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With the one knife in hand, he retreated to the one spot he had measured
out and scratched in the bare clay.
Feel the knife; sense the balance; and . . . release!
And miss.
"Hades!"
Gerswin took the second knife and let it fly with full force.
The twinge in his left hand brought him up short. He realized he had
gripped the double-edged blade far too tightly. A slash ran across the base of
his thumb, scarcely more than skin deep, but blood welled out.
He squeezed the edge closed with the fingers of the same hand, then let the
cut bleed as he threw the third knife with his right hand.
All three had struck the target, but none had stuck.
Gerswin studied the target before starting after the knives.
The gathering clouds choked off the last scattered beams from the sun, and
the first gust of wind ruffled his tight-curled blond hair. Absently, he
started to push the hair off his forehead before he realized that it was too
short to get in the way, as it had been for nearly ten years.
He reclaimed the three knives once more and straightened the target with
his right hand. He walked back to his mark, juggling the unsheathed knife in
his right hand. He intended to be equally proficient with either hand.
"Right now, it's equally inaccurate," he mumbled.
His next cast bounced off the plastic, but the second did not. Gerswin
tried to reclaim the feeling of the second with the third. He did, and two
heavy knives remained solidly within the plastic as he walked up to reclaim
all three.
Four steps to the target in the whine of the wind. Reclaim the blades and
straighten the target. Four steps back to the mark.
Three more throws.
Reclaim the knives.
Throw again.
Reclaim.
Throw.
Reclaim.
Throw.
Page 68
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He kept up the pattern until it was automatic.
When he finally quit, not because of darkness, though most would have had
to, two out of three casts were sticking within the target, either right or
left-handed. He quit because the increasing wind gusts kept knocking over the
target, not because the ice rain bothered him, light tunic or not, nor because
of the nagging twinge in his thumb.
The bleeding had stopped, but streaks of rain-diluted blood
decorated his trousers as he headed first to stow the knives in his
quarters and then to the medical section. He did not intend to wear the knives
until he was one hundred percent accurate with them within their range.
With practice every day, within weeks he would have that skill. After that
. . . another weapon. But, first, the knives, for they could be used anywhere.
Anywhere in the Empire and on Old Earth.
Chapter XXXI
The flitter dropped from the clouded sky toward the plateau and its grasses
and grubushes. Gerswin watched the readouts in the heads-up display as he
eased the flitter down into the clearing nearest the site he hoped was there.
From the topography maps, he had narrowed the search to six plateaus
corresponding to his memories. This was the fifth he had actually
investigated. His searches of the first four had failed to disclose any
indication of the brick stairwell, the garden plots, and the hidden trail he
remembered.
The computer and the maps had been better in some ways than his memories.
The pilot smiled wryly at the thought. In two of the first four sites he had
discovered evidence of recent habitation. In the future he would look into
recruiting possibilities, assuming those whom his descent had frightened away
were indeed devilkid types.
As the flitter settled, Gerswin let more and more weight drop onto the
skids, leaving power on the rotors until he was certain that the flitter was
solidly grounded on the mesa top. Next came the blade retraction and storage.
Before shutting down the fans, he checked both the EDI and heat scanners. Both
showed negative.
He shook his head. A devilkid could be waiting in a below-grade gully, or a
buried and fully charged laser pack could have been sitting right in front of
the flitter, and neither detector would have shown a thing. They weren't
designed for terrain work.
Much of the Service's equipment wasn't designed for Old Earth usage.
After half-vaulting, half-climbing from the cockpit, he touched the closure
plates and tapped in a lock combination. While it wouldn't stop a trooper with
a laser, the flitter was secure against anything less, and Gerswin didn't
expect to meet me equivalent of an Imperial Marine marching through the
grubushes in the chill and steady wind of the gray fall morning.
He sighted against the hills to the west, checking his orientation. If he
were right, then the hidden stairs he hoped to find were nearly a kay to the
west, just above a sharp dropoff to the more sheltered valley beneath.
Light as his steps were, each one crisped slightly on the heavy sand that
surrounded the flitter. His breath, slow and even, formed a trailing plume
behind him as he slipped toward the shoulder-high grubushes a hundred meters
westward.
He sniffed the air gently, trying to detect a scent that might have been [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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