Read Online Quiet Knives by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee and Steve Miller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Steve Miller, Sharon Lee and Steve Miller
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their lifetimes--easily that. Lately, he thought
they'd been optimistic--and not only of the timing.
Still, he had a gun, courtesy of a guard
even stupider than he was, and he knew where he was, and where he
was going, more or less right down to his final breath. It was...
freeing in a way. He felt at peace with himself, and with his
purpose. If he could kill Grom Trogar, then he could depart as
happy as a man filled full of pellets could be, and the plan--his
plan, that he'd given up his life of small happinesses to see
through--would have a second chance at continuing.
It was convenient that his holding room was
in the chairman's building. Convenient that he had committed the
layout of that building, along with several others, to memory years
ago. He knew where the secret stair was and the code that opened
the hatch. He eased the panel shut behind him and began to
climb.
He paused to catch his breath just below the
fourteenth landing. Only one more landing, if his memory could be
relied upon--and since he'd already decided that it could why worry
about it now? The hatch opened in what used to be a supply closet
in the chairman's suite. He steeled himself for the unpleasant
truth that he might need to kill blameless people before he got to
his target. He wasn't an assassin; even killing Mr. Trogar himself,
much as it was needed, wasn't going to be a home joy. The important
thing was not to freeze, not to hesitate. To acquire his target and
shoot. He might only get one shot, and it was important to make it
count.
Leaning against the wall, he once again went
over his stolen gun. It was a good gun, loaded, well-oiled with an
extra clip of pellets riding in the handle. The guard had taken
good care of his weapon. Points for the--
Above him and to the left, where the ongoing
flight angled off the landing, there was a noise. A very slight
noise, not immediately repeated, as if someone had scuffed a boot
against the edge of a step.
He went to one knee on the
step, raised the gun in two hands, and waited, breathing
slow. Easy...
Another scuff, and a dim shadow on the dim
wall of the landing. His finger tightened on the trigger.
Silence--
And a sudden appalling rush of sound, as a
dark figure hurtled hit the landing, flat-footed, gun out and
pointing at his head. He had a moment to feel anger, then--
"Kore!"
He blinked. Stared up into a pale face and
dark brown eyes, short dark hair showing a blaze of gray going back
from the temple.
"Midj?" Slowly, he lowered the gun. "What
the hell are you doing here?"
"Back atcha." She lowered her own weapon and
stood, a little stiffly, he thought. "But it's gonna hafta to wait.
I'm supposed to be getting you out of here, to a safe place."
He frowned. "Safe by whose standards?"
"Woman by the name of Sambra Reallen."
He thought about it, shook his head. "Can't
trust her."
"Can't not trust her," she countered. "She
picked me up in port. Could've just as easy been the chairman, the
way I hear it. She wants him gone and she don't want to jinx the
High Judge's play, if he has a play. Which you're supposed to tell
her."
He snorted. "She wouldn't believe me." He
thought again. "How were you supposed to get me out of here?"
"Same way I came," she said, jerking her
head up the stairs. We walk up to the roof. There's a monowing
waiting to lift us out."
"OK," he said, and came to his feet. He
smiled, then, and it felt like his soul was stretched so wide it
might burst a seam.
"Midj. Thank you."
"No problem."
* * *
THEY WERE TWO STEPS below the fifteenth
landing when the alarm went out. Kore threw himself onto landing,
fingers moving rapidly on the code bar. The panel slid open as Midj
came up beside him.
"What's going on?"
"Damned if I know. But the doors will seal
in ten seconds--go!" He pushed her through and followed, into the
dimness of the supply room.
"Where are we?"
Trust Midj to ask the question. "Chairman
Trogar's office."
"Great."
"Could be worse. Let's
they'd been optimistic--and not only of the timing.
Still, he had a gun, courtesy of a guard
even stupider than he was, and he knew where he was, and where he
was going, more or less right down to his final breath. It was...
freeing in a way. He felt at peace with himself, and with his
purpose. If he could kill Grom Trogar, then he could depart as
happy as a man filled full of pellets could be, and the plan--his
plan, that he'd given up his life of small happinesses to see
through--would have a second chance at continuing.
It was convenient that his holding room was
in the chairman's building. Convenient that he had committed the
layout of that building, along with several others, to memory years
ago. He knew where the secret stair was and the code that opened
the hatch. He eased the panel shut behind him and began to
climb.
He paused to catch his breath just below the
fourteenth landing. Only one more landing, if his memory could be
relied upon--and since he'd already decided that it could why worry
about it now? The hatch opened in what used to be a supply closet
in the chairman's suite. He steeled himself for the unpleasant
truth that he might need to kill blameless people before he got to
his target. He wasn't an assassin; even killing Mr. Trogar himself,
much as it was needed, wasn't going to be a home joy. The important
thing was not to freeze, not to hesitate. To acquire his target and
shoot. He might only get one shot, and it was important to make it
count.
Leaning against the wall, he once again went
over his stolen gun. It was a good gun, loaded, well-oiled with an
extra clip of pellets riding in the handle. The guard had taken
good care of his weapon. Points for the--
Above him and to the left, where the ongoing
flight angled off the landing, there was a noise. A very slight
noise, not immediately repeated, as if someone had scuffed a boot
against the edge of a step.
He went to one knee on the
step, raised the gun in two hands, and waited, breathing
slow. Easy...
Another scuff, and a dim shadow on the dim
wall of the landing. His finger tightened on the trigger.
Silence--
And a sudden appalling rush of sound, as a
dark figure hurtled hit the landing, flat-footed, gun out and
pointing at his head. He had a moment to feel anger, then--
"Kore!"
He blinked. Stared up into a pale face and
dark brown eyes, short dark hair showing a blaze of gray going back
from the temple.
"Midj?" Slowly, he lowered the gun. "What
the hell are you doing here?"
"Back atcha." She lowered her own weapon and
stood, a little stiffly, he thought. "But it's gonna hafta to wait.
I'm supposed to be getting you out of here, to a safe place."
He frowned. "Safe by whose standards?"
"Woman by the name of Sambra Reallen."
He thought about it, shook his head. "Can't
trust her."
"Can't not trust her," she countered. "She
picked me up in port. Could've just as easy been the chairman, the
way I hear it. She wants him gone and she don't want to jinx the
High Judge's play, if he has a play. Which you're supposed to tell
her."
He snorted. "She wouldn't believe me." He
thought again. "How were you supposed to get me out of here?"
"Same way I came," she said, jerking her
head up the stairs. We walk up to the roof. There's a monowing
waiting to lift us out."
"OK," he said, and came to his feet. He
smiled, then, and it felt like his soul was stretched so wide it
might burst a seam.
"Midj. Thank you."
"No problem."
* * *
THEY WERE TWO STEPS below the fifteenth
landing when the alarm went out. Kore threw himself onto landing,
fingers moving rapidly on the code bar. The panel slid open as Midj
came up beside him.
"What's going on?"
"Damned if I know. But the doors will seal
in ten seconds--go!" He pushed her through and followed, into the
dimness of the supply room.
"Where are we?"
Trust Midj to ask the question. "Chairman
Trogar's office."
"Great."
"Could be worse. Let's
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