a mannequin’s featureless face.
Sword held high, Kuhn turned, looking for one of the suits to come at him. None of them moved. Come on...come on!
He lashed out at another suit nearest to him, this one a simpler, unadorned collection of steel armor. It, too, went over in a clatter of metal and mannequin limbs. Kuhn turned to the next one, only to find it had stepped off its dais and was coming right at him.
Stengrave rushed him like a striker charging for a loose ball—a striker sheathed in sixty pounds of metal.
Kuhn didn’t even think about trying to get his sword up—he just leaped out of the way. Stengrave didn’t change course or attempt to stop, however, he just kept going, only slowing once he’d reached the sword rack. Grabbing a heavy-bladed Walloon sword by its basket hilt, he whirled, slashing out with it in a move that would have sliced Kuhn’s chest open if it had connected.
The younger man, however, wasn’t there anymore. He’d gotten up and backed away, sword held out in front of him. Now armed, the six-foot-five Stengrave regarded him for a moment from inside a visored basinet that covered his entire head. Stengrave raised his sword in front of him in a brief but sincere salute, then began advancing on the smaller man.
Kuhn stepped back and then did so again. His foot brushed against a helmet that had fallen off one of the other suits, and he reached down, groping blindly for it, as he dared not take his eyes off his attacker. Stengrave kept coming, and just when Kuhn thought he’d have to abandon the piece, his fingers gripped an edge and he grabbed the helmet and whipped it up at Stengrave.
He’d thrown it in his opponent’s general direction, so the programmer was surprised to see his improvised missile clang into Stengrave’s helmet, throwing the man off course for a moment. Seizing the opportunity, Kuhn didn’t follow up with an attack, but instead darted off deeper into the hallway, trying to find a place to hide and hopefully figure out some way to take the armored man by surprise.
Despite the odds against him, Kuhn hadn’t felt this alive in years. Also, from what he had seen, he thought he might actually have a chance to take the other man. Stengrave’s closed-face helmet protected him, but it also limited his vision to a tiny strip right in front of his eyes. Plus, as the helmet was attached to the rest of the armor, it didn’t allow him to turn his head! Finally, there were many places where he wasn’t nearly as heavily armored, like his neck, elbow and knee joints.
If I can just take him by surprise, I might be able to pull this off, Kuhn thought. And I think I know exactly how...
Hiding behind the last suit of armor near the far door, he tried to get his breathing under control as he peeked out just enough to locate Stengrave. The bigger man had returned to the middle of the hallway, standing a few steps away from the rack of swords. Although he was looking around, Kuhn’s evaluation of his helmet was correct—Stengrave couldn’t turn his head. He ran through his plan one more time in his mind. Here goes...
He shoved the armor he was hiding behind over as hard as he could, counting on the movement to attract his boss’s attention. The moment he felt it tip, he ducked and ran, keeping low, down the row to the suit of armor closest to Stengrave.
The falling suit hit the floor with a clatter. Kuhn didn’t wait for Stengrave’s reaction, but shoved the suit he was standing behind over, as well, straight at the big man. His plan was to follow that up with an attack, hoping to injure the other man as he dodged the falling armor.
It wasn’t a bad plan, and went off more or less as he had planned it. The only trouble was that Stengrave ended up facing Kuhn to fend off the falling armor, and as such, saw the smaller man coming at him. Already committed, Kuhn kept going, even as Stengrave sidestepped the second distraction. Kuhn angled over to the other man’s left side, where his sword wasn’t, already raising his sword to swing down at the armored man’s left knee, hoping to chop into the joint and maim him.
Kuhn wasn’t exactly sure what happened next. As he started bringing his sword down he caught a blur of movement from Stengrave out of the corner of his eye, then it felt as though he had run into a horizontal railing with such force it knocked the breath out of him. He kept moving forward, his sword forgotten in his hand, even as he felt a strange pressure on his chest, which was gone as soon as he’d sensed it. He stumbled a bit, falling to one knee. Sensing that something wasn’t right here... Where did all this...blood come from? he wondered as he stared down at the pattering of droplets on the floor in front of him. With a gasp, he realized the front of his shirt wasn’t indigo anymore, but black...black with wet, fresh blood.
Oh, my God... A long, horizontal tear had cut his shirt in two. Kuhn moved numbing fingers up to pull the top part away, revealing a long slash across his stomach, through the abdominal wall lining and into his abdomen. With mounting horror, he thought he saw the pinkish-gray of his own intestines as he fell backward to sit on the ground. Blood was everywhere, on his hand, in his pants, covering his shoes. Oddly, there was no pain, which surprised him, as he would have thought being sliced open this way would have hurt like a son of a bitch.
Kuhn’s sword dropped from his other hand as a wave of weakness crashed over him. Dumbly, he looked up to see Stengrave looming over him. The owner of Stengrave Industries had raised his visor and now stared down at Kuhn with cold, slate-gray eyes. His face looked as if it might as well have been carved from granite. Again, he raised the sword, its edge now covered in blood, to salute him.
“You lasted longer than I expected. Farväl.”
Drawing the sword back, he swung it forward and down, the heavy blade slicing through Kuhn’s neck and spinal cord, and cutting off his head. It rolled to the ground while the jet of blood that spurted from the stump was already subsiding as the body fell backward to the floor.
* * *
KRISTIAN STENGRAVE REGARDED the body of his former employee as dispassionately as he did most of his investments. The strongest feeling he would admit to at the moment was annoyance—annoyance that someone in his employ, whom he had spent considerable resources to retain and improve—would have turned on him for such a base reason as money. It was only through the most fortunate circumstance that the hapless programmer hadn’t realized the true value of what he was stealing. If he had, then anyone he would have come in contact with, from his minders at the other company, to his family, would have had to have been killed, as well. Secrecy was simply that vital for his largest project, one that would irrevocably alter the world as humanity knew it.
Stengrave cleaned his sword and set it back on the rack before unstrapping his helmet and removing it, revealing sweaty, white-blond hair that fell to his shoulders. He tapped his wireless earpiece. “It’s done.”
The door at the far end of the hallway opened and a whip-thin man with a shaved head entered. Dressed in an impeccable three-piece dark gray suit, he walked to Stengrave, careful not to get any blood on his handmade shoes. “I sure hope that isn’t the severance package you have planned for me.” His voice held the smooth, supple tones of a top-class British education.
“Do not betray me, Mr. Firke, and you will never have to find out,” Stengrave replied, not taking his eyes off the body. “Have this hallway restored, and set up the accident as we had discussed.”
“Of course, sir.” The second man eyed the head with pursed lips. “I suppose there wasn’t any way you could have avoided beheading him, perhaps? That will make it more difficult to, uh, disguise his condition.”
“He deserved an honorable death. Just make it happen.”
“Of
