I held on and we went rocketing to the rough-hewn ceiling. We bounced off the rock roof, I barely managing to switch my feet to where my head had been to absorb the ricochet. Then we went sailing down, almost leisurely in the weak gravity, to the bottom of the cavern. And this time I was absorbing the whiplash, as Naomi, knotting mine about her waist, so that I couldn't retract it, swung her own whip with vicious skill. Whff! My thighs. Whff! My face. Whff! My breast.
She was cutting me to pieces; I was in agony as we fell that half mile. Desperately I tried to ward off her blows. Then I realized there was only one solution: in-fighting.
I tugged with all my strength at my whip handle. She kept thrashing and I kept pulling at my line, pulling her closer and closer, until she could no longer use her whip effectively at such close range. My head was foggy from the beating. I gave a final tug and lurched at her throat with my steel claws.
She deflected one claw, but the other sank in, and I remember how her eyes began to widen in terror. Then ... darkness hit me.
I awoke staring up at tall lanky Jeanette, as my brain slowly stopped revolving inside my cranium.
"You battered your head against the rock wall, my dear Vera," she said.
"Naomi?" I asked. "Is she—?"
"She lost consciousness too, but for a different reason. Loss of blood. You tore open her jugular vein. We picked both of you up off the cavern floor."
I sat up slowly, dizzily. "So who's leader now?"