"Steve Perry - Matador 7 - Brother Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Steven)

and some of the fatigue. She ached all over, but it was a good feeling. She'd been to her limits, and that
was always a satisfying trip. She knew what she could do if she had to, and that was better than not
knowing. She was a strong woman, stronger than most ordinary men, and it felt good to take the muscles
out for a brisk walk. Now she could sleep. Saval was going to help her figure out what to do about the
mystery back on her own planet; she was in good health, powerful, ready. How much better off could
she be?

What about Ruul?

Fuck Ruul.

You wish. That's the problem, isn't it?

Fuck you, too.

Her inner voice just laughed, high and girlish, a leftover from the days when she was eighteen and just
finding out about real sex and love and first heartbreak.

So long ago, that seemed. Back when the galaxy was hers to take, and any road was possible. Ah, if she
had it to do over again . . .

You'd do it the same way, wouldn't you?

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She sighed. Yeah. Probably would. What the hell. She hadn't made that much of a mess of it. Besides, if
you liked who you were, you had to honor how you got there. Looking back over your shoulder too
much was apt to make you trip over something in today's path. You couldn't do anything about the
stupid mistakes you made anyhow, so why let them drag you down?

Still, some memories were hard to shake. Taz climbed into bed, fell into sleep, and some of the past
seeped into her dreams.



Chapter THREE

IT WAS A large chamber, nearly empty. In it the man Ndugu Kifo; before him, a silk cushion with a
small object upon it; behind him, a suitcase-sized Ultralux vouch tuned to his brainwaves, perched
alertly upon its built-in tractor. Kifo sat with his legs knotted in lotus, the bare wooden floor cool under
his naked buttocks and heels. Inside the Temple of Despair it would seem still to someone not paying
attention, but when a man achieved a certain level of true stillness, his senses opened. Sent the smells,
feels, sights, sounds along their pathways into an open mind, a mind that noted, catalogued, then
dismissed, unless the input had some . . . relevance.

The beams overhead ticked, wood obeying the laws of thermodynamics and physics, expanding from the
hot sunshine beating down upon the city of Leijona, contracting from the coolers within the temple. Not