In order to understand the story I start here and apologize for repeating any suggested corrections, alternative words, optional words, and moved words:
Quote Originally Posted by Ramil
Sergery Lukyanenko
The Dreamline
Part one. God the Father and God the Son
1
Children were what Kay hated the most. Whether this was affected by his own childhood in the asylum “The New Generation” on Altos – was/is unknown. Whatever the case, he never lingered on one planet any longer than nine months. On the planets which had undergone a fertility treatment during the Feud War and which conscientiously worked as suppliers of cannon fodder for the Empire he never stayed longer than four and a half months.
Besides, Kay didn’t like to be/didn't like being killed. It was quite painful sometimes and it was always associated with considerable expenses. And Kay needed money. He loved his hypership which was expensive to maintain. W didn’t demand this much, wines of the Empire and Mrshhan association, fragrances worked by the old Klackon masters and such pleasures of other races which humans can understand and endure.
Now his two antipathies have been joined together. And the most unpleasant thing was not even the fact that he was about to be killed by a kid, but that the kid and using one of the most unpleasant ways to do it. The real distress was in the fact that Kay had not yet gotten around to paying for the aTan renewal.
And this, as everybody knows, is fatal.
The hotel room was shabby enough so that it didn't kindle some burning interest of robbers and was decent enough to guard Kay from filchers. The boy standing by his bed matched the second category judging by his appearance. Where he got the electronic key to open the door and the nullifier for blocking the alarms, remained a mystery. The weapon in his hand was easier – an algopistol, the weapon of sadists and losers, and was inexpensive/cheap.
“Let’s do it this way”, offered Kay trying very hard to keep his face calm, “you will turn your gun aside/you will put your gun down and then we’ll talk, as serious people/we'll talk seriously.”
The boy smiled, “I am not serious.”
He didn’t look all that serious, indeed – swarthy and dark-haired, the kid was only about twelve or thirteen. A jaunty shirt made of pink silk and short white trousers made him appear even less hazardous.
“Listen”, Kay appealed again, “Even if you throw the gun out of the window…”
The boy frowned a little.
“Even if you throw the gun out of the window, I won’t be able to do anything to you! You can see…”
“I see”
“I can’t talk with the gun pointed at me…”
“And why should I talk to you?” the boy was a little surprised.
In his thoughts Kay praised all the known gods. The more that is said now, the less would be the chances that the punk pushes the trigger. To kill a man whom you’re talking to is not so easy, honestly though, Kay wasn’t so sure about whether this rule was applicable/rule applied to children.
“You’re going to kill me, right?” he asked.
The boy nodded.
“Death from an algopistol is the most terrible thing one can imagine. Believe me, I know it.”
“Have you killed?” the boy was interested.
“I’ve been killed.”
The kid narrowed his lids. He clearly understood.
“So,” Kay continued making his voice sound confident and friendly, “If you’re going to use this abomination on me then tell me for what reason/tell me why at least. This is not so great a favor, is it?”
“You’re right”, the boy agreed surprisingly easy. He walked to the armchair that was standing by the wall, sat in it cross-legged and placed the pistol on the arm rest. Unfortunately, he didn’t risk anything: Kay was sprawled on the bed, naked and totally helpless. His body was covered by a thin silvery web that firmly bound Kay to the bed sheet, the bed itself and the wall the bed stood by. The spray container stood on a table where the boy had left it as if he was going to repeat the procedure if necessary.
“So, what ill have I done to you, my little friend?” Kay carefully turned his head trying to avoid the thin fibers cutting through his body. “Are you a robber? My congratulations, you’re a gifted one. And lucky too. I’ll tell you where the cash is and the code for the card. I need to fly away tomorrow, so I won’t be looking for you and your/the police…”
The boy’s face wavered.
“I’m not a robber. And you’re not going to fly anywhere. Your flying here was enough.”
The room was silent for a moment. Then Kay asked very quietly:
“Who was this girl to you?”
“A sister.”
“My friend, this was a pure/simple/this was only an accident. I was landing in the field at the spaceport. I landed within the allocated/designated zone…”
“But you didn’t land within the circle! You killed her deliberately! I know what you’ve said to flight control – “I hate children, these little bastards always creep under the nozzles”. Many saw your landing; you swerved over the field in order to hit Lena with the beam!”
The boy’s voice became thready/strained and cracking. And Kay understood with horror that the boy was winding himself up, preparing himself to push the trigger.
