Doctor Who_ Match of the Day - Chris Boucher [105]
The whole exercise had been a waste of time as it turned out, but he was encouraged to see through almost closed eyes that his mental mapping had been reasonably accurate.
He was being held in an empty storage silo and he had been drifting close to one end of it. He closed his eyes completely and went through his sense-sharpening preparations for combat. He smelled and heard the hakai-warriors he assumed had been sent to guard him: there were three. He smelled and heard the crewman who was operating the remote restraint clamps and he tasted the faint, metallic scent of the hydraulic drive as it snaked the forked arm with its pair of open claws towards him. He listened to the slither and creak of the device and he opened his eyes a fraction and watched as the clamps nudged closer reaching for a hold.
Slowly, imperceptibly he flexed and twisted away from them.
He could not see the crewman but he could tell from the sudden sharp smell of sweat and the convulsive closing and opening again of the clamps as they snatched at him, missed and drew back for another try, that he was not an expert at what he was doing and that he was very tense.
Keefer could only make out two Fat Boy guards looking in at him. Neither had drawn his sabre, preferring it seemed to use both hands to hold onto the edge of the open panel. It was already too late for them to correct that mistake, he thought with grim satisfaction, but the third was probably armed and ready, which would almost certainly be what was making the crewman tense. A weightless Fat Boy waving a razor sharp sabre around would be enough to make anyone nervous.
As he waited unmoving Keefer worked out from smells, sounds, the angle of movement of the remote-controlled arm, exactly where the crewman and the third guard would be positioned. And he watched the remote hydraulic arm edge the clamps closer and closer until the arm itself was finally within reach. Before the clamps could close he grabbed the main arm and heaved himself into motion, propelling his body towards the opening. Instinctively the startled hakai-warriors pushed back from the edge of the panel, at the same time reaching for their sabres. Unlike Keefer they had not planned or calculated their moves. To duck back and pull their sabres both men had to release the holds that had given them a measure of control over their weightlessness. They were immediately uncoordinated and helpless in the killing zone. They did not share Keefer‟s natural talent for counterattack. Flapping and sabre waving was all they could manage for the moment and it was no more than a useless gesture of defiance.
Keefer flew through the open panel. A second touch and tug on the hydraulic arm altered his trajectory so that it was directly at the crewman, who was already panicking as he crouched, clutching the grab handles of the machine as if his life depended on it. As Keefer had expected, the third Fat Boy was beside him. He had his sabre drawn and he was using his free hand to brace himself against a bulkhead stanchion.
Bearing down on the crewman Keefer let out a sudden bloodcurdling whoop and then yelled at the top of his lungs,
„You‟re dead you little scuffler!‟ The shock of the sudden noise drove the man‟s panic to a climax and he let go of the machine and tried to dodge away. Inevitably he got into a struggling tangle with the Fat Boy. The man was flapping and kicking in a vain attempt to escape, and the hakai-warrior had to push him out of the way so that he could get a clear strike at Keefer. The push cost him the control he needed. He had let go of the stanchion. The wild sabre slash cut the crewman almost in half.