Read Online Plague Wars 06: Comes the Destroyer by David VanDyke - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David VanDyke
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standard-gravity gym, shutting the door carefully. This in itself was startling to Steward Schaeffer, as most of the time he couldn’t read the Chinese giant at all.
He became genuinely concerned when the big man changed into a pristine black kung fu gi, or whatever the outfit was called. Schaeffer’s background was all in the Japanese styles. He’d never seen Shan wear anything like that, nor even work out or spar with the other stewards. Perhaps he trained alone.
“Interesting look,” the redhead remarked as the Chinese stepped onto the mat and dropped into a stretching squat.
Shan ignored the comment, but the furrow in his brow did not go away.
“Something bothering you?” Schaeffer caught the eye of his fellow American steward, John Clayton, jerking his head imperceptibly.
He drifted over.
“Yes,” Shan replied, standing up straight, “but a demonstration is in order before I tell you.” He bowed formally to Schaeffer, put closed fist to palm in front of him, and then took up a relaxed sparring stance.
“Demonstration?” The American clapped palms to thighs and bowed, then settled low, weight balanced.
“Yes. I want you to kill me, if you can. If not, I will kill you.”
“Holy shit,” Clayton exclaimed from behind, reflexively extending his ferrocrystal claws. As full cyborgs, all stewards possessed a wide range of upgrades, beginning with close combat blades. Droplets of blood fell as the short knives extended from his fingertips. In moments he had healed, and stood crouching, ready to fight.
I knew it all along , Schaeffer thought as he unsheathed his own blades. He transmitted the red alert code over his internal radio, summoning the third steward and some Marine backup to pull his nuts out of the fire. As he glanced toward the door, his telescopic right eye could see the lock turned shut. That would slow down any response.
Shan nodded, as if he knew what Schaeffer had done, then he glided forward with a quick leg sweep. The American lifted his knee just in time for his opponent’s foot to rise too fast, slamming into his solar plexus. He felt his laminated bones flex and groan, sensed his breath driven from his body and his internal oxygen kick in.
And then his lungs spasmed, in shock.
His cybernetic systems would dribble O2 into his bloodstream through an osmotic backup, enough to keep him alive, even conscious, but without his organic lungs his combat capability just dropped by half. With one blow he had been knocked out of the fight.
Schaeffer felt himself bounce off the back wall and slide to the floor onto his side. He tried to get to his feet while watching for Shan’s next attack, but the Chinese ignored him and turned toward Clayton.
Intense concentration showed on the other American’s face as he slid around to his left, throwing stiff-fingered jabs at the other man while circling toward Schaeffer. “Don’t –” he croaked, but did not finish the sentence before Shan took a deep, well-timed step between Clayton’s strikes and punched him in the chest. With his deceptively long reach, the combined power of his human nano-augmented muscles and his cybernetics knocked the other man across the room.
Following up swiftly, Shan grabbed the fallen American by his elbows and pinned the man’s arms behind him, lifting him off the ground like a small child. Holding him that way with one huge paw, he took a standard high-tensile zip-tie restrainer from a pocket and slapped it onto Clayton’s forearms, and then carried him across the room to drop him next to Schaeffer.
Then he squatted down to look his fellow stewards in the eyes, saying nothing.
“Better kill us now,” Schaeffer gasped, “because as soon as the reaction team shows up they’ll fry you. They won’t come unarmed.” His lung spasms began to relax, which meant they would start working again soon, he hoped.
“I do not intend to kill you.”
“But…”
“I just wanted you to defend yourself as well as
He became genuinely concerned when the big man changed into a pristine black kung fu gi, or whatever the outfit was called. Schaeffer’s background was all in the Japanese styles. He’d never seen Shan wear anything like that, nor even work out or spar with the other stewards. Perhaps he trained alone.
“Interesting look,” the redhead remarked as the Chinese stepped onto the mat and dropped into a stretching squat.
Shan ignored the comment, but the furrow in his brow did not go away.
“Something bothering you?” Schaeffer caught the eye of his fellow American steward, John Clayton, jerking his head imperceptibly.
He drifted over.
“Yes,” Shan replied, standing up straight, “but a demonstration is in order before I tell you.” He bowed formally to Schaeffer, put closed fist to palm in front of him, and then took up a relaxed sparring stance.
“Demonstration?” The American clapped palms to thighs and bowed, then settled low, weight balanced.
“Yes. I want you to kill me, if you can. If not, I will kill you.”
“Holy shit,” Clayton exclaimed from behind, reflexively extending his ferrocrystal claws. As full cyborgs, all stewards possessed a wide range of upgrades, beginning with close combat blades. Droplets of blood fell as the short knives extended from his fingertips. In moments he had healed, and stood crouching, ready to fight.
I knew it all along , Schaeffer thought as he unsheathed his own blades. He transmitted the red alert code over his internal radio, summoning the third steward and some Marine backup to pull his nuts out of the fire. As he glanced toward the door, his telescopic right eye could see the lock turned shut. That would slow down any response.
Shan nodded, as if he knew what Schaeffer had done, then he glided forward with a quick leg sweep. The American lifted his knee just in time for his opponent’s foot to rise too fast, slamming into his solar plexus. He felt his laminated bones flex and groan, sensed his breath driven from his body and his internal oxygen kick in.
And then his lungs spasmed, in shock.
His cybernetic systems would dribble O2 into his bloodstream through an osmotic backup, enough to keep him alive, even conscious, but without his organic lungs his combat capability just dropped by half. With one blow he had been knocked out of the fight.
Schaeffer felt himself bounce off the back wall and slide to the floor onto his side. He tried to get to his feet while watching for Shan’s next attack, but the Chinese ignored him and turned toward Clayton.
Intense concentration showed on the other American’s face as he slid around to his left, throwing stiff-fingered jabs at the other man while circling toward Schaeffer. “Don’t –” he croaked, but did not finish the sentence before Shan took a deep, well-timed step between Clayton’s strikes and punched him in the chest. With his deceptively long reach, the combined power of his human nano-augmented muscles and his cybernetics knocked the other man across the room.
Following up swiftly, Shan grabbed the fallen American by his elbows and pinned the man’s arms behind him, lifting him off the ground like a small child. Holding him that way with one huge paw, he took a standard high-tensile zip-tie restrainer from a pocket and slapped it onto Clayton’s forearms, and then carried him across the room to drop him next to Schaeffer.
Then he squatted down to look his fellow stewards in the eyes, saying nothing.
“Better kill us now,” Schaeffer gasped, “because as soon as the reaction team shows up they’ll fry you. They won’t come unarmed.” His lung spasms began to relax, which meant they would start working again soon, he hoped.
“I do not intend to kill you.”
“But…”
“I just wanted you to defend yourself as well as
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