Студопедия — Mirror Friend, Mirror Foe 1 страница
Студопедия Главная Случайная страница Обратная связь

Разделы: Автомобили Астрономия Биология География Дом и сад Другие языки Другое Информатика История Культура Литература Логика Математика Медицина Металлургия Механика Образование Охрана труда Педагогика Политика Право Психология Религия Риторика Социология Спорт Строительство Технология Туризм Физика Философия Финансы Химия Черчение Экология Экономика Электроника

Mirror Friend, Mirror Foe 1 страница






Robert Asprin & George Takei

 

 

He would have to fight the boy. All the argument thus far had proved was that the youth had no logical ob­jections, but was making them up as he went along to support his own stubborn streak. The only way to end the discussion would be to teach the kid a lesson... physically.

Having reached this conclusion, Hosato began to reassess the situation, specifically viewing the room as a battlefield, as he continued the discussion.

“Be reasonable, James. I’ve been hired to do a job, like anyone else in this complex. That job is to teach you how to fence. It wasn’t my idea, it was your fa­ther’s, so instead of arguing, let’s get on with the job at hand.”

“But I don’t want to learn to fence!” the boy in­sisted, his gray eyes glowering from beneath a sandy tousle of hair. “Why not?”

The boy was tall, in his mid-teens, and broad for his age. He’d have the advantage of reach, since Hosato barely came up to his shoulders in height, but whatever edge his youth gave him in speed should be offset by his awkwardness.

“It’s silly,” the boy grumbled. “Why should I waste my time learning something I’ll never use. Swords are obsolete... so are guns, for that matter, but at least a gun would train me for using a blaster.”

“Are you carrying a gun or a blaster at the mo­ment?” Hosato inquired politely.

“No,” James admitted. “You aren’t allowed to carry an energy weapon inside the complex un­less you’re a security guard.”

“But you are wearing a sword.”

From what Hosato could see, the boy’s sword had a slender blade roughly one meter long. The overly ornate hilt indicated it was more a decoration than a functional weapon. Probably no cutting edges, which would restrict his opponent to attacking with the point.

“Of course I’m wearing a sword. Anyone of any station worth mentioning does.”

“But you can’t see any reason for learning to use it?”

The boy’s beige cotton-and-nylon jumpsuit would give him freedom of movement, though not as much as Hosato’s black fencing uniform. The soft-soled boots would give him traction, but the cloak was too long. With any luck, he’d trip over that cloak, or at least find it tangling his arm if he turned too suddenly.

“No, I don’t,” the youth retorted. “Nobody actually fights with swords. They’re a fashionable status sym­bol. Two years ago it was spangle gloves, today it’s swords. Big deal.”

Hosato abandoned his preparatory observations to make one last effort to convince the boy logically.

“Look, James. Your father is one of the most im­portant men in this complex—a complex, I might add, that is constantly feuding with another complex on Grunbecker’s planet. That makes you a prime target for kidnapping or assassination. Realizing that, can’t you see the value of learning to use the one weapon the laws let you carry?”

“Let Security handle them.” The boy shrugged. “That’s what we pay them for.”

The tile floor of the rec room would give them de­cent footing, though not ideal. The far end of the room was still in darkness, but the X aisle here be­tween the four pool tables would be well lighted enough to work in. Having completed his survey, Hosato moved to set up the confrontation.

“Security will handle them.” He sneered, mimick­ing the boy’s voice. “And what if they don’t. What will you do then. File a complaint. Or would you be forced to do your own fighting for a change?”

The main vulnerability of youth is not inexperience, it’s pride. The boy’s head came up with a snap as he reacted to the slight.

“I can take care of myself if I have to.”

“Is that a fact?” Hosato stung the boy with a pa­tronizing smile. “Tell you what, James. If I can prove to you that you can’t handle yourself in a fight, will you agree to study what I have to teach you?”

“That wouldn’t be fair,” the youth protested. “I didn’t say I could cross swords with a fencing master and win. But there aren’t that many fencing masters around. I can hold my own against the kind of oppo­nent I’d be likely to have to fight, though.”

