"Chalker, Jack L - Quintara 1 - The Demons at Rainbow Bridge" - читать интересную книгу автора (Chalker Jack L)
The man glanced at McCray's left hand, always a precaution before you got into these things if you weren't filled with rage. Mixing it up with a hypno or a telekinetic would be suicide.
"Telepath, eh? You damned mind readers bleed for everybody, don't you? Well, Swami, after the first move, that little talent don't help you one bit in a fight and you know it." The thumb moved the switch back to the whip. "And all I got to do is get you to make the first move."
He raised his arm, clearly intending to bring it down once more on the helpless Erotic, and Jimmy moved. With near effortless motion he jumped from the street to the platform, and at the same time the big man varied his wrist motion to bring the whip straight over onto McCray,
The man was a good head taller and maybe forty or fifty kilos heavier than Jimmy, but what Jimmy lacked in bulk he more than made up in speed and agility. Although the big man slashed in a couldn't-miss pattern, McCray bent and ducked and jumped and the lash did in fact miss him. Before the arm motion could be checked, Jimmy crashed into the man's chest, driving him backward into the rear wall of the club. McCray's hand shot out and twisted the whip away from him, sending it flying into the alley.
The big man's knee came up, catching Jimmy, but he was quick enough to anticipate the move and partly deflect it by a backward motion. It still hurt like hell, but it wasn't the debilitating blow the big man intended.
Still, the big man bellowed his rage, now transferred entirely to Jimmy, and he used his momentary advantage to charge forward. Both he and McCray went down on the platform, but McCray was able to take advantage of the man's forward motion once again and roll backward with him. The result was that the big man fell off the platform, while Jimmy barely stayed on.
Up until now, Grysta had been totally against this whole thing, and still was, but now they were in a fight and that took precedence. Pain suppression on, adrenalin on high . . .
As the big man was picking himself up from the alley, McCray stood and then jumped him. The man went sprawling again, but McCray's acrobaticlike balance served him well, and he remained on his feet and started in with karate kicks that landed painfully on the larger and still-disoriented foe.
The big man was a street brawler type, the same kind of big bully Jimmy McCray knew all too well when he was growing up. The same kind that had driven him, out of pride and a need for self-preservation, to attain the sort of gymnastic skills he now used, and to study the martial arts as the only way a small fellow could best a bigger one like this lug. Such martial arts weren't well-known to the average human of the Exchange; the vast bulk of Oriental humanity had wound up in the Mizlaplan.
Like most big men, this guy could hardly believe he was being struck hard and kicked in the face and beaten bloody while his fists met only empty air. McCray was about to set the man up for what could have been the kill, but in this case would only be the knockout blow, when the man's thoughts checked him:
< Damn it! He's a pro! >
Aloud the man gasped, staggering a bit, "Enough! Enough! There's no more sense in this!"
Being a telepath, Jimmy could tell that the man was sincere. He knew when he was beaten.
The big man managed to make it to the side of the platform and collapse against the side, sinking down and breathing hard. Jimmy, who knew that he would fee! tomorrow what Grysta was blocking now, took a few moments to get his own wind back, then walked over to the big man.
The Erotic handler was taking in air in heaves, but now he seemed to have some of his control back, and he sat there and began to laugh.
"So you beat the big man in a back alley brawl," he managed, between gasps for air. "So what did it get you except a few bruises and a little Irish ego?"
The comment took Jimmy McCray by surprise, and he struggled to recover. "I stopped the beating."
"For the moment. Now what do you do?"
McCray frowned, then jumped to the platform. The Erotic girl was still there, curled up a bit, still sobbing from the pain. She looked up at him, but it was an odd mixture of gratitude and fear. "Are you all right?" he asked her gently. "Can you stand? Do you need help? Come, come! You have nothing to fear from me!"
Like all the Erotics, she was on an off-band. He couldn't scan her, just get a kind of soft, empty hiss.
"She feels good she lived long enough to see somebody beat the crap out of me," the big man called from his resting place, a smugness in his voice. "And she also knows I can't let the others hear of this or there'd be discipline problems for the next six weeks, and we close here tomorrow night."
