"Nyx Smith - Fade to Black" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Nyx)

Fade to Black
Nyx Smith
Series - Shadowrun
1994
ISBN: 0-451-45287-9

Scanned, formatted and proofed by Dreamcity
Ebook version 1.0
Release Date: December, 26, 2003


Special thanks to readers Scott Lusby, Ted Swedalla, and Dave Zimmerman, John S. Franca-villo and
Fern R. Francavillo for productive and unique critiques of the original manuscript, RNC for keeping me
honest and more, VD, AP & CR for language tips, JF who knows I'm alive, and TZ who might suspect,
RB, SD, KM, FW, JAW and RZ, for, among other things, enthusiasm and support.
And, of course, Oscar, Madeline ... and Ginger Ann ...
Long may you run.
 1
At 01:14 hours, everything went dark: the rooftop lounge, the aeropad outside it, every light, beacon,
and security system guarding the top of the tower.
Gordon Ito slipped on a pair of light-intensifying shades, checked his watch, and motioned the
uniformed security officers out of the rooftop lounge. Only his personal bodyguard remained.
The blackout was on Gordon's order, engineered via a diagnostic program running on the tower's
operations mainframes-initialized in error, should anyone ever ask. The blackout had been a pre-condition
for the meet about to occur. Gordon did not like the pre-conditions, but he liked far less the reasons that had
compelled, him to call for the meet.
Recent events now forced him to roll up one of his games, a covert op. The prospect displeased him,
all the more so because ending the operation would require special action. All evidence of the op had to be
spirited out of the competition's hands, that or eradicated, before any embarrassing disclosures could be
made. This would cost Gordon a few more nuyen from his clandestine operating budget, but that meant
nothing compared to the risks and the potential for disaster. The games he played always involved high
stakes, commensurate risks, and ominous potentialities.
Now, the chopper came into view, a grayish specter cast in silhouette by the radiant illumination of the
soaring towers of lower Manhattan. The rhythmic thumping of the craft's rotors resounded softly against
the lounge's floor-to-ceiling windows. Gordon recognized the chopper's configuration, that of an A.C.
Plutocrat, a big helo with luxury accommodations, usually reserved for the corporate elite.
Carefully, the chopper settled onto the aeropad outside.
"Iku beki desu," said Gordon's bodyguard.
Gordon shook his head. He would attend this meeting alone, as arranged. He would not need the
bodyguard's protection. That much he could be sure of. The person he was about to meet considered him
too valuable a customer-and perhaps too dangerous a potential enemy-to let anything unwise occur.
Outside, the whirling rotors slowed. Gordon stepped forward. Double transparex doors snapped open
before him. As he walked out onto the aeropad toward the waiting chopper, the wind howled and tugged at
his tailored suit. The aeropad sat perched some two hundred and fifty stories above the street, atop Tower
Five of Fuchi Industrial Electronics' monument to economic imperialism. The wind always raged up here,
and it was always cold and harsh. Gordon knew that better than most.
The door in the flank of the chopper swung open like a pair of jaws, the lower section descending to
provide a set of steps. A man too tall and lean and gaunt to be anything but an elf descended the steps, his
long black duster flapping in the wind. Approaching Gordon, he extended the hand-held probe of a weapons
detector, checked the device, then motioned at the Plutocrat with his chin.