Steve Perry - Matador 08 - Black Steel.pdf - Steve Perry - widez2

Black Steel

The Matadors

Book VII

Steve Perry

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Page 1

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter One

DEATH CAME FOR him by mistake.

Sleel had left the commercial hopper and was walking in the shade under the protective gamp toward

the airport terminal when a woman with a sword stepped out of a darker shadow. There were other

people moving under the billowy canopy, but Sleel knew immediately that the swordswoman had come

for him.

“Stupid,” Sleel said, shaking his head. He was wearing the matador uniform, dark gray orthoskins, spun

dotic boots, and bilateral spetsdods. The would-be assassin was a good eight meters away. She wasn’t a

big woman, but size didn’t mean much when it came to this kind of thing; it was ability that counted. Still,

even if he suddenly went blind, Sleel could hit her before she moved a meter. She wasn’t flashing a

projectile weapon around; she’d have to get close to use that blade, and that was just plain foolish. And

because it was so suicidal, it made Sleel think again. Maybe she had a partner? Since she didn’t have a

prayer of getting to Sleel before she ate a load of shocktox, something was definitely wrong with this

picture.

Sleel scanned the people around him, extended his perception to its fullest, searching for another enemy.

Overhead the neosilk gamp fluttered in the tropical afternoon breeze, making tent noises. Some of the

other passengers on the flight had taken notice of the fem with the sword and were viewing her with

alarm. The smell of hot plastcrete rose and mingled with the hopper’s fuel exhaust residue and machine

lube from the luggage carrier that rolled past in the Hawaiian sunshine. The air was heavy with humidity

Page 2

and warm even under the canopy. Just another day in paradise, right?

If there were others lining up to attack him, Sleel couldn’t spot them. Could it be just the one woman?

Was she really that stupid, to think she could just stroll over and carve one of the galaxy’s best

bodyguards, just like that? Somebody who outgunned her with two fully loaded spetsdods to her sword?

Apparently so. The swordswoman smiled, a thin-lipped and tight expression. She had chocolate skin

and very white teeth, with red-brown hair curled tightly into a cap over her skull. She wore freight

handler’s coveralls with the sleeves rolled up, and there was a tattoo on her left upper arm a couple of

centimeters above her elbow. The sword was about a meter long, slightly curved, thicker than a foil but

thinner than a saber. Some kind of shiny handguard protected the grip. The blade was black. Maybe it

was stacked carbon or squashed plastic to be that color. Maybe she was wearing body armor under the

coverall; maybe she thought that would protect her.

Lotta maybes here. The fem wanted him to see her coming that was obvious. Otherwise she could have

just waited until Sleel passed and skewered him from behind. The swordswoman couldn’t miss seeing the

spetsdods, and yet she was willing to go up against them with nothing more than what was essentially a

real long knife, its use limited to arm’s-length range. She had to have a reason to believe she had a

chance of making it. What?

Sleel took it all in as he stopped and stood, waiting.

The assassin started to move toward Sleel. She managed half a step before Sleel snapped up his left

hand and fired his spetsdod. The little back-of-the-hand dartgun gave a dry cough and spat a missile

loaded with shocktox. The tiny dart hit the swordplayer on the forehead directly above the bridge of her

nose. Right between the eyes.

So much for that.

The swordplayer blinked but kept coming.

Sleel frowned.

The bodyguard fired thrice more, one dart for each of the assassin’s hands, one for the tattoo.

Nothing. The woman kept coming. She was almost close enough to swing the sword. She was laughing

soundlessly now.

Well, shit! Should have gone for the eyes

Sleel dodged, letting his body flow into the Ninety-seven Steps, his feet describing the last dance of

Bamboo Pond, his hand lifting for the natural flow into Arc of Air, reacting with the proper patterns to the

shape of the attack. It was almost a reflex after so many years of practice.

The assassin twisted, altered her cut, and tried to follow Sleel. She was pretty good with that blade.

Sleel ducked as the sword slashed the air over his head. The matador skipped into Neon Chain, and

drove his fist into the woman’s left kidney with more force than he’d intended. Fear did that to a man,

and anger at being made afraid added power to the strike.

The swordswoman staggered, and Sleel finished the dance by shifting to Helicopter, spinning and

hammering the woman’s temple with the edge of his knotted hand.

