[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
hand, lashing out with her right.
The stick fighter's nose broke with a crunch of cartilage. He reeled back,
blinking in agonized surprise as blood covered his upper lip.
She wrenched her right leg free, drew back the knee, pushed hard. The stick
fighter stood almost upright. He slammed against the far wall of the corridor.
His head cracked back against the planking so hard the wood split vertically.
He groaned and sank to his knees.
From back up the corridor, she heard the heavy ringing slam of the gang
member's carbine. Dan grunted.
Page 77
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
A body thumped on the floor. Annja heard her partner moan, "Oh, shit," in a
ghastly voice.
Chapter 23
As Annja rolled back to face him, the gang member strolled from a doorway on
the right as if he wanted to give the appearance he was going for a walk in
the park.
Annja jumped to her feet. The rifleman ignored her. She summoned back the
sword, knowing already it was futile.
Smiling, the man raised the stock of his rifle to his shoulder, sighting down
the barrel at Dan, who had slumped out into the corridor doubled over his
knees, a knot of helpless misery.
Suddenly he twisted sideways, bringing his gun up in both hands, thrusting
them out to extend his arms fully in an isosceles triangle. The handgun
cracked twice.
Dust flew from the rifleman's grimy shirt at belly and breastbone. He reared
back, more in surprise and shock than pain. The metal butt plate slipped from
his shoulder.
Dan rotated to a sitting position. He fired again. The man's head snapped
back. He fell backward in a lifeless sprawl.
"Fell for it, asshole," Dan snarled, getting a knee up and starting to stand.
He turned a grin of triumph toward Annja.
It froze. "Look out!" he shouted, bringing the handgun up again. It seemed to
be pointing right at her face.
Annja's eyes widened. She was looking straight down the black muzzle.
Flame blossomed in her face. Hair that had fallen loose at the left side of
Annja's face stirred as if brushed by careless fingers. Shock waves of the
bullet's supersonic passage slapped her cheek with surprising force as its
miniature sonic boom temporarily deafened her left ear and filled her head
with ringing.
She spun. The stick fighter stood behind her. Or rather, he was falling away
from her, weeping scarlet from where his right eye had been.
Whatever else he was, Dan Seddon was a hell of a combat handgunner.
Accomplished herself, after considerable training, practice and real-world
experience Annja could scarcely have done better herself.
Dan stood. "Nifty piece of cutlery," he said, looking at the sword. He had
punched the magazine release and was pulling out the old box. He held a full
reload, retrieved from an inner pocket of his vest, clipped between a couple
of fingers. Annja had been meaning to ask why he encumbered himself with extra
clothing in the unremitting wet heat. Now she knew. "Where'd you get that?"
"Tell you later." Her voice shook. Relief flooded her body and caused her legs
to tremble.
Catch a grip, she told herself sternly. The smoke was a bit thinner but flames
cackled madly not far away. And she still had no idea how they were going to
get out of the strange warren alive much less the whole monstrous desolation
of the colony.
"I'll be sure to ask," Dan said. His eyes snapped past her. "Behind right!"
he shouted.
She wheeled, not right but left, counterclockwise. It allowed her to lead with
the tip of the sword, gripped two handed and held horizontally to her left.
A warped wooden door had opened a yard behind her. A young man had emerged,
bare chested, with a red cloth band holding hair back from a handsome Indian
face.
The sword punched right through his sternum, through his heart. Fixed on hers,
his dark eyes widened. They stared a final question into Annja's eyes. Then
the light faded from them and he slumped. In sudden sick horror she banished
the sword, as if that could unmake the wound. But life had fled the body
huddled at her feet.
Page 78
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"He he was unarmed," she said.
Dan gripped her hard on the shoulder. "Suck it up," he said. "He was one of
them. See? He doesn't look anorexic."
She was shaking her head in desperate denial. "He wasn't armed. I killed him."
