Read Online How Dark the World Becomes by Frank Chadwick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Frank Chadwick
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how it all still seemed like second nature. I always used to cable down along the rock borders between units, like I did tonight, but—being young, dumb, and full of cum—I used to wear a parasail and just exit off the balcony instead of climbing back up. With all the weird crosscurrents, I was lucky I never broke my neck. This trip, I planned to use the elevator when I was done.
I was in a breakfast nook off the kitchen. Not big, but nice: pale carpet, off-white walls and ceiling, two paintings on the walls, one nice abstract statue on a shelf. Tasteful, but my appraiser’s eye told me there was nothing here I’d risk a jump off the balcony for—the real artistry was in the arrangement. The carpet wasn’t thick, but there was something so perfectly cushioned about it that it felt like the floor wasn’t hard and solid underneath. I looked around—its simple elegance whispered luxury and major buckage, and with a sixth-level bay balcony view of the canyon, the apartment itself was worth a hundred times whatever stuff was in it.
There was movement in the next room. I drew the gauss pistol and stepped back to blend into the shadow of the drapes by the sliding door.
She came into the dark room—alert and curious but not, as near as I could tell, alarmed. There was a little draft from the door, and she went to close it. It was only when she saw the fifteen-centimeter circular hole cut in the glass that alarms started going off in her head, but it was way too late by then. Before she could react, I had my left arm around her neck and shoulder, hand clamped over her mouth, and the muzzle of the pistol pressed against her right temple. She froze, but I could feel the sweat break out on her face.
“No sound,” I said in a low whisper. “You understand?”
She nodded quickly.
“They’re here?”
She didn’t respond for a second or two, so I moved the muzzle of the pistol forward from her temple and let it rest in her eye socket. She tried to turn away but I held her in place.
“They’re here?” I repeated insistently, and she nodded.
“What room?” I loosened the grip on her mouth. If she was going to scream, she’d start with a big gulp of air, and that’s all the further she’d get.
“Please don’t kill them,” she whispered. “Just let them go, please .”
“Lady, I don’t know what that son of a bitch Arrie told you about me, but here’s the deal: I’m not smuggling a couple of paid silencers off this or any other rock—not when they knocked off a guy so big they’re going to have half the provosts this side of Terraspace looking for them.” I didn’t bother to add “and not when they got some little kids’ blood on their hands,” because that was personal, not professional.
“I don’t know why you double-crossed me with Kolya,” I went on, “and I don’t really care. I figure you’re just following somebody’s orders, and that’s who’s on my hit parade. The two leather-heads in the next room are as good a place to start as any. Either way, their murdering days are over.”
It felt like she was going to faint in my arms, but I held her up and pushed the pistol against her head harder.
“Now, which room?”
“They’re not the killers,” she whispered.
“No? Then who the hell are they?” But then the light came on in my brain like a magnesium flare at midnight, and I knew the answer before she said it.
“The children.”
* * *
She was pretty shaken up, so I let her sit at the dining table while I drew tea from her samovar. She’d been ready for bed when I made my entrance—hair down, no makeup, slippers and a big fuzzy white robe. I had to hand it to her, she regained her composure pretty quickly, since a few minutes before she must have figured she was just a second or two from a flechette in the brain. Hell, she got points in my book just for not wetting herself when I grabbed her from behind in the dark—lots of tough guys I know would
I was in a breakfast nook off the kitchen. Not big, but nice: pale carpet, off-white walls and ceiling, two paintings on the walls, one nice abstract statue on a shelf. Tasteful, but my appraiser’s eye told me there was nothing here I’d risk a jump off the balcony for—the real artistry was in the arrangement. The carpet wasn’t thick, but there was something so perfectly cushioned about it that it felt like the floor wasn’t hard and solid underneath. I looked around—its simple elegance whispered luxury and major buckage, and with a sixth-level bay balcony view of the canyon, the apartment itself was worth a hundred times whatever stuff was in it.
There was movement in the next room. I drew the gauss pistol and stepped back to blend into the shadow of the drapes by the sliding door.
She came into the dark room—alert and curious but not, as near as I could tell, alarmed. There was a little draft from the door, and she went to close it. It was only when she saw the fifteen-centimeter circular hole cut in the glass that alarms started going off in her head, but it was way too late by then. Before she could react, I had my left arm around her neck and shoulder, hand clamped over her mouth, and the muzzle of the pistol pressed against her right temple. She froze, but I could feel the sweat break out on her face.
“No sound,” I said in a low whisper. “You understand?”
She nodded quickly.
“They’re here?”
She didn’t respond for a second or two, so I moved the muzzle of the pistol forward from her temple and let it rest in her eye socket. She tried to turn away but I held her in place.
“They’re here?” I repeated insistently, and she nodded.
“What room?” I loosened the grip on her mouth. If she was going to scream, she’d start with a big gulp of air, and that’s all the further she’d get.
“Please don’t kill them,” she whispered. “Just let them go, please .”
“Lady, I don’t know what that son of a bitch Arrie told you about me, but here’s the deal: I’m not smuggling a couple of paid silencers off this or any other rock—not when they knocked off a guy so big they’re going to have half the provosts this side of Terraspace looking for them.” I didn’t bother to add “and not when they got some little kids’ blood on their hands,” because that was personal, not professional.
“I don’t know why you double-crossed me with Kolya,” I went on, “and I don’t really care. I figure you’re just following somebody’s orders, and that’s who’s on my hit parade. The two leather-heads in the next room are as good a place to start as any. Either way, their murdering days are over.”
It felt like she was going to faint in my arms, but I held her up and pushed the pistol against her head harder.
“Now, which room?”
“They’re not the killers,” she whispered.
“No? Then who the hell are they?” But then the light came on in my brain like a magnesium flare at midnight, and I knew the answer before she said it.
“The children.”
* * *
She was pretty shaken up, so I let her sit at the dining table while I drew tea from her samovar. She’d been ready for bed when I made my entrance—hair down, no makeup, slippers and a big fuzzy white robe. I had to hand it to her, she regained her composure pretty quickly, since a few minutes before she must have figured she was just a second or two from a flechette in the brain. Hell, she got points in my book just for not wetting herself when I grabbed her from behind in the dark—lots of tough guys I know would
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