostage, and was counting on my hesitation to use lethal force. I thought about how arrogant that was as I fired. I didn’t immediately understand what happened next.
I’d shot twice, leading her movement and expecting to hit somewhere in her chest. Instead, my shots were wide to the left and she had closed half the distance to me on the right. I adjusted and fired twice more, this time aiming for her head, but the shots went over high as she slipped low and clipped my knee with a sweep of her legs.
The attack would have left me crumpled in pain had she hit flesh and bone. As it was, the force staggered me and I stumble-stepped back to regain my footing. It may not have been the result Katerina had expected, but it was enough. She sprang up, grabbed my right arm with one hand, and stepped in with a barrage of uppercuts to my armpit.
Electric pain surged down the length of my arm. My hand went slack, and the gun fell from my grip. She kicked the weapon away, pulled me down with her into a wide, deep stance, and used her hips to flip me over her shoulder onto the floor.
She didn’t release her grip, instead wrapping one leg around my arm and locking it in place with the other. She pulled my wrist into her chest and arched her back to hyperextend my elbow. Compared to the feeling of those punches against my prosthetic interface, this was just a dull ache like winter on old bones.
“You survived the crash,” she said. “I’m impressed.”
I planted my feet on the floor and braced myself. I’d managed to lift 700 kilograms with my augments. A 60-kilo woman should be no problem regardless of the disadvantage in leverage. I drew a breath, twisted my shoulders, and curled my arm.
Katerina came off of the floor as my arm swung around. I’d tried to drive her head-first into the metal, but she anticipated and countered by releasing her grip. She was flung toward the door instead and landed on her shoulder. She gracefully rolled onto the balls of her feet, and I followed her eyes as she took notice of my sidearm, less than eight feet away.
I realized my error just as Katerina seized on it.
She moved for the gun and I reacted, pushing off into a sprint as hard and as fast as I could. I knew I couldn’t get to it before she would, but I thought that if I could bowl into her, I could buy a chance to get it away from her. Katerina was only flesh and blood after all; I could do with my augments what Andrea had done.
She was impossibly fast. I’d never seen anyone like her before or since. Katerina had my pistol in hand before my third step. I ducked my head and crossed my arms, tensing for the impact and entertaining the faint hope that the hit would knock her unconscious. I threw my weight forward, then nothing. The hit never came.
I felt myself pulled from side to side as the room spun around me in a blur of shapes and color. Lights streaked across my vision until the view suddenly locked into place. I was sailing through the air, further into holding, as I watched a receding snapshot of Katerina, the open door, and Dr. Markov.
I hit the floor hard on my back. I rode the momentum and slid onto my feet, ready to engage, but what I saw made me stop in my tracks. Katerina had Samara at gunpoint.
“It’s over, boy,” Katerina said quietly. “You did well.”
“This won’t end the way you think.”
“I know your kind, Tycho Barrett. I’m sure this will go exactly how I imagine.” I watched in horror as Katerina pressed the gun into the nape of Samara’s neck and fired. Samara went limp, and Katerina threw her toward me.
I rushed forward and caught her as Katerina disappeared into the corridor. Samara’s neck was scorched around the entry wound and bleeding freely. She was coughing frothing blood. I spotted the exit wound as I laid her on the floor on her side, blood soaking her clothes just beneath her ribcage. I ran through the checklist as I unclipped the first aid pack from my vest.
Stop the bleeding with pressure and dressing. Keep the victim still in the recovery position. Apply nanite lattice and administer clotting agent if possible.
I took a packet of lattice from the first aid kit and ripped it to size. I pressed it to her neck and wrapped gauze to keep it in place. I pulled my hands away to get the dermal injector to give her the clotting agent, but as soon as I did blood seeped out from beneath the dressing. I quickly pressed my hand against the wound.