Hosato smiled. “It seems there are a few miscon­ceptions here we should clear up. First of all, I’m not a fencing master. I’m a professional duelist. I’m sup­posed to teach you to fight, not score points in a tour­nament. Second.”—he showed a few more teeth— “I didn’t say I’d cross swords with you. I’m betting you’re sloppy enough with that weapon I could de­fend myself without using a sword.”

The boy started to reply angrily, but caught him­self.

“No deal,” he said suspiciously. “You’ll probably use karate or something.”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t know karate,” Hosato lied easily.

“Why not?” asked the boy. “I mean, you’re Orien­tal.”

“That’s right. I can’t use chopsticks, either.” Hosato caught himself before his annoyance grew. The boy had inadvertently touched a nerve, but it wouldn’t do to go into this fight mad.

“We’re getting off the subject. I’m proposing a lit­tle contest. You use a sword, and I don’t. If you can draw blood on me in five minutes, I’ll go to your fa­ther and tell him you don’t need lessons. Is it a deal?”

The boy hesitated. “What if I kill you?” he asked.

“Then I’ll be dead and you won’t have to take les­sons.”

“I mean, what would I tell my father. With you dead, there’d be no one to say it was an exercise. I’d look like a murderer.”

Hosato smiled to himself. The boy was bright enough. Maybe he’d make a fencer after all.

“Don’t worry about it, James,” he said confidently. Hosato pulled a small flat box from where it was clipped inside his tunic. He thumbed a dial and lifted the unit to his lips.

“Suzi!” he said.

From the depths of the darkened end of the rec room came the whir of small high-speed motors, and a strange shape emerged into the light.

It was obviously a robot, but a very specialized ro­bot. It stood six feet high, floating on a cushion of air, and was shaped like a rectangular metal box stood on end. One side was a rough manikin form, and had a jointed mechanical arm dangling from it.

“Meet Suzi,” Hosato said. “My combination equip­ment closet and fencing assistant.”

“So what?” said the youth, unimpressed.

Hosato spoke into the control box again. “Suzi. Dis­play replay camera three two minutes back.”

In response, the machine pivoted about to reveal a view screen mounted on the end opposite the arm. A picture sprang into focus, of Hosato and James in conversation.

“draw blood on me in five minutes, I’ll go to your father—”

“Stop, Suzi!” Hosato turned to the boy. “There’s your witness.”

The youth was craning his neck to peer around the room.

“Have you got cameras in here?” he asked.

“Yes. I tape all my lessons,” Hosato replied. “They’re spaced around the room to make sure the action is captured from all angles.”

He pointed to a small black box no bigger than a matchbox, perched on the pool table by the boy’s el-bow.

“How many cameras are there, Hayama?” a new voice inquired, using Hosato’s alias. It came to them from the other end of the room as a new figure stepped into view.

Sasha. Hosato frowned to himself as he recognized the svelte figure of the security chief. He was going to have trouble with this lady. She was too efficient and moved a bit too quietly for his comfort.

“Half a dozen,” he answered, forcing a smile. “I didn’t see you come in.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” she replied without smiling. “Go ahead, Master James. I’ll be your wit­ness that you attacked your teacher at his own re­quest.” She draped herself casually over a folding chair next to the robot.

James looked uncomfortable for a moment, then grudgingly drew his sword. Hosato felt a quick wave of sympathy for the boy. He had run out of excuses and was now forced into doing combat with a fencing coach in front of an attractive woman. To say the least, it was an unenviable position.

Reluctantly the boy raised his sword into an awk­ward initiation of an en garde position.

Instead of responding in kind, Hosato simply stood facing him squarely, arms folded across his chest. They watched each other intently for a few moments; then Hosato cocked an expectant eyebrow.

The youth, suddenly realizing Hosato wasn’t going to do anything more in preparation, began to edge cautiously forward. Hosato remained motionless. Finally the boy screwed up his courage and poked his sword forward in a quick jab.

Without moving his hands, Hosato stepped leisurely backward, and the attack fell short.