"Kill me," her voice said, almost too soft to hear, and cracking slightly. "Kill me and ship me back."
Jimmy was totally, completely shocked. He turned and walked back to the edge of the platform, where the big man was just getting unsteadily to his feet, still chuckling a bit between grimaces from the sore spots.
"You touch her,-let alone kill her, and 1*11 come back and finish the job I started on you," Jimmy growled.
the coppers. They'll all be outcasts when they return, and the cops'll be after you for murder. You see how it is, sport? Your little act of kindness just did nothing but give you a little smug satisfaction and kill your damsel in distress."
As a telepath, Jimmy McCray understood instantly that the bastard was telling the truth. The worst part about it was, the big man wasn't too thrilled at the idea of killing, but considered it just part of the job.
"And what you say isn't murder?"
The big man sighed. "Hey, sport -- I don't make the rules. They ain't people, remember. They're designed by a computer and grown in a lab someplace. They're like machines. Machine goes bad, you see if you can fix it, and if you can't, you toss it out and get a new one. I was doin' the fixing tonight and you stopped mat. Now I got to toss her out."
He looked back at the Erotic, who suddenly seemed so tiny and helpless, her body trembling a bit, her face all too human in spite of the animal-like parts and the artistic design.
He turned back to the big man, who was walking down to retrieve his whip. "What if she went with me?" he asked the man, the question just forming of its own accord. "You're leaving tomorrow, you said. Off-planet, I gather. She wouldn't see or talk to the others, and your problem would be solved."
The man sighed and shook his head in wonder. "Sweet Jesus, man! I'm supposed to send them all back, so none of 'em are unaccounted for. Besides, what the hell would you do with her? They're not all that bright, they're designed for only one thing, really, and they have no citizenship or rights. You rich enough to keep her around as some kind of household accessory?"
That last was just humorous enough to bring a dry chuckle to his throat.
< Holy shit, Jimmy! If you wanted a pet, a cat or something is a lot easier to take care of and a lot cheaper to feed! >
"I can't let him just kill her," he muttered under his breath. "Particularly not if it was really my fault."
< I warned you not to get involved! Damn it, now you've got us in a hell of a fix! With her our cash is cut in half, and we're saddled with somebody who 's a dead weight. It brings our starvation closer and only postpones her own fate. >
"Let me have her," Jimmy told the man. "You're a bright lad. You'll figure out a way to explain why she wasn't sent back. I'm sure there are a few lies you can tell to get permission to dispose of her on the spot. It's either that or we'll have to go at it again until you're out for the night, and while I doubt I could hide her forever, I could certainly outlast your ticket out in a day or two in a city of this size."
The man shrugged. "You want her, you take her, sport. Then, when you got to get rid of her, you just call the Club here and they'll tell you where to send the remains. No skin off my nose."
McCray turned back to the Erotic, who had stopped shaking and was now looking at him as if he were some son of god.
4'Here, here! None of that! He's probably right," Jimmy told her, feeling a bit embarrassed by the look. "Can you walk?" He put out his hand and she took it and got unsteadily to her feet.
"They're fast healers," the man told him. "If they weren't, I wouldn't be using this kind of thing on them. Good luck, sport. You're gonna need it. I almost hate to see you do this. Been years since I got licked in a fight, and I kind'a like you. I can't figure out why the hell you're even doin' this."
"No," sighed Jimmy McCray, "I suspect you probably can't." He turned to the girl. "Can you walk? We'll have to get to a train."
"Yes, master. I can do whatever you wish me to do," she responded softly.
"We'll have none of that!" he snapped. "My ancestors spent too many years as other people's lackeys. I'll not be legitimizing the process! You'll call me Jimmy like most other folks."
She smiled. "Jimmy. That's a nice name."
Besides, he added silently to himself, I'm hardly in a position to be the master of anyone, being a vassal myself.
"Shut up, Grysta," he murmured, and offered the girl his arm.
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