"Flint, Eric - Weber, David - Honorverse SS - From the Highlands" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flewelling Lynn)

not surprise me?" he murmured.
The man's apparent indifference caused a resurgence of Victor's
anger.
"Don't you even care?" he demanded, hissing. "For the sake
ofЧ"
"Ah! Stop!" Usher flashed him that wicked smile. "Don't tell me
wonderboy was about to call on the deity? Rank superstition, that
isЧcitizen."
Victor tightened his jaws. "I was about to say: 'for the sake of the
Revolution,' " he finished lamely.
"Sure you were. Sure you were." The Marine citizen colonel
leaned over, emphasizing his next words.
"Poor, poor wonderboy. You just discovered that the Revolution
has a few blots on its stainless escutcheon, did you?" He turned
away, hunching his shoulders, and brought the glass back to his
lips. "Why shouldn't Durkheim get cozy with the scum of the
universe? He's done everything else. State Sec's so filthy
already a little more slime won't even show."
Again, Victor flushed at the insult; and, again, made no retort.
Usher started to down the drink, but paused. The pause was very
brief. When he set the empty glass down on the table, he spoke
very softly: "Did you know you were being followed?"
Victor was startled, but he had enough self-control to keep from
turning his head. "Shit," he hissed, momentarily losing his
determination to avoid profanity.
The thin smile came back to Usher's face. "I will be damned. I do
believe you are the genuine article, wonderboy. Didn't know there
were any left. How well can you take a punch?"
The non sequitur left Victor's mind scrambling to catch up.
"Huh?"
"Never mind," murmured Usher. "If you don't know, you're about
to find out."
* * *
The next half minute was a complete blur. Victor only had
fragmented images:
Usher roaring with rage, almost every word an obscenity.
Customers in the bar scrambling away. Himself sailing through
the air, landing on his back. Up againЧsomehowЧsailing onto a
table. Usher's face, contorted with fury, still roaring obscenities.
Most of all:
Pain, and Usher's hands. Big hands. God, that bastard's strong!
Victor's attempts to fend them off were as futile as a kitten's
attempts to pry open a mastiff's jaws.
But he never quite lost consciousness. And some part of Victor's
brain, somewhere in the chaos, understood that Usher wasn't
actually trying to kill him. Or even really hurt him that badly.
Which was a good thing, since after the first few seconds Victor
had no doubt at all that Usher could have destroyed him utterly.
That much of the man's reputation was no figment of the
Revolution's mythology, after all. Despite the terror of the