feet. It had some decent heft to it. He cradled it for a moment and then lobbed it down the stony, uneven path before him. It clacked and clattered its way down, and for a few moments, M’k’n’zy was sure that his sixth sense had betrayed him. He wasn’t quite sure how to react to that: Was it better that someone wasn’t trying to kill him, or that the instincts upon which he had depended for so long had somehow gone awry?
The ground exploded in front of him.
Landmine screamed through his head even as the blast knocked him backward. He cursed himself for his sloppiness; he should have braced his back against the rock wall again rather than standing there like an idiot, waiting to see what would happen. He fell back heavily, scraping his elbows, pain shooting through his arms. In a strange way, he welcomed it. It was a harsh reminder that he could take nothing for granted and had to allow for every possible eventuality.
He heard a familiar clanking from below. His sharp ears told him that it was only one person approaching him. A lookout must have been left behind to monitor the booby trap. And that sentinel, M’k’n’zy realized, would likely think that he was going to come upon the remains of a badly shredded body instead of an enemy who was ready for battle.
With the thought came instant action; hesitation simply was not part of M’k’n’zy’s genetic code. He was still about ten feet above the pathway below, and without pausing, M’k’n’zy scrambled to his feet and vaulted off the uneven path. For an instant he hung in the air, and it felt free and liberating, and then he landed noiselessly on the ground below. He had kept his arm extended and away from him so that he didn’t chance landing on his own sword, since that would certainly be an ignominious way to end a storied career.
He sprinted forward, silent, and within seconds saw exactly what he knew he was going to see.
An armored figure, with a helmet that completely encased its head so that no hint of features was visible, stood at the base of the path that twisted upward into the hills. It was scanning the area, using the thermal imaging that M’k’n’zy knew provided it with the ability to see its surroundings. He also knew that he had scant seconds before the armored figure became aware of him, and he raced toward his enemy.
He was not quick enough.
The armored figure turned and looked right at him, and then brought its palm level with M’k’n’zy. It was frustrating to M’k’n’zy that his enemies did not carry sidearms. Blasters or disruptors or phasers could be knocked out of their hands, rendering them weaponless and giving him an advantage. These bastards had all their weaponry built right into their armor, and that made disarming them impossible. The only option left was killing them. Not that M’k’n’zy would hesitate to do so, but it seemed a waste, making it impossible to take one of them down and grill him for information. They had two modes: attack and dead.
The one thing that M’k’n’zy had going for him was that, when his enemy did fire, the weapon required a few moments to recharge. By contrast, M’k’n’zy’s sword didn’t need any time at all.
Energy crackled in the palm of the armored figure’s metal gauntlet and M’k’n’zy knew he was going to have to time his movement perfectly. He also needed to get his attacker to commit to the assault. He charged with all of his body weight leaning forward, howling a defiant battlecry, conveying in every way the image of someone totally committed to this particular path and trajectory, either unaware or uncaring of whatever offensive strategy the enemy might employ.
The armored figure unleashed a blast of energy when M’k’n’zy was still ten feet away.
M’k’n’zy never slowed his attack. Instead he leaped to the side, rebounding directly off the mountainous wall to his right. He felt the air sizzling just to his left, and some of his hair crispened slightly. If the blast had struck home, or even provided a glancing blow, he would have been finished.
As it was, the angle of his attack brought him within range of his assailant. He saw the target that he needed: the small vent on the side of the helmet, the one that permitted the creatures to keep their inner temperature balanced. It was incredibly narrow, seemingly impregnable. A flaw