Grimspace by Ann Aguirre Page A

of these guys, but I’m betting my brain against theirs. These nulls don’t know how to fight women; it’s a different game, believe me.
    As I dive between the legs of a big Gunnar, I see Mair wind up and slam her shockstick hard as she can between the V of another guy’s thighs. Falling, he makes a noise that I can’t say I’ve heard a human utter before, sort of like I imagine a puppy would sound being put through a juicer. He curls up on his side, covering those extra-crispy genitals with his palm, then she’s after No-chin Carl. Guess a broken nose isn’t satisfactory recompense for her loss. I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes—that’s for damn sure. And huh…for some reason the remaining Gunnars don’t want to mess with Mair—they leave Carl to take his thrashing—and that has them hounding me. I evade a clumsy grab with a feint left, then I sprint for the rover.
    Just like that, we’ve got a fair fight on our hands.
    I’m not sure they want me alive anymore, but that’s all right because they’ve got to catch me first. I use the rover, rounding it, then doubling back. If they think I’m going to stand still and take my beating, they’re the crazy ones. It’s a childish tactic, but it buys me some time as March shakes his head, glares at me, and throws a sloppy roundhouse. He gets stomach-slugged twice in rapid succession and doesn’t even stumble. Making a second lap, I decide he’s one tough son of a bitch and make a mental note never to gut-punch him. I’ll go for the eyes instead.
    Midfight, March glares at me, and for that sin, takes a solid uppercut to the jaw. I laugh out loud, starting to enjoy this. Shit, the two behemoths have figured out my little game, and this time, they anticipated my turn. My timing’s off, but I dive between them, roll, and come up behind Saul, who regards me pleadingly. Don’t know what he’s asking, no breath to inquire because I’ve still got them on me and no way to shake them.
    March can hold his own, but I have to deal with this somehow—
    But not alone. Leaping from atop the rover, Dina drops down on one of the flagella tailing me. She isn’t a huge woman but she’s muscular, and seventy kilos, landing hard, will flatten even a big guy if he’s not braced. Her shockstick hums as she clubs him efficiently, although one hit really would’ve done it. Still, I can’t help admire her artistry; he’s going to have quite a nice pattern in minor burns, assuming he’s not brain damaged by the time she’s done.
    I turn just in time to see March land the telling blow. The other guy’s head snaps round, flecks of blood and spit spewing from his open, rubber-lipped mouth. They did it the old-fashioned way: no shocksticks, no finesse, just slug it out until someone falls over. In a one-on-one fight, I’m guessing that’s rarely March. And probably because he’s bleeding from a split lip and has what looks to be a nice shiner swelling on his left eye, March sinks his boot into the guy’s ribs, hard enough that even I wince.
    That leaves just one standing, against all of us, so I figure it’s safe for me to stop running. He seems to realize that around the same time, nearly collides with me, then raises his hands, palms up, in a symbol of peaceable intentions.
    â€œTruce?” he asks, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve heard one of them speak. “The Gunnar clan would like to step back from this particular investment. It seemed like a good opportunity but the start-up costs”—he gestures at the fallen—“are prohibitive.”
    â€œThey killed my boy.” Mair finally rises, stiff and weary, from the broken body of her former financial advisor. Although I’m not a medical officer, I’m pretty sure Carl’s not getting up. Ever. “I want them all executed, March. Here.