Lazarus Rising

1.18 Old Enemies

Cheyenne was banking on the marksman having seen the type of gun she was holding through his sighting equipment. At this range he would know she was hopelessly outgunned and that if she was correct that would have encouraged him to show himself. She'd been right.

She swiftly slipped Jamek's pistol back into its pouch on her arm and bought out the bulky PolAr. Cheyenne knew the minute he saw what she had in her hand and realised what it meant he would need to stop her, and stop her quickly. She'd deliberately laid out flat in her approach to the pod, offering up such a low profile it meant he would have to take his time to aim to kill her before she got too close

Cheyenne held her breath as she watched him steady himself. He pushed the stock firmly into shoulder and a short flame erupted from the rifle's mussel. She waited for the impact of the bullet and then exhaled. With his opening shot he'd missed her. He aimed again. She waited for the flame. It didn't come. He quickly dropped the rifle down and checked the clip. He'd run out of ammunition.

Across the gap a strange impression came to her. She could sense his emotions, like the heat from a blown ember in a fire radiating out to her. She could feel his rising panic, feel his confidence waning. Moments ago he'd been in control, ready to take to his pod, his task accomplished. But now a seed of doubt had sown itself in his mind. Earlier, he'd shot her, he was sure of it but here she was, back again and this time she had some serious firepower. Alarmed by her re-appearance, he tore the empty clip from his rifle, discarding it to float off behind him before he reached into the ammo band clamped to his chest. He fumbled out a new clip in his gloved hands and hurriedly tried to push it into place.

As Cheyenne raised the PolAr, a coolness of thought ran through her. She just had to wait a few seconds until she knew she was close enough to use it. His movements were jerky and rushed. He managed to force the new clip into place and without kneeling he swiftly lifted the gun and took aim.

His next shot was way off, she could see from the angle of the barrel he'd totally lost his composure. As his steadied his rifle to re-aim, she had the PolAr levelled on him. She could feel his urgency, his desire to stop her. But it was too late and he knew it. He stumbled backwards and raised a hand almost in an attempt to deflect a premonition of what was about to happen. Her grasp tightened on the PolAr. She was now closer, at this distance aim wasn't too important, not like his gun which demanded a high degree of skill to use. With the PolAr she just had to get it in roughly the right position and shoot. She pulled the trigger

Her hand lashed back with the force of the shot. A blaze of energy seethed across the gap. An arc of blinding whiteness consumed the recoiling figure. In an instant he disappeared and a huge burning red circle hole appeared in the structure where he'd been standing. Jagged chunks of metal flew off in all directions, clouds of escaping gases filled the area where he'd been in an impenetrable soup of swirling vapours. A swarm of ruby blood globules raced up and pattered across her visor in a series of red streaks leaving her looking at what appeared to be a nightmarish abstract painting. In an attempt to clear it away she dragged her hand across the visor leaving a series of long red smears in its wake. Seeing a chunk of metal spinning lazily toward her Cheyenne reached out to push it to one side. It was the one half of the rifle. Cut in two, one end was blunted in a mass of still white hot fused metal. Attached to it was a gloved hand still firmly grasping the blackened grip. She shoved it away.

"What in Riser's Hell was that?" her com jumped into life.

"Time is pressing, Shelvocke. It's done. I'm coming down. Get to the fractal."

Flung back by the recoil of the PolAr she'd ended up pinned to the wall she'd just left. Cheyenne gripped a short post, spun herself around and pushed herself off back down the side of the Zig. Shelvocke was up, bodily swinging himself around the stanchions. His suit took on a stark whiteness as he cut in front of the Sphere's illumination before disappearing from view under cover of the racks hiding the fractal.