By William C. Dietz
Max Maxon is an ex-marine who makes his residing with a gun. Sasha Casad is a wealthy youngster attempting to trap the subsequent spaceship domestic. Max's task is to get her there alive. Somebody's attempting to cease them-somebody with lots of cash and firepower. that does not hassle Max. a freelance is a freelance. opposed to all odds, he will satisfy this one. after which he will make an individual pay.
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The universe jerked as the autoloader came to a halt, then started into motion again as the cargo module was pushed up and into the shuttle’s belly, where it was hooked to the ship’s life support systems. Oxygen hissed in through a nozzle located next to my head, caressed my cheek with an icecold hand, and slid down my neck. Maybe the oxygen stirred it up, or maybe it would have made itself known anyway, but the thick odor of sweat, vomit, and god knows what else oozed out of the tube’s nooks and crannies, overwhelmed the disinfectants, and filled my nostrils with a sort of funky perfume.
The wind pressed against my face, and the pillars whipped by like pylons in a race. Sasha reappeared at my elbow. ” She looked impatient. “Max, schmax. We’re taking water. ” “How fast is it coming in? ” Sasha looked doubtful. “I don’t think so. ” I swore under my breath. It would be just my luck to escape a hail of gunfire only to drown a few minutes later. ” Sasha shook her head. “Swimming pools are in short supply on Europa Station. ” “Not a lick. ” Her eyes left mine and darted away. ” We were silent for a moment.
I will, Mr. Maxon. Good-bye, Ms. Casad. ” Rita, her face wooden as always, nodded. We opened the door and stepped outside. There was a loud click as it closed behind us. So much for that line of retreat. A moon flight had landed, and passengers were streaming towards the baggage area. They were contract workers for the most part, miners with dilated eyes, technicians who ate too much, and pilots who had pushed one load too many. They walked like ancient helmet divers, forcing themselves forward under the weight of Earth-normal gravity, sweat beading their foreheads.
Bodyguard by William C. Dietz