Then, before he could recover, she struck out at him with the paragun she'd held on him earlier. The barrel hit him in the jaw, just below the ear.
Stunned, he lurched back.
Astrell ripped the cover from the black case. Snatching out the injector, she forced an ampule into it and with trembling fingers triggered the spray through the skin of her blue-veined arm.
As if it were a signal, Cheng appeared in the doorway, Veta Hall held in front of him as a shield.
Astrell laughed wildly. "Come ahead!" she cried, arms spread in a caricature of welcome. "You wanted the catalyst. Here it is. Take it. I don't care. I've had mine—enough to take care of me for years...."
Her voice trailed off. An expression of vast surprise spread across her face. Her pudgy hands sagged to her sides.
And then, incredibly, she was changing, changing. Before the others' very eyes, wrinkles began to fade, the slackened skin to firm and fill.
Her body, too—a youth, a slim litheness, came to replace the sagging rolls of flesh not even corsetry could successfully conceal. The auburn hair lost its dull, artificial glitter and, rippling, took on a glow, a natural sheen.
Ross sagged back against the table. The livid scar on Cheng's cheek twitched and quivered.
Astrell laughed aloud; and now, for the first time in the hearing of those present, the sound held warmth and vibrance ... the laugh of a woman, not a crone. Rising on tiptoe, she lifted her hands high above her head, stretching. Her face, her lips, her eyes, her whole body—they were suffused with a stunning, dazzling beauty.