The wall lit up again as the datalink found a camera.
I was looking down a steel-plated corridor. Black streaks scorched the walls. My eyes needed a moment to realize that the twitching mass at the end of the corridor was a half-melted high-gee suit, its occupant still trying to get the strength to work her arms.
Tension rippled through me.
The deranged DeKalb shuffled into view.
His high-gee suit looked intact, but the smart cloth displayed constantly flickering splashes of color like a bucket of broken rainbows. Each small step had the same looping, swooping manner I’d seen in Tansi and Monard.
One arm cradled a high-intensity plasma cutter. A construction tool, meant to slice through metal in a vacuum.
DeKalb took a step towards the downed Mary Tancer.
Forget protocol.
I tapped