He continued sauntering backward, and raised the control box to his lips once more. “Suzi!” he said loudly. “Give us a buzzer in five minutes, starting now!”

Tucking the box back inside his tunic, he reversed his field and approached the boy once more.

“Okay, James,” he said in a barely audible mur­mur. “Try it again, and this time act as if you mean it. We’ve got an audience!”

The boy flushed and sprang forward, not waiting for Hosato to stop moving. The blade darted toward his tormentor’s chest, but encountered only thin air. The target disappeared as Hosato pulled his left shoul­der back, twisting his torso parallel to the advancing blade. The point passed harmlessly by, scant inches from his chest.

“Much better!” he said, retreating easily up one of the aisles. “A few more like that and I’ll have to start treating you seriously.”

The boy pressed forward, on the attack again, only to find Hosato had changed his track. He was stand­ing sideways now, his right hand extended leisurely, as if holding an invisible sword.

Puzzled, the boy jabbed at the hand and missed again as the hand drifted back to its original position. Annoyed now, the boy stepped forward and tried to thrust past the hand at Hosato’s body. The blade was batted disdainfully aside by the hand that now seemed to be blocking the path of attack.

Hosato drifted sideways, putting the pool table be­tween himself and the stalking youth. The boy paral­leled his motion, sword extended over the width of the table, watching Hosato’s movements as a lynx watches a rabbit. Again he jabbed with the sword, only to find he had again misjudged the distance.

Hosato moved neither foot nor hand in defense, laughing at the boy’s frustration as the pool table brought his attack up short.

Suddenly the control box inside Hosato’s tunic started to tingle against his body. He risked a glance over his shoulder. Sasha was standing with her back to them, closely examining the robot.

There was a flash of movement in the corner of his eye, and Hosato snapped his attention back to the fight. Too late. During his moment of distraction, the boy had slipped around the end of the pool table and was sprinting at his tormentor with his sword at full extension.

Hosato was caught flatfooted. The sword point was scant inches from his body and there was no way he could defend himself—legitimately.

Reflex action took over. Hosato dropped to the floor under the speeding sword point. As he did, his foot lashed out in a vicious kick. In that flashing moment, his conscious mind regained partial control but not in time. He checked the main force of the kick and moved the point of impact from the diaphragm to the stomach, but that was all he could do.

The kick landed, and the boy doubled over and collapsed on the floor. The sword slipped from his fingers and clattered noisily away as he gasped for breath.

Hosato rippled to his feet and was at the boy’s side in an eye blink. “Are you all right, James?” he asked, lifting the youth by his armpits to aid his breathing.

All the while, he was cursing reflexes—his reflexes and his inattentiveness. To give himself away this early in the game.

“What happened?” demanded Sasha, standing be­side them.

“He... he kicked me!” the boy gasped.

“Nonsense!” Hosato snapped indignantly. “The boy got overenthusiastic and ran into the corner of the ta­ble there. Knocked the wind out of him.”

“You said you wouldn’t use karate!” the boy whined accusingly, ignoring Hosato’s protest.

“I told you I don’t know any karate!”

“This can be settled easily enough,” Sasha inter­rupted. “Let’s see the replay on your cameras, Hayama.”

Her voice was casual, but her eyes were studying Hosato with soft suspicion.

“An excellent suggestion,” Hosato said, fishing the control box out of his tunic. “Suzi. Camera five. Dis­play replay. One minute back.”

The view screen winked obediently to life, and two figures swam into focus. Hosato waited, poised, as James circled wide around one end of the pool table the boy darted forward Hosato floated lightly behind the table again James tried to change his course, slammed into the corner of the table, doubled over, and rolled off onto the floor...

“Interrupt, Suzi!” Hosato ordered.

The screen went dark again.

“You see. The boy just—”

A raucous buzzer went off in the robot.

“What was that?” Sasha demanded.

“The signal that five minutes is up. I forgot to can­cel the timing order.”

Sasha ignored his answer and turned to the boy again. “Well, James. Was that what happened?”

