The Zael Inheritance by Tim Stretton

Author:Tim Stretton [Stretton, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BattleCat Press
Published: 2024-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

thirteen

Lamarck felt a pain in his right shoulder. He flexed it and that hurt more, so he abandoned the tactic. Gently he opened his eyes, and became aware that he was lying on his back; and in the street.

Slowly he began to remember: he had been shot, and passed out. He did not know how long he had been unconscious, and he quickly looked around to make sure that he was no longer in danger. The street was empty and he eased himself to his feet. It was, he realised, the first time he had been shot, and he was not eager to repeat the experience.

Summoning an auto-tram on his personal com, he settled down to wait and assess the extent of his injuries. The shoulder hurt but the wound, though bloody, appeared fairly superficial. There seemed nothing that could not be remedied in the Genix medical laboratories. Grimacing as he stepped on to the auto-tram, he tried to tell himself that pain was all in the mind. His shoulder could be mended, and easily enough; it was the damage to his jacket that was irreparable.

He arrived back at Genix headquarters, fortuitously enough the site of a superior medical facility as well as the scene of the crime, to find most of the crowd dispersed. Voorhies was sitting on a seat with her arms around a quietly sobbing Nina. Dr Mamoulian lay ominously in the position he had last seen her, and from the negligent attitude of the medical personnel Lamarck deduced that her wounds went beyond serious.

“If you have a couple of minutes, gentleman,” he said to the medical technicians, “I require attention.”

The Genix operatives showed little enthusiasm and strolled over to Lamarck with the air of men who had seen worse. Lamarck felt that, skilled medics as they were, their interpersonal skills required attention.

Voorhies looked up at the sound of Lamarck’s voice.

“Geir!” she called. “Are you all right?’”

Lamarck summoned his dryest grin. “It’s only a scratch,” he drawled. “But he got away. What did I miss?”

“The start of a murder enquiry. Narosyn is looking after it,” she said, gesturing to where the snoop was already taking witness statements.

“Hello, Maroc,” he said. “I suppose you want to interview me.”

“There were at least twenty people who saw what happened,” he said, “and none of them seems able to give a coherent account.”

“It looked to me as if he stabbed her. He did not want to use a pulse-gun, although he had one– “ here Lamarck indicated his shoulder “– because he was in a crowd and he hoped to get away before anyone realised what had happened.”

“A professional,” said Narosyn.

“Yes. He stabbed her, ran off, and when he realised he couldn’t outrun me he shot me instead. He didn’t even bother to kill me; it would have been unnecessary effort. And if I hadn’t happened to be on hand he wouldn’t even have had to break sweat.”

“Voorhies says this is wrapped up with the Glyde case. Can you think of

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