I passed the knife to Amos and rolled off Razor, keeping my wrist on her face.
“Amos, you and Cupcake get a standard MBB out for the gut-shot male, fast. Put a pneumatic tourniquet and Xstat treatments into the other guy’s leg wound. And put Maul and Spy into our vet-bay.”
My two thralls leaped onto the flatbed. Without mechanical help, Amos strong-armed one of the triage battlefield med-bays to the ground and Cupcake flipped a switch to turn it on. Together they lifted the gut-shot man into the MBB, closed the top, and set it to stabilize. Amos handed down the vet-bay. Cupcake picked up the limp cat and carried Maul to it.
Amos then knelt at the Sabbath’s side and assisted with emergency treatment.
As if I hadn’t just had a fight, I said calmly to the club leaders, “You boys want to know why your number-two enforcer and two made-men drew on a peaceful negotiation?”
They looked pissed, so I raised my voice slightly, drawing all the attention to me. “I can give you that information.”
“How?” Whip’s voice was quiet, demanding.
“The device at my thigh,” I answered softly. I nudged out a hip to indicate it.
The leaders, who had scattered during the fight, moved closer to us, watching each other, watching Razor and me with icy, violent, threatening eyes.
I had to take control of this situation. I shouted to the assembled, “There are traitors among you, like Razor and the two with her. Poisoned. Infected by Clarisse Warhammer and forced to obey her. I know how to find them and stop them. I can make them well again. Put down your weapons.”
No one moved, but no one fired. Tension wasn’t rising, but it wasn’t mellowing to campfires and singing “Kumbaya,” either.
“I’m betting every leader here has a traitor in their midst,” I said, softer. “Probably more than one. Get everyone to stand down.”
None of the dozens of weapons were holstered except Jacopo’s, but still, no one else had fired. I took that as my cue and said, “I. Can. Prove. It.”
I smelled Warhammer on Razor’s blood, but that wasn’t proof I could offer.
“I’m getting up.” Slowly, I rolled to my knees. “I’m pulling the device.” I eased the nano detector from my pocket, activated it, and showed it to the men. I bent over Razor, at the unbloodied side of her throat, then pressed it against her skin at her carotid. The green light turned red, and the gauge hit at about 75.
“She’s got antibodies.” I meant nanobots, but explaining that would take forever. “She’s poisoned,” I said. When I stood up, I wasn’t surprised to find every weapon on me. My voice steady, lower, I continued, “I can prove it. Jacopo. Your arm.”
Jacopo hesitated only a moment before rolling up his sleeve and extending his arm. I pressed the start button. Jacopo tested at zero nanobots. “Green. No antibodies. He’s not infected.”
Marconi met my eyes and walked to me. Extended his wrist.
I tested him and said, “Green.”
Whip held out his wrist.
I tested the prez of the Hells Angels. “Green.”
I then tested the other leaders. Then the man in the med-bay. He was a hard 70. The one with the leg-shot was only at 25, still transitioning.
“And you?” Whip demanded.
“I’m positive. All my people are because we were similarly poisoned. Antibodies are still in our systems. But the queen who infected me is dead.” Surely the bicolor queen who infected me was long gone. It was over ten years ago. “I’m my own person, not a slave to someone else. Because I figured out how to defeat it.” I pressed the detector against my neck. I redlined at 100.
Marconi’s son Enrico—pretty, oh-so-Italian Enrico—stepped up. In his new Berger-chip-created Italian accent, he said, “I was infected by the Warhammer. This woman”—he indicated me with a graceful gesture—“she cure me. I no longer hear Warhammer’s blood calling me to come to her. I am my father’s man again.”
I waited for him to say he wanted to be with me instead, but he stepped back.
“So we need to make sure Warhammer is stopped? Neutralized?” Marconi asked.
“Killed. Yeah,” I said. “Then the problem is solved. Forever.”
Without waiting for the leaders to process all that had happened in the last few minutes, I said, “Amos. As soon as the cats are okay, knock Razor out and put her in the vet-bay. Set the program to cleanse, start Berger chips, and the proper fluids and meds.” Each time I spoke, I lowered my voice, letting it say for me that I had this under control, that no one needed to do anything or kill anyone.
“Copy that, Shining.”
