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. I pressed my helmet to Gwen's. "Is that all of them?"
She jabbed me hard in the side. I turned. A helmeted head was just
appearing in the lefthand door. I lined up my cane and punched a starred hole in
his face plate; he disappeared. I hopped on somebody's feet and looked out-no
more on the left-turned, and here was another one climbing up through the
righthand door. So I shot him-
Correction: I tried to shoot him. No more ammo. I fell toward him, jabbing
with my cane. He grabbed the end of it and that was his mistake, as I pulled on
it, exposing twenty centimeters of Sheffield steel, which I sank into his suit
and between his ribs. I pulled it out, shoved it into him again. That stiletto,
a mere half-centimeter width of triangular blade, blood-grooved three sides,
does not necessarily kill quickly but my second jab would hold his attention
while he died, keep him too busy to kill me.
He collapsed, half inside the door, and let go the scabbard part of my
cane. I retrieved it, fitted it back on. Then I shoved him out, grabbed on to
the seat nearest me, and pulled myself up onto my foot, took care of a minor
annoyance, hopped back to my seat, and sat down. I was tired, although the whole
fracas could not have lasted more than two or three minutes. It's the
adrenaline-I always feel exhausted afterward.
That was the end of it, and a good thing, too, as both Gwen and I were out
of ammo, utterly, and I can't use that concealed blade trick more than once-it
works only if you can lure your opponent into grabbing the ferrule of your
walking stick
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