She jumped and swung to face me, holding the hypodermic like a
stiletto. Seeing my face, she gasped and wavered.
I stepped by her and looked down at the tag on the cocooned figure.
_Benedetto dell'Angela, Napoli_, it said, and then the long string of
serial numbers that identified him.
It was what I had guessed.
"It won't work," I repeated. "Be smart about this, Rena. You can't
revive him without killing him."
Rena half-closed her eyes. She whispered, "Would death be worse than
this?"
I hadn't expected this sort of superstitious nonsense from her. I
started to answer, but she had me off guard. In a flash, she raked the
glittering needle toward my face and, as I stumbled back involuntarily,
her other hand lunged for the gas gun I had thrust into my belt.
Only luck saved me. Not being in a holster, the gun's front sight
caught and I had the moment I needed to cuff her away. She gasped and
spun up against the tiers of shelves. The filled hypodermic shattered
against the floor, spilling the contents into a purple, gleaming pool
of fluorescence.
* * * * *
Rena took a deep breath and stood erect. There were tears in her eyes
again.