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the boat. He fought back another as rough hands helped him.
"I'm . . . fine," he gasped, waving aside the crewmen. "Get going, now."
The boatmen were mercenaries; they shrugged and obeyed, leaving him to walk in a straight, slow
line to his cabin. The boat's diesel blatted, then settled down to a steady burbling. He opened the
door—anyone else trying that would get an unpleasant surprise—and let the softsuit fall to the floor in a thin
puddle as he stumbled to the bunk. It collected itself and slithered to the table and up one leg, pouring itself
into a container the size of a pocketbook to recharge and repair.
This time he did groan between clenched teeth as the air rasped at the burns and bruises that
covered most of his skin. His right hand was swelling and red as boiled lobster from the two pointblank hits.
According to the techs back home, a softsuit probably couldn't take close-range plasma bolts from a
standard Domination hand-weapon. Apparently the United States of Samothrace built its agents better
armor than they thought.
Enough better. Just. He staggered to the bunk and fell into it.
The suitcase clicked beneath the bed. He lay panting in the dark, his eyes swimming with the
aftermath of the booster chemicals, as tendrils felt their way over and beneath him. They crisscrossed his
body in a dense web, creeping into the corners of his eyes, nostrils, mouth. Things pricked his skin, and the
pain diminished. Coolness soothed; there was a muted buzzing as dead skin was debrided away and
replaced with temporary patches that would speed regrowth. Tentacles thin as wire and stronger than
thought manipulated his gun hand.
no serious degradation of function,
you will recover
full effectiveness within five days, including metabolic stress from the combat drugs.
Which took a little off your lifespan every time you used them—but it was better than being dead.
His stomach twisted at the memory of the fight. Neural-link simulators could feed in scenarios of what it
was like to fight a drakensis hand to hand, but there was still a difference when it was for real. His gut
heaved again at the memory of the raw strength behind the grip that had spun him through the air, hearing
again the guttural snarling of a tiger about to kill.
How can anyone mistake it for a human being? he thought. The face had been like a beast's,
too; the sort of expression an antelope would encounter on the very last lion it ever saw.
it was not attempting deception with you,
presumably it
takes more care with the local humans.
I failed, Ken sighed. His hand tightened toward a fist until the twinges warned him. I should have
killed it!
a scouting operation,
there will be other opportunities.
sleep.
Thirty hours to the dropoff point near Miami. He could sleep the entire time. Darkness closed over
him, as welcome as his mothers touch.
***
Gwen wrapped the weapons in Pierre's jacket and tossed them over the balustrade of her
bedroom's exterior terrace eighteen feet above. Then she took two steps and leapt, hands clamping onto the
the AI said with indecent cheerfulness,
the machine answered pedantically.
the AI replied.
After a moment:
rough coral rock of the balcony and swinging her over. Quicker than going up the stairs, and less likely to
cause commotion. And her body craved movement.
Alice was waiting; she gave a jump and squeak of startlement as Gwen appeared. Then her eyes
widened at the Draka's appearance. Gwen was still running with sweat, and there were bleeding grazes on
her flank and one arm; they clotted with inhuman speed. Her chest heaved as lungs pumped oxygen into the
bloodstream. Skin twitched as overprimed muscles sought release. She fought down another snarl.
"What happened?" Alice asked, crossing her arms on the breast of her robe in an instinctive
gesture of self-protection. The Draka caught an edge of the creamy scent of fear; her mask had slipped a
bit under the stress, and the other's subconscious was reacting to what it perceived.
"Bit of an emergency," Gwen replied, watching patterns of heat through the Australian's facial skin.
They made her seem to glow from within, like a lantern. "It's over for now. I'll explain later."
"All right," Alice said, dropping her eyes. Good, she's learning, the Draka thought She looked
good. Delicious.
Without looking up: "Do you still want to . . . ?"
Gwen nodded.
"That's fine with me." An uncertain smile. "You are very good at it."
"After four-hundred-odd years of practice," Gwen said, advancing, "I should be."
She pulled the blond woman's arms down, then stripped off the robe. Alice shuddered at the musky
smell of her sweat, then again as Gwen bent and took a nipple between her lips. She cried out in surprise as
the Draka put a hand beneath her buttocks and lifted her smoothly into a fireman's carry across her
shoulder. And again as the fingers probed her openings, halfway between a moan and a protest.
"This will be a little different," Gwen said, as she strode easily across the terrace and into the
bedroom. "More strenuous."
The scent was intoxicating; she bit at the thigh next to her cheek, just hard enough to draw a
squeal.
"I had to go into combat overdrive and didn't have the chance to expend much energy. I'll have the
jittering judders for days unless I work it off now."
The squirming within the circle of her arm had no more chance of dislodging itself than it would
have from a similar thickness of steel cable; and in any case, it wasn't an attempt to escape. The soft
helpless movement was extremely pleasant, like a kitten's paws batting at her hands. It helped flip the
savage focus of killmode over into an equally directed urge: lust, but with an edge to it, raw and direct.
She tossed the other down on the bed and climbed onto her, straddling Alice's shoulders and linking
hands behind her neck. The Australian's eyes were wide and her mouth trembled slightly. Her heartbeat
hammered in Gwen's ears, nearly as rapid as her own pulse. The Draka's thumbs caressed the other's
cheeks and the angle of her jaw, then drew her upward as she sank down. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]