The boy was still sitting on the floor staring thought­fully at the dark view screen.

“Huh. Oh. Yeah, Sasha. I forgot about the cameras. I was just trying to get out of taking fencing lessons.”

Now it was the boy’s turn to suffer the security chief’s piercing study.

“In that case, I think you owe Hayama here an apology.”

James lurched shakily to his feet and extended his hand.

“I’m sorry, Hayama. All things considered, I’ve changed my mind. I’d like to take those lessons, if you’ll have me as a student.”

The boy had given up too easily. There was a new depth in his gaze that hadn’t been there when they first met.

“Certainly I’ll have you, James,” Hosato said, ac­cepting the handshake. “If anything, I should apolo­gize to you for putting you through such a rough first lesson.”

The boy picked up his sword and resheathed it.

“If it’s all right,” he said, “I think I’ll go lie down for a while. I’m still a little queasy from that acci­dent.”

“Go ahead.” Hosato smiled. “Same time tomor­row?”

“Right.”

“Wait outside a minute, James,” interjected Sasha. “I’ll walk along with you.”

The boy hesitated, then nodded and left.

“We’ll have to have dinner together, Hayama. Sometime soon?”

Sasha’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. Hosato ignored the warning bells going off in the back of his mind.

“Sure, Sasha,” he said, forcing a smile. “Any par­ticular reason?”

“Nothing special. You’re the newest person on the staff, and I know the least about you. I thought it might give us a chance to get to know each other bet­ter.”

“I thought those application forms I filled out were pretty complete.”

Sasha smiled as if at some secret joke. “Forms seldom tell the whole story.”

“Well, how about tonight, then?”

“There’s no hurry. No one leaves the complex with­out my approval.”

She turned and followed James before Hosato could reply, which was fortunate, because he couldn’t think of one. He stared about the twosome for a few mo­ments, then thoughtfully began to collect his remote cameras.

“Suspicious bitch!” said Suzi.

Involuntarily Hosato shot a darting glance around the room. “Someone might be listening, you know,” he said.

“Sensors detect no human or electronic surveil­lance,” the robot retorted.

Hosato grimaced. He should know by now the fu­tility of arguing with his partner.

“Come on, Suzi. Give me a hand with these cam­eras.”

The robot floated over to him, but would not be dis­tracted from her observations.

“They’re both suspicious, you know. The security chief and the boy.”

“I know, Suzi.”

“Don’t underestimate the security chief just because she’s a female.”

“If anything, I’m tracking her doubly close because she’s a female, Suzi.”

“I thought so!” The robot sniffed haughtily.

Hosato secured the last camera in the storage com­partment and began unfastening his tunic. As he did, the door of the compartment slid shut, then reopened, exposing an entirely different storage area.

“I wish you’d use the normal doors when we’re on assignment,” Hosato commented. “It’s supposed to be a secret that you can rearrange your internals.”

“It is a secret,” the robot retorted. “I told you, no one’s watching.”

Hosato ignored the rebuff. His attention was de­voted instead to the two swords displayed in this com­partment. The dueling epees. No matter how often he saw them, whether as a student or after the maestro had presented them to him, they always gave him a vague chill.

The swords had been used over the centuries for sixty-three bloodings and thirty-one kills. A total of ninety-four duels—no, make that ninety-five. He had forgotten to include the latest duel, the one that im­mediately preceded this contract...

It had all started on Mitchum’s planet There were four of them waiting by the designated rock. Even though they were still in sight of the spaceport, no crowd gathered to watch. Apparently duels such as this were not uncommon.

Hosato studied the group as he approached them. Suzi floated silently at his side, her disapproval dis­played by the absence of her traditional comments and observations.

Three of the men were obviously the Scale brothers. Their flashy, stylish clothes disguised neither the fam­ily resemblance nor the arrogant slouch of habitual bar toughs. They were long-limbed and broad-shouldered; their build and manner set them apart from the fourth man, even more than their obvious difference in color.

