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

The Owner of the Purple sat, looking just as Jack had imagined him,
whippet-lean and handsome, his silver hair combed back from his forehead.
He drummed the arm of his swivel chair impatiently. From the darkened
booth overlooking the parade grounds, Jack could see the men milling
restlessly down below and a steady, antlike line of newcomers joining the
waiters. He knew that test results would start dribbling in soon. The tension
in the air was growing thick enough to cut. He watched the grounds,
distracted, until Purple asked, “Is it paranoia, Jack, or do you think that
Daku was out for you specifically?”

Jack’s attention snapped back to the commander. “He said it was his job.
I think that’s specific enough.”

“We won’t be able to trace him back.”

“No,” Jack answered briefly.

Amber shot him a glowing smile, and pointedly got up and sat down
next to the window overlooking the parade grounds. She’d let him know
when the action started.

He looked back to his friend, once a free mercenary opponent, then a
companion, and now a superior officer. “That’s where they made their
mistake… African Twos are deadly assassins, but they also let their egos get
in the way. I might have thought Daku was just trying to eliminate
competition for the Guard until he told me otherwise.”

“Then… why today? Why not a training accident during Basic? We’ve
lost several volunteers.”

Jack shrugged. “Maybe he was hoping to get a suit out of it. You’re going
to be screening against potential smugglers among the wash outs today
anyhow. Maybe Daku wasn’t against turning a buck any way he could.
Battle armor would be worth a lot to a freebooter.”

The Purple smiled. “And besides… you’re good in a suit. He might not
have had the opportunity before today.”

“There’s that.” Jack relaxed into his chair. The Purple knew how it was
with battle armor—he owned his own, a mauve-colored suit that was even
more of a relic than Jack’s. Like his own soldier of fortune origins, the purple
suit’s history was lost in the mists of war. He thought about the man who’d
tried to kill him. “If Daku had been another mercenary, his employers
might have been worried about connections with you or me.”
 “There’s that, too,” the Purple said. The smile thinned. “Mercenaries
don’t hit other mercenaries. We face off often enough doing work, as it is.

In the underworld where the two of them had met, employment for
private wars and aggravations was the work they did—and it was a foregone
conclusion that the mercenary who protected your back today might well be