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he had been considering his options.
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The nearest tube entrance was a good half-kilometer away to his right, where
the curving mass of city tube eight gleamed like a silver whale against the
sky. Lights flashed within its transparent skin. Somewhere nearby a hovercar
skimmed independent of guide rails across a serviceway, which ran toward the
tubes, its whine receding slowly into the distance as he listened.
He turned his attention back toward the woman now almost upon him. She was
black-haired, in her late twenties perhaps, and quite stunning. She wore a
prosthetic right ear. Not many people would have noticed it. Possibly it had
been manufactured by one of Loo-Macklin's own companies. He wondered how she'd
lost the original.
The gun, which suddenly and efficiently appeared in her right hand, was ultra
compact: a solid projectile three-shot model. Since it held only three shells,
they ought to be especially effective, he thought. Then he recognized the
type.
Each shell was about the size of his little finger and contained thousands of
fragments of sharp metal. Upon firing, the shell would explode on contact,
sending a shower of metal into whomever the muzzle of the gun was pointed at.
They would make an awful mess of any individual or, for that matter, any
several individuals standing within ten meters. Loo-Macklin and the woman were
not that far apart now. Not even a killmaster could dodge the effects of that
weapon. Not at this range.
Well, he had to admire the boldness of whoever had ordered this attempt. If it
was to be a kidnapping they'd best watch their intended mighty close. His
muscles tensed, old reflexes sending ripples through his body. He hadn't used
his hands on another human being in quite a while. While he didn't enjoy
killing, physical as well as mental efficiency did give him a certain cool
satisfaction.
If escape proved unworkable, however, he would simply order their ransom paid.
It's all such a game, he thought tiredly, sorry only that his walk was to be
so short today.
At that moment he decided to try to break it. Get it over with, he thought
tightly. You're tired. Get this part of the game over with, one way or the
other.
He studied the position of the tall woman opposite him. If she was the key,
was in charge -- another set of mock lovers had appeared, rolling and laughing
as they materialized from the bushes. They were wrapped in each other's arms
but their attention was on Loo-Macklin. Indifference is beginning to break
down, he thought. Must be getting close.
Pruners and vacuumers suddenly shifted their hands to disguised instruments,
which had not been designed to improve the health of trees.
That made at least fourteen individuals in various stages of concealment who
encircled him, including the two working behind the tall lady, ready to stop
him if he tried to charge past her.
The brief suicidal impulse passed. He didn't think they'd kill him. A
kidnap victim isn't much use to anyone if he's dead. And you couldn't use his
credcard to draw money if robbery was your motive.
Not all illegals had good self-control, he knew. There was the chance someone
might panic, knowing his reputation. But he'd take that chance. After all,
there was work to do tomorrow and many more days in which to enjoy a walk.
"My name's Selousa," said the woman brightly.
Loo-Macklin stared up at her. "You know who I am. What do you want and how do
you want it done?"
She surprised him with her response. That was unusual.
"We don't want your money and we don't want your favors. Only your presence at
a little private conference. There's someone who badly wants to talk with
you."
He almost laughed. The drama had become a farce. Unless -- he thought of the
powerful illegals he'd betrayed many years ago. Could revenge still be a
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thought in someone's mind, after decades?
Aloud, he said, "Whoever it is could have contacted my offices and made an
appointment. I'm difficult to get to see but not impossible. I make myself
accessible if it's important enough." He looked into the bushes, up into the
trees. "Evidently someone thinks that it is."
The woman shook her head curtly. "There are too many levels of bureaucracy
lying between you and the rest of the world. Or so I'm told.
That's not my department."
She shrugged and looked indifferent, but her eyes were always on him and so
was the muzzle of the little gun.
"In any case, those who've hired me and mine," she gestured with her free hand
toward the trees, "are convinced you might not consent to meet with them even
if they could reach your private offices."
Now Loo-Macklin's curiosity was beginning to be aroused. Something here didn't
smell right.
"Who is it, then?"
"I am not to tell you."
"I'm not afraid of meeting anyone," he told her. "Is it Prax of the
Terran Syndicate? One of his heirs? Tell me."
"It is not for me to say," she replied. "I am only following the orders given
me." She gestured slightly with the nasty little gun. "I hope you will come
with us quietly." She indicated the non-lovers and imitation workers
surrounding them. "There are some very fine shots out there. They are under
orders to shoot to wound only, not to kill. We're to bring you by force if
necessary, but my employer fervently hopes that won't prove necessary."
"You know," he said conversationally, "I'm very quick. I know that
fragmentation pistol," and he indicated the weapon she held, "fires what's
supposed to be an impenetrable spray. What's supposed to be. Since you know so
much about my personal habits, you probably also know about the innersheath
armor I'm wearing under this suit."
She tensed slightly, answering his question.
"That would make my face and bare hands the only parts vulnerable to your
frags," he continued. "If I were to charge you, turn my back for a second by
spinning as you fired, I think I'd have at least a fifty-fifty chance of
knocking you down before you could aim a second shot. If I got you down, you
wouldn't get up again, no matter how accurate your sharpshooters in the trees
are."
She took a less than confident step away from him and glanced anxiously to
left and right. He enjoyed her discomfiture. Loo-Macklin could see the
gardeners on one side and the lovers on the other tense as their poses cracked
and they readied themselves to wield disguised weapons.
"What you do to me is of no consequence. You can't possibly escape,"
she said slowly. Some of her iron self-assurance was giving way. "My people
have orders to shoot through me if necessary to get to you. You'll attend this
meeting if you have to be carried there." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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