Hanako's Heart by Tomek Piorkowski - HTML preview

The first rule of swordfighting is to keep your distance but the combatants were so aggressive that neither could keep further than a swordlength away hardly any breathing space. When one retreated the other forced himself forward but the tides of this battle were such that the advancer himself was quickly pushed back, and so the fight ebbed, from side to side. Neither foe could find an opening in the blur of knife-edge that flew from one to the other. Each one kept his right side forward as little body exposed to his opponent as possible. Thrusting at each other, lightning reflexes on both sides prevented even first blood.

Czerwon suddenly exposed himself to force his dagger through; Knight caught it with his own dagger and counter-attacked, but Czerwon blocked the counter with great speed and dexterity. Knight was inwardly alarmed that his opponent had managed to so easily achieve such a difficult defense. They were suddenly locked in, each breathing hot and angry into the face of the other.

They pushed each other away with much force and for the first time there was a little space between the two men.
Knight was breathing hard and fast. Czerwon, however, modified as his body was, seemed to be recovering quickly. Knight realised that the genetically-enhanced body gave Czerwon a great advantage over Knight. But seeing Czerwon thus only brought further fire to the cold fury that pulsed through Knight's mind; the energy felt like it was engulfing him and he let out a load yell as his body sprung to the attack once more.
The tiger that lay prone in the middle of the arena floor had been dead for several minutes. The huge amount of blood that was stored within its body was only gaining momentum now, as it leaked out of its wounds. The arena floor had been designed with a slight slope, so that the bodily fluids of the victims within would seep to the sides and into drainage sluices. The blood followed the gradient in a radiating puddle of red over the metal floor, the tiger in its center.
Each combatant's reactions were perfect, textbook. But as the arena floor became covered with the tiger's blood, the two were no longer able to attain perfect footing; their feet kept slipping. Swords swung wildly and bodies wobbled as the blood flowed beneath them. But this made the fighting more desperate. The two men would slide away from one another, only to leap at each other once more. Standing still was not an option - both of them were such experts that they could easily slip through the defenses of a stationary target - neither of them dared stay still for long.
Czerwon was fighting as enthusiastically as when he started; Knight's body, however, was beginning to feel the strain. As Knight went in for the attack, he miscalculated, and slipped on the blood and fell on his back.
Czerwon immediately tried to go on in for the kill, his sword point down. But in his haste he too miscalculated; he slipped on the blood; Knight wriggled his body; the blade missed. Knight immediately thrust up his left arm, the poisoned dagger heading straight for Czerwon's chest.
Czerwon managed to twist out the way. The dagger thrust at empty air.
Czerwon, knees on the floor, with a swift swing of his own dagger tried to cut off Knight's hand still in the air after the futile thrust. Knight was quick enough to dodge his hand away, but Czerwon successfully managed to hit Knight's dagger with such force, that it flew across the arena.
Above the arena, Thalia's face blanched.
Knight rolled to gain a distance between himself and Czerwon, and got to his feet; his entire body was covered in tiger's blood from the floor. He wanted to rush over to the dagger and pick it up, but no sooner was he up then Czerwon, also half covered in blood, launched a fierce attack. Without his dagger, Knight was unable to launch effective counter-attacks; it was all he could do to defend himself. Unable to attack, he kept moving backwards, dodging Czerwon's blades; Knight knew, that if he lost his footing on the slippery floor, his body would be open and that would be the end.
Czerwon was wanting to finish the fight. His attacks came in a frenetic speed. Knight managed to keep up but his body was screaming at him, that he would not be able to take the pace much longer. His burning arms were taking a serious strain from the blows raining on his sword's blade. Knight kept up his defenses, knowing that any mistake would mean his death, telling himself not to give up even though it seemed that Czerwon was sure to win.
But respite came. For Czerwon became overwhelmed with angry fury, it was no longer the calculating mind but the fiery beast within that took over the fight. As the fiercity of Czerwon's attack intensified, Knight could barely keep up in the face of this offence. But the second rule of swordfighting is not to lose your temper - one makes mistakes when not under the cooling hand of thought. Czerwon's feet lost their grip and slid apart; for a moment Czerwon was unable to gain stability in his legs.
