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- Ричард Морган
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"
No
.
"
"
Oh
.
"
He
seemed
to
consider
this
for
a
moment
.
It
was
as
if
conversation
was
a
skill
he
’
d
forgotten
.
"
You
move
like
an
artist
.
"
"
Near
miss
.
It
’
s
military
neurachem
.
"
He
got
it
then
,
but
the
shock
didn
’
t
seem
to
go
beyond
a
brief
flicker
in
his
eyes
.
He
looked
me
up
and
down
slowly
,
then
turned
back
to
the
sea
.
"
You
come
looking
for
me
?
You
from
Bancroft
?
"
"
You
might
say
that
.
"
He
moistened
his
lips
.
"
Come
to
kill
me
?
"
I
took
the
hardcopy
out
of
my
pocket
and
handed
it
across
to
him
.
"
Come
to
ask
you
some
questions
.
Did
you
transmit
this
?
"
He
read
it
,
lips
moving
wordlessly
.
Inside
my
head
,
I
could
hear
the
words
he
was
tasting
again
:
…
for
taking