"James Maxey - The Final Flight of the Blue Bee" - читать интересную книгу автора (Maxey James)

A dozen feet away, the Blue Bee rolled over to his back. His blue suit was torn, revealing a steel
exoskeleton and padding over thin limbs. He coughed, sending a spray of blood into the air. Stinger
walked toward him, swapping out his Sting-gun for a gleaming black pistol.

"Mick," the Blue Bee gasped.

"Don't you..." Stinger said, his voice choking. "Don't you dare. You son-of-a-bitch."

"Mick, we--"

"Shut up!" Stinger took aim.

Then, the Bee-Wing, its auto pilot set to return to Blue Bee, swooped in with an angry drone and caught
Stinger in the throat, lifting him, throwing him backward, right over the edge of the building. Suddenly the
bees went crazy, swarming down in a tornado formation.

With a whir of gears, the Blue Bee sprang to his feet and rushed toward Honey. From the inner folds of
his jacket, he pulled out a glass bottle with a spray top, and began soaking Honey with the blue fluid
inside.

"Don't panic, Miss," he said. "I see he's misted you with an attractant. This will negate it. No bee will
want to come within ten feet of you with this pheromone."

"I've been stung!" Honey said. "Oh god! I'm allergic! I can feel my throat closing! I'm going to die!"

"Calm down," the Blue Bee said. He set the bottle of repulse-pheromones next to her, then reached into
his jacket again, producing a syringe and a flashlight. "I'm a doctor."
He jammed the syringe into her thigh and pushed the plunger. Then he clicked on the flashlight. Instantly,
in the middle of the night, Honey developed a sunburn.

"UV radiation activates my special anti-venom," the Blue Bee said, his voice calm and reassuring despite
the blood dripping from his mouth. She could see now how thin and frail he truly was. His skin was as
wrinkled and thin as crumpled newspaper, stained with brown and blue ink. "This won't merely save you
from your present stings. It's a permanent cure. It would have made me a thousand times richer than I
already was if the government had ever learned to appreciate the side-effects."

"Can we ... can we talk about this at an emergency room?" she asked. "Not that I don't trust you."

"Let me buzz the Bee-Wing." The Blue Bee rose, walking away a dozen yards, leaning over the rail as he
let out a whistle and raised his hand.

He stood there, silently, hand outstretched, for several long seconds. He cleared his throat and said, "It
wasn't my fault."

"What?" Honey asked.

"Leaving Stinger in prison. It was ... I mean..." he lowered his hand, wiping the blood from his chin. "I
was married, back then. After the Mr. Mental fiasco, my wife ... she had me committed. I had ... I had
electroshock therapy. A lot of what went on ... my old life ... it's lost forever."