The Good That Men Do - Andy Mangels [112]
“Sorry,” Trip said, taking a single backward step away from the approaching guard and the fragile scientist, moving toward the chair he’d just left behind. The guard continued moving in Trip’s direction.
Trip suddenly leaped forward, twisting his legs toward the guard, kicking him hard in the abdomen before both men went down hard. The guard’s head made a sickening thump against the unyielding floor, his body mostly breaking Trip’s fall, which could have injured him severely since his hands were still manacled behind him.
Looks like he wasn’t quite expecting a completely stupid and futile gesture, Trip thought, relieved that the guard wasn’t moving, at least for the moment. He immediately turned around and began fumbling with the fallen man’s belt, awkwardly seeking anything behind him that might be a set of manacle keys.
Damn. Damn. DAMN! At least a full minute ticked by with no results. On the plus side, he was reasonably certain now that neither Ch’uihv nor any other guards had remained in the room. Buoyed by that small boon, he continued fumbling with the guard’s belt while the sounds of the approaching firefight steadily intensified.
“Allow me,” said a familiar voice directly behind him.
“Ehrehin?” Trip said, trying to turn so that he could face the voice.
“Hold still, Cunaehr. If you move right now, this could turn out extremely unpleasant for both of us.”
The old man, still behind him, was evidently shoving something hard and metallic against Trip’s wrists. “Hold on, Doctor,” Trip said, suddenly realizing what Ehrehin was about to attempt. But despite his protestations, he knew better than to try to move.
An instant later, a blast of intense heat singed Trip’s wrists, the searing pain accompanied by a brief flash of ruddy light. Trip’s hands fell away from each other, and he brought them both toward his face to survey the damage, which seemed to be minimal, at least so far as he could tell in the dim light, although the skin on both wrists hurt like hell. The manacles remained on each wrist, but they were now separated, burned completely through the middle.
Trip turned toward Ehrehin, who immediately pressed a still-warm disruptor pistol into his right hand.
“I took this off the guard while you were doing whatever it was you were doing just now. It was the most efficient solution I could find, under the circumstances.”
Trip felt the solid heft of the weapon in his hand, and realized that he would very likely have to put it to use, and probably very soon. “I’m just relieved that you know how to handle one of these things so well, Doctor.”
Ehrehin chuckled. “Me, too, Cunaehr. Because I’ve never so much as held a weapon like this before in my life.”
Trip was glad he hadn’t known that fact before the old men blew apart his manacles. “Well, then let’s hope I know how to handle one of these things.” The sound of the running battle outside the conference room was growing louder still.
“I am counting on that, Cunaehr. You know that Admiral Valdore will try his best to kill me if his forces fail to rescue me.”
Trip shook his head. “That’s not going to happen, Doctor.”
The elderly scientist’s tone became grave. “Listen to me, Cunaehr. If it appears that these Ejhoi Ormiin are about to succeed in preventing either my rescue or my honorable death, then you must intervene.” Ehrehin paused to place a hand on top of the weapon Trip held. “Using this.”
“I can’t do that, Doctor,” Trip finally said at length. Ehrehin’s hand fell limply away from Trip’s, and the darkness did little to conceal the crestfallen look on the old man’s deeply lined face.
“Then you have broken an old man’s heart, Cunaehr. You must understand that I will not be forced to assist these people in their war against the Praetor’s government. Too many innocent lives would be forfeit if these terrorists actually get what they want from me.”
Trip held the disruptor close to his face in order to check its displays. Though he couldn