Knight knew better than to attack Czerwon in such a moment of weakness. By now he knew enough of his opponent's combat skills to know that Czerwon would be able to defend himself against Knight's tired arms, despite the mishap. Instead Knight took the chance to gain some distance, to find the dagger, his only chance of winning this fight. Czerwon, with a body designed for battle, had a great advantage over Knight. Knight had to find the dagger.
Half-running, half-slipping along the side of the arena, keeping his right shoulder towards Czerwon (for the third rule is never to expose your back), he looked in desperation for his weapon. For a moment he feared that the dagger had fallen into a drainage sluice.
But in the area where the dagger had fallen, Doctor Fallsoul's corpse lay against the sluices. For a second time, the doctor had rendered Knight a service - the dagger lay against his chest, otherwise it would have disappeared down the sluice for sure if Fortune had not smiled.
Heavily panting, tired, Knight managed to get enough distance between himself and Czerwon, but this was partly because the CEO was in no hurry. Instead of rushing to the attack like before, he moved slowly towards Knight. Evidently, he thought the battle was already won, and indeed, Knight was worn down and was no longer a serious threat. Czerwon now wanted to play.
Knight was at the doctor's body. Knight leaned down and grasped the dagger's handle. The handle was soaked in blood so he held it tightly. Knight rose, his eyes on the approaching Czerwon.
Knight's body was giving signals. It could not keep up for much longer. There was only enough strength for one more stand. For the final time, the power within coursed out of Knight's spirit; the last flame flickered behind Knight's eyes, burning, and growing stronger. Now, either victory or extinguishment.
'Ancestors,' Knight prayed in his thoughts, 'Here I stand, against an enemy more powerful than an ordinary mortal. My lungs are burning, and his are filled with air. My legs are falling, and his are strong. My arms are weak, and his are fierce and ready to kill me. But despite my pain and despite these odds, I will rush this monster. Guide my hand, Ancestors, that my poisoned blade may bring the beast to heel!'
With a cry, Knight rushed forward, launching an attack.
"My goodness," said Czerwon, laughing, "I didn't think you still had enough energy in you. You've earned my respect."
"Shut up and fight!" screamed Knight, as sword clashed with sword, blade clashed with blade. Despite everything, Knight's attack suddenly became even fiercer. Czerwon thinking battle was won did not concentrate as well as he should have Knight saw opening Knight took it.
Knight's left arm went underneath Czerwon's left arm.
Knight's left forearm pushed Czerwon 's dagger hand out of the way.
Thrusting upwards, Knight's dagger was striking at Czerwon's chest.
Czerwon was not expecting such a quick, sudden move. Overconfident. He had not been paying enough attention to the circumstances.
Czerwon move backwards, to get out of range of the dagger.
The tip of the dagger cut across Czerwon's chest.
The dagger had been oozing drug all this time, and Thalia had been worried that the special pores in the blade would run out, but now the tension in her body released itself. It was only the tip of the dagger, it was only a scratch; it was enough.
Knight had drawn first blood.
There was a lull in the fighting. The CEO looked down at the gash on his chest. He became enraged at the injury that Knight dared inflict. With his anger bursting through, Czerwon launched an attack so fierce and fast that Knight could not strike back and once again was in a situation where he could barely defend himself. He was unable to dodge fast enough away from Czerwon's blades, his alarmed self-awareness noted the holes in his own defense. Czerwon cut into Knight gashes, into his cheek, his thigh, his arms. A piece of Knight's left ear flew off. And still Czerwon kept coming; Knight only managed to defend himself well enough so that he wasn't killed outright.
But after Czerwon wounded the opponent's other leg, Knight couldn't stand anymore, and fell to his knees. He still tried to parry Czerwon's blows, but his arms had slowed down. Czerwon, a smile upon his face, easily managed to cut off the rest of Knight's wounded ear. Then, with ease, Czerwon attacked Knight's sword arm, till the flesh of his arm was so battered into it couldn't hold the sword anymore, and it fell into the ground. Knight then tried to use his dagger for one last desperate attack, but Czerwon swung with his sword, and the heavier weapon flung the dagger out of Knight's hand. Now unarmed, holding his wounded arm, Knight lifted his bleeding face to look eye-to-eye with his enemy.
Except for the wound across his chest, Czerwon was unharmed. He looked quite pleased with himself. He raised his right arm to point the sword downwards at Knight's neck for the killing blow. "You earned my respect, Sir Knight," the CEO grinned, "No one has ever wounded me in a sword fight for a very, very long time. It was an exhilarating fight. I shall remember your death with fondness."
