"Charles Ingrid - The Sand Wars 02 - Lasertown Blues" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ingrid Charles)

The man next to him shifted. He tossed a smokestick butt into the dust.
“What’s he leading up to?”

“You’ll see,” Jack answered quietly. He resisted the impulse to look back,
and up two stories, to the offices overlooking the parade ground, where the
whippet-lean man would be watching today, as he had every day, the
volunteers in training. The man, a legendary mercenary hand-picked by the
Emperor to form this guard, had no name, just as Jack Storm had no age.
The Owner of the Purple knew Jack well—but even that friendship held no
sway with the D.I.

The D.J.’s arrogant gaze swept over them. “All right, men. We all know
only one out of every four of you will make it to the Emperor’s Guard. What
you don’t know is when or how that decision will be made.” He crossed his
arms over his gleaming silver chest. “Today’s the day. You’ve been graded
by your performance for the last few weeks. Today is wash out day. Your
suits were given to you and you were shown how to maintain them. The
final determination will be made based on the condition of your suits. They’re
being stripped down and evaluated right now.”

“Fuck,” muttered the redhead to Jack’s right.

The sentiment echoed inside Jack, too. They’d just come in off three
days’ patrol with no chance to charge or repair their gear. Just what the hell
did these people expect?

But under Jack’s first conscious dismay, a deeper thought channeled. The
corner of his mouth quirked up in a wry smile. The man who respected his
gear, who planned for and maintained a reserve, who could repair his suit
better than an unfamiliar mechanic—that was the sort of man Emperor
Pepys wanted at his back.

And that philosophy just might have been the death knell to all of Jack’s
ambitions. His suit was an antique compared to the equipment most of
these youngsters used. His suit was the forerunner, the prototype that this
new equipment was based on. His suit had gone to the Sand Wars and
come back.

And his suit was alive.

Jack gave an involuntary shiver as the D.I. boomed, “Dismissed!” How
deep into his suit could they delve? He licked his lips. They were dusty. He
tasted an alkaline tang. The farm boy left behind in his past told him this
soil couldn’t be fertile. It was a good thing they were soldiering on it instead.
A shadow fell over his thoughts.

A broad, callused hand reached down for Jack. He took it and got to his
feet.