"He was an enemy. He ran up on you. And one thing you've got to learn about
the real world, sweetheart you can't make an omelet without breaking eggs."
She turned an agonized look on him. Tears blurred her eyes.
From behind them rang hoarse shouts. Ahead flames suddenly ate up another
entry curtain and billowed out into the corridor.
"Choose now," Dan said. "Move or die."
She nodded. He turned and raced out ahead, weapon grasped in both hands. He
didn't even flinch from the flames that lashed at him and filled the corridor
with a hellish orange glare.
She followed. Dan vanished to the right around an unseen corner. She passed
through the fire. She felt it sear her upper arm. The pain was like a penance.
It snapped her back to the situation. Batting at smoldering hair, she turned
the corner and found herself facing another long corridor. Blessed daylight
shone at its far end, a dazzling white oblong a good twenty yards away. She
saw no sign of Dan.
But a figure blocked her path. It was short and unmistakably feminine. In
spite of the way the flood of photons over her retinas blurred it to shadow,
Annja recognized her antagonist.
"Xia!" It was half surprised exclamation, half curse.
"Annja Creed," the woman said in English, "you don't know what you do."
"I'm fighting to break free the secrets you're selfishly withholding from the
human race," Annja stated, striding forward. "If you want to call that
neocolonialism, go right ahead. But your murderous ways have shown you aren't
fit stewards of whatever power you hold!"
"I see you've been talking to Isis," Xia said. Her tone was conversational,
almost light. "She can be a bit strident. I hope you didn't damage her too
badly. She has a good heart and great promise."
"If she's the tall black woman with the green headband, she was alive when I
left her," Annja said tautly, "if not feeling too well. But what you'd know
about a good heart I haven't a clue."
"If you keep on this path I must fight you," Xia said with what sounded like
regret. Feigned, Annja was furiously sure.
She held her arm out to the side, started to form her hand into a fist to pull
the sword from its special place. Then she let her hand drop to her side.
Treacherous as Xia and her people were, Annja felt she had sullied the sword [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl akte20.pev.pl
hand, lashing out with her right.
The stick fighter's nose broke with a crunch of cartilage. He reeled back,
blinking in agonized surprise as blood covered his upper lip.
She wrenched her right leg free, drew back the knee, pushed hard. The stick
fighter stood almost upright. He slammed against the far wall of the corridor.
His head cracked back against the planking so hard the wood split vertically.
He groaned and sank to his knees.
From back up the corridor, she heard the heavy ringing slam of the gang
member's carbine. Dan grunted.
Page 77
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
A body thumped on the floor. Annja heard her partner moan, "Oh, shit," in a
ghastly voice.
Chapter 23
As Annja rolled back to face him, the gang member strolled from a doorway on
the right as if he wanted to give the appearance he was going for a walk in
the park.
Annja jumped to her feet. The rifleman ignored her. She summoned back the
sword, knowing already it was futile.
Smiling, the man raised the stock of his rifle to his shoulder, sighting down
the barrel at Dan, who had slumped out into the corridor doubled over his
knees, a knot of helpless misery.
Suddenly he twisted sideways, bringing his gun up in both hands, thrusting
them out to extend his arms fully in an isosceles triangle. The handgun
cracked twice.
Dust flew from the rifleman's grimy shirt at belly and breastbone. He reared
back, more in surprise and shock than pain. The metal butt plate slipped from
his shoulder.
Dan rotated to a sitting position. He fired again. The man's head snapped
back. He fell backward in a lifeless sprawl.
"Fell for it, asshole," Dan snarled, getting a knee up and starting to stand.
He turned a grin of triumph toward Annja.
It froze. "Look out!" he shouted, bringing the handgun up again. It seemed to
be pointing right at her face.
Annja's eyes widened. She was looking straight down the black muzzle.
Flame blossomed in her face. Hair that had fallen loose at the left side of
Annja's face stirred as if brushed by careless fingers. Shock waves of the
bullet's supersonic passage slapped her cheek with surprising force as its
miniature sonic boom temporarily deafened her left ear and filled her head
with ringing.