"You shall not remember it for long, Czerwon," Knight said, "Soon we shall be together in whatever hell awaits us…"
"And why would we be in hell, Sir Knight?"
"You for having killed me, and me for having struck you with a poisoned dagger."
Czerwon's eyes flickered for a divided second, but then he frowned. "You are lying. The weapons were scanned for poisons before you took them, and you carried nothing to taint them with afterwards. Are you so desperate for a few more seconds of life to utter such rubbish?"
Knight laughed, an action which disconcerted Czerwon a bit. "You are right," Knight said, "I had nothing. But the blade had been drugged; a drug which is only poison when your own heart is destroyed."
"Enough," said Czerwon, not understanding. His face seemed perturbed, a state not natural for the CEO. Unnatural state. Something in his chest going heart, beat, heart, beat, heart, beat. "Die you now shall."
Czerwon was going to press the blade in but something funny happened in his legs and he stumbled back. The grip of his right hand weakened and the sword dropped onto the floor. Czerwon looked at his hand with surprise. The right part of his face became droopy, out of sync with the left side. The right side of his body became increasingly paralysed; his right leg once more buckled and this time he fell onto his knees.
The situation had now turned, as Knight struggled himself up onto his weary legs. He picked up the dropped swords, and carried them, one in each hand. His hands were covered in so much blood, both his and the tiger's, that at first it was difficult to grip the sword handles.
As he approached Czerwon, the CEO stared at the smuggler. Czerwon's left eye was constricted by the bright arena lights, while his right eye was widely dilated and bewildered. He was unable to defend himself, indeed, it was a testament to his own strength and resilience that Czerwon was not in coma.
Knight stepped behind him. In a dispassionate way he lifted his left hand and placed the point of the sword just next to Czerwon's clavicle, then pushed it downwards and sideways, so that it came out on the opposite side, just below the rib cage. He did the same with the other side, although this time with both hands because his right arm was too tired to apply enough force to get the blade through.
Despite the swords thus crossed, Czerwon still attempted to stand, and almost did. He made three staggering attempts in all, each time falling to his knees. Blood drained out of his mouth. Only the sheer momentum of his will was keeping him alive.
Then the mighty Czerwon, Chief Executive Officer of the dreaded Corporation, ruler of the greater part of the colonised galaxy, fell down to the ground, and died.

Escape from the Red Claw Three corpses. Fallsoul. Mammon. Czerwon. One victor. The arena floor was wet with the intermingled blood from all those who had fought. The blood shone, the light was hot and heavy like jungle air. Two stunned spectators.

Knight laid himself on the ground. Having won, it felt as if all the adrenaline that had been storming through him had suddenly disappeared, leaving his body tired, hungry, and desperate for sleep.

Ansar was too shocked, while Thalia was in tears, a smile on her face. She stood up, not taking her eyes off her exhausted, bleeding, splendid champion, conqueror of Czerwon. She was about to speak when several armed men rushed in through the doors of the spectator boxes.

Thalia closed her eyes, clenched her hands and inwardly she prepared to die, certain that these were Rumsfeld's men, here to kill her.
"My Lady Thalia…" It was Brasidas' voice.
She opened her eyes, half-surprised. "Lieutenant Brasidas."
Brasidas looked over the railing into the arena, and saw with eyes of momentary disbelief : Czerwon, impaled with two swords. "Is he finally dead?" Brasidas asked.
"The Chief Executive Officer is dead," Thalia replied.
"Then long live the new Chief Executive Officer, Lady Thalia!" Brasidas cried.
The rest of Brasidas' men cried the same. Thalia was a bit startled. She would have thought that the Chief Executiveship would simply pass on the next strongest aboard the Red Claw, either Brasidas or Rumsfeld - the law of the stronger. But Brasidas was a monarchist - the idea that one ruled simply by right of strength was alien to him. To Brasidas, the right to rule passed on through the family line. Brasidas, who could have easily claimed the position of CEO for himself, had given it to Thalia. She suddenly had the power to change all about the Corporation that she abhorred - as she realised the power and responsibility she had, it momentarily frightened her.