The fourth man stood slightly apart from the others. He was bald and Negroid, his ramrod-stiff posture marking him as military. His face was impassive, but his well-muscled, compact body and poised readiness were enough to cause anyone to give him wide berth. It was obvious to the most casual observer that the worn holster of his blaster had not been purchased used, but had aged the hard way.

The bald man moved forward to meet Hosato. “Mr. Mathers?” he asked.

“I am Hayama,” said Hosato. “I have been retained by Mr. Mathers to settle this affair.”

The bald man swept him with a speculative glance before replying. “I am Moabe, Mr. Hayama. I have been asked to serve as umpire.”

Hosato inclined his head slightly in formal acknowl­edgment.

“Hey. Are you one of Mathers’ seconds?”

Hosato turned to face the speaker. “Might I ask whom I am addressing?” he queried.

“I’m Harry Scale, the challenger. These are my brothers, Casey and Tom.”

Hosato inclined his head to them. “I am Hayama.”

One of the brothers, Tom, snorted derisively. The other studied Hosato carefully.

“You didn’t answer Brother Harry’s question,” he commented quietly.

“I have been retained by Mr. Mathers to settle this affair,” Hosato replied. “He sends his regrets over last night’s incident and states he is ready to make public apology under any condition you might set forth.”

Tom grinned and began making clucking noises like a chicken.

Harry was more to the point. “No deal, Hayama. He’s not getting off the hook that easy. I challenged him and he accepted, so he’s going to have to fight. You just go back and tell him we’ll wait here one more hour. If he isn’t here by then, we’ll come and get him.”

Hosato smiled. “That will not be necessary. As I said, I have been instructed by Mr. Mathers to settle the affair. If possible, this was to be done with an apology. If not.” He shrugged and let the sentence hang in the air.

“What do you mean—?” Harry began.

“He’s taking Mathers’ place,” interrupted Casey.

“What?” exploded Tom, finally coming to life. “He can’t do that. Mathers was challenged, and he’s got to be the one to fight.”

Hosato looked at the umpire.

“It is not without precedent,” Moabe ruled, “for a challenged party to appoint a champion to fight in his stead.”

The brothers bit off their objections and huddled together for a quick conference.

Hosato smiled to himself. He found a certain ironic justice in the situation. If thugs tried to use the format of a duel to cloak a murder, it was only fitting they find themselves bound by the rules and traditions gov­erning that form of combat. He caught Moabe’s eye. The black looked at him impassively for a moment, then slowly closed one eye in a conspiratorial wink. Hosato was not the only one present who appreciated the humor of the situation.

“Okay, Hayama!” Harry called. The huddle was breaking up. “It’s your funeral. If you want to die in­stead of Mathers, that’s your privilege. We’re willing to settle this with you.”

Moabe was suddenly between them, one hand on the butt of his blaster.

“A duel is individual combat,” he said levelly. “The seconds are to serve as witnesses only, and are not to take an active part in the battle,”

“Hey, Moabe!” Tom protested. “Remember, we’re the ones who are paying you.”

“That’s right,” Moabe retorted, “and you’re paying me to umpire this duel, which means I guarantee the rules are strictly followed by both sides.”

“Shut up, Tom!” Casey interrupted. “Don’t worry, Moabe. This is Harry’s fight. He’d probably shoot us himself if we interfered.”

His smile was not convincing.

“Very well, gentlemen,” Hosato replied, as if there had been no interruption. “As representative of the challenged party, I believe I have choice of weapons. I choose epees.”

“What?” bellowed Harry.

“Epees,” said Moabe. “Swords. Not only is it an ac­ceptable dueling weapon, it is one of the original duel­ing weapons.”

“Go ahead, Harry,” called Casey. “It’s like using a long knife.”

“But I don’t have a sword,” protested Harry.

Hosato was already at Suzi’s side, opening one of her many storage compartments.

“I happen to have a matched set of dueling epees.

Mr. Moabe, if you would be so good as to inspect them for acceptability.?”

He passed the weapons to Moabe, who examined them closely. The Negro’s eyebrows shot up with sur­prised appreciation before he caught himself and re­stored his normal unmoved expression.

