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rapidly in a low whisper for quite awhile, then gestured to Ryan. The leader of the companions approached the chair and the man suddenly waved a hand. "Far enough, kindly," he said. "You are covered with road dust and exude a frightful odor." Ryan didn't bother to swallow his irritation. "If I'd known we'd be meeting, I'd have bathed in rose water and disinfectant." The thin man eyed him broodily. "You've an intrusive tongue. Did I ask you a question? No matter. Phil tells me your name is Cawdor." "That is true." Page 29 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html " Ryan Cawdor, I presume." "Yeah." "He tells me you've brought Zadfrak back to us." "True again." "Why?" "Because he asked us. He's sick." The thin man stirred. "I know that, Ryan Cawdor. I also know that I cast Zadfrak out of the Family. Disowned him, stripped him of his rights and set him loose in Deathlands to die. Returning him here is a great affront." "Zadfrak didn't mention that. We owed him a debt, and he wanted to be returned to Helskel. That's all there is to it." The man smiled in an odd, cold way. "I don't think I believe you. I think you came here to make mischief." file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%2...20-%20Deathlands%2034%20-%20Stone face.html (47 of 263) [12/29/2004 12:09:40 AM] file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20E-books/James%20Axler%20-%20Deathla nds%2034%20-%20Stoneface.html Ryan returned the cold smile. "Oh?" "There could be no other reason." There was a shuffling behind Ryan, then a barely audible click. He spun, hand darting to his blaster. In a jagged fragment of a second he saw that the entire wall backing the jukebox had swiveled open, disgorging seven of the shaven-headed X-scarred men, all aiming large-caliber handblasters. Some were automatics, some were revolvers, but all looked brand-new. The cold tip of a gun touched the back of Ryan's neck. He heard the sound of a round being jacked into a chamber and froze, hand on the butt of the SIG-Sauer. The thin man held up one narrow hand. "That bloodies the floor, much as you'd enjoy it. There are other ways." The white-clad man stared at him with shadow-pooled eyes. Ryan's mind sensed a whispering touch, like an invisible, wispy cobweb brushing him with ectoplasmic tentacles. His heart began to pound. The man was a psionic, a line-of-sight telepath. He wasn't necessarily a mutie, but norms with true telepathic abilities were extremely rare. Extrasensory and precognitive perceptions were the most typical abilities possessed by muties who appeared to be normal. The vague touch disappeared, and he heard Krysty draw in her breath sharply. The man in the white suit suddenly stiffened, and Ryan guessed that the mind probe had been directed at Krysty and met unexpected resistance. "Your woman is a telepath?" the man demanded. He paused, then added in a meditative tone, "No, an empath. A doomseer. But with formidable abilities." "You're not so unique after all," Krysty said. A smile drifted onto the man's angular face. "Very true. My name is Lars Hellstrom." His tone was much more relaxed. "Sorry about the coldness of the reception, but we can't be too careful with all the anarchist crazies and night-creeping Indians running loose these days." "I agree," Ryan replied. He could hear the person behind him breathing. The pressure of file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%2...20-%20Deathlands%2034%20-%20Stone face.html (48 of 263) [12/29/2004 12:09:40 AM] file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20E-books/James%20Axler%20-%20Deathla nds%2034%20-%20Stoneface.html the gun bore was still against the back of his Page 30 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html neck, and he considered disarming the bastard, but Hellstrom raised a languid hand. "Hold on that, Fleur. I've scanned him. He's not an enemy. At least, not yet." The pressure of the gun barrel was removed, and hearing the rhythmic clacking of boot heels on wood, Ryan turned slightly. The tallest woman he had ever seen walked slowly around him, giving him the briefest of appraising glances. A black .380 Beretta 85-F dangled from her right hand. She looked to be only half an inch shy of Ryan's six feet, two inches. Her face might have been beautiful if not for the grave, joyless expression she wore, the X scar on her forehead and the gold-embroidered black [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |