The Agent Gambit Read Online Free

flashed to his feet, running soundlessly.
    She closed the door and the assassin in the shadows moved. Something-a noise? a motion in the dim light? a thought?-betrayed him an instant too soon and she dove, hitting the ground on her shoulder and rolling. Her gun flashed up too late. The man was nearly on top of her-
    He gasped, dropping his weapon and clutching at his throat with clawed hands as she continued her roll, gun coughing twice in quick succession, counting a pair of slow-moving men among the dead. Distantly, she heard three sharp cracks and knew without doubt that three more lay dead nearby.
    To the right, two dead; to the left, three huddled lifelessly against a fence as a fourth stood upright, hands held out at waist level, palms toward her.
    She stood warily in the shocking quiet and motioned him over with a wave of her gun.
    "Hey, tough guy." Her voice was a raspy whisper.
    He came, hands empty at his sides, and walked within grabbing distance. She stepped back, then laughed and took a half-step toward him.
    "Thanks," she said, and her voice was stronger. She slid her gun away and nodded at the single assassin.
    "What's with him? Thought for sure he had me. Then he just falls over!"
    Val Con moved past her and knelt by the dead man, avoiding the pooling blood. She came and stood by his shoulder, bending forward with interest.
    He turned the man over and pulled the hands from the sticky throat.
    "Knife," he murmured, slipping it from its nesting place and wiping it clean on the dead man's shirt.
    "Not even a laserblade," she said, wondering. "Unusual toy, ain't it?"
    He shrugged and slid the blade into its neck sheath.
    She wrinkled her nose at the dead man. "Messy." She felt him tense beside her and shot a glance at his face. "More company?"
    "You seem to be a popular young lady." He offered her his arm. "I suggest you have dinner with me," he said, smiling. "We can lose them."
    She sighed, ignoring his arm. "Right. Let's move."
    A moment later the dead had the street to themselves.

CHAPTER THREE

    THE BARGRILL was near the shuttleport, a smoky, noisy place crowded with grease-apes, shuttle-toughs, fuelies, and any number of local street-livers. Two women played guitars, providing music of the driving, inane variety and eating and drinking their wages between sets.
    The red-haired woman settled a little more comfortably against the wall, hands curved around a warmish mug of local coffeetoot, watching her companion watch the crowd. They had arrived here via the appropriation of three robot cabs, as well as several private cars. As self-appointed lookout, she was sure they'd lost their pursuers, but apparently the man beside her was taking no chances.
    "Now," he murmured, eyes on the room, "you may begin by telling me your name, and continue down the list."
    She was silent, drinking 'toot, and he turned to look at her, his face smooth, green eyes expressionless. She sighed and looked away.
    Two fuelies were rolling dice at a corner table. She watched the throw absently, automatically counting the sides as they flashed.
    "Robertson," she said in a cracking whisper. She cleared her throat. "Miri Robertson. Retired mercenary soldier; unemployed bodyguard." She flicked her eyes back to his face. "Sorry 'bout the bother." Then she paused and sighed again, because this was much harder to say-something she did not say often. "Thanks for the help. I needed it."
    "So it seemed," he agreed in his accentless Terran. "Who wishes you dead?"
    She waved a hand. "Lots of people, it seems."
    The green eyes were back on hers. "No."
    "No?"
    A muscle twitched near the corner of his mouth. He stilled it and resumed his constant survey of the bar.
    "No," he said softly. "You are not stupid. I am not stupid. Hence you must find another way to lie to me. Or," he added, as one being fair, "you might tell the truth."
    "Now why would I do that?" she wondered and drank some more of the dreadful 'toot.
    He sighed. "You owe me a debt, I