On the back of his uniform. She saw the smoldered edges of cloth, and it took her a moment to register that Sheridan was saying repeatedly, "Susan?"
"Stand by," she responded, toggling off the comlink before Sheridan could get another word out.
Slowly she turned and faced Trent, who was standing there with almost unnatural calm, her arms folded across her chest. "You said you shot him when he was coming toward you?" Ivanova asked, doing everything she could to make it sound like the most incidental, nonthreatening question in the world.
"That's right," confirmed Trent.
"Then why," she asked, now with the tone of someone who already knew the answer, "is the PPG burn on the back of his jumpsuit, not the front?"
The moment seemed to hang there in time, stretching out into infinity.
And then a PPG appeared in Trent's hand, as if by magic.
Anyone trained in the art of combat will state that the absolute last thing one should try to do is endeavor to kick a gun out of someone's hand. A kick, of necessity, is telegraphed, and the hand needs only a fraction of a second to get out of the way. Any attempt to knock a gun away from an assailant will usually result in the gun subsequently discharging-with lethal results.
The best bet, when faced with a gun, is usually to put up one's hands, do what the assailant wants, and hope for a later opportunity. Failing that, one should launch an attack to the head or the upper chest in hopes of sending the blast off target, or even at the legs in an endeavor to knock the assailant backward.
Ivanova wasn't a black belt, but she was more than capable of holding her own in a fight, had a good degree of training, and knew the basics and beyond. In a quarter of a second she decided-quite correctly-that putting up her hands