She spun. The stick fighter stood behind her. Or rather, he was falling away
from her, weeping scarlet from where his right eye had been.
Whatever else he was, Dan Seddon was a hell of a combat handgunner.
Accomplished herself, after considerable training, practice and real-world
experience Annja could scarcely have done better herself.
Dan stood. "Nifty piece of cutlery," he said, looking at the sword. He had
punched the magazine release and was pulling out the old box. He held a full
reload, retrieved from an inner pocket of his vest, clipped between a couple
of fingers. Annja had been meaning to ask why he encumbered himself with extra
clothing in the unremitting wet heat. Now she knew. "Where'd you get that?"
"Tell you later." Her voice shook. Relief flooded her body and caused her legs
to tremble.
Catch a grip, she told herself sternly. The smoke was a bit thinner but flames
cackled madly not far away. And she still had no idea how they were going to
get out of the strange warren alive much less the whole monstrous desolation
of the colony.
"I'll be sure to ask," Dan said. His eyes snapped past her. "Behind right!"
he shouted.
She wheeled, not right but left, counterclockwise. It allowed her to lead with
the tip of the sword, gripped two handed and held horizontally to her left.
A warped wooden door had opened a yard behind her. A young man had emerged,
bare chested, with a red cloth band holding hair back from a handsome Indian
face.
The sword punched right through his sternum, through his heart. Fixed on hers,
his dark eyes widened. They stared a final question into Annja's eyes. Then
the light faded from them and he slumped. In sudden sick horror she banished
the sword, as if that could unmake the wound. But life had fled the body
huddled at her feet.
Page 78
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"He he was unarmed," she said.
Dan gripped her hard on the shoulder. "Suck it up," he said. "He was one of
them. See? He doesn't look anorexic."
She was shaking her head in desperate denial. "He wasn't armed. I killed him."
"He was an enemy. He ran up on you. And one thing you've got to learn about
the real world, sweetheart you can't make an omelet without breaking eggs."
She turned an agonized look on him. Tears blurred her eyes.
From behind them rang hoarse shouts. Ahead flames suddenly ate up another
entry curtain and billowed out into the corridor.
"Choose now," Dan said. "Move or die."
She nodded. He turned and raced out ahead, weapon grasped in both hands. He
didn't even flinch from the flames that lashed at him and filled the corridor
with a hellish orange glare.
She followed. Dan vanished to the right around an unseen corner. She passed
through the fire. She felt it sear her upper arm. The pain was like a penance.
It snapped her back to the situation. Batting at smoldering hair, she turned
the corner and found herself facing another long corridor. Blessed daylight
shone at its far end, a dazzling white oblong a good twenty yards away. She
saw no sign of Dan.
But a figure blocked her path. It was short and unmistakably feminine. In
spite of the way the flood of photons over her retinas blurred it to shadow,
Annja recognized her antagonist.
"Xia!" It was half surprised exclamation, half curse.
"Annja Creed," the woman said in English, "you don't know what you do."
"I'm fighting to break free the secrets you're selfishly withholding from the
human race," Annja stated, striding forward. "If you want to call that
neocolonialism, go right ahead. But your murderous ways have shown you aren't
fit stewards of whatever power you hold!"
"I see you've been talking to Isis," Xia said. Her tone was conversational,
almost light. "She can be a bit strident. I hope you didn't damage her too
badly. She has a good heart and great promise."
"If she's the tall black woman with the green headband, she was alive when I
left her," Annja said tautly, "if not feeling too well. But what you'd know
about a good heart I haven't a clue."
"If you keep on this path I must fight you," Xia said with what sounded like
regret. Feigned, Annja was furiously sure.
She held her arm out to the side, started to form her hand into a fist to pull
the sword from its special place. Then she let her hand drop to her side.
Treacherous as Xia and her people were, Annja felt she had sullied the sword [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]