|
>>
|
No. 11718
Poulette - Sennit
+++
As always, the hissing shimmer of decloaking reminded him of the rattling slide of snow off the eaves in the winter; the recollection was so familiar now as to be nearly devoid of emotional resonance. He had lain awake the last few weeks, thinking about the girl, unable to get her warm crooked smile out of his thoughts. He had resorted to long walks down deserted corridors until fatigue rendered sleep accessible. But despite the direction of his musings, his feet had not taken him down this hall until tonight.
Spy looked around the darkened medical laboratory, his eyes acclimatising to the steady glow of the readouts on the incubation tank. He looked for a long moment at La Poulette – no, he corrected himself, Carol; he should use the proper label – and suppressed a shudder. There was little trace of the eager sylph on which he had lavished his attentions previously; what floated in the tank was a travesty of life, thick with rippled, ribboned growths waving in the currents. It was a blessing that her face was obscured by the breathing mask, he thought – any beauty in proximity to such horror could break a man.
The weight of the metal in his gloved hands seemed heavier than normal, the thin calfskin sliding over the familiar buttons and corners. He crept around to the side of the tank, busying himself with removing the cover to the instrument panel, leaning it carefully against the wall next to his crepe-soled shoes. The wiring, once tidily hanked by colour, was a knotted jumble in the dim light, dotted with twisted cable ties and lumps of solder. He wasn’t sure what to do first. He needed to find an unobtrusive spot to attach the sapper. He adjusted its placement twice, three times, then straightened, pinching the bridge of his nose with long fingers.
It should not be this hard. He had done similar things hundreds, if not thousands of times before, under heavy fire and daily! But this was different; nobody was trying to kill him, in the heat of battle, excesses of zeal were all too common. This was calculated and deliberate. An assassination, a resolution of mistakes compounded into abomination, of crimes against God himself. He took a deep breath. No, he corrected himself. This was not murder, but mercy.
With a steady hand, he wedged the sapper into position. Before he could toggle the switch, however, pain bloomed with a meaty, metallic thunk along the side of his head, and the shadows rushed forward to pull him to the tiled floor.
+++
“Amateur.†A murmur under his breath as he folded the unconscious, lanky Frenchman double and wedged him under the bed in his own room. “Lessee y’get outta that quick, ya interferin’ frog.†The sapper was tossed under the bed to join him with an efficient flick of the wrist, sliding to a stop next to one pointed shoe.
“Neatly done, eh, Ted? Didn’t even break the skin. Used the back of the wrench, like you said.†The stocky Texan grinned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him, before making his way to the medlab. The smile on his face did not budge as he moved soundlessly over the tiled floor, rubber-soled boots hardly squeaking, as he contemplated the monkey’s nest that was the spill of wiring still protruding from the side of the tank. A brief glance over the tangle told him much, the smile widening a hair, as he picked out two wires from the mass. A quick twist of the Gunslinger, and the two wires were artistically frayed, insulation rubbed away. “Stupid Frenchie was going to spoil it all. Then Medic would just yell at me to build it all again. Like I have nothing better to do than to jump when he says ‘bullfrog’. This way’s much better,†he whispered to the little bear in his pocket , patting him fondly with his other hand.
“..This way, it’ll fail niiiice an’ slow. And nothin’ he c’n do’ll work,†crooned Engineer, packing the wires back into their recess, and replacing the cover panel. The hairline crack he’d placed in the sterilisation shunt tubes last week had ensured the irreversible contamination of the feed lines, and would render the tank permanently unusable inside of a month. The grey man had a point; if Medic’s latest endeavours failed spectacularly enough, the damned Kraut’s confidence would be shattered, and he would probably mope for a good long bit. Long enough for Engineer himself to actually get done some of his own projects. And, if Lady Luck was smiling, perhaps the pretend-doctor would stop roping him into his hairbrained schemes.
With a hushed chortle, Engineer dusted himself off, and headed back to his room.
+++
It was a lonely night, and the moonlight spilled through the window of the medlab like a milky shawl, limning the sleeping doves on the windowsill outside in silver. They stirred slightly as another set of footsteps came to a quiet stop in front of the incubation tank.
“Ah, lass. ‘S me agin. An’ stone cold sober this time. I dinna think y’ever got tae see me straight-oop like this, in m’ proper tartan, like I promised ye. An’ sad tae say, ye nivver will. An’ ahm sorry fer tha’.†A deep sigh, and Demoman perched on a nearby laboratory stool, the scratchy woolen folds of his kilt bunched around his knees. His gaze took in the whole of her without flinching, his weathered face pinched with regret.
“Ah’m sorry ferra lotta things, lass. Ah’m sorry f’r not believin’ ye. F’r not knowin’ ye. I shoulda known, dammit. An’—an’ I should’ve been better tae ye. ‘F I c’ld, ah’d wisht ye awai, safe’n soond, nivver havin’ met us, nivver havin’ the knowin’ o’ this messed oop place an’ us crazy f—“ He choked off the whispered words thickly, knuckling at his stinging eye as he stood, fumbling at his sporran, pulling a slim metal flask from it. He sidled slowly to the access panel, wrenching it easily from the column. “Huh. Lookit tha’. ‘Twas easy.†Propping the panel against the wall, he rested his forehead against the cool surface of the tank. “An’ I’m sorry, d’y’ken? This sh’ld nivver ha’ happened, lass, “ he whispered, tears smudging the smooth glass. “Y’ w’re nivver safe ‘ere.â€
With a deep breath, Demoman bent to pull a pair of wire cutters from his sporran, reached deep inside the recess, and commenced snipping at every wire he could find. Readouts flickered and died, while other indicator lights flashed red, the buzz of alarms beeping softly in the hushed lab echoed off the tiled walls. The steady hum of the pump fell silent, the glowing filtered through the tank fading to black. He stowed the cutters, and unscrewed the top of the flask, inhaling the rising fumes – single malt, from his private stash, that none but he ever saw – and spilling a mouthful across his tongue. Demoman bowed his head for a moment, the whisky burning his lips, then poured the rest of it into the panel recess as a libation, flinching at the resulting shower of sparks. “Time tae goo, lass. Time t’ fly home wi’ ye’. “
The access panel lying forgotten against the wall, the Scotsman turned crisply on his heel and walked out of the medlab, ignoring the wisps of smoke curling from the wrecked tank.
+++++
Sennit – Cordage or rope made by plaiting together strands of fibre or grasses. In knot terminology, refers to a knot composed of a number of lines, woven in a complex pattern.
|