By Marion Zimmer Bradley
Ah, les crétins ! Depuis le temps, ils n'imaginaient même plus qu'on puisse violer leurs lois ! Et Paul Harrell s'en était donné à cœur joie. Il avait mené los angeles grande vie. Il avait ecu toutes les femmes qu'il voulait. Et celle qui l'avait donné, l. a. garce, elle aurait au moins european un vrai mâle une fois dans sa vie. Ça ne s'oublie pas. Quant à lui, il avait refusé l. a. Réinsertion. Il ne deviendrait pas une marionnette sans tripes. Il était bon pour le caisson de stase et le sommeil sans rêves. Pour l'éternité. Mais voilà qu'il se réveillait ailleurs. Par los angeles haute fenêtre, il voyait un soleil rouge. Et l'homme devant lui, c'était... lui-même. Avec des cheveux longs et des culottes de peau. remark ose-t-il se promener avec mon visage ? L'autre serra les poings et dit : "Je suis Bard di Asturien, le Loup des Kilghard. Il y a ici un homme qui veut établir un Pacte et liquider les hors-la-loi. Mais nous allons empêcher tout ça. Ensemble."
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Additional resources for Le Loup des Kilghard (La Romance de Ténébreuse, Tome 4)
He’d done it before. He was doing it now. Fuck him. I didn’t want to die of old age walking out of the south Gobi, but fuck him. Then the intercom crackled to life. The pilot said something fast and tonal—Cantonese, I thought, not that I could follow it. The Antonov banked hard and picked up speed as the engines coughed a bloom of black smoke. Whatever it was we were looking for, we’d found it. Hannaday just smiled. ” Ladder work? Out here? * * * And damn me if we didn’t bounce to a landing somewhere not much different from anywhere else.
He was an Agency cowboy I’d last seen on the wrong end of a Glock in Kandahar two years earlier. Whipcord thin, still wearing the same damned Armani suit. How the fuck had that spook gotten into the camp without me seeing him? My legs still ached whenever it got chilly. I briefly considered firing off my Stinger inside the ger, just punching the warhead into Hannaday’s chest, but that would have pretty much toasted us all. “Stow it,” growled Korunov. Two hundred kilos or not, that man could and did snap necks.
He was pale and sweating. ” I said. ” I went and looked. Our spaceman was a girl, not more than fifteen, eyes bloodshot from reentry gees, barely moving even as she stared at us. Blue-black skin, shaved head. A girl. Who’d dropped out of the Central Asian sky in a Russian spaceship. Kids on the International Space Station? Not fucking likely. Not in this lifetime. ” * * * The Antonov lumbered back to camp. Nichols sat in the back of the plane with his shotgun, watching the kid and cursing in an extended monotone, mostly Russian.