The Janus Syndrome | Page 3

me, I'd be as dead as a dog
I'd seen run down in Columbia, Missouri on the way here.
There was a low plopping sound, like corks being pulled from wine
bottles. A needlegun. That had to be Kerry; either someone had warned
her or she'd come to the conclusion that she needed extra-powerful
weaponry, and had gotten it somehow.
And I was supposed to be the reinforcements.
I didn't like Area Fourteen's jokes.
At least Kerry would distract the other hit man, even if she didn't kill
him. The other one was dead for sure; a punch in the throat doesn't lend
itself to survival on the part of the victim.
I peered cautiously from my cover. I could barely see Kerry; she was

hidden behind the seats. And the only way I could judge where the hit
man was hiding was from the direction of his beams.
One of the seats flared up.
I pulled back, wondering what to do. Kerry had all the weaponry, and I
couldn't risk making a break for the corpse out in the main area, if it
was still there.
Somebody would have called the cops, and they'd be in easy reach of
the place. And I'd be an easy target.
Kerry solved the problem with a fast group of needles. There was a yell,
then a thud and clatter.
I checked, carefully. Kerry was rising from behind the burned seats, her
gun held in both small hands, turning in a slow circle, scanning the area,
ready to fire. She was still wearing her shoulder-bag.
The other body would be gone by now, teleported away. Enemy never
leave their losers lying around.
I broke my cover and started jogging out; I'd have to retrieve my bags,
join Kerry, and then get out of this place. There'd probably be more
Enemy hanging around to make sure, and getting us to someplace safe
so she could hand me a Bullet transporter was going to be the hard part.
As I started across the terminal building toward her, I looked down
toward the entrance. A group of cops was on its way toward us, at a fast
trot, guns at the ready.
I signaled Kerry with a wave; there was a parking lot behind the
building, and a nearby exit. Area Fourteen was going to have to sort out
the mess himself -- he'd gotten us into it, and I was damned if I was
going to get screwed trying to clear it up myself.
Kerry dropped her gun back into her bag and signaled that she'd meet
me on the outside. I followed her reasoning. She was closer to another

exit.
She started running, and I started to change direction.
And the third man started firing.
A tight shot caught Kerry in her left shoulder, flaring her jacket up. She
screamed and lost her balance, hitting the floor hard.
I had a flash of the dead dog.
People started hitting the floor again -- something I'd thought they did
only in New York City -- and I skidded around, almost losing my
balance, starting toward Kerry.
She made it up from the floor just in time to avoid another shot. The
beam singed her jacket as she staggered away.
I dived behind the row of seats that she'd left, and rolled, flattening.
Three shots struck the row, making the plastic bubble, throwing up
dark, oily smoke that made my eyes tear; I gagged. Kerry was almost at
the exit; as I watched, she stumbled and hit the doors with her good
arm thrown out. Her aim was good enough; her hand contacted metal
instead of glass, and pushed the doors open as she fell through.
She'd be safe enough on the other side, if she stayed behind concrete.
My turn now.
I came up and started running, zig-zagging. I knew where the sniper
was now, behind the ticket desks, under plenty of cover. He could keep
moving about to prevent being shot down before he completed his
mission.
I heard sounds of firing as I closed on the doors, and blessed a couple
of thousand fates. I'd forgotten the cops when Kerry had been hit; they
were unwittingly creating a distraction.
I hit the door, my arms held out, and stumbled through, slipping on the

damp concrete. It had been raining when I came into St. Louis; I'd been
looking for the Arch, but hadn't seen much.
I rolled as I hit the concrete sidewalk, pulled into the wall, and crawled
along it until I reached Kerry. I felt silly, but if anyone wanted to use
me for target practice, they'd have one hell of an awkward target.
Kerry was slumped against the wall; her needlegun was back in her
hand. She was using her gun hand to