in his hand was already dead, neck broken in an instant when Trager's mind had been elsewhere. Abruptly, the brigadier became aware of the pistol in his hand, its barrel still hot from where he had exercised his displeasure on the duty officer. He brought it to bear on the GI, but the soldier with the rifle was in front of his intended target. Trager shot him; he had to regain control of the situation quickly and the hapless fool was in his way.
Throughout the unfolding melee, DeeTrick's hovercam was continuing to broadcast the live vid to screens all over the city. There might be quick-witted Norts on the way to assist him, but Trager had no way of knowing - just as he had no way of seeing the other GI in the cell stirring, getting to his feet, coming at him. Trager had enjoyed himself with the prisoner before DeeTrick had been allowed to compose her vidiganda footage. By a quirk of fate, the Nort officer's unit had been replaced by the 7th Kashan Legion on the eve of the ambush that both sides would later call the Quartz Zone Massacre, and on some level, Trager had always resented the fact that he had never been able to kill some of the Souther genetic freaks. Trager was a strict Church of Sekunda zealot - the approved religion of the Nordland party - and his personal faith looked upon gene-manipulation as unholy and inhuman. The lucky turn of events that had landed him with the prisoner had given him the chance to work through some of his issues on that matter, taking a sap glove to the creature's dull, blue-grey skin. Payback now came to Trager tenfold.
Rogue saw the injured GI slam an iron-hard fist into the small of the brigadier's back and a couple of vital vertebrae came apart with a sharp crack. The other infantryman followed up with two more punishing strikes, not for any reasons of efficiency, but for the sheer violence of it.
"Rogue, the hovercam!" snapped Bagman, and in answer the GI dragged the machine out of the air, servos whining, and battered it against the wall. Surrounded by dead and dying Norts, Rogue took his first good look at his fellow soldier. "You know me?" he asked.
The other GI looked in bad shape and it wasn't just the after-effects of the beatings. His skin lacked the dark, near-midnight hue of Rogue's - it was pale and in places the cultured plastiflesh was broken. Welts and unpleasant lesions of black blood matter marred his arms and torso.
"Who...?" His voice was hoarse. "Who you with?"
"Battalion M-C Five," Rogue replied automatically.
"Rogue... You're the Rogue... I found you!"
Gunnar made a low noise. "Synth me! I know him! That you, Zero?"
"Zero?" Rogue repeated, helping the GI to walk. Like all the nicknames the GIs used, his was one that the Milli-Com genetic engineers had coined, half joking, for each of their vat-grown killers-in-training. Rogue had never served directly with Zero, but he knew of him. He'd been in top percentile on the roster boards after they were decanted and noted as an exceptional sniper.
To any observer, the faces of the two GIs would have looked virtually identical - and that fact was what had made Rogue's daring plan work - but to the troopers themselves, subtle differences made them as individual as any pure-bred human.
"Zero, man. How did you make it out of the zone alive?" said Gunnar.
"Time for that later," snapped Rogue, recovering Helm from a compartment in the backpack. He snatched up a weapon from one of the dead Norts and tossed it to Zero. "Can you make it, brother?"
Zero managed a shaky smile. "I'm tactical, Rogue. Solid blue."
"We got incoming," said Helm. "I'm picking up human heat signatures through the walls."
"Let's go." Rogue grabbed his gear and beckoned Zero toward the hatch. "We're on the clock."
Zero gave a weary nod. "How... we gonna get out of this place?"
"Helm, how long we got?" said Rogue.
"Five mikes, give or take."
Rogue gave Zero a nod. "Can you swim?"
As any general worth his stars would tell you, the problem
Throughout the unfolding melee, DeeTrick's hovercam was continuing to broadcast the live vid to screens all over the city. There might be quick-witted Norts on the way to assist him, but Trager had no way of knowing - just as he had no way of seeing the other GI in the cell stirring, getting to his feet, coming at him. Trager had enjoyed himself with the prisoner before DeeTrick had been allowed to compose her vidiganda footage. By a quirk of fate, the Nort officer's unit had been replaced by the 7th Kashan Legion on the eve of the ambush that both sides would later call the Quartz Zone Massacre, and on some level, Trager had always resented the fact that he had never been able to kill some of the Souther genetic freaks. Trager was a strict Church of Sekunda zealot - the approved religion of the Nordland party - and his personal faith looked upon gene-manipulation as unholy and inhuman. The lucky turn of events that had landed him with the prisoner had given him the chance to work through some of his issues on that matter, taking a sap glove to the creature's dull, blue-grey skin. Payback now came to Trager tenfold.
Rogue saw the injured GI slam an iron-hard fist into the small of the brigadier's back and a couple of vital vertebrae came apart with a sharp crack. The other infantryman followed up with two more punishing strikes, not for any reasons of efficiency, but for the sheer violence of it.
"Rogue, the hovercam!" snapped Bagman, and in answer the GI dragged the machine out of the air, servos whining, and battered it against the wall. Surrounded by dead and dying Norts, Rogue took his first good look at his fellow soldier. "You know me?" he asked.
The other GI looked in bad shape and it wasn't just the after-effects of the beatings. His skin lacked the dark, near-midnight hue of Rogue's - it was pale and in places the cultured plastiflesh was broken. Welts and unpleasant lesions of black blood matter marred his arms and torso.
"Who...?" His voice was hoarse. "Who you with?"
"Battalion M-C Five," Rogue replied automatically.
"Rogue... You're the Rogue... I found you!"
Gunnar made a low noise. "Synth me! I know him! That you, Zero?"
"Zero?" Rogue repeated, helping the GI to walk. Like all the nicknames the GIs used, his was one that the Milli-Com genetic engineers had coined, half joking, for each of their vat-grown killers-in-training. Rogue had never served directly with Zero, but he knew of him. He'd been in top percentile on the roster boards after they were decanted and noted as an exceptional sniper.
To any observer, the faces of the two GIs would have looked virtually identical - and that fact was what had made Rogue's daring plan work - but to the troopers themselves, subtle differences made them as individual as any pure-bred human.
"Zero, man. How did you make it out of the zone alive?" said Gunnar.
"Time for that later," snapped Rogue, recovering Helm from a compartment in the backpack. He snatched up a weapon from one of the dead Norts and tossed it to Zero. "Can you make it, brother?"
Zero managed a shaky smile. "I'm tactical, Rogue. Solid blue."
"We got incoming," said Helm. "I'm picking up human heat signatures through the walls."
"Let's go." Rogue grabbed his gear and beckoned Zero toward the hatch. "We're on the clock."
Zero gave a weary nod. "How... we gonna get out of this place?"
"Helm, how long we got?" said Rogue.
"Five mikes, give or take."
Rogue gave Zero a nod. "Can you swim?"
As any general worth his stars would tell you, the problem
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