Not unconscious, but a little dizzy. Well, see how you like it.
He tried to do some kind of street-fighting move, kicking out with his legs while his eyes were looking elsewhere, but it was pathetic. She easily jumped over his legs and landed a scuffing kick right up between his legs.
He cried out in pain.
"Come on, get up," she said. "You're going to kill Virlomi, so kill me first. Do it. You're the killer. Get your gun. Come on."
And then, without her quite seeing how he did it, there was indeed a gun in his hand.
"Kick me again," he said through gritted teeth. "Kick me faster than this bullet."
She didn't move.
"I thought you wanted to die," he said.
She could see it now. He wouldn't shoot her. Not till he had shot Virlomi in front of her.
She had missed her chance. While he was down, before he got the gun--from the back of his waistband? from under the furniture?--she should have snapped his neck. This wasn't a wrestling match, this was her chance to put an end to him. But her instinct had taken over, and her instinct was not to kill, only to disable her opponent, because that's what she had practiced in Battle School.
Of all the things I could have learned from Ender, the killer instinct, going for the final blow from the start, why was that the one I overlooked?
Something Bean had explained about Achilles. Something Graff had told him, after Bean had gotten him shipped back to Earth. That Achilles had to kill anyone who had ever seen him helpless. Even the doctor who had repaired his gimp leg, because she'd seen him laid out under anaesthetic and taken a knife to him.
Petra had just destroyed whatever feeling it was that had made him keep her alive. Whatever he had wanted from her, he wouldn't want it now. He wouldn't be able to bear having her around. She was dead.
Yet, no matter what else was going on, she was still a tactician. Thick headed as she was, her mind could still do this dance. The enemy saw things this way; so change it so he sees them another way.
Petra laughed. "I never thought you'd let me do that," she said.
He slowly, painfully, was getting to his feet, the gun trained on her.
She went on. "You always had to be el supremo, like the bunducks in Battle School. I never thought you had the guts to be like Ender or Bean, till now."
Still he said nothing. But he was standing there. He was listening.
"Crazy, isn't it? But Bean and Ender, they were so little. And they didn't care. Everybody looking down at them, me towering over them, they were the only guys in Battle School who weren't terrified of having somebody see a girl be better than them, bigger than them." Keep it going, keep spinning it. "They put Ender in Bonzo's army too early, he hadn't been trained. Didn't know how to do anything. And Bonzo gave orders, nobody was to work with him. So here I had this little kid, helpless, didn't know anything. That's what I like, Achilles. Smarter than me, but smaller. So I taught him. Chisel Bonzo, I didn't care. He was like you've always been, constantly showing me who's boss. But Ender knew how to let me run it. I taught him everything. I would have died for him."
"You're sick," said Achilles.
"Oh, you're going to tell me you didn't know that? You had the gun the whole time, why did you let me do that, if it wasn't--if you weren't trying to . . ."
"Trying to what?" he said. He was keeping his voice steady, but the craziness was plainly visible, and his voice trembled just a little. She had pushed him past the borders of sanity, deep into his madness. It was Caligula she was seeing now. But he was listening. If she found the right story to put on what just happened, maybe he would settle for . . . something else. Making his horse consul. Making Petra . . .
"Weren't you trying to seduce me?" she said.
"You don't even have your tits yet," he said.
"I don't think it's tits you're looking for," she said. "Or you would never have dragged me around with you in the first place. What was all that talk about wanting me in your tent? Loyal? You wanted me to belong to you. And all the time you did that sabeek stuff, pushi
ng me around--that just made me feel contempt for you. I was looking down on you the whole time. You were nothing, just another sack of testosterone, another chimp hooting and beating his chest. But then you let me--you did let me, didn't you? You don't expect me to believe I really could have done that?"
A faint smile touched the corners of his lips.
"Doesn't that spoil it, if you think I did it on purpose?" he said.
She strode to him, right to the barrel of the gun, and, letting it press into her abdomen, she reached up, grabbed him by the neck, and pulled his head down to where she could kiss him.
She had no idea how to do it, except what she'd seen in movies. But she was apparently doing it well enough. The gun stayed in her belly, but his other arm wrapped around her, pulled her closer.