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

a high-class prostitute. Jack frowned as her gaze flicked his way and then
passed him by, as she went to the bar rather than a table and sat.

Daku set the glass down. “So where have you come from, with such high
hopes,” he prodded.
 Jack looked back to him. So this was going to be a show me yours and I’ll
show you mine session, he thought briefly. He hesitated only slightly before
pulling out a photo and slapping it down on the table, and answering, “I
rangered there.” He watched for the other’s reaction.

Daku sucked in his breath as his fingers pulled the photo closer. “Where
did you get this?”

“I bribed a member of the survey team.”

“It’s not a pretty sight.”

Jack didn’t respond. It wasn’t. The sight of a once verdant, beautiful
planet reduced to a char was beyond description. To Jack, the only hope in
the photo was that the dark blue seas and vaporous clouds still remained.

“This place was firestormed.”

“Yes.”

Daku pushed the photo back. “The only one I’ve heard of recently was
Claron. No warning.”

“No reason.” Except perhaps to wipe out Jack. A nerve ticked along his
jaw line. First Milos, to the Thraks, and then Claron, to firestorm. Vengeance
needed, twice over.

“There’s always a reason. We just don’t know it yet.” The dark face paled
a little. Then Daku said, “That was a bad affair.”

“Yeah.” Bad was an understatement. Memories flooded Jack, memories
of waking up to a firestorm inferno and escaping while an entire planet
burned. He pushed them back. “Where are you from?”

“Africa Two,” the man said and it was Jack’s turn to feel surprised. The
all black planet rarely dealt with the Triad systems. Segregated by choice
and desire, African Twos were seldom friendly toward other systems. It
seemed vastly out of character for a citizen to be interested in serving
Emperor Pepys as a guard. Daku sensed his reaction and said, “I don’t like
Thrakian warships in our space.”

That was a philosophy Jack could second. Despite treaties, enemies
should stay enemies. He did, holding up his glass. “Death to all Thraks,” he
said softly, proposing treason in his toast. He cared little if he revealed
himself. It was the threat of Thrakian swarms that had made him leave his