"Chief Executive Officer Thalia, Captain Rumsfeld is leading a mutiny. I must insist that you allow yourself to be escorted to a place of safety. Me and my men will do everything in our power to protect you."
"But lieutenant, how will we stop Rumsfeld?"
Brasidas laughed, "My Lady Chief Executive, I am not about to let that swine win! The security forces have already engaged the mutineers and have foiled the first stages of their plans." Brasidas then return to seriousness. "My Lady, we must go!"
"Very well, Brasidas, I trust you. Ansar?"
Ansar had been sitting, lost in his own world, his eyes did not once leave the corpse of Czerwon. "Hm?" he muttered, for the first time noticing what was happening around him.
"Ansar, I must go. Will you help Knight?" Despite Brasidas' assurances, Thalia knew that the chance was there of losing the battle for the ship, and if that was the case she wanted Knight far away and safe.
"My Lady, after seeing his courage I would gladly give my life for him. I will do my best to get him off the Red Claw, as was our plan."
"Beware," Brasidas said, "The Claw has become a battlefield. If you run into Rumsfeld's men, you may be done for. Do you want one of my men as well?"
"No," Ansar said, "It will be easier to sneak about with only two men. Besides, My Lady, you need every man you can get to fight that despicable dog Rumsfeld. Myself, I am an old man, not much good for fighting. But at least I can still serve in something." He was suddenly looking underneath the chairs. Then he found what he was looking for
- Doctor Fallsoul's little black bag, which the doctor had always carried with him. A quick check inside it showed that Fallsoul had packed it wisely and with forethought - it was filled with bandages and various first aid items.
"My Lady CEO…"
"Yes, Brasidas, I am now going. Good luck, Ansar. Take care of Knight for me!"
"I will, My Lady. May our side gain final victory!"
With hurried movements Thalia left, under escort of Brasidas and his men. Ansar went over to Czerwon's chair, and pressed the panel to open the portcullis, then, having seen both Fallsoul and Czerwon doing it, decided that the quickest way to Knight would be to jump over the railing and into the arena.
He quickly regretted it. Fallsoul had been in a death-wish frenzy and Czerwon had a body designed to withstand physical punishment - Ansar had neither, and the floor had been dry for them as well. He twisted his ankle and nearly yelped from the pain. He even dropped the black bag; but he forced himself to ignore the throbbing pain in his legs and scooped up the bag, trying to wipe away some of the blood from the floor that clung to it.
With unsure footing, aware of the danger of falling over on the slippery floor, he came over to the smuggler and knelt down next to him. He opened the bag and began to dress the wound in the side of Knight's head, where the smuggler's ear had once been.
"Smuggler Knight!" Ansar said as he wound the bandage, "Are you feeling well?" He immediately chided himself in his thoughts. Obviously the smuggler was not feeling well
- he looked awful.
Knight forced himself to open his eyes. Every movement felt laden with lead. He was breathing heavily. His limbs were quivering. It felt difficult even to think. For some reason, he suddenly remembered that it had been quite a while since he last ate. "Who are you?" he half-moaned.
"My name is Ansar, Smuggler Knight," Ansar replied, "I am Lady Thalia's servant." Knight grunted, his face in puzzlement - in his state he couldn't quite recall who she was. Seeing Knight's perplexment, Ansar continued, "You remember, she came to your cell, she told you about the dagger."
"Oh," Knight uttered. He remembered. It seemed like an eon ago.
"Smuggler Knight, Lady Thalia asked me to help you escape the Red Claw." Ansar had finished bandaging the head and now was hurriedly applying dressing to Knight's other wounds.
"I'm exhausted," Knight replied. "I need to rest."
"That won't do, smuggler. You need to get off this station. You must live, smuggler. You must live!"
Ansar's words of encouragement brought fresh wind into Knight's blood, and the smuggler told Ansar he would try his best. Ansar kept on bandaging Knight, and after about a minute or so, Knight felt much better - his muscles stopped quivering and his mind was relieved of its heavy dullness. His body still felt punished by the recent physical straining but now Knight felt he enough strength for the escape.
Ansar had finished binding Knight's wounds, and helped Knight stand up. The sound of faroff gunfire could be heard. Pricking his ears, Ansar said, "We should get going."
