Terraplane by Jack Womack

fade, shaking his head as if awakening and still finding
himself within his dream. His voice returned before he did.
    "Women's rapists try all patience, Luther. Forgive overzealotry."
    "Was robber," she said; whipping round, she fisted him true at
mouthcorner. "Not rapist. I handle you as well."
    Red constellations spotted Jake's pure white; small, but compact,
she slung mean. My mind blanked with instinct; vizzing our
objective slipping through our grasp through in-house action,
once Jake's temper reseized, I threw myself between them before he
might respond.
    "No, Jake, calm-!" Heaving me floorways, sidestepping, he
seized her, yanking her close, pressing her against him. As he unclasped, she spat. Ineffable peace lit his wet face from within,
and as he closed his eyes, he smiled, his face reddening beneath its
glisten. Ungatherable Georgian obscenities fluttered from her
mouth like bats from a cave in the night. Jake rounded her armways, holding fast. Skuratov stared on, as if watching a gameshow,

    "Priyatno. English, please, Miss Osipova," he cheerfully said,
wiping shoes free of the mess with which they had been splattered.
"American friends possess little fluency in such vernacular."
    "Chort!" She banged feet against Jake's knees; he took her
upward, ungrounding her.
    "Ah," said Skuratov, paying respect to Jake's takeaway. "The boy
next door."
    "Rip him raw," Jake said, bloodfuried anew
    "You did, Jake," I said. "Possibly he's not so local, Mal. Krasnaya
running deep water, or worse."
    "I'll examine," said Skuratov, dropping to his knees, drawing
away the fellow's shirt to onceover the left arm's underskin. Evidence received awared that Dream Team members wore tattoos;
images of a softedged cloud overlain with an everstaring eye.
    "What is wanted?" she screamed, serving English laced with
heavy accent's spice. "Go begone."
    "Be peaceful during playtime," said Skuratov, not looking up.
    "Zhrini sapozhnik!"
    'Are sedatives wished?" Jake asked; she caught his nose with the
back of her skull, but he still smiled, and stroked her waist as he
gripped her. While Skuratov pawed the lost one's belongings, I
bug-ran; nothing showed.
    "Nullified the first morning here," she said, seeing my actions.
"Americans expect constant stupidity from Russians?"
    "Friend of deceased?" asked Skuratov.
    "When soot is white." Driving elbows into Jake's sides, loosening his hold; pitching forward, she butted me chestways with
enormous force, employing those powerful legs and shoulders,
staggering me. Jake, wrenching her arms behind her back, applied
the cuffs he carried. 'Al, bolit!" she screamed as he drew his
bracelets tight against her wrists. He clasped her once more, focusing eyes on hers; as if reacting as bird to snake, she settled at
once. My heart's normal rhythm recovered from its forced solo.

    "Pacify or we'll ride rougher roads," he said. "Sorry but true."
    "Luther," said Skuratov, his mood unchanged, as if nothing
more had occurred around him than a change of weather. `As
judged. Identifications prove him to be ex-army. Lives-lived, to
be most accurate-three buildings down. A local alone. A zhid,
undoubted, judging from patronym. No surprise."
    "Unmarked even in protective mode?" I asked. "Not Dream
Team?"
    "Freebooter," he said. "Nothing more."
    "Why do you khulighani bother me?" Oktobriana asked, her
face's excess color draining. She looked so young but for her slightslanted eyes; wrinkled bags dropped below her lower lids, weighed
her uppers down. "I am facilitator. I don't retain substance."
    "Does snow retain water?" asked Skuratov. "You are great with
substance. "
    "There is nothing I can do for you. Please leave me. I wish
aloneness. "
    "We wish good company. Sound of voice holds ring of truth. But
let us see for sure. " He depocketed a small red box; on its surface was
a smaller screen. As he shoved it against her cheek lights flashed; she
cringed, as if its touch burned. "Stress