“Yes. These weapons are acceptable,” he ruled. “Mr. Scale, as your opponent has provided the weap­ons, you have first choice.”

He offered both weapons to Harry, who scowled suspiciously, then made a large show of examining them closely before choosing.

“My client will accept first blood in settling this matter,” Hosato announced.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tom demanded.

“Duels may be settled by first, second, or third blood,” Moabe informed him. “First blood means just that—the duel is ended when blood is drawn, however trivial. Second blood means the duel will be fought to the first serious injury. Third blood is a duel to the death, and the fight will continue until one of the com­batants is dead, even if it means the seconds have to hold a wounded duelist up until the death blow is struck.”

“Oh!” said Tom, properly mollified.

Casey had been studying Hosato suspiciously throughout the exchange. “You seem to know an aw­ful lot about this stuff, Hayama,” he commented.

“This is not my first duel,” Hosato admitted.

“Hayama!” Harry exploded in sudden recognition. “Hey. I’ve heard of you. You’re a professional duel­ist!”

Hosato inclined his head in acknowledgment. There was a pregnant moment of silence as the brothers ex­changed glances.

“Mr. Scale,” said Moabe, stepping forward, “do you wish to reconsider accepting Mr. Mathers’ apology?”

Harry started, then brandished his sword. “Why?

I’m not scared of him. Come on, Hayama. Let’s get this thing over with.”

Mentally, Hosato cursed Moabe. If he had just kept his mouth shut for a few more minutes, Harry might have backed down on his own. But Harry was a bully, and would never back away from a fight on someone else’s suggestion. Well, there was no getting out of it now. With a sigh Hosato stepped forward and struck a pose, legs straight, sword and sword arm extended level at shoulder height.

Harry regarded the stance suspiciously.

“If you will come en garde, Mr. Scale,” Moabe prompted. “Extend your sword until its point touches that of Mr. Hayama’s. I will then give the signal to begin.”

Harry shot a black look at the umpire, then awk­wardly initiated Hosato’s stance and extended his sword.

“Ready, gentlemen. Fighting for first blood. Begin!” It was over almost before it started. Harry plunged forward, trying to overwhelm and surprise his oppo­nent, but he made a mistake. Like most novices, he ignored his opponent’s arm and tried to attack deep, going for a body hit. As he closed the distance, Hosato’s sword point floated out and plunged deep in­to the bicep of his sword arm.

Harry recoiled, dropping the sword and grasping his wounded arm.

“Halt!” called Moabe.

Hosato stepped back and relaxed his guard.

“First blood has been drawn,” Moabe intoned. “The matter is settled.”

“Not so fast!”

All heads turned toward the source of the voice.

During the skirmish, Casey had drifted back and taken up a position behind Moabe. He was there now, but his blaster was out and leveled at the umpire.

“Harry didn’t agree to this first-blood bull.”

“He entered into combat after the terms had—”

“Shut up, Moabe. What do you say, Harry?”

“Come on, Casey. I’m hurt!”

“Casey glared at his brother for a moment, then turned his gaze to Hosato. “Hayama,” he said, “I know you wouldn’t want to take advantage of Harry’s condition, so what say you switch that sword over to your left hand. Now!”

Slowly Hosato complied with the order.

“Okay now, Harry?” Casey called.

“Okay. Come on, Hayama. Just you and me.”

Hosato advanced slowly to meet him.

Harry was lying. It wasn’t just the two of them. It was becoming increasingly apparent to Hosato that if he succeeded in killing Harry, one of the other broth­ers would gun him down, rules or no rules. He had been afraid something like this would happen. That’s why he had a small, flat two-shot blaster secreted in his pocket. Casey had timed his move well, however, and there was no way to reach the weapon without drawing fire from the other two brothers.

Harry plunged forward again. Hosato parried and bounded backward, ignoring his chance for a fatal riposte.

“Not so good with your left hand, are you, Hayama?” Harry sneered.

“Get him, Harry!” Tom called from the side.

