Stormblood, стр. 23
I walked a little quicker, past the various Alien Embassies and Processing Datacentres where arriving travellers of various species stated their business: to trade, visit, or permanently migrate to Compass. Not every species had the best of intentions, especially after the war ended and they’d cottoned-on that humanity’s position within the greater galactic community was indeed vulnerable.
Past the harbour area and towards the outskirts of the central city area, I could see the Compass Academy Building, where they studied xenobiology and xenoarchaeology. We’ve been interested in aliens from the moment we made contact with the Torven four centuries ago. The civilisation had been in its spacefaring infancy when they happened upon and rescued a lone human lungship in deepspace, its engines leaking and life-support on the verge of collapse. In return, Harmony provided living space and a cultural foundation in Compass. No surprises that it helped strengthen the Common politically. Somehow, the word got around to other spacefaring species and they came calling. Some points of contact resulted in skirmishes that didn’t end well for either side, while others saw more species joining the Common.
I slowed a fraction and turned away from the rain-streaked Travel Depot terminal to study the Academy building, confirming that I was, as I thought, being followed. Reaper intuition was enough, but a glance in a reflective gable window confirmed it. I got a flash of a slender, pale figure under heavy, hooded clothing. One of the Jackal’s men, I suspected, which meant trouble. Couldn’t let them know what I was up to.
Time to take them on a little tour.
I casually turned down a rain-slick street and pretended to browse storefronts selling translation software and cruiser-ship passes as I threaded through the stream of recent arrivals bleeding out of the Depot. I had to set a trap for my stalker. But, amped-up by that whiff of stormtech, my body began to itch for a confrontation. My muscles were tightening and my mouth was already thickening with eager saliva. I stamped down on my rising urges as best I could, but after another few blocks I was getting sick of this damn idiot and I couldn’t have him breathing down my neck all the way to Wong’s place.
Got to love it when the number of options shrinks down to one. Really speeds up the decision-making process.
I turned into an alley clustered with garbage bins and flattened my back against cool brick. Positioning my legs into a fighter’s stance, body angled forward. I counted the footsteps and whipped my elbow out. It sunk into my follower’s stomach, sending him reeling backwards with a curse.
‘You looking for me, mate?’ I asked.
Whatever exposed flesh I could see was completely hairless. His skin was pale as bone and covered with smooth glistening scales, like a reptile’s. Dark, beady eyes flickered down my body, assessing me. His hands twitched and taloned claws slithered out from the ends of his fingers, glinting in the light. A result of some wacky experimental surgery, recreational augmentations. A moonmetal slingshiv glinted as it danced between his claws. He meant business – which meant he hadn’t been sent by the Jackal. That bastard liked to play with his food.
His expression remained stoic as he lashed out with the slingshiv. I parried the first blow, grabbed his arm on the second, dragging him forward as I hooked his leg out from under him and smashed him into the brick wall. I punched the crook of his arm, tried to twist the weapon away, wrapping my arm around his neck. He snarled and crushed me against the wall. My back scraped the bare brick, his slingshiv darting back over his shoulder, aiming for my throat and tearing bloody slashes into my shoulder. Agony and stormtech burned through me as I locked my arm around his throat in an iron grip and pulled. He spluttered, struggling for air as I pulled harder, harder, his legs flailing, our muscles straining, saliva flying from my teeth.
He must have been seconds from blacking out when he slammed the back of his head into my nose. The momentum sending us twisting away, legs tangled, my grip loosening and him slithering away and kicking me backwards into a stack of garbage disposals. Food waste and stinking liquid exploded into my face, sticking to my clothes. I spat out something foul, my hair matted and sticky. Gritting my teeth, I hurled one of the small plastic bins at my assailant’s face and it smashed into his chest, garbage spattering out. The stormtech strummed through my nerve centres as I swooped in to deliver two iron-fisted blows to his stomach, sent another smashing across his head. He ducked under my third blow, swiping sideways at me with his claws, digging into the skin and leaving burning gashes down my sides. I growled, threw my hand up to protect my throat and earned a searing claw slash across my forearm. I hunched forward, taking the blow with my shoulder, ramming into him and sending him reeling backwards. I slammed my open palm into his nose with a wet crunch, breaking it. He skidded backwards, still clutching the slingshiv. Blood and hot garbage soaked my stinking underskin. I knew his style now. Fast and shallow. Death of a dozen cuts, they called it.
I circled him, arms held up in a defensive position, ensuring my back wasn’t to the wall. Chest heaving, squashing my body’s