Faces peered out into darkness.
I stared into the timestone I still wore on my left hand, letting its warmth fill my mind. I was going to need its help. Eventually the varks would spot me.
I twisted to the right. A pulsar beam cracked the air where I’d been a moment before, just as the timestone had warned me it would. More beams flashed past, barely missing me. Even with the timestone’s help, it was hard to dodge the beams of six hand pulsars taking target practice at me. But without the timestone, it would not have been possible.
I think I could have made it if the stone had not betrayed me. I was almost out of range of their handguns. In a few more seconds, I would have been. Then an image came unbidden to my mind, I tried to push it back to the depths of the timestone and found I could not. A face filled my mind’s eye—my face, frozen solid, eyes bursting from ice inside them, teeth shattered from the cold, skin covered with frost as delicate as white fungus. I could not look away. The death mask pushed away the images of pulsar beams I should have been concentrating on.
Pulsar quanta came closer. The air cracked with their ionization energy. Then there was a different sound—a splattering sound, like a red-hot brand drenched in water. Only I had my left hand around that brand. I could not let go.
Suddenly the face in my mind was gone. But so were all the other images. Cold vacuum sucked at my mind.
I looked at my left hand. It wasn’t there. All I could see was the fading contrail of a pulsar beam and a puff of vapor already dissipating into the wind. A sphere of white smoke was all that remained of my hand. And of the timestone. It also was vapor.
My cape had fallen off my wrist and flapped free. I couldn’t grab it with a bloody stump. Damn annoying. With only three anchors, the wing had lost considerable lift and was uncontrollable. I fell to earth in a tight spiral. Below me were ski runs winding down through dark forest like lava flows. I tried to maneuver myself over one of the slopes. I was going to hit hard. Maybe the snow would soften my impact.
Then I remembered my death mask. I was destined to freeze to death. I would die in ice. That grim, unwanted knowledge was now mine. I wondered if I should head for the trees instead.
Glowing snow neared. Would it be here, now? Would I freeze on the ski slope before the varks found me, buried in synthetic snow? Maybe, But there wasn’t much I could do. If I went into the trees I’d be killed for sure. I didn’t need a timestone to know that. A steep, snow-covered slope was close beneath. I bent my legs and turned upright in the air. Dogs, I was going fast. This was going to hurt.
As I hit, I rolIed forward. Snow exploded around me. I almost chuckled from a wry thought. I knew I would survive the impact. The timestone had told me as much. The only question was whether or not I would freeze to death in the snow afterward.
I felt a sharp crack on my head. Darkness closed over me. I might not ever know that answer.
* * *
I didn’t freeze to death. You knew that I woke in a hospital bed, sore all over. There was no serious damage. In a few days, I was transferred to jail. A few more days, and my trial began. You probably remember it. The holos had a lot of fun with me: scion son of nobility, playboy gambler, daring master thief. The networks went out of their way to show all the robberies I’d committed that had completely baffled the varks. They loved making the authorities out to be buffoons. The public loved watching it. I became a media event for the few days of my trial.
Of course I was found guilty. But only for one count of fraud against the Bank of Telluride. They couldn’t prove anything else. And they didn’t know how I’d siphoned off millions from the bank. The prosecution’s star witness was Major Michele Kramr, on loan to the varks from the Intelligence Corps. I almost crapped when I found that out, remembering that I’d once
I stared into the timestone I still wore on my left hand, letting its warmth fill my mind. I was going to need its help. Eventually the varks would spot me.
I twisted to the right. A pulsar beam cracked the air where I’d been a moment before, just as the timestone had warned me it would. More beams flashed past, barely missing me. Even with the timestone’s help, it was hard to dodge the beams of six hand pulsars taking target practice at me. But without the timestone, it would not have been possible.
I think I could have made it if the stone had not betrayed me. I was almost out of range of their handguns. In a few more seconds, I would have been. Then an image came unbidden to my mind, I tried to push it back to the depths of the timestone and found I could not. A face filled my mind’s eye—my face, frozen solid, eyes bursting from ice inside them, teeth shattered from the cold, skin covered with frost as delicate as white fungus. I could not look away. The death mask pushed away the images of pulsar beams I should have been concentrating on.
Pulsar quanta came closer. The air cracked with their ionization energy. Then there was a different sound—a splattering sound, like a red-hot brand drenched in water. Only I had my left hand around that brand. I could not let go.
Suddenly the face in my mind was gone. But so were all the other images. Cold vacuum sucked at my mind.
I looked at my left hand. It wasn’t there. All I could see was the fading contrail of a pulsar beam and a puff of vapor already dissipating into the wind. A sphere of white smoke was all that remained of my hand. And of the timestone. It also was vapor.
My cape had fallen off my wrist and flapped free. I couldn’t grab it with a bloody stump. Damn annoying. With only three anchors, the wing had lost considerable lift and was uncontrollable. I fell to earth in a tight spiral. Below me were ski runs winding down through dark forest like lava flows. I tried to maneuver myself over one of the slopes. I was going to hit hard. Maybe the snow would soften my impact.
Then I remembered my death mask. I was destined to freeze to death. I would die in ice. That grim, unwanted knowledge was now mine. I wondered if I should head for the trees instead.
Glowing snow neared. Would it be here, now? Would I freeze on the ski slope before the varks found me, buried in synthetic snow? Maybe, But there wasn’t much I could do. If I went into the trees I’d be killed for sure. I didn’t need a timestone to know that. A steep, snow-covered slope was close beneath. I bent my legs and turned upright in the air. Dogs, I was going fast. This was going to hurt.
As I hit, I rolIed forward. Snow exploded around me. I almost chuckled from a wry thought. I knew I would survive the impact. The timestone had told me as much. The only question was whether or not I would freeze to death in the snow afterward.
I felt a sharp crack on my head. Darkness closed over me. I might not ever know that answer.
* * *
I didn’t freeze to death. You knew that I woke in a hospital bed, sore all over. There was no serious damage. In a few days, I was transferred to jail. A few more days, and my trial began. You probably remember it. The holos had a lot of fun with me: scion son of nobility, playboy gambler, daring master thief. The networks went out of their way to show all the robberies I’d committed that had completely baffled the varks. They loved making the authorities out to be buffoons. The public loved watching it. I became a media event for the few days of my trial.
Of course I was found guilty. But only for one count of fraud against the Bank of Telluride. They couldn’t prove anything else. And they didn’t know how I’d siphoned off millions from the bank. The prosecution’s star witness was Major Michele Kramr, on loan to the varks from the Intelligence Corps. I almost crapped when I found that out, remembering that I’d once
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