[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Jeanette remembered. It could work. And he could teach them so much....
"We don't have to bargain. We hold all the high cards, and after tonight, we'll have this Aerune mac
Whasis too. This Highlander reject won't be so high and mighty once he's got an iron collar around his
neck. In fact, I think he'll tell me everything I want to know," Robert gloated.
"Uh-huh." Robert's refusal to negotiate frustrated her. Aerune was pure power and Robert was
talking like he was some kind of special effect that could be captured between commercial breaks. All
Robert could see was what he wanted to see not what was there.
This was not going to end well. It was time to cut her losses.
"Look, I've got to finish up some reports on our lab rats and tweak the T-Stroke mix before I go
home and grab some Z's. What time should I meet you back here tonight?" she asked brightly.
Robert smiled, sure he'd won his point. "Be back here around nine. We'll set things up in the Park
this time after midnight there's nobody there but the muggers. We'll have plenty of elbow room and
plenty of peace and quiet. And a few surprises for our mutie friend."
"Sounds good." Jeanette forced another smile. "See you then."
After Robert left, Jeanette spent a long time staring at her reflection in the black mirror of her office
wall, making up her mind for sure. She'd always known that someday it would be time to leave this little
party Robert was throwing, and actually, she'd been here longer than she thought she'd be. But she could
smell disaster ahead, and with her own survivor instincts, Jeanette decided she didn't want to be here
when it hit.
Aerune haunted her thoughts. Power. Promise. Danger. She felt the temptation to stay just to see
him again beckon to her, and quashed it firmly. It's time to go.
She'd always known that someday it'd be time, and planned accordingly. Jeanette opened her guitar
case and felt around in the lining until she found what she was looking for a red plastic diskette with a
smiley-face sticker on it. She loaded its contents to her computer and hesitated for a moment before
pressing "Send."
Has to be done. She pressed the button. The virus began working its way through the system,
erasing every hint of her presence and her work.
Next she went through her desk, pulling all her paper files and shredding them. She took the bags to
the incinerator herself in her outlaw days, Jeanette had never relied on anyone else to cover her tracks:
when you wanted something done right, you did it yourself.
When that was done, she took a last look around. The office where she'd spent so much of her time
was completely sanitized. No trace of her presence remained, except for her guitar and sound system, a
rack of CDs, and a few posters on the walls. She wasn't going to take anything but the guitar with her,
but she couldn't leave the other stuff down here. This place wasn't supposed to exist.
Because it was Saturday, most of the day staff wouldn't be coming in at all. She commandeered a
cart from the laundry and loaded the rest of her personal gear into it, and took it upstairs where it
belonged.
Her "official" office cubicle looked strangely virginal, since she was almost never there. She took a
few minutes to set up the stereo, scatter the personal things she was abandoning around it, and hang her
posters on the walls. She took the cart back down to the laundry (details were important when you were
planning to vanish) and came back up to the office to turn on her computer.
She tested her worm by logging in with her Black Projects user code, and was relieved to see the
message "No Such User." She reset the time on her computer to a date last week and logged in under
her rarely-used official, abovestairs account. Then she spent a few minutes writing memos that would
"prove" she'd gone on vacation a week ago, and wouldn't be back for two more.
Let Robert start a war with Faerie. I hope Lord Aerune makes hash of him. And either way,
I'm covered, and he's left holding the bag. Bye-bye, Lintel. I can't say it's been fun, because it
hasn't.
When everything was arranged to her satisfaction, she took her guitar and went home. Her
apartment had always been just a place to store her stuff, and Jeanette wasn't the kind of person who
accumulated a lot of stuff she really cared about she'd learned that lesson early and too well. She threw
a couple of pairs of jeans and some T-shirts on the bed, and pulled her studded leather jacket and
engineer boots out of the back of the closet. She took a moment to strip the vest with the Sinner Saints
colors off the jacket it'd been years since she'd worn her colors, and she didn't want to run into any old
friends now before diving back into the closet for her saddlebags. She packed quickly clothes, music,
and cash, lots of that before putting on her boots and jacket.
Time to go. If that idiot wants to commit suicide, he can do it without me and if he manages
to survive, he'll still need me and maybe we'll do the dance. But I'm not taking any falls for him.
Survival of the fittest. I'm sure Robert would agree.
* * *
Her Harley was waiting for her in the garage below a cream and maroon touring beauty she'd
named Mystery, on which she'd blown most of her first paychecks when she'd come to Threshold. She
stripped off the protective cover and slung her saddlebags over Mystery's back, buckling them into place
before lashing her guitar down to the pillion seat. It would make an awkward load, and she might have
been willing to leave the instrument behind if she'd been sure she was coming back.
But she wasn't.
She wheeled slowly out of the underground garage, blinking owlishly at the winter sunlight even [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

  • zanotowane.pl
  • doc.pisz.pl
  • pdf.pisz.pl
  • alwayshope.keep.pl

    •