Double Helix 03_ Red Sector - Diane Carey [36]
As he landed on his knees, Stiles pressed the back of his hand to his cut lip and hoped the blood would clot. He didn’t want to die of a slap. That’d be so stupid.
He turned and slipped farther down, but looked up as Orsova’s barn-wide shoulders blocked the bare light from the ceiling. “Picked a weakling this One” he choked. “No loose teeth.” “He’ll try again;’ Orsova said. “Sure. I can’t feel much these days anyway.”
Beyond the soldier’s balled fists, Stiles could see Zevon seated at the lab table, both hands pressed to the edge of the table. As the soldier’s fist plunged into Soles’ gut and the familiar lights of agony flashed, Stiles let his mind go blank. That little trick was getting easier as the months and years drained away the defiance Zevon somehow still saw in him. He was glad he was on his knees already, for he could never have stayed on his feet and he didn’t want to be seen falling again. His lungs cried for air. If Orsova’s soldier hadn’t been holding him by the collar again, he’d be on the deck, shriveled up like a jellyfish.
“You aren’t afraid anymore,” Orsova commented from over there.
Stiles blinked at him, still seeing only the flash and pop of pain’s decorations. “Well, what’s another pound to an elephant? So you hire me out again. So what? One of these days you ought to beat me up yourself instead of auctioning me off. Or can’t you handle it?”
Furious, the soldier heaved his victim to his feet, then rammed his thick elbow into Stiles’ ribs and flung him into the wall again. Stiles tried to go limp, but this particular soldier didn’t fall for the trick. Some did, but this guy knew to drive the air out of his plaything’s body before flinging him, assuring that Stiles was tense as he struck the wall. Worked.
Shuddering, helpless, Stiles writhed like an unlicked cub on the cold cement. His own moans rattled from his throat, but he had no connection to them nor any control, and was blinded by the lights popping behind his eyes, so familiar he’d started to name them. He was up to Louise when they began finally to fizzle and he blinked back to the apparition of Orsova’s left boot near his nose, as the big warden pulled the rabid soldier off and held him to one side.
“Let me finish him!” the soldier bellowed. “He’s an alien! There’s no other ‘alien anywhere!” “No;’ Orsova flatly refused. “Then let me kill the Romulan !” “No.”
“You dumb drunken mule,” Stiles straggled. “You’re blowing achance to-save half the planet. We’ve found a way to-predict the Constriction Pound me all you want-but get a message to the-authorities. We’ve finally-done it!”
“Done it” Orsova echoed. “You know we’re tired of keeping you. There’s talk of just executing you.”
“Fine,” Stiles grunted. “Execute me. But bury me deep. I don’t want to come heaving up when the big one hits.”
Orsova’s reddened eyes turned hard. “There hasn’t been a Constrictor in two years. Maybe it won’t come again. Why should we feed and keep aliens here, and give you a lab and let you work, after what you gave to us?” “It wasn’t him,” Zevon said without turning. “It was-“
“Shut up, Romulan,” Stiles barked from the floor. “I don’t need your-pointy help.”
“And it will come again” Zevon persisted, looking now at Orsova. “Like seismic activity, it doesn’t go away. It builds up to something worse. The two of us have used our time learning to read the spaceborne graviton pulses-“
“You two aren’t as much fun as you used to be.” Orsova cast a furious glance at Zevon and added, “I know the game. Pretending.”
Stiles wiped blood from his mouth with a shaking hand. “Not-pretending. We just don’t-give a damn anymore. You’ve had two-two years of good crops… that haven’t been squooshed… two years of ” “I paid you!” the soldier roared, shoving at Orsova’s arm, Orsova held him back. “Less and less