The two hobbled out of the arena, through the same portcullis through which Knight had entered, unable to walk properly because one was exhausted and the other had twisted his ankle. As they were about to step out of the arena, Knight turned back. He looked at the man who attacked one of the most feared predators of the galaxy with his bare fists; his gaze turned to the dead Mammon tiger, hulking even in death. And last of all he gazed on the corpse of Czerwon.
"Farewell Babylon," Knight said, "In the end, your own heart betrayed you."
The corridor led into the weapons room, where Knight had chosen his weapons from a large rack in the room, and then into the Red Claw's dungeon. The security forces who had been there to escort him into the arena, Lieutenant Brasidas' men, were now gone. Passing by the cell he had been kept in, Knight asked "How are we going to get off this ship?"
"Well, smuggler, your own ship is still parked aboard the Claw."
"The Poet's Whim?"
"The same one, I believe. We manage to bribe some engineers to refuel it, so it should get you anywhere you choose to go. My job is to get you to the bay it's being kept in.
"Incidentally," Ansar continued, "Lady Thalia had the body of the girl, Hanako, put on board your ship."
"Incidentally? Is that some sort of joke? I did not get her to the Free Trade Zone alive, now you are giving me the chance to bring her there dead?"
"My Lady Thalia did not mean any amusement, Smuggler Knight. Rather, she thought you would be the only one who could find her a decent resting place. She was going to be kept here, for more spare parts. This place is too impure, even with Czerwon gone, for her to find resting place aboard the Red Claw."
"Your Lady was right," Knight conceded.
They carried on in silence, attempting to sneak through the Claw to the parking bay containing the Poet's Whim. The Red Claw had become a battlefield, and no matter where they went, there was always at least a distant echo of gunfire, and the sound of voices and shouting.
Ansar tried to lead Knight by taking some of the smaller, less used tunnels, thinking that the chances of detection would be slighter. It was a mistake, for the fighters of the opposing sides were also using those tunnels, for exactly the same reasons. Often, the sound of running footsteps thudding on some nearby corridor floor made Knight and Ansar duck into hiding until the footsteps faded away.
They slowly made their way through the ship. As they neared their destination, Knight put his hand on Ansar's shoulder to stop him, saying, "Wait."
Ansar turned to look at Knight, a puzzled look on his face.
"Didn't you notice?" Knight asked. "The noises, they're gone."
It was true. The sounds of conflict had been omnipresent during their journey except for now. It was silent, an eery state when you know you are on a battlefield. It was uncomfortable.
Ansar shrugged. "All the better, smuggler, we won't have to risk running into a firefight."
"Wait, how big is this parking bay?" Knight asked.
"It is one of the main ones."
"Then isn't it important enough to fight over?"
"I don't know, smuggler. Maybe Fortune is smiling over us."
After Ansar spoke, they kept quite. They were now at the tunnel entrance into the parking bay. The tunnel led to a platform, and from the platform stairs descended down to the bay, where the ships were parked in neat rows. They couldn't see anything other than this platform, but the place seemed abandoned.
So they stepped through, but only a moment later their hands were up in the air.
A soldier, one of Rumsfeld's, had been keeping watch at the entrance, his body pressed to the wall, with a good view from the platform over the parking bay. He had heard their whispering echoing down the tunnel and had been ready with his machine gun.
"Hey!" he cried, to some companions who were down below, "We've got two prisoners here!" Turning to Ansar, the soldier spoke, "I know you. You're the servant of Lady Thalia." Then he turned to Knight. "You are a sight! Your clothes are dark with blood, and ech you stink of sweat too. You were fighting or something. I do not know you. Who are you?"
"I am Smuggler Knight," was the reply. He looked the soldier straight in the eye. Having defeated Czerwon, Knight no longer really cared whether he lived or died, and he considered tackling this soldier with his machine gun.
"You're the dog we were chasing the whole bloody universe for," the soldier said, his eyes staring back. "Hey, lads! Intercom command that we've got Thalia's servant and that infamous smuggler man."
"Right!" The reply came from down below. "Give me a few seconds, though, I'll do it in the corridor. I don't want to be caught chatting in the dockbay if that airlock's attacked."
"Right. So," he said, turning back to his prisoners, "What are you here for?"
Ansar stayed silent, while Knight spoke. "We are here because I want to take my ship and get out of this infernal hole. I have no reason to be here now that Czerwon is dead."
