victim ’ s consciousness through every life state with the intelligence to collate its summation, as a result of which its victim chooses death.
At that moment a volley of cop triage fire diverged into five paths like jets at an airshow, then recombined and headed as one in my direction. It ’ s difficult to think while lugging a gun the size of a scooter, but I aimed it into the air and fired off a blazing round, neutralising the triage ammo ’ s criteria. They started twirling around randomly like fleas.
The Perm muzzle was fizzling, it shouldn ’ t do that. It was weeping etheric accelerant. I dumped it in disgust and it lay smouldering like a jammed SA-80.
A waiter appeared in front of me with a potbellied pan gun firing hot plastic, his face lambent with disinterest. There was a sad pop like a cheap firework and his eyes turned inward. Instead of giving a single cough and falling, he blotted his copybook by revealing a dynamite vest and exploding into white ash which swirled a little and blew away, some flying into my face and mouth. Murphy the Fed stood on a bit of tilted concrete, her blunt body a silhouette against spilt fire. Smoking in her hand was a little plastic pistol of a simple design that appealed to me. This must have been the girly gun she ’ d shown Blince. I suspected it had no more weight than its reflection in a mirror. The cylinder looked like a toy Curta calculator. No smarts. Then I noticed the novelty lucite handle containing jelly-eating ants, a practice I believe is cruel and unimaginative.
‘ You know, Colt is a gateway to other guns. ’
‘ Where ’ s the kid and the oldster? ’ she asked, walking down the slope with the gun raised. We were having to shout over the mayhem.
‘ To think I brought that funny dog to your attention - the one that wasn ’ t there when you looked. Now you want to postmark my head with a glint pistol. You lied and I burned my throat swallowing it. But I swallowed it, I did that. ’
‘ Why d ’ you think I lied? ’
‘ Came on like a religion. ’
‘ How? ’
‘ Told me a little truth while leaving out some of the things I already knew, then added aliens. ’
‘ I didn ’ t lie. ’
‘ You gave me up. ’
‘ No. They found your rail gun. It was under your pillow. ’
I had put it under the pillow, that much was true.
‘ Think you ’ ll find them with your showy little cowgirl pistol? ’
She thought that over without any obvious embarrassment. ‘ You denied them, ’ she concluded.
She glanced around while still trying to cover me. I didn ’ t make a break for it. I wanted to watch her eyes as she tried to work out what she was evading. What true thing couldn ’ t she afford to believe? It was interesting. She advanced on me, the gun still raised. ‘ Where are they? ’
I opened the front passenger door so she would experience the precision vertigo of seeing a gullwing gap in the centre of a blind spot. ‘ Quick, ’ I said.
She ducked into the passenger seat and I settled behind the wheel. I took my slimline Armani out the glove box and handed it to the Fed. ‘ Give me the purse gun. ’
She frowned. ‘ You kidding? ’
‘ I ’ ll tell you when I am. ’
She gave me the toon pistol. Leaning out the door, I smashed the butt against the ground until the lucite cracked, and mixed the jelly and ants in with the dirt. I sealed the doors and turned back to the old man and the kid. ‘ Are you Heber? ’ I asked the kid. He looked to the old man, turned back to me and nodded, simple. ‘ And you? ’ I asked the old man.
‘ No. ’
‘ What ’ s your name? ’
‘ Ed Novalis. ’
‘ Edna Valis. Never heard the name Edna on a man before. ’
I scrutinised him. His sunburned face was delirium stretched over bone. ‘ Yes, my skull ’ s a barely adequate frame to contain it, ’ he said, startling the hell out of me. But he was amused. It seemed after too long under the bland sun his brain had turned to varnish. He
At that moment a volley of cop triage fire diverged into five paths like jets at an airshow, then recombined and headed as one in my direction. It ’ s difficult to think while lugging a gun the size of a scooter, but I aimed it into the air and fired off a blazing round, neutralising the triage ammo ’ s criteria. They started twirling around randomly like fleas.
The Perm muzzle was fizzling, it shouldn ’ t do that. It was weeping etheric accelerant. I dumped it in disgust and it lay smouldering like a jammed SA-80.
A waiter appeared in front of me with a potbellied pan gun firing hot plastic, his face lambent with disinterest. There was a sad pop like a cheap firework and his eyes turned inward. Instead of giving a single cough and falling, he blotted his copybook by revealing a dynamite vest and exploding into white ash which swirled a little and blew away, some flying into my face and mouth. Murphy the Fed stood on a bit of tilted concrete, her blunt body a silhouette against spilt fire. Smoking in her hand was a little plastic pistol of a simple design that appealed to me. This must have been the girly gun she ’ d shown Blince. I suspected it had no more weight than its reflection in a mirror. The cylinder looked like a toy Curta calculator. No smarts. Then I noticed the novelty lucite handle containing jelly-eating ants, a practice I believe is cruel and unimaginative.
‘ You know, Colt is a gateway to other guns. ’
‘ Where ’ s the kid and the oldster? ’ she asked, walking down the slope with the gun raised. We were having to shout over the mayhem.
‘ To think I brought that funny dog to your attention - the one that wasn ’ t there when you looked. Now you want to postmark my head with a glint pistol. You lied and I burned my throat swallowing it. But I swallowed it, I did that. ’
‘ Why d ’ you think I lied? ’
‘ Came on like a religion. ’
‘ How? ’
‘ Told me a little truth while leaving out some of the things I already knew, then added aliens. ’
‘ I didn ’ t lie. ’
‘ You gave me up. ’
‘ No. They found your rail gun. It was under your pillow. ’
I had put it under the pillow, that much was true.
‘ Think you ’ ll find them with your showy little cowgirl pistol? ’
She thought that over without any obvious embarrassment. ‘ You denied them, ’ she concluded.
She glanced around while still trying to cover me. I didn ’ t make a break for it. I wanted to watch her eyes as she tried to work out what she was evading. What true thing couldn ’ t she afford to believe? It was interesting. She advanced on me, the gun still raised. ‘ Where are they? ’
I opened the front passenger door so she would experience the precision vertigo of seeing a gullwing gap in the centre of a blind spot. ‘ Quick, ’ I said.
She ducked into the passenger seat and I settled behind the wheel. I took my slimline Armani out the glove box and handed it to the Fed. ‘ Give me the purse gun. ’
She frowned. ‘ You kidding? ’
‘ I ’ ll tell you when I am. ’
She gave me the toon pistol. Leaning out the door, I smashed the butt against the ground until the lucite cracked, and mixed the jelly and ants in with the dirt. I sealed the doors and turned back to the old man and the kid. ‘ Are you Heber? ’ I asked the kid. He looked to the old man, turned back to me and nodded, simple. ‘ And you? ’ I asked the old man.
‘ No. ’
‘ What ’ s your name? ’
‘ Ed Novalis. ’
‘ Edna Valis. Never heard the name Edna on a man before. ’
I scrutinised him. His sunburned face was delirium stretched over bone. ‘ Yes, my skull ’ s a barely adequate frame to contain it, ’ he said, startling the hell out of me. But he was amused. It seemed after too long under the bland sun his brain had turned to varnish. He
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