“Oh, gross!” I wanted to puke.

I’d thought he might be going for a gun, and I’d fired at his arm. With the plasma rifle.

I’d blown his arm off at the shoulder.

His eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed from shock. His severed arm hit the ground, the suicide pills rolling free from his hand. “Aw crap!”

“Ada! Not to be goink to pieces!” Tasha scolded me. “Be gettink him on your shoulder. Puttink him in trunk, please!” She paused. “And might as well throwink arm in, too, while at it.”

I dropped the plasma rifle and struggled to compose myself. After a moment, I had my retching under control, and I went to help the man to his feet. He wasn’t much older than I was, and would have been kinda handsome if his face hadn’t been contorted in pain.

It only took a couple of minutes to manhandle him out of the house and into Tasha’s trunk. She’d turned back into a sports car again. Then I went back for the arm, too.

As Tasha’s trunk lid slid shut, I went back to check on the communication equipment.