Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html "Yes, I speak Enchian," the man said dully, the drug having taken full effect. He spoke it better than she did, actually. Gods,why can't everyone speak Kommanzanu ? Then again, that might be a little inconvenient. Her birth-tongue had scores W words for grass, horses, and various ways of killing, but she could not think of a way to say "post office" in it without taking fifteen minutes of circumlocutions. "See this? What is it?" she said, holding out the pigeon's tag that Fishhook had brought in. "A pigeon message," the man said dreamily. Shkai'ra restrained an impulse to pound his face on the table; somebody under truth-drug felt little pain, and needed none to make them give the right answers. Just ask the right questions, you stupid mare , she told herself. "If," she said, and stopped.Organize it like a battlefield message, or a question to Sova in training . "If, ah, you had this message, and wanted to find out who sent— no, who was goingto pick it up , what would you do?" "Look at the records." Breathe in. Breathe out. "Look at this message, and tell me how I can spot the person who picks it up, and any others sent from the same person to the same person." A long silence, while the Arkan's plump lips moved, as if he was talking to himself. "I can't." "Why not!?" "Because I can't remember all the incoming messages," he said, in the same dull, mildly amiable tone. For a moment she tasted vomit at the back of her throat.Think, think! How can he do his business if he doesn't knowwhat messages come in ? "Ahhh." Imust get Megan to kick my ass. He wrote it down,of course- Civilized people needed to do that, they had such terrible memories. How many times had she been astounded at a horse-trader who couldn't remember each individual in a herd by name and points, or recite their bloodstock's genealogies without cracking a book? She could still list her own ancestors back twenty-three generations without breaking stride, or identify every horse she had ever owned for longer than a day or so. A half-dozen more questions brought the right file-ledger to light; for a heart-stopping moment she thought she would have to go out of the office to get it, but it turned up behind a reference volume on the desk. She had to turn the pages herself, maddeningly slowly when she could make nothing of the fine-lined Arkan script, and every question had to be utterly specific; half a dozen times she was forced to go back to the beginning. "So," she said at last. "Two eight-days out of three, give or take a few, Box 596 and one of two others—at this delivery post over in the 3rd South-westFessas Ward—get pigeon messages, and are collected by the same person. Then on thethird eight-day, theother two boxes get a message, and the same person collects. Numbers 771 and…" Aren't we a clever little sheepraper? Shkai'ra thought vindictively of the Arban spy back at camp.I'd love to have a longconversation with you, Just yourself and me and a little sharp knife . "And the next day is five days from now."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html "Now," she continued, "if you looked as if you were sleeping, how likely would someone be to disturb you?" "Not for a few hours, probably," the man said. Shkai'ra took a small elongated leather sack out of the back pocket of the trousers liberated from a deadsolas , and weighed it in her hand.On the one hand, Megan's pretty squeamish about bystanders , she thought. It was a little odd, if endearing and sweet—you did what you had to to get the job done, and anyway, who cared about strangers?Zoweitzum, most of the people I've known had personalities that'd be improved by death . But you had to be careful with Megan; just because you loved someone didn't make the differences of race and custom any less, and Shkai'ra had to live in her world.On the other hand, he knows far too much, including where I have to be to follow the next lead to Lixand. Bad luck, clerk . She positioned the sap over her shoulder and struck with a whipping flex to the temple. The man's body jerked and slumped. This was one of the few ways of killing quickly that did not make the sphincters relax; nobody with a nose would missthat , even here one floor under the pigeon shit. Then she arranged his arms on the desk and laid his head down in the position she had seen other clerks in, arranging his shoulder-lengthfessas hair over the soft wet spot. The next clerk gabbled in Arkan. Shkai'ra lolled and gargled and tapped her ear, but he was looking extremely suspicious, thrusting the sheaf of forms at her and offering a pen. She flicked her eyes right and left; a few of the others waiting in the outer room were glancing her way.Shitshitshit, is that the word for orderor is he saying I order you…that's inferior-to-superior inflection, Zaik be with me now . Of course he might not be; the Kommanz god of war—chief god of war, all their deities were involved in it—was notoriously fickle.Glitch, godlet of fuckups, two more sheep . She took the pen and scrawled her Arkan cover name on a convenient blank space near the bottom. The clerk looked down, blinking in bewilderment, then his eyes narrowed.When in doubt, act decisively , she thought, and elbowed him aside with a grunted, slurred Arkan curse. Fucked up again, you stupid mare, she thought; the clerk shouted to the porter, who grabbed her around the chest from behind. He was clumsy but had strength that would have done credit to a bear, as well as outweighing her by half again; and even anokas slughead knew what tits were when he had his hands on them. The mealy body-odor of someone who lived on cornbread and onions enveloped her. Reaction was automatic. Bend the knees, hunch the shoulders to slip out of the clumsy hug, stamp one foot down on his instep and sway the hips aside as she snapped a fist backward into his groin. Use the momentum of that to spin, facing him. He was left in a half-crouch, hands halfway between the memory of his grip and the pain in his crotch that was bulging his eyes. Kick, Straight up, to the chin. The heel of her boot punched into the man's jaw like a fist on the uppercut. There was a crackling sound; the bone shattered, and his head snapped back between his shoulders with convincing finality as he took a pace backward and fell. A mixture of shrieks came from the crowd waiting for service; they surged back from around her. Shkai'ra helped them along, drawing the long Imperial sword and whirling it in a series of smooth figure-eight cuts, trotting for the exit. Asolas shouted something;foreigner , she thought. Orspy ? She cursed to herself, remembering; the Arkan unarmed-combat mode used kicks below the waist only, and handblows above;you can tell it
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people around for camouflage, and t
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Und now I vind dose two—Celestial
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wounded only in the carts on march,
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