"Steve Perry - The Man Who Never Missed" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Steven)

The reaper locks snicked open and the thick stainless steel door swung wide.
The chief pubtender stood in the doorway. "Somethin' up?"

"Go help Sleel. We're closing for a little while. I want everybody outside."
"What's the deal?"

"Not to worry, Butch. Somebody will be asking for me soon—tell them where I
am." He walked into the drug room and started to cycle the door shut.

"What is it, Boss? You in some kinda trouble? Listen, me 'n' Sleel can hold
'em off if you—"

Khadaji smiled. "Thanks, Butch, I appreciate it. But you do what I told you,
that'll help the most." The door swung closed. Khadaji walked over in front of
the dispensing window and stood framed in it. He saw Butch and Sleel both look
at him, and at least a dozen troopers saw him before he opaqued the window.
The crystal faded slowly to black. Alone in the room, he took a deep breath
and slowly sat on his heels in the kneeling position called seiza. He had at
least three-quarters of an hour, plenty of time for a short meditation.

His mind would not be still. It had been over ten years since he'd learned the
first of the calming procedures he'd used from that point. They had become
almost automatic in that time, his control was nearly perfect. Zazen,
kuji-kiri, throndu, point-contraction, mantra, mandala—he knew them all, cages
for the monkey brain. But the monkey was elusive this time. And it had a
larger, fiercer cousin, a beast which slept in a deep and black cave in the
back of Khadaji's mind. The monkey's nervous chattering of doom awoke the
shaggy creature. Death? It said, red eyes narrowing. No. I will fight Death
and kill him! I am not ready to die. Never.
Khadaji sighed. Too many years, too much preparation had gone into this; too
much was stirred for him to calm himself now. Instead of being lulled, his
mind was preter-naturally alert, filled with thoughts and desires and
memories. He saw quietly, but his head was full of storm; epinepherine surged
through his blood and washed over his shores in pounding waves. Khadaji
remembered.

He remembered it all.

Chapter Six

THE WOMAN EXPLODED into a shower of blood and torn flesh as the slugs from his
carbine smacked into her. The look of surprise on her face, of puzzlement,
touched him. She had not known she could be hurt, that she could die. It was
there on her face as she fell, the amazement. Among the thousands of them
charging across the harvested wheat field, Khadaji saw her face clearly. But
the look was on other faces in the background. Wrong, the look said. This
'isn't right, this isn't the way it's supposed to be, those dying expressions
said—

"Khadaji, get your quad to the left, three hundred degrees! There's another