"Steve Perry - Battle Surgeons" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Steven)

She had deflected his questions about her path by ' changing subject of the conversation. Why? she
won-dered. She wasn't sure. It had nothing to do with her as-signment, and she was not ashamed of her
origins. Perhaps it was just the shock of the new, of being on a different world once more.
She looked up again at the glowing spores overhead. There were species and cultures that believed
souls trav-eled among the stars, flitting endlessly from one celes-tial object to another. Those strands up
there could almost be mistaken for something like that.
She noticed then that another strain of spores was working its way across the clouds; a band of
crimson. It interwove with the subtler colors, its borders increasing steadily. By the time dawn broke, she
knew, it would be the dominant hue.
Barriss turned away, going back inside the barracks before she could see the other strands
overwhelmed by the red one.




5

Sitting in the chow hall and eating a breakfast of grainmush cakes, poptree syrup, and dried kelp strips,
Barriss Offee suddenly sensed a disturbance in the Force. The energy of it was that of impending
combatтАФ something she had learned to recognize. She stopped and tried to focus on a direction.
"Something?" Jos said. He was sipping a mug of parichka a few seats away.
She turned to look at him. "You said we are well be-hind our own lines here?"
"Yes. Why?"
"There is some kind of confrontation happening, quite close by."
The surgeon looked at his chrono. "Ah. That would be the teras kasi match. Want to go take a look?"
Last night's rain had washed away some of the acrid pollen and spore-float, but the afternoon air still had
a moldy, sour tang to it as Jos led her from the compound. A hundred meters away, in a small natural
amphitheater eroded from rock, perhaps twenty or twenty-five people were gathered; troops, mostly,
though Barriss could also see a few humanoids of various types. They sat or stood in the rough semicircle
formed by the rocks, watching intently the unfolding spectacle before them.
There were a few shouts of encouragement, but the crowd was, for the most part, silent.
On the floor of the amphitheater was a large, spray-foam mat, and upon this stood two humans. The men
were bare to the waist, and wore thinskin briefs and wrestling slippers. Both appeared to be physically fit,
though neither was particularly large or bulky. One was short, dark-haired, and swarthy, thick with muscle
through the chest and shoulders; the other was tall and slender, almost blond, and had several unrevised
scars on his arms. The scars didn't look like ritual onesтАФif there was a pattern, Barriss couldn't see it. But
it was obvious from their shapes that the marks had come from blades.
Barriss felt another roil of the Force, and knew this was where the disturbance had originated.
As they moved closer, Jos said, "Hand-to-hand com-bat instructors. The short guy is Usu CleyтАФhe's
from Rimsoo Five, about ninety kilometers toward the south pole from here. Cley was the Ninth Fleet
Middle-Mass Champion two years running. I've seen him fight a cou-ple of timesтАФhe's very good.
 "The other one is new; he's a replacement for our unit's instructor, who got blown up by a suicide droid
last week. I haven't seen him move yet. Are you a bet-ting woman, Jedi Offee? They aren't due to start for
a few more minutes. You could make a few creditsтАФline is two-to-one in favor of Cley."
The Force swirled again in her, imparting a definite sense of menace, and it came, no question, from the
blond fighter. "What the new man's name?"
Jos frowned, searching his memory. "Pow, Fow ... something..."
"Phow Ji?"
"Yeah. You know him?"
"You have a bet down?"