As Pearson released Tenel’s arm, Alex tripped the prisoner and forced him face-down on the ground. Solen dropped to a crouch, aiming the stubby laser carbine he was holding. Abram began walking towards the odd man, with Pearson and Jack behind him. He heard the various sliding metallic sounds as laser carbines were brought to bear and primed. Probably OTT again. This individual was more than likely a gardener employed because he was so uncommonly tall and could prune the trees more easily than most.

‘No, let me go!’ Tenel shouted, then his cries became muffled, no doubt as Alex shoved his face into the dirt. Abram smiled to himself; Alex was not above a little brutality when necessary. He hooked his binoculars on his belt and rested his hand on the butt of his pulse-gun. The tall man stepped further out from the trees, then stopped, very still. Abram felt a momentary nervousness, then told himself not to be ridiculous; he had two of the toughest cops on the force with him.

‘Who are you?’ he asked when they got closer.

The man started moving towards them, his lanky strides eating up the ground in between.

‘I suggest you stop right there.’ Abram drew his pulse-gun.

The man just kept on walking.

‘I said stop! Stop, damn it! Oh shit!’

Abram fired, all the time thinking: Oh, you poor bloody idiot. There was a thud and a puff of smoke—embers falling from the man’s coat. His stride did not diminish at all. Abram fired twice more, to nil effect on the man’s progress. There were flames rising from his coat now. With one sharp movement he slapped them out and continued, trailing smoke.

Jack and Pearson opened up with laser carbines, red flashes cutting through the night—and suddenly the strange man was on them. Abram felt something like a piledriver hit his chest. Next thing he knew, he was on his back on the ground, straining for breath as he looked up. Pearson had his carbine right in the man’s face, his finger down on the trigger. Smoke was billowing into the night, and sheets of burning skin fell about the man’s shoulders. A long arm snapped out and the carbine spun away in pieces, then Pearson was held up high by his biceps, kicking at air. Jack rushed in from the side with a flat dropkick that would have dented steel plate. Abram heard Jack’s leg snap and saw him caught in the action of kicking, the man’s other hand gripping his ankle. Suddenly he was released, but before he could fall back that same hand had snapped up to his throat. Their attacker brought Jack and Pearson together with sickening force, then discarded them like a couple of food wrappers.