"Kristine Smith - Kilian 1 - Code Of Conduct" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Kristine)

Jani hurried out of the alley, slid to a stop, and scurried back into the shelter of a
doorway. The desk
clerk was talking to an attractive blonde. His new contact from SouthPort
Consolidated, Jani assumed. Try as she might, she couldn't recall ever seeing that
company name on any shipping logs that had
passed through her hands.

Jani studied the woman's neat hair and stylish clothes, both several GateWays
removed from the best SouthPort had to offer. She watched as the desk clerk
nodded, then pointed in the direction of the alley.

She backed down the passageway, her sore back protesting every stride. When she
reached the other
end, she looked up and down the street, ducking into the shadows as a passenger
skimmer drifted by.
She listened, until she heard only faraway street sounds and knew for certain that she
was alone. Then she ran.



CHAPTER 2
Scrub and sand blurred past as Jani concentrated on the approaching tracking
station. The squat building sat like an overturned bowl in the middle of the plain, its
safety beacon shining gamely through the fog.

The steadying hand on her shoulder returned as the calmness reasserted itself. A
survival checklist
formed in her mind. What she had to do, how quickly, and how thoroughly. She
hadn't always been that organized. The Service had literally drilled it into her head.
Augmentation. The implants in her brain that had, at least officially, made her a
soldier. Jani resented augie when she didn't need it, but gripped it like
a life preserver now. As she neared the station, it kept her focused, compelled her to
watch the shallow recesses in the dome, the dark shadows where someone could
hide.

She circled the small dome twice before she edged the skimmer into its charge slot.
Shooter at the ready, she carded through the station's two sets of doors and scanned
the cell-like single room. Finding nothing out of place, she set the weapon on
standby and tucked it into the belt of her coverall. Working with speed born of habit
and dispassion born of chemistry, she packed her few clothes into her small duffel.
Then she stripped the bed and bath area, feeding the flimsy sheets and towels into
the trashzap. The volume of material overwhelmed the unit's filter; the odor of burnt
cloth filled the room.

Jani rummaged through one of the side compartments of her duffel and carefully
withdrew the small Naxin bomb. After the protein digester did its work, no trace of
her presence, no hair, skin cell, or fingerprint, would remain. A second bomb nestled
in her bag. She would use it on the skimmer after
she reached the shuttleport.