No translation!
Tobias was not a small man, nor had he neglected his exercise training on the Moon. He still staggered when one of the attackers casually shoved him against the wall, then pulled out the cleaver that had been strapped to the side. The few lights set in the passageways that still worked made the cleaver-man’s face into a nightmare of shadow and scar, with a sneer that could have been carved into the very bone below. “Ein dicker Amerikaner,” he spit. “Gut. Das beste Fleisch muss eine Weile abgehangen werden.”
Beside him, Reitner gasped. “Warte! Bist du auch Schweizer?”
That stopped the cleaver-man cold. He looked Reitner up, down, then gestured at the two attackers who had grabbed Reitner. “Zeig mir dein Gesicht,” the cleaver-man barked. Tobias decided that this was definitely German, but not quite the version still spoken in some parts of the EU. It sounded more guttural, and with fewer Euro loan-words.
The man must have said something like Reveal yourself!, because Reithner promptly made her helmet fully transparent. She looked… well, like Hell, Tobias admitted. We all do. Too-pale skin with frozen sapphire eyes, and her hair was buzzed too short to tell the color. But the set and shape of her face oddly matched the attackers’. You could believe that they and she were related, and that thought filled Tobias with both horror, and pity.