“What? Good Lord!” She moved closer. “Ben, can you hear me?”
The biologist didn"t answer.
She loosened his tie. “Look, Ben—this wasn’t your fault. You know that, don’t you? This wasn’t your fault!”
He started to convulse.
“No!” She turned toward Oberon. “We’ve got to get him to a hospi—”
She stopped in mid-sentence. Oberon was gone.
––––––––
“Hold out your hands,” said Oberon, reaching into his truck. The red Ford Ranger was parked askew by the shattered remains of the Institute"s front doors. Its motor idled; Nimson was inside.
Jan held out her hands. Oberon laid a rifle in them.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“That—” He stared at her from the shadow of his hat"s brim, “May be all that stands between you and Napoleon if he returns. Have you ever used one?”
She shook her head, soberi
