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Ortega
stood
up
,
needle
in
hand
.
"
Neck
muscles
.
Nice
and
close
to
your
stack
,
case
they
chop
your
head
off
.
"
"
Charming
.
"
I
got
to
my
feet
and
turned
my
back
so
that
she
could
put
the
needle
in
.
There
was
a
brief
spike
of
pain
in
the
cords
of
muscle
at
the
base
of
my
skull
and
then
it
faded
.
Ortega
patted
me
on
the
shoulder
.
"
You
’
re
done
.
Is
he
on
screen
?
"
Davidson
punched
a
couple
of
buttons
and
nodded
in
satisfaction
.
In
front
of
me
,
Bautista
dumped
the
grav
harness
tackle
on
a
seat
.
Ortega
glanced
at
her
watch
and
reached
for
the
second
dermal
.
"
Thirty
-
seven
per
cent
,
"
she
said
.
"
Ready
for
the
Big
Chill
?
"
It
was
like
being
submerged
in
diamonds
.
By
the
time
we
hit
Head
in
the
Clouds
the
drug
had
already
eliminated
most
of
my
emotional
responses
and
everything
had
the
sharp
and
shiny
edges
of
raw
data
.
Clarity
became
a
substance
,
a
film
of
understanding
that
coated
all
I
saw
and
heard
around
me
.
The
stealth
suit
and
the
grav
harness
felt
like
samurai
armour
and
when
I
drew
the
stungun
from
its
sheath
to
check
the
settings
,
I
could
feel
the
charge
coiled
in
it
like
a
tangible
thing
.
It
was
the
single
forgiving
phrase
in
the
syntax
of
weaponry
I
had
strapped
about
me
.
The
rest
were
unequivocal
sentences
of
death
.
The
shard
pistol
,
spider
venom
loaded
,
snugged
across
my
lower
ribs
opposite
the
stunner
.
I
dialled
the
muzzle
aperture
to
wide
.
At
five
metres
,
it
would
take
down
a
roomful
of
opponents
with
a
single
shot
,
with
no
recoil
and
in
complete
silence
.
Sarah
Sachilowska
says
Hi
.