"Czerwon? Dead? You're lying, although it would be a nice truth. No, he's still alive, that's why we're all fighting - we're sick to death of him. None of us is in this for Cap Rumsfeld, that man is a dog as well, but we'd prefer him to CEO Czerwon anyday."
"You don't have to prefer him," said Ansar, "Czerwon is already dead. There is no need to follow Rumsfeld anymore."
As if to confirm what Ansar just said, the ship-board communications suddenly crackled to life. Brasidas' voice boomed through the bay, as it did all over the ship, in every corridor, bay and room.
"This is Lieutenant Brasidas, commander of security. The former CEO, Czerwon, is dead. His sister, the Lady Thalia, has been appointed to be the new Chief Executive Officer. You will now hear a broadcast from your new CEO."
The next voice was Thalia's. "Captain Rumsfeld! Mutineers! With the death of Czerwon I have taken control over all Corporate affairs. However, you shall not find me cold-hearted. Whoever of the mutineers surrenders their weapons and allows themselves taken into custody, will be given amnesty, except for the leader, Captain Rumsfeld. I hereby pledge rewards to anyone who will bring this traitor to me, alive if possible."
Brasidas returned. "You have heard the new CEO speak! Mutineers, your cause is hopeless. The Claw's security forces are quickly regaining control of the ship. You face defeat or even death if you stay with Rumsfeld. If you have any doubts, I hereby personally guarantee that you will receive amnesty should you surrender peacefully. I suggest you make the decision quickly, as the security forces are about to launch an allout counterassault."
The broadcast ended. Brasidas' last sentence hung in the air like a dropped feather. The soldier looked visibly confused; if Czerwon was dead, what purpose was there in fighting?
Knight heard the sound of footfalls from below - someone new had arrived. Orders were barked up, and the soldier, although hesitantly, made them walk down to the lower level.
The lower level, the actual parking bay itself, was filled mostly with Corp darts, but Knight saw his own ship, the Poet's Whim, not far off, looking in good shape for all its recent misadventures. As he looked at it, he couldn't help but give it an unhappy, sentimental smile. He never thought he'd see it again. Towards the one end of the bay was the main airlock entrance, through which was a tunnel that was all that separated him and freedom.
But when he looked away from his ship, the next sight he saw sent a bolt of angry electricity down his spine.
Other than the soldier escorting them, there were three others. Two of them were normal soldiers, one with a radio unit. The third person was Rumsfeld himself.
His skin and uniform was soaked with some dark liquid - covered in blood, fresh from the thick of fighting, and Knight could smell the sweat of recent exertion. Rumsfeld's expression was hot and crazed.
"If only I had killed you, Smuggler Knight!" he cried. "If only I had caught you while you were running my blockade at Old Italy, or perhaps stabbed you when you were loaded on the prison ship, or gunned you down when you dared come back!
"Imagine," Rumsfeld continued, his voice trembling, "Me and my best men, how we rushed through, fighting as we went, to capture the arena area. And there, to the shame of my eyes, I saw my hated enemy, Czerwon, with two swords impaled through his body.
"I could not believe it, how could it have happened? I even went down to check closely, to feel with my own hands his dead flesh - I've never felt such pain, such loss, in my life.
"And all because of you, vile smuggler! How could you do this to me? You took away my revenge, my chance for Dominance! How could you!" he screamed demonically, "All my life has been wasted, all my life was dedicated to defeating the strongest, to prove that I was stronger - I was supposed to kill Czerwon, not you! You've taken away my purpose for life!" His hands flew about as he spoke. He could barely contain his anger.
"When I received word of your capture, it was the middle of a battle. I left the slaughter to come here, just for you. All I wanted was to kill Czerwon, then by law of the stronger I would have been CEO! But you killed him instead - you are now the strongest. I will be satisfied, since you are the strongest, I will kill you, then I will be the strongest."
Have finished off his hell-spirited and crazy soliloquy, Rumsfeld put his hand to his gun and was about to draw it.
"Hold it!" said the soldier.
Rumsfeld turned to look at him. The soldier was pointing his gun at Rumsfeld. "Put that gun away," ordered Rumsfeld.
"You're in no position to give orders, captain. Hands in the air."
Rumsfeld looked at the other two soldiers who were present, but after a moments hesitation, they indicated that Rumsfeld would receive no help from them.
"Traitors," Rumsfeld muttered, torment flic