Page 3

The assassin fell, the sword clattering onto the plastcrete. The blade rang like metal when it hit.

A man yelled something hoarsely, and a woman cursed.

Sleel spun, looking for more attackers. There were none.

He came up from his defensive crouch. There was a sharp gingery smell in the air, some local pollen,

probably, that reminded him of his childhood. All of a moment, he felt like he was nine years old. He

shook the feeling. He had other things to worry about. Like:

What the fuck was this all about?

The port cools were apologetic as to how the would-be assassin had gotten past them. Sleel showed

them his ID cube and his permit for his weapons, but they were more interested in the their own loss of

face. How’d a fem with a fucking unsecured sword get into the passenger area?

Sleel on the other hand wanted to know why the woman had come at him. And how the

still-unconscious woman had taken four shocktox darts and kept coming. That was why the fem had

been smiling before she’d moved; she’d known the spetsdods wouldn’t stop her. Maybe she hadn’t

known that matadors were as adept with their bodies as their handguns. Or maybe she’d thought the

sword made up for it. Whatever, it made for a nasty surprise. Sleel remembered Dirisha saying something

once about some world where people worked with poison fish and had developed a kind of immunity to

certain spetsdod chems. Maybe that was it.

Fucking lot of maybes here, Sleel. Best you clear some of them up before they get you killed.

“You Sleel?” came a small voice.

Sleel looked down to see a little girl of about eight standing there. A port rat. He restrained himself from

pointing one of his spetsdods at her. “Yeah. So?”

“Got a message for you. Jersey Reason is waiting outside.”

JerseyReason? Here on the BigIsland ? And how did he know Sleel was here?

Questions, more questions. It was like being back in primary edcom, with the holographic teacher

yammering at you. Sleel flipped the little girl a five-stad coin. She snatched it from the air, grinned, and

took off.

Outside Sleel spotted the flitter, an armored rig with protected fans. Whoever had built the thing had

done a good job of it; somebody less adept than Steel probably wouldn’t have immediately spotted the

spidersilk plate and denscris windows.

Sleel also recognized Jersey Reason, though he’d only met the man once and that almost a year past.

The old geep had suckered them with his defenses, though at the end Sleel had seen through the

holoproj. He looked pretty much the same as Sleel remembered, short, almost tiny, with thick white hair

and a short beard, also white. Too much light from various suns had damaged his skin and he was

wrinkled and tanned, crinkled smile lines framing his pale blue eyes. Reason stood next to the armored

Page 4

flitter, alone.

“Sleel.” he said. As it had before, the deepness of his voice came as a surprise.

“Reason.”

“You had some trouble inside.” Not a question.

“Nothing to speak of. Not a test of yours, was it? You like to play games, I remember right.”

“No, she wasn’t mine,” Reason allowed. “Although I’m surely responsible. She probably thought you

were coming to help me and wanted to make a point by killing you.”

“Now why would she want to do that?”

Reason smiled, showing perfect teeth. “Want to take a little ride?”

“Sure.”

Inside the flitter, Reason said, “Got a place to stay?”

“Not yet. I thought I’d surprise myself.”

The flitter lifted in a blast of wind and tilted forward on its cushion of air, moving smoothly out into the

traffic.

“I have a house in Old Kona,” Reason said. “You can stay there. Plenty of room.”

Steel shook his head. “Hey, this is a great song and shuffle routine and all, but why don’t you fill in the

gaps here?”

“Ever direct, aren’t you? When we met the first thing you did was shoot me with a spetsdod.”

“No, I shot a holoproj image of you to prove it was a fake.”

“That’s why I’m here. Your ability to cut through what was an almost perfect illusion intrigued me then

and it still does now. I need your help.”

“Keep talking.”

“Somebody wants to kill me. I’d like for you to keep them from doing it.”

Sleel nodded. Well. He was a matador; that’s what he did. “I don’t work cheap.”

“I know. Money is not a problem.”

“All right.”

“Just like that? No questions?”

“Oh, I got lots of questions, but they’ll keep. Pull over at that intersection, next to the used flitter lot.”

Page 5

Steve Perry - Matador 08 - Black Steel.pdf

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika: