I started to feel a little hope. Pud's gun hadn't moved a millimeter, but the fact that he hadn't pulled the trigger yet was something. I remembered how much faster orks reach physical maturity. Pud looked to be in his early twenties, but he was probably only fifteen or so. He'd probably never geeked anyone before, or if he had, only in the heat of a rumble. Shooting me down in cold blood was different. Was he hoping I'd talk him out of it? With my peripheral vision I checked out my options. The cylindrical ventilator was close, but it wouldn't offer me more than a moment's cover. If I wanted to live, I had to talk fast. And no bulldrek, the truth and nothing but, hoping Pud could tell the difference.