The City Who Fought
- Автор: Маккефри Энн, Стирлинг Стивен Майкл
- Серия: brainship #4
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The City Who Fought». Краткое содержание книги:
Simeon's love of wargaming would find unexpected uses when the brutal Kolnari attack the nearby colony planet, Bethel. Sheltering the colony's refugee's brought the city an invitation to serious trouble with Kolnari pirates.
"Anything we can do about that?" Channa asked as they entered the lounge.
"Not much more than what we're doing now," Simeon said. "But it's going to be a very close run at the end. We've got to be ready, at all costs. Minutes may make the difference."
Keri Holen tried to read, but she'd been on the same page for some time now and still had no idea of its content. Trivia, she thought. Before her life was put in danger, all her friends and family's lives, she hadn't known what triviality was. It was anything that didn't have to do with keeping you alive; anything that didn't have to do with winning.
"On the other hand, fretting doesn't do me any good, either," she said. Why did I volunteer? she asked herself. Well, the risk was there anyway, and we need to get the second virus working, she thought. Not everyone was a gymnast and martial artist, either.
Frustrated, she threw the reader onto the cushion beside her and rose to pace the room. There was a soft chime and Simeon's public face bloomed on the wall screen.
"The Kolnari are in your area," he said, warning all those in the threatened sector. "Get your virus capsules in position. Don't panic. Don't argue or they will harm you. Remember, place the capsule in your mouth, bite down, try not to swallow. Good luck," he added fervently.
Keri rushed to the cabinet where she had stored her supply among other pharmaceuticals. Her hands were shaking so much the capsules flew out of the bottle like confetti when she at last got it open. Moaning, she rushed to gather them up and put them away before the Kolnari arrived. She put one in her mouth, holding it between cheek and gum.
She returned to the living area and stood watching the door, fingers twining with the tabs of her robe. She could feel her pulse beat in her lips and fingertips, she felt as though she'd been running.
The door opened.
God, she thought as she bit down on the capsule. There are four of them! The capsule dissolved with a rush of coolness. Keri smiled broadly and let the robe drop.
"Welcome to my parlor." Said the spider to the fly.
Chapter Twenty
Mazkira entered the elevator and selected her destination. The mining components fabricator was a treasure of immense value to the Clan. With it, they could scavenge several crucial materials from uninhabited asteroids at need. Besides that, the scumvermin operator was a pleasure to torment, in several different ways. She grinned. Then the expression faded. She could smell him, the scent was heavy in the cage-far more than it should have been when he merely passed through several times daily.
She looked up… into the barrel of a rock-cutter and above it the grinning face of Kevin Duane.
"Eat this, bitch!" he snarled and powered up the cutter. He cut the Kolnari woman in half lengthwise and smiled as he watched the two sibling halves crumple to the floor.
The elevator arrived at his level and he replaced the hatch cover. There was the access tunnel, just where Joat had told him it would be.
He handed Joat the rock-cutter and she raised an inquiring brow. He gave her a grin and a thumbs-up sign. Suddenly the elevator dropped out from underneath him and he was holding on by his elbows, feet scrabbling against the slick shaft walls. He inched his way in, his broad shoulders making it difficult to maneuver. Far below he could hear the elevator coming up again.
"Hurry up!" Joat said, sliding the rock-cutter down the access tunnel and turning back to pull him in by his shirt.
All she succeeded in doing was pulling it up over his head; his arms were almost immobilized by the tough fabric.
"Stop," he said. "Stop it."
"Hurry up!" she cried and slid backwards to give him room. "Or that elevator will smear your carcass all the way to the top of the station."
He was most of the way in now, but couldn't seem to get his feet in. He began to panic, barking his knees on the side walls of the tunnel, the space too narrow to allow him to turn or pull up his legs. In a panic, he caught at Joat's legs and yanked. Her palms squealed on the slick metal as she struggled futilely to keep her place.
The drag was just enough to get him all the way in, the side of the elevator lifted the soles of his feet gently as it passed.
Kevin dropped his head into his arms and giggled with mild hysteria.
Joat glared at him for a moment, then grinned and whispered, "Hooray! Another one for our side."
"Yes?" Belazir said, looking up from his notescreen.
It was the medico again. The Kolnari repressed an impulse to kick it. If you hit messengers, messages ceased coming. On the other hand, his time was valuable. Especially now, with the transports here and loading round the cycle.
The thought restored his good humor. Sixty ships, a fifth part of the Clan's fleet, under his command. Not only transports, but a fighting platform and a couple of the factory ships. It was as good as having Chalku proclaim him successor. Better, since his chances of living long enough to claim it were much higher. A formal announcement might drive some brick-skull like Aragiz t'Varak to desperation.
"Great Lord, there is… a problem."
"Mine or yours, creature?" he said, slightly impatient. The loading was going so slowly.
"Great Lord, we have disabling sickness."
"What?" Suddenly he was looming over the eunuch.
"No, please! Don't hurt me. It's only old Veskis, the bonesetter. Please, my Great Lord?"
Belazir's aquiline nostrils flared. "Speak."
"Over sixty ill warriors have sought medical aid, Great Lord. We have never seen the like." It swallowed. "Great Lord, we do not know how to cure the illness!"
Belazir had just finished a large meal. Now it lay like curdled hot lead in his gut. Impossible. He tapped at the notescreen, accessing recent files. Yes, over thirty warriors put down or suicided for infection. Not completely unprecedented, but among the heaviest numerically of instances on record. If another threescore had reported sick, there must be many who had not.
"How does the illness run?" Belazir asked.
"Swiftly in some, Great Lord. Fever, loss of nervous control, debility, nausea. Others more mildly. Still others recover quickly and are whole. From the blood of those I may produce a vaccine, in time."
"Do so," Belazir ordered. "Swiftly." In time to avoid spotting my triumph here, he thought. "Wait."
He tapped his notescreen again. Most sickness occurred among those on no fixed duty. Of those, t'Varak's ship suffered the most casualties. Belazir racked his brain for what he knew of diseases. Not much, since Kolnari were rarely bothered by disease: accident, yes. He reflected on this problem, queried the info-banks, thought again.
"Orders," he said. "Isolate those infected." Those whom they could, that is. A noble could be killed but not placed under restraint. "This may…" He hesitated. "May be related to the disease troubling the scumvermin." Hideous, that a disease would strike the Divine Seed more strongly than mere scumvermin. "The infected scumvermin are to be avoided. Go, post the orders."
That such a scourge should arise now, he thought, looking back at the notescreen. Loading was moving far too slowly. Chalku had given him a deadline; past that, they were to abandon anything remaining, kill and leave. If there was much less than he had promised, he would go from hero to goat. Even if the total he did manage was more than any other Kolnari had amassed, performance and prestige would be measured against expectation.