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.
"So that you should have my face for your last sight," the Kolnari chieftain said, reaching for the keypad on the shell exterior. "When you see again, you will call me Master and God… and you will mean it." He touched a finger to the control. "Beg, Simeon."
"Eat shit and die!"
The Kolnari chuckled. "Not good enough," he said, and pressed the stud.
The doors to Channa's room slapped open. Channa stepped through, needler at the ready. Belazir could feel the aimpoint on his forehead.
"You wanted me again, Belazir?" she said. "Better late than never. Here I am." A slight movement waggled the muzzle. "This is set on spray. It's quite fatal. Now, away from the shell, please."
Belazir smiled at her. What a woman! he thought. I will beat her, but not too badly. "There are three of us," he said, shifting slightly. Although unfortunately I have my helmet off and these two are immobilized by the load they carry, he added to himself. "We are in armor. You can scarcely expect to frighten us with that toy alone."
Patsy Sue Coburn followed her friend out of the quarters, leveling her arc pistol. A red burn-mark welted one cheek, bleeding knees and elbows showed through the holes worn in her coverall, but there was real pleasure in her smile.
"Life's full a' surprises, ain't it?" she said as Belazir snarled silently. "Real bitch sometimes, too."
Channa tossed her head in a vain attempt to get the sweat-soaked hair out of her eyes.
"Yes," she said evenly, "I do expect to frighten you. Now, replace the shell in the main column cradle and reconnect it. Then, all of you, throw your helmets aside and move over there." She gestured towards the door to Amos' quarters. "I expect your pirates will trade a good deal for you."
"And keep your hands up," snapped a voice from above.
Kolnari heads turned to the opening in the ceiling. A head and arms protruded, far too small for an adult of their bigboned race, but the muzzle of the plasma rifle was held steadily in those slight arms. The weapon looked absurdly large for the person who controlled it, but it was braced against the interior wall and the lip of the hole, and he could see the aimpoint, a red dot that wavered over the three pirates.
"Up," the child repeated, lifting the muzzle of the weapon for emphasis.
Belazir's mind computed the angles. Good. My left hand is not visible, he thought.
"You leave us little choice," he said aloud. Which was true; honor aside, he had no choice at all. Pol t'Veng or any other Kolnari noble would cheerfully let Father Chalku or their own sires be flayed alive rather than disgrace them by paying ransom, much less do so for him. He would rather be flayed than live on those terms himself.
"Move the shell," he said to the two troopers. "It's only three paces."
He raised his gauntleted hands, closing his eyes and flagging positions. The deck boomed like a drum as the pirate groundfighters moved a pace in lockstep unison, the ton weights of their suits added to triple that of titanium and machinery… and the few kilos of a body that had never seen the light of day.
Three, he counted and dropped the flash grenade. Before it hit the shell, he was leaping backwards, and so were the two other Clan warriors. He squeezed his eyes tight and willed his pupils shut, but even so the flash was dazzling. He hit the doorframe going out, went flat, scrabbled the helmet he had snatched onto his head. The plasma rifle had crashed simultaneous with the grenade. A brief scream and the smell from inside told him it had still been on target.
He blinked open his eyes as the locking ring of the helmet clicked. The combat medsystem sprayed a mist into his eyes, but his vision was severely degraded in any case. He activated the sonic sensor, to cheep the location of things at him.
"Takiz!" he called.
"Fully functional, lord," the warrior answered. "Kintir is dead."
I will beat her very severely, Belazir amended. Even with the dazzles before his eyes, he could see several arc-pistol shots snap out through the doorway, and his machine-augmented hearing picked up the telltale click of an arming plasma rifle. The walls were reinforced here, as well. It would be tricky, and he had not much time. Now he did not put it past these extraordinary scumvermin to blow the station themselves.
The comm chimed and Baila's face filled one of the chinscreens, a vague dark blur. Her voice was scratchy with interference but audible. "Great Lord," she said calmly. "Ships detected, incoming."
No! he shouted inwardly. No!
"Lord," another voice spoke. The senior ground-fighter officer. "We're holding a counterattack on the main axial, but I cannot guarantee your withdrawal. Not for any period beyond now."
For perhaps ten seconds Belazir panted sharply.
"I will be there in five minutes, or not at all," he said. "Out. Takiz, follow me. We head for the docks." Thank the joss, he thought with savage irony, the north polar docking tube is so close to here.
I'm blind, Channa thought. Her skin crinkled, waiting for the clamp of powered gauntlets. Beside her Patsy was shooting.
"Careful, Pats," Channa gasped. The blackness was starred with red, now, and she felt needles of pain in her forehead. Her free hand felt upward, touched her eyes. Wetness… tears, only tears. The eyes felt normal to her fingertips. For a long moment, she had feared it was something like that horrible popper Joat had made.
"I'm careful, all raht," Patsy said. "Got my shootin' iron right on the doorway. They cain't move quiet in those tin suits."
"Joat?"
"I'm all right," the girl's voice said. Her voice had a saw-edged note that denied the words. "Hurts and I can't see, though. I'm coming down."
"Don't get between me an' the door!" Patsy said sharply.
Channa dropped to her knees and shuffled forward, hand outstretched. That touched something hot, which brought a sharp gasp of pain; next a warm wetness. She wiped her hand on the carpet and tried again. The smooth titanium-matrix surface of the shell was like a benediction. When she moved to the keypad, a smaller hand touched hers. They gripped for a moment, then pressed the key.
"Nnooooooooooooo-" The scream was piercing, but Simeon's backup speakers on his inner shell had limited volume. He stuttered, babbled, then organized his voice.
"Thhh… ank you," he said. "Channa? Joat?" Patsy came into the field of his vision. "What's happened?"
"He dropped something," Channa said. "There was a white light and we can't see."
"Flash grenade," Simeon answered. "Don't worry! It isn't permanent!"
Channa gave a sobbing sigh of relief and heard it echoed. "How long?"
"Well… how close were you?"
"Two meters to six, and looking right at it."
"Oh." A pause. "About a day, with medication, I'm afraid," he said. At least for the person who was six meters away. About the others I'm worried. Long-term reaction was variable.
"Oh, great. They may come back in the door-"
"No, they won't. I can hear their armor moving away toward the docking tube. Lots of fighting. Look, it's the answer to my prayers to have three beautiful women hugging my shell, but could you get me reconnected? Please? It's important."
"We can't lift you back, that's for sure," Joat said.