Ballistic (The Palladium Wars), стр. 68
She turned the kukri between them. The overhead light in the room glinted off the edge as she moved the blade slowly.
“And every one of the people in the room with you will have one of these.”
His gaze went from the blade to her. She could almost smell the fear that was radiating from him in waves.
“Do you understand that?” she asked.
It took him a few moments to work up the spit to speak.
“I am not afraid of dying,” he finally said, in a strained voice that contradicted the statement.
She smiled without humor.
“But you should be,” she said. “You should be terrified. Because they wouldn’t just hack you into tiny bits. They would peel your layers from you first. From head to toe. See how long they can keep you alive while they carve every scrap of skin from your body for what you helped do to their friends. And if you think I am just trying to scare you, look into my eyes and tell me what you see there. Tell me that I am lying.”
He didn’t take her up on the challenge. Instead, he swallowed hard and stared past her.
“If you dare to test my patience again, you will find that I have none remaining,” she continued. “The only reason you’re not already in bloody chunks on the floor is because I wouldn’t want to deny my comrades the pleasure of dealing with you. They have no outlet for their grief right now. I am hoping you are dumb enough to volunteer yourself for that purpose. It would give me the only true and pure joy I’ve ever had on this planet.”
She sheathed her kukri slowly and deliberately, not so much for psychological effect but out of necessary respect for the weapon. The sheath kept the blade sharpened and in harmless stasis by suspending the cutting edge in a magnetic field, and careless sheathing wasn’t wise when that edge could shear through laminated battle armor. When the kukri had locked into the sheath properly, she raised herself out of her crouching stance and walked back across the floor to the spot near the door where she had been standing before, kicking a bent table leg out of her way, demonstratively unconcerned about having her back turned to the now untethered Haimo. He couldn’t release her weapons even if he overpowered her, and she knew she’d stomp him into the floor if he tried. But he was cowed now, doubtlessly asking himself if his willingness to die for the cause included getting skinned bit by bit by a platoon of pissed-off Palladians with extremely sharp knives beforehand.
The door opened a silent minute later, and Dahl walked back into the room. The Gretian policewoman looked at the remnants of the interrogation table in front of Haimo. She turned her gaze toward Idina and raised an eyebrow.
“It fell over,” Idina explained.
“It fell over,” Dahl repeated wryly. “Of that I have no doubt. But I am sure something interesting happened before it did.”
“Just working to remove some linguistic barriers, that’s all.”
“I see.” Dahl looked over at Haimo, who still looked like he was a food animal trying to avoid the attention of a nearby predator, intently studying the same spot on the wall without moving any part of his body.
“Well,” Dahl said. “Where were we before I felt a sudden need for coffee?”
“We were about to ask Haimo here a few questions,” Idina replied. “I do believe we have resolved our earlier technical difficulties in your absence.”
“I am very glad to hear it. So, what is it that you think we may want to talk about, Haimo?” Dahl asked in an agreeable voice.
“You want to know about the bombing last night,” Haimo replied after a brief, nervous glance at Idina, who returned it stone-faced.
“That is correct. I will not waste my time and yours by playing a game of pretend where you say that you do not know anything about it. We want to know who was behind it. And we will stay in this room until we find out. I may have to go for coffee every now and then.”
He looked up at them, the fear and inner conflict evident in his face. After a few seconds, he lowered his eyes, and the tension dropped from his shoulders.
“They are called Odin’s Wolves,” he said, saying the name of the group in a tone of voice that made him sound like a schoolboy telling his classmates something he feared they would ridicule.
“Odin’s Wolves,” Dahl repeated. “That is the first time I have heard of them. Who are they?”
Haimo shrugged.
“They are the resistance,” he said. “They will rid us of the occupiers. Save us from serfdom to the rest of the system.”
“I see. Are you a part of Odin’s Wolves, Haimo?”
He shook his head.
“I wish. But they do not take people like me. I was not in the military. I do not know all that much about guns and fighting. But they said there is always a way in if I prove myself.”
“And they told you to lead us to Vigi Fuldas,” Dahl said.
Haimo nodded.
“They told me that if I got arrested, I should tell the police where I bought the gun if things turned too hot for me.”
“Fuldas was with them?”
He nodded again.
“He was not in the military either. But he was good with guns. Fixing them, I mean. Removing biometric locks, that sort of thing. They can always use someone like him.”
“Who is they?” Dahl asked. “Who set you up with Fuldas and told you to name him if you got busted with that gun? Not the group. I know that name now. Tell me about the people.”
The pained look of inner conflict returned to Haimo’s face as he considered the question.
“If I tell you and you arrest her, they will know.”
“You know