Chapter 42 – Level 8-161 Private School Unit 2-2.
--/Day 15 08:12 Hours/--
--/Level 7-170 Rental Workspace G/--
Tenzanin, one of the backup pistols that Davan kept lying around the apartment held behind him, walked slowly up the workspace shutters. There was a person shape on the other side of them, and they had already knocked twice. Tenzanin brought the pistol up, pointing it at the shape's head, and then reached over to hit the shutter control. The corrugated steel overlaps groaned and clanked into a slow life. It took a full thirty seconds for them to open.
"Just so you know, don't you or Grissom come in to work. Probably keep away from us in general, you know." Corporal Haine, a slightly haggard look about him, said from the other side of the shutters. "I don't want to have to try and arrest you guys, and you don't want me to try either." There was a touch of sadness in his voice. Tenzanin lowered the gun.
"Thanks, Corporal. We'll do our best." Tenzanin said, nodding. Haine chewed on his lower lip, then looked down. His shoulders slumped and he turned and walked away without another word. Tenzanin watched him go for a minute, until he'd passed out of view. Then he hit the shutter control again, lowering them back. He turned around to the workspace.
"Who was that?" Torn asked from the top of the apartment stairs.
"A friend." Tenzanin said, looking up at the youngster who had saved all of their lives yesterday. He offered up a tight smile, but something was bothering the Nethrek and he didn't return the gesture. He slumped down the stairs.
Tenzanin slipped past him and back up into the apartment, leaving the young Nethrek to his internal misery. Scattered messily across the kitchen were the remains of a lot of takeout food cartons and several frying and baking pans and trays.
"What did the Corporal want?" Davan asked from his doorway, half dressed.
"Just to warn us to stay low." Tenzanin replied, reaching for his chopsticks.
"Fair enough. Have you heard from Grissom?" Davan asked, rubbing at his face. Tenzanin merely shook his head, then went back to a box of clearly cold rice with his pair of chopsticks. Tenzanin needed to eat at least nine meals a day, Davan had calculated, something to do with how he moved so freakishly fast. Davan nodded slowly, then disappeared back into the dark recesses of his soundproofed room. Tenzanin continued eating.
--/+41 minutes 22 seconds/--
--/Level 5-167 Horus Grissom's Personal Accommodation/--
The message was composed and ready to be sent. Grissom hadn't slept. Instead, he'd sat on the floor with his back to the wall and honed the edge of his combat knife for eight hours. He'd mixed up a cocktail of operational drugs just before getting underway on the hit. He would be awake and alert for the next few days, and about a day after that his fingerprints would grow back. Of course, until that time he'd also be edgy, semi-tired and, due in no part to the drugs, seething with anger.
"Play back message again." He growled, closing his eyes in a weary resignation.
"Centurion Jursk, sir." His own voice came back to him like a bad dream.