"Jack Yeovil - Demon Download" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yeovil Jack)

blood was still seeping. The pain would go away soon, when his mission was discharged.

The Path of Joseph was thorny. Thorny but rewarding.

Slim left the pumps to refill Duroc's tanks by themselves, and tapped keys on the forecourt terminal. The
computer was melded with the Caddy's systems.

"Just runnin' some checks, Ro-jay. Safe sex fer automobiles, I calls it. What with all these here viruses
goin' around, you gotta be on the look-out. I don't want ole Beulahmdashthat's ma master program,
Beulahmdashto pick up no foreign Frenchy computer ailments and rot to pieces on me, do I?"

Duroc didn't say anything. Slim was heavy-set, tattooed, scarred, probably a war veteran. He was big,
but only his paunch was soft. He sounded like the cowboys in the sub-titled Western films his uncle had
taken him to at the Cinematheque Francaise when he was a child. There was a slight awkwardness about
Slim's keyboard action. He was missing the tip of his left little finger. That made him yakuza. They cut off
part of a digit for every mistake you made. So, the gasman had been careless. But only once. That was a
good record for someone stationed out here in theColorado Desert . The yaks must want their best men
to keep the supply lines open. Running a sandside gas station was a risky business, what with renegades
and gangcults. Slim must have fought many battles, killed many people. It was just good business
practice.

"Ah-hah, yer cleared, Ro-jay. No bugs on yer auto. It's a real clean machine. Yurrup-peen?"
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"American. Cadillac coupe de ville, 1962. With alterations."

Slim whistled through his teem.

"Neat to beat your feet-o, Hirohito."

Duroc knew he was sweating badly. His collar was soaked through. His jaws ached as he bit an
imaginary bullet. The demon shifted slightly and his ribs seemed to grind together. He pressed the pad
tighter, and swallowed his spit.

It was a powerful demon. The Summoner had dipped it in his own blood before entrusting it to Roger
Duroc. Duroc had travelled all the way down fromSalt Lake City with the thing, struggling to prevent it
from seeding early. If it were to spawn inside him he would be as dead within seconds, and his mission
would have to be repeated. Another demon, another disciple. The Summoner would not be pleased.

"Don't git many private citizens through here, y'know. It's convoys, mostly. The big corps need to stop
off somewhere on the interstate. GenTech route their trade this way. And we see a few Ops, and I
daresay a couple of outlaws have stood where you're standin' now and filled up on gas. Real nasty boys
'n' girls, I s'pose, real nasty. Still, their coldkish is as good as anyone else's, and no one much bothers
with gas stations any more. The gangcults need 'em as much as the corps. Gas, water and food. That's
what you need to stay alive out here, and we got 'em all three. Would you care to try some of Slim's
Special Refried Beancurd-shaped Ribettes with Chilli Fries and Root Beer? We don't stock no
shamburgers. I knows you Frenchos got you a reputation for appreciatin' fine food. I could kick in some