"Margaret Weis - Mag Force 7 - The Knights Of The Black Earth" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weis Margaret)

credit, Ohme had not expected to be murdered.

Always pleased to be able to help one of its citizens, the military had
assisted Ohme's creditors by immediately seizing control of the Adonian's
estate, including all weapons, designs for weapons, and prototypes of new
weapons that the late Snaga Ohme had invented. "Is Knight Officer Fuqua still
inside the Ohme estate?" "Yes, sir. But according to his latest report, his
unit is due to transfer out anytime now. He'll have to leave with the unit, of
course."

The driver nodded. "He has served his purpose. I doubt if we could learn
anything more from him. We will proceed to Laskar."

Arriving at the intersection, the hovercar turned left.

Laskar was not a planned community. Its streets had not been laid out
according to any grand design. Rather, its buildings had sprung up like
fungus, sprouting wherever the spores happened to fall. Buildings rarely faced
each other, or fronted a street, but stood sideways to one another, like two
hookers working the same block, who pretend to ignore each other yet keep a
watchful eye on the competition. Consequently, the streets had been laid out
around the buildings, which resulted in a great many serpentine roads,
innumerable alleys, dead ends (aptly named), cul-de-sacs, and streets that had
started out going somewhere only to end up lost and confused in the center of
a very bad nowhere.

The four men were driving to one of the worst nowheres in Laskar.

Which was why there were four of them. And the needleguns.

The navigator guided them unerringly through the maze of gambling dens,
liquor bars, drug-bars, cyber-bars, bloodbars. They drove past the live sex,
semi-live sex, semiconscious sex joints. They ignored the hookers of every
age, race, sex, gender, and planetary origin. They paid scant attention to the
occasional cop-shop--fortified bunkers from which the cops rarely emerged and
then only to collect protection money that provided the citizens of Laskar
protection against nobody but the cops.

"Travel down Painted Eye half a kilometer, sir. Turn north onto Snake
Road. Brownstone walk-up. Number 757. Our man is on the top floor. Apartment
9e."

No unnecessary talk between them. No names. The two men in the back were
deferential to the two in the front, especially the driver. The two in back
never spoke unless spoken to and then answered respectfully in as concise a
manner as possible.

The driver, who was the leader, followed instructions, swerving sharply to
avoid hitting a woman with an Adam's apple and a low-cut dress, revealing a
hairy chest, who swore at them in a gravelly voice and gave the car a few