holster under his arm. A smaller man sprinted out into traffic, heading for the ork girl.
Cursing the power window for its slowness, Carla stuck her head out the opening. "Pita!" she cried. "This way!"
The girl hesitated no more than a millisecond, then sprinted for the car. The man chasing her changed direction, angling across the street to intercept her. A car narrowly missed him, honking furiously. But he was gaining on the girl.
Masaki had thrown their car into reverse. It jerked backward, wheels spinning.
"What are you doing?" Carla screamed. "Wait for the girl!"
Masaki was wheezing heavily, obviously scared. His pudgy hands were white on the steering wheel. He shook his head, eyes wide. "That guy’s got a gun! Close the window before he shoots!"
Instead, Carla cracked the car door. The force of the backward acceleration made it slam open. She leaned out, reaching for Pita, who by now was running alongside the vehicle. One hand on the door, the other on the wrist of the ork girl, Carla yanked. At the same time, Pita jumped, knocking Carla back into the car.
The man chasing Pita, a willowy Asian fellow, was barely a few steps behind her. His face was set in a determined grimace. Something snaked out from the gun he held in his hand, licking against Carla’s wrist with a hot electric snap. A wave of pain coursed through her as her body convulsed. For a moment or two, the world spun. Or perhaps it was the car. They were whipping around in a tight backward turn, leaving the man with the taser behind. The corner of the open car door caught his shirt, tearing it open and spinning him around. Then the car was rocketing forward, away from the spot where the pirate reporter had been gunned down. Something heavy was in Carla’s lap —the ork girl, she remembered fuzzily. The car door thudded shut. Then the kid clambered into the back seat.
Carla shook her head to clear it. Her right wrist was on fire; looking down she saw a bright white circle on the back of it. She blinked, testing the focus on her cybereye. The response time of the miniature camera inside it was a fraction of a second too slow, but the unit appeared to be undamaged. She hoped it had caught a good, clean shot of her assailant. If this story panned out, she could probably use it.
Beside her, Masaki was cursing steadily, sweat rolling down his temples. His moustache and goatee framed white lips. He was at last ignoring the speeding limit, running lights and driving with terrified determination.
The ork girl sat in the back seat, pounding a fist against the upholstery. "Fragging cops!" Her voice held an edge of hysteria. "Fragging, fragging bastards!"
"Did you see that guy’s shoulders?" Masaki asked in a low voice, his eyes darting to the rear-view mirror. "They were covered with tattoos. Those weren’t cops. They were yakuza. I hope to drek they didn’t get my license bar code, or we’re all dead."
"Yakuza? But what would they want with me?" The girl twisted around to glance fearfully out the rear window. "They killed Yao, didn’t they? They must have been aiming at me."
Carla turned her anger on Masaki. "You’re not helping!" she told him. "And slow down. There’s no one following us."
She turned to the girl, who now sat with her arms wrapped around her chest, hunched into herself. Carla took a moment to compose herself, then spoke in a soothing voice. "Everything’s all right now, Pita. We’ll take you back to the station. The building has a tight security system; you’ll be safe there."
Carla took a breath, brushing her hair back into place with one hand. Her heart was still beating rapidly, but whether it was from fear or excitement, she couldn’t tell.
Things were falling into place now. Somehow, Mitsuhama must have found out that the ork girl had acquired the datachip containing the specs of the research project and had sent its goons out after her —apparently the rumors that someone at MCT Seattle had connections with the
Cursing the power window for its slowness, Carla stuck her head out the opening. "Pita!" she cried. "This way!"
The girl hesitated no more than a millisecond, then sprinted for the car. The man chasing her changed direction, angling across the street to intercept her. A car narrowly missed him, honking furiously. But he was gaining on the girl.
Masaki had thrown their car into reverse. It jerked backward, wheels spinning.
"What are you doing?" Carla screamed. "Wait for the girl!"
Masaki was wheezing heavily, obviously scared. His pudgy hands were white on the steering wheel. He shook his head, eyes wide. "That guy’s got a gun! Close the window before he shoots!"
Instead, Carla cracked the car door. The force of the backward acceleration made it slam open. She leaned out, reaching for Pita, who by now was running alongside the vehicle. One hand on the door, the other on the wrist of the ork girl, Carla yanked. At the same time, Pita jumped, knocking Carla back into the car.
The man chasing Pita, a willowy Asian fellow, was barely a few steps behind her. His face was set in a determined grimace. Something snaked out from the gun he held in his hand, licking against Carla’s wrist with a hot electric snap. A wave of pain coursed through her as her body convulsed. For a moment or two, the world spun. Or perhaps it was the car. They were whipping around in a tight backward turn, leaving the man with the taser behind. The corner of the open car door caught his shirt, tearing it open and spinning him around. Then the car was rocketing forward, away from the spot where the pirate reporter had been gunned down. Something heavy was in Carla’s lap —the ork girl, she remembered fuzzily. The car door thudded shut. Then the kid clambered into the back seat.
Carla shook her head to clear it. Her right wrist was on fire; looking down she saw a bright white circle on the back of it. She blinked, testing the focus on her cybereye. The response time of the miniature camera inside it was a fraction of a second too slow, but the unit appeared to be undamaged. She hoped it had caught a good, clean shot of her assailant. If this story panned out, she could probably use it.
Beside her, Masaki was cursing steadily, sweat rolling down his temples. His moustache and goatee framed white lips. He was at last ignoring the speeding limit, running lights and driving with terrified determination.
The ork girl sat in the back seat, pounding a fist against the upholstery. "Fragging cops!" Her voice held an edge of hysteria. "Fragging, fragging bastards!"
"Did you see that guy’s shoulders?" Masaki asked in a low voice, his eyes darting to the rear-view mirror. "They were covered with tattoos. Those weren’t cops. They were yakuza. I hope to drek they didn’t get my license bar code, or we’re all dead."
"Yakuza? But what would they want with me?" The girl twisted around to glance fearfully out the rear window. "They killed Yao, didn’t they? They must have been aiming at me."
Carla turned her anger on Masaki. "You’re not helping!" she told him. "And slow down. There’s no one following us."
She turned to the girl, who now sat with her arms wrapped around her chest, hunched into herself. Carla took a moment to compose herself, then spoke in a soothing voice. "Everything’s all right now, Pita. We’ll take you back to the station. The building has a tight security system; you’ll be safe there."
Carla took a breath, brushing her hair back into place with one hand. Her heart was still beating rapidly, but whether it was from fear or excitement, she couldn’t tell.
Things were falling into place now. Somehow, Mitsuhama must have found out that the ork girl had acquired the datachip containing the specs of the research project and had sent its goons out after her —apparently the rumors that someone at MCT Seattle had connections with the
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