Mistworld (Deathstalker Prelude) by Simon R. Green

installed?”
    “Not yet,” said Sterling. His voice was light and pleasant, in stark contrast to the ugly scars that marred his face. And yet bad as the scars were, they could easily have been repaired by any competent surgeon. Blackjack assumed Sterling wore them as a reminder of his past. Or possibly as a kind of boast. Look at my scars; all this I endured, and still I survived . Blackjack listened closely as the ex-gladiator spoke, searching the pleasant, civilised voice for clues to the man’s character.
    “The crystal hasn’t been delivered yet,” said Sterling. “When it has, I’ll lock it into the computer systems myself. Once the computer’s on-line, no one will bother to check the crystal; they’ll assume it’s already been checked.”
    “You’ll have the crystal sometime this evening,” said Blackjack. “I’ll see to it.”
    “After this evening it’ll be too late,” said Sterling.
    “I said I’ll see to it,” said Blackjack. “Now, have you got the map?”
    “Have you got the money?” asked the ex-gladiator, his right hand moving casually to his belt.
    Blackjack pushed back his cloak, careful to let both the security men see the holstered disrupter on his hip. Hanging from his belt, next to the gun, was a large leather pouch that clinked musically as Blackjack hefted it in one hand. “Fifty in gold, as agreed. Where is the map?”
    Sterling took his hand away from his belt and pulled a folded wad of paper from inside his sleeve. He handed it to Blackjack, who gave him the leather pouch in return. Both men moved slowly and deliberately, careful to make no moves that might be misinterpreted. The transaction completed, they both stepped back a pace. Sterling opened the pouch, glanced inside, and then pulled the drawstrings shut again and nodded quickly to Taylor. The two Watchmen relaxed a little. Blackjack tucked the thick wad of paper into an inside pocket without even bothering to look at it.
    Taylor raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you want to check the plans?”
    “If they’re not right, and you’ve cheated me, I’ll have to kill you both,” said Blackjack calmly. “Do you think I ought to check them?”
    Sterling smiled slowly, and the scars on his face flexed and writhed as though they were alive. “You’re very free with your threats, mercenary. I spent seven years in the Arenas, and graduated undefeated. What makes you think you’d stand a chance against me?”
    Blackjack’s hand slammed forward in a straight-finger jab that sank deep into the ex-gladiator’s gut, just below the sternum. Sterling’s breath shot out in an agonised gasp, and he sank slowly to his knees, his face horribly contorted. Blackjack turned unhurriedly to face Taylor, who hadn’t moved an inch.
    “He talks too much,” said Blackjack. “Even worse, he’s out of condition. I’m not.”
    Taylor looked at him steadily with his disconcerting golden eyes. “Neither am I,” he said quietly, in his harsh, rasping voice. “Don’t push your luck, mercenary.”
    “Not unless I have to,” said Blackjack. “Now pick up your friend and get him out of here. I don’t think we should be seen talking together. I wouldn’t want anyone to think I associated with the likes of you by choice.”
    Taylor smiled suddenly. “I’m going to remember you, mercenary.”
    He bent down and picked Sterling up with one hand. The ex-gladiator must have weighed all of two hundred and fifty pounds, but the Hadenman lifted him easily. There was a disquieting strength hidden somewhere in Taylor’s wiry frame. Hadenman. An augmented man. He settled Sterling comfortably over his shoulder, nodded once to Blackjack, and then walked off into the mists. Blackjack took his hand away from his gun. He’d never fought a Hadenman before, and wasn’t sure he wanted to.
    Still , he thought calmly as he watched Taylor disappear into the mists, it might be interesting someday to discover just how good a fighter an augmented man