Hao made it better than good, scraping the butt of her Novum along my scalp with a quick jab. It stung, opening up a wound that bled nicely down my cheek, leaving a warm smear, but didn’t get blood into my eyes.

  She might have been crud with a gun, but her brawling skills were great. I added a slow limp to the act, pushing away the instinct that told me to run. Fleeing never helped.

  The Baylen’s tunnel was narrower than the neighboring ones, though still wide enough that we could have driven Tomlin’s trike through. Too bad we’d left it behind.

  I had my Hurmer, hidden inside a bag and strapped tight to my back on a quick-release sling. My foil was on my belt, angled up beneath my jacket as a last resort. Hao’s pellet gun was clearly visible, the close combat sling tensed over her shoulder holding it up, her finger along the trigger. I was betting that whoever guarded the tunnel would notice it first and forget to check me. Probably. A cold drop of sweat ran down my back.

  Our steps echoed. Someone had swept the floor of the passage, blowing away the sand toward the edges. The light here was better than in the other tunnels, a strong, yellowish glare. Up ahead, there was a barricade, a pair of gun shelters, portable steel walls, slightly curved and with firing slits, rocks piled up before them.

  My hands trembled. I clenched them, flexed my fingers. Battle jitters. Hate it.

  “Halt,” an amplified voice said, loud enough for my ears to hurt, not loud enough to engage the sound wards in my stockman, and grating, as if the microphone was cracked. A perfectly annoying noise.

  We halted.

  “What do you want?” said the voice.

  “Got a prisoner for the boss,” Hao said.

  I swayed a bit, like I had trouble standing up.

  “Who?”

  “That trader who’s stirred up all the trouble,” Hao said, shoving me forward with the butt of her gun.

  I stumbled a step forward, my hands still behind my back. If she wanted to shoot me to prove her loyalty, this would be a perfect time. I pushed the thought away.

  “The boss still pay bounties for people who annoy him?” Hao said.

  “Voidmunching crud,” replied the voice. “Rash said you’d gone native, sided with the Jacksonians against him.”

  “Did not,” said Hao.

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  “Prove it!”

  “Sure,” said Hao.

  And then she shot me.

  The pellets struck high on my back, giving me a thump that threw me forward, but not doing any damage, other than burning out one of my wards.

  I let myself collapse, hitting the floor with my shoulder and jerking once, then lying still.

  “Crud,” said the voice. “All right, drop your gun and I’ll help you drag him.”

  “You think I’m a crudmucker to let you barge in on my bounty?” said Hao. “Carry my gun and I’ll drag him.”

  She grabbed me by the arm, hauling me up, got a hold of my belt, and carried me half-swinging off her shoulder. I did my best discarded sock-puppet impersonation. Hao didn’t have any trouble carrying me in the light gravity.

  I let my head loll forward, the brim of my stockman obscuring my face. Gave me a great view of the floor, and not much else.

  The voice turned into a pair of black boots and black tac-pants with bulging pockets. One of them held a flat metal bottle that sloshed with every step. The guards tried to chat, but Hao kept grunting and straining, and they gave up, letting her carry me up the run.

  We arrived at a place that sounded large, with many people talking, voices echoing off of rock. Smelled of motor oil and coffee. Hao dumped me in a heap on the cold floor.

  “Hey, boss,” she yelled, and the closest voices quieted.

  “The prodigal daughter returns,” said Da Baylen. I wished I could see him, but the brim of my hat blocked everything except a sliver of gray stone floor.

  “Got a bounty for you,” said Hao.

  “Nice,” said Da Baylen. I wondered whether he’d seen the hatchling, and knew what he was. “But no longer necessary. Kill them both.”

  Meaning yes, to both my questions.

  I twisted, releasing the Hurmer and letting it swing free as I rose. We were in a large, rectangular room, along the short edge. Gray walls, white biopolymer tables. Like the Tomlin’s but colder. No heating coils. Some twenty people sitting, standing or walking around. Most armed.

  I flicked the Hurmer to full auto and pressed the trigger, starting with the guard walking next to us.

  The Hurmer fired, making a sound like a giant vomiting, and our escort disappeared in a cloud of blood and clothes. I tracked right, spraying pellets across four black-clad guards that had been chatting nearby, holding their rifles casually by their sides. They died before they realized what was happening. I kept firing, pushing the Hurmer in a long arc.

  Time slowed.

  Bullets whacked into my mageshield, wards popping in tiny bursts of magic as they shattered, slivers of cold stabbing my brain. The Hurmer pushed and twitched in my hands. I was on my knees on the rough floor, in the open, not caring.

  The ice was back. My stockman blocked all sounds, leaving me in silence. A stone beneath my right knee dug into my skin. Everything was clear. I had a gun, I was a weapon. Next to me, Hao lay on her stomach, struggling to get the safety off the Chimer. The pistol looked tiny in her hands.

  “Run,” I told her calmly.

  One of Baylen’s troops, a blonde woman with an officer’s gold shoulder tabs, tried to overturn a table for cover. My burst caught her, turning both her and the table to scraps. The Hurmer chimed, the power drained.

  Click. Release pack. Grab spare. Shove. Click.

  A flick on the selector switch, and the Hurmer was in twenty-round-burst mode. The world looked green through the reticle.

  I killed seven more troops before the return fire became sporadic. My wards pulsed with each bullet, shattering. The leather of my jacket grew warm from their discharges. Beside me, Hao had figured out the safety, adding pops to the crash of gunfire.

  Our enemies withdrew, leaving their dead and wounded. I’d failed to kill old man Baylen, but we’d gained the entrance to his complex, bypassed his warpstone guns, and taken down thirteen of his troops.

  I had three defensive wards left.