“I didn’t see her, believe me. Why would I want to do it…”
“Of course, you were just dancing in the air.” the boy assumed with contempt.
Key choked up on the prepared phrase. How was he supposed to explain to this kid from ghetto that he was indeed dancing? How could he express the weight of the piloting headpiece, and the blue haze that surrounds you, and the weightless ship that you became one with? The humming of the gravity drives, the air flows, the exhilaration of flight… Yes, he was dancing. And he didn’t look on the concrete plain where there stood/where there was standing a girl who had bribed some/a spaceport guard and who was waiting for his ship to land in order to run to the hatch first and to offer the cheapest drugs on the planet, herself as a guide or simply herself…
He was dancing, and the gravity beam slipped over the girl, rubbing her into the concrete and turning her into bloody dust, into that grayish-brown spot that he saw when he exited the ship.
“Kid, my autopilot went haywire so I took the control, but the ship swayed…”
“You’re lying.” the boy said mercilessly/unmercifully, “Everybody in the port knows that your ship is in perfect working order.”
He took the pistol, carefully unlocked it and approached the bed.
“Listen,” Kay said feeling an icy chill on his skin, “I have the aTan. You won’t be able to kill me permanently, understand? I’ll come back and make you think of the algopistol as a good riddance/as throw-away.”
“You’re lying” the boy hesitated slightly.
“No, I’m not. You see my body, there’s not a single scratch on it. Men of my profession don’t look like this. I regenerated a month ago, you understand?”
The boy didn’t show any interest in Kay’s profession which Kay had vaguely hoped for, but considered the end of the phrase, instead:
“If you had regenerated only a month ago you might not have your aTan renewed yet.” he said thoughtfully, “I’ll risk it.”
Kay cried, in his thoughts, of course. He came to Cailis in order to renew his immortality – it was quite cheaper here than on Sigma-T where he’d been killed. He loved money that made his life pleasant and he had just lost this life.
“At least” he asked quietly, “you can kill me with something other than the algopistol.” Your sister died instantly, so don’t make me suffer. In this case you’ll have the chance that I won’t be very zealous in taking my revenge.
The boy examined Kay carefully, looking with great interest at his neck muscles, and then shook his head:
“I’m not sure I can strangle you…”
“In the closet, on the second shelf from the bottom, there is a blaster. An assault “Bumblebee”, you know… the officer’s model. The money and the credit card are there too. The access code is thirty two, orange, “WOLF”. All of that is your prize. Kill me with the blaster./All of that is for you if you kill me with the blaster.
“All right” the boy tucked the pistol under his belt and headed for the closet. Kay squinted at his left arm. The web covered it poorly holding only the tips of his fingers. The arm was free from the shoulder to the second phalanges/finger bones.
“How did you get in the hotel?” asked Kay. He bit his lips in order to feel the taste of blood and the pain and then jerked his arm. The polymeric fiber indifferently took the sacrifice disjoining/severing the last phalanges/finger bones of his four fingers. The thumb remained intact, which was good.
“I passed off for a call-boy” the kid explained carefully opening the closet. “I paid a bribe to the receptionist. Hey there is only money here and no gun…”
“Here it is” Kay said taking his hand from under the pillow. The blood from his cut-off fingers gushed out in thin pulsating spurts. The ribbed barrel of the “Bumblebee” wobbled back and forth. The boy turned raising his gun and froze staring at the fancy blood fountains.
“I hate children” whispered Kay, “pity I didn’t see your sister. I’d have killed her deliberately.”
The stump of his forefinger pushed the trigger. When the naked tissues touched the metal a sharp pang forced Kay to give a cry/to cry out. His hand faltered and the thin red beam slipped/slid over the boy’s shoulder. Now it was the boy’s turn to cry out either from fright or that Kay had managed to mark him still. The boy crouched and the algopistol bloomed/flared with a cone of green light. It blended surprisingly well with the splashes of/with the splasing blood.
It’s hard to miss when shooting a weapon for losers. (at losers?)
When the field of the neuron activator from the algopistol reached Kay he forgot about the pain in his hand. He himself/His whole body turned into pain. It happened before, but then his aTan had been paid up and he could believe at least that he would regenerate and take his revenge.
Kay didn’t cry out for long, a second later there wasn’t strength left to cry out. In a minute and a half of intolerable agony he died: blind, deaf and cut to pieces by the “web” he was writhing in.