Marooned in Realtime (Peace War Book 2) by Vernor Vinge

Author:Vernor Vinge [Vinge, Vernor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2004-10-01T04:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

Something flashed in the air above Wil, and his legs went numb. He went down, just short of where the Kid had been standing. Even as the breath smashed out of him, he was trying to get back to his knees. It was no good. He snorted blood, and rational thought resumed. Someone had stungunned him.

Around him there was shouting and people were still backing away, unsure if his berserker charge might continue. The game had broken off; the glowball’s light was steady and unmoving. Wil touched his nose; bloodied but unbroken.

When he twisted back onto his elbows, the babble quieted.

Steve Fraley walked toward him, a wide grin on his face. “My, my, Inspector. Getting a little carried away, aren’t you? I thought you were cooler than that. You, of all people, should know that we can’t support the old grudges.” As he got closer, Wil had to strain to look up at his face. Wil gave up and lowered his head. Beyond the NM President, at the limit of the glowball’s illumination, he saw the Kid puking on the grass.

Fraley stepped close to the fallen Brierson, his sport shoes filling most of the near view. Wil wondered what it would be like to get one of those shoes in the face—and somehow he was sure that Steve was wondering the same thing.

“President Fraley.” Yelén’s voice spoke from somewhere above. “I certainly agree with you about grudges.”

“Um, yes.” Fraley retreated a couple of steps. When he spoke, it sounded as if he were looking upwards. “Thanks for stunning him, Ms. Korolev. Perhaps it’s for the best that this happened. I think it’s time you realized who you can trust to behave responsibly—and who you cannot.”

Yelén did not reply. Several seconds passed. There was quiet conversation around him. He heard footsteps approach, then Tunç Blumenthal’s voice. “We just want to move him away from the crowd, Yelén, give him a chance to get his legs back. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Blumenthal helped Wil roll onto his back, then picked him up under the shoulders. Looking around, Wil saw that Rohan Dasgupta had grabbed his legs. But all Wil could feel was Blumenthal’s hands; his legs were still dead meat. The two lugged him away from the light and the crowd. It was a struggle for the slender Rohan. Every few steps, Wil’s rear dragged on the ground, a noise without sensation.

Finally, it was dark all around. They set him down, his back against a large boulder. The courts and bonfires were pools of light clustered below them. Blumenthal sat on his heels beside Wil. “Soon as you feel a tingling in those legs, I suggest you try walking, Wil Brierson. You’ll have less an ache that way.”

Wil nodded. It was the usual advice to stungun victims, at least when the heart wasn’t involved.

“My God, Wil, what happened?” Curiosity struggled with embarrassment in Rohan’s voice.

Brierson took a deep breath; the embers of his rage still glowed. “You’ve never seen me blow my stack, is that it, Rohan?” The world was so empty.

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