As a matter of fact, Hosato was almost as good with his left hand as he was with his right, but he didn’t dare act. Tom’s shout fixed the third brother’s location in his mind, though, and gave him the germ of an idea.

Steeling himself, Hosato darted forward, on the at­tack. Harry batted the lunge clumsily aside, but didn’t attempt a counterthrust as Hosato slipped past him.

“Pretty fancy, Hayama,” he admitted grudgingly.

Hosato mentally heaved a sigh of relief. The move had been risky. If Harry had been an experienced fencer, he wouldn’t have dared try it for fear of the reflexive counterthrust. But he had gambled, and it worked. Now he was in position. Harry advanced again, but this time Hosato gave ground, backpedaling away from his opponent.

“Ready, Moabe?” he called.

“Ready for what?” Tom demanded.

For a reply, Hosato whirled and plunged his epee into Tom’s chest.

“Hey!” shouted Casey.

That was all the distraction Moabe needed. Drop­ping to the ground and drawing his blaster in one smooth motion, he cut Casey down with one shot.

Harry had dropped his sword and was drawing his own blaster as Casey fell. “You bastard!” he screamed, leveling the weapon at Moabe’s back.

Hosato’s shot took him as he squeezed the trigger stud, the two blasts sounding as one.

Silence echoed over the field.

“Moabe?” Hosato called at last.

“He has ceased to function,” Suzi informed him.

Hosato hung his head in fatigue and sorrow. He had liked Moabe, however short their acquaintance had been.

Suzi retrieved Harry’s sword and floated silently to his side. Hosato sighed and began to secure the weap­ons in her storage compartment. He didn’t chide Suzi for not assisting in the fight. However human she seemed at times, she was still a robot, and therefore incapable of killing or injuring a human.

“Someone’s coming,” Suzi announced.

Hosato raised his head and saw a man approaching from the spaceport. This man was of a different cut than most, his conservative clothes, like a uniform, identifying him as a corporation man. He gave the strewn bodies no more than a casual glance, striding purposefully toward the survivor.

Hosato studied him with mild curiosity as he ap­proached. He had been hired as a duelist by corporate men before, but not often.

The man came to a halt at a slight distance. “May I ask whom I am addressing?” he inquired.







Дата добавления: 2015-09-06; просмотров: 251. Нарушение авторских прав; Мы поможем в написании вашей работы!



Кардиналистский и ординалистский подходы Кардиналистский (количественный подход) к анализу полезности основан на представлении о возможности измерения различных благ в условных единицах полезности...

Обзор компонентов Multisim Компоненты – это основа любой схемы, это все элементы, из которых она состоит. Multisim оперирует с двумя категориями...

Композиция из абстрактных геометрических фигур Данная композиция состоит из линий, штриховки, абстрактных геометрических форм...

Важнейшие способы обработки и анализа рядов динамики Не во всех случаях эмпирические данные рядов динамики позволяют определить тенденцию изменения явления во времени...

Гносеологический оптимизм, скептицизм, агностицизм.разновидности агностицизма Позицию Агностицизм защищает и критический реализм. Один из главных представителей этого направления...

Функциональные обязанности медсестры отделения реанимации · Медсестра отделения реанимации обязана осуществлять лечебно-профилактический и гигиенический уход за пациентами...

Определение трудоемкости работ и затрат машинного времени На основании ведомости объемов работ по объекту и норм времени ГЭСН составляется ведомость подсчёта трудоёмкости, затрат машинного времени, потребности в конструкциях, изделиях и материалах (табл...

Алгоритм выполнения манипуляции Приемы наружного акушерского исследования. Приемы Леопольда – Левицкого. Цель...

ИГРЫ НА ТАКТИЛЬНОЕ ВЗАИМОДЕЙСТВИЕ Методические рекомендации по проведению игр на тактильное взаимодействие...

Реформы П.А.Столыпина Сегодня уже никто не сомневается в том, что экономическая политика П...

Studopedia.info - Студопедия - 2014-2024 год . (0.013 сек.) русская версия | украинская версия