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file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/James%20Axler%20-%20Deathlands%20038
%20-%20Mars%20Arena.html chronic cancers that had to be cut out, leaving a
raw, bleeding area that never healed properly.
"Not through the plas," Connrad corrected. "Little bastards bounced bullets
off the wall."
"I've never seen or heard of that being done." Francis Giskard's youthful face
broke into a delighted smile. He raised his glass. "I must compliment you on
your choice of champions this year. They appear to be most industrious."
Connrad lifted his glass and drank the rest of its contents.
"Where did you get them?" Giskard asked.
LeMarck kept track of the conversations, but his eyes remained focused on the
pit area.
One of the wall sec men near the old Las Vegas Convention Center raised a
flash with a purple lens cover, signaling twice. They had thermo-graphic
binoculars and could see a person's body heat through the walls of buildings.
Special rad buttons inside the body armor, treated so they reflected different
levels of light, announced the color of the person they looked at.
"It appears that you've lost a couple more men, Giskard," Deke Ramsey, the
remaining baron, said. He was tall and ruddy, his rust red hair shot through
with gray and thinning on the top. "That brings your total lost to what?
Five?"
"Four," Giskard said easily. "And might I remind you, I need only one to win."
He leaned forward and slid two more purple beads across the free-standing
abacus on the low table in front of him. "Connrad, I await your answer."
"You can wait on it," Connrad growled. "It's my secret."
LeMarck flicked his eyes toward the pit, searching the valleys cut through the
shadows by the strings of neon lights. He got only a glimpse of the boys in
their green body armor, then they faded under the tree coverage. It was no
great feat of intellect that they were on their way to the Mirage. He smiled
to himself, knowing they would find plenty of surprises in the building.
Connrad, who was the only baron among them who hadn't had to shift a bead yet,
would be doing that in short order. Perhaps it would be a lot of beads.
LeMarck waited in anticipation.
"Usually the mortality rate runs much higher at this point of the game,"
Dettwyler said.
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"Perhaps we didn't include enough beasts and muties this year."
"There's plenty," Hardcoe replied. "People we've got out there, they're better
chillers than most."
All the barons nodded, then Dettwyler yelled out for more pitchers of beer to
be brought.
"Something I want to ask you, Giskard," Connrad said.
"Ask away, my friend."
"Assuming that you by some freak of accident manage to win, what do you plan
on doing with the seven villes?"
"I plan on living a life of luxury for a year," Giskard replied. "I'm
painfully overdue, as you're well aware."
"Wasn't talking about that," Connrad said. "I was talking about the
construction that
Hardcoe's managed this year."
LeMarck felt a tremor of anxiety thrill through him. The statement confirmed
that
Connrad did have spies among their people at the seven villes. And he hadn't
found all of them. He cursed silently.
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"An intelligent man would take what I've started," Hardcoe said in a soft
voice, "and keep on building."
Connrad whipped his head around. "That's what you think?"
"Yeah."
"You saying I'm not an intelligent man?" Connrad demanded.
LeMarck shifted in response to the new stances assumed by the sec men behind
Connrad.
His hand closed hard around the butt of the Glock.
"Didn't say that," Hardcoe said flatly.
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"I think you did."
Hardcoe shrugged. His pistol was in his lap, LeMarck knew, barely covered by a
red cloth napkin with white dice showing black pips on the faces. "Up to you
what you think."
Connrad showed wolfs teeth, a rictus devoid of anything near human emotion,
showing only cold calculation. Then he laughed raucously. "Better hope you
win, Sparning, because I'm going to burn you out if you don't. And that's a
promise."
Out on the wall, a sec man raised a flash with a red lens. It blinked on and
off.
LeMarck surprised himself by holding his breath, waiting for the lens to flash
again. But it was only the once. Hardcoe leaned forward and slid over another
red bead on the abacus on the table in front of him.
"Your second casualty," Connrad stated.
"Only my first in this Mars Arena," Hardcoe acknowledged. "It's sure a fit
place for that old god of war. But the Big Game is young yet. Don't count your [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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0Arena.html (205 of 291) [12/29/2004 10:49:28 PM]
Page 124
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/James%20Axler%20-%20Deathlands%20038
%20-%20Mars%20Arena.html chronic cancers that had to be cut out, leaving a
raw, bleeding area that never healed properly.
"Not through the plas," Connrad corrected. "Little bastards bounced bullets
off the wall."
"I've never seen or heard of that being done." Francis Giskard's youthful face
broke into a delighted smile. He raised his glass. "I must compliment you on
your choice of champions this year. They appear to be most industrious."
Connrad lifted his glass and drank the rest of its contents.
"Where did you get them?" Giskard asked.
LeMarck kept track of the conversations, but his eyes remained focused on the
pit area.
One of the wall sec men near the old Las Vegas Convention Center raised a
flash with a purple lens cover, signaling twice. They had thermo-graphic
binoculars and could see a person's body heat through the walls of buildings.
Special rad buttons inside the body armor, treated so they reflected different
levels of light, announced the color of the person they looked at.
"It appears that you've lost a couple more men, Giskard," Deke Ramsey, the
remaining baron, said. He was tall and ruddy, his rust red hair shot through
with gray and thinning on the top. "That brings your total lost to what?
Five?"
"Four," Giskard said easily. "And might I remind you, I need only one to win."
He leaned forward and slid two more purple beads across the free-standing
abacus on the low table in front of him. "Connrad, I await your answer."
"You can wait on it," Connrad growled. "It's my secret."
LeMarck flicked his eyes toward the pit, searching the valleys cut through the
shadows by the strings of neon lights. He got only a glimpse of the boys in
their green body armor, then they faded under the tree coverage. It was no
great feat of intellect that they were on their way to the Mirage. He smiled
to himself, knowing they would find plenty of surprises in the building.
Connrad, who was the only baron among them who hadn't had to shift a bead yet,
would be doing that in short order. Perhaps it would be a lot of beads.
LeMarck waited in anticipation.
"Usually the mortality rate runs much higher at this point of the game,"
Dettwyler said.
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/J...%20Deathlands%20038%20-%20Mars%2
0Arena.html (206 of 291) [12/29/2004 10:49:28 PM]
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/James%20Axler%20-%20Deathlands%20038
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"Perhaps we didn't include enough beasts and muties this year."
"There's plenty," Hardcoe replied. "People we've got out there, they're better
chillers than most."
All the barons nodded, then Dettwyler yelled out for more pitchers of beer to
be brought.
"Something I want to ask you, Giskard," Connrad said.
"Ask away, my friend."
"Assuming that you by some freak of accident manage to win, what do you plan
on doing with the seven villes?"
"I plan on living a life of luxury for a year," Giskard replied. "I'm
painfully overdue, as you're well aware."
"Wasn't talking about that," Connrad said. "I was talking about the
construction that
Hardcoe's managed this year."
LeMarck felt a tremor of anxiety thrill through him. The statement confirmed
that
Connrad did have spies among their people at the seven villes. And he hadn't
found all of them. He cursed silently.
Page 125
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"An intelligent man would take what I've started," Hardcoe said in a soft
voice, "and keep on building."
Connrad whipped his head around. "That's what you think?"
"Yeah."
"You saying I'm not an intelligent man?" Connrad demanded.
LeMarck shifted in response to the new stances assumed by the sec men behind
Connrad.
His hand closed hard around the butt of the Glock.
"Didn't say that," Hardcoe said flatly.
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"I think you did."
Hardcoe shrugged. His pistol was in his lap, LeMarck knew, barely covered by a
red cloth napkin with white dice showing black pips on the faces. "Up to you
what you think."
Connrad showed wolfs teeth, a rictus devoid of anything near human emotion,
showing only cold calculation. Then he laughed raucously. "Better hope you
win, Sparning, because I'm going to burn you out if you don't. And that's a
promise."
Out on the wall, a sec man raised a flash with a red lens. It blinked on and
off.
LeMarck surprised himself by holding his breath, waiting for the lens to flash
again. But it was only the once. Hardcoe leaned forward and slid over another
red bead on the abacus on the table in front of him.
"Your second casualty," Connrad stated.
"Only my first in this Mars Arena," Hardcoe acknowledged. "It's sure a fit
place for that old god of war. But the Big Game is young yet. Don't count your [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]