Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [22]
The android frowned. Obviously he still had a lot to learn.
“Save program,” he said, and exited the holodeck.
The air was cold; it rasped in Riker’s throat as he ran down the long, winding alley, just a couple of strides behind Lyneea. Nor could he have easily caught up if he’d wanted to—Lyneea was a lot more surefooted than he was in the soft snow that had accumulated here.
As a youngster, he would undoubtedly have done better. But it had been a long time since he’d had a chance to skid and slosh through the kind of half-frozen soup one used to find in the streets of Valdez.
His senses alert, Riker found himself noticing minutiae that were irrelevant to the task at hand. Like the way Lyneea trailed white wisps of breath that dissipated before he could reach them. Or the way her heels threw up little white rooster tails, her footprints mingling with those of the one they sought—though there was no confusing them. Hers were slender and shallow, his deep and extremely wide.
Up ahead, Riker saw an opening off to one side. Another alleyway? He wondered if she’d spotted it, too—then was certain she had, for she slowed down, angled closer to the wall, and stopped running.
Sure enough, the bigger set of footprints ran around that corner. Lyneea took out her projectile gun again, shot a glance at him.
He had no trouble deciphering her message: Be careful. We’re getting closer.
Riker was glad she’d suddenly become concerned about his welfare. Maybe she thought that a single close call a night was all one should have to put up with—even if one was an offworlder.
Hugging the stones that made up the wall, Lyneea stuck her head around the corner. She took a moment to peer into the shadows.
Then, apparently satisfied that the coast was clear, she swung herself into the alley.
It was almost the last thing she ever did. Only sheer luck kept her from being cut to ribbons by the bright-blue blaster beams that fried the air all around her.
Riker reached out and caught Lyneea’s tunic. As he reeled her in, a beam caught the corner they’d been waiting behind and shattered some of the stones, sending splinters flying in every direction.
Lyneea pushed herself away from Will and cursed.
“Problem?” he asked, unable to resist.
“So it would seem.”
Silence. The fugitive with the blaster was biding his time, knowing he had the superior firepower or they would have struck back without hesitation.
“I guess not everybody takes the high-tech ban seriously,” he observed.
She grunted.
“So what now?”
She thought for a moment. “He’s not going anywhere, not on a bellyful of korsch, anyway. If he could have gone on, he wouldn’t have bothered to stop in the first place.” She chewed her lip, then abruptly thrust her projectile weapon into Riker’s hand.
“You know how to use this?” she asked.
He turned it over. “Doesn’t look too complicated. Eight chambers, seven projectiles left.” He wasn’t exactly an expert in antique arms, but he’d seen a few in his day.
“Good,” she said. “Then use it to keep our fugitive distracted.”
“Does that mean you’re leaving me? Just when we were starting to work so well together?”
Glowering at him, the Impriman seemed about to say something, then thought better of it. Without warning, she bolted across the mouth of the perpendicular alleyway, drawing a barrage of sizzling blaster fire from their prey, and kept on going. In a few seconds she reached the opening at the far end and disappeared.
Riker appreciated the simplicity of Lyneea’s plan: circle around behind their blaster-happy friend and catch him unaware. But her strategy was dangerous as all hell.
Which was why it was so important to do as Lyneea had instructed—keep their fugitive busy, so he wouldn’t realize that one of his pursuers might be plying the alleys to outmaneuver him. And waste her, perhaps, as she came creeping up on him.
However, at this range, Lyneea’s pop pistol was fairly useless. One or two shots and their friend in the alley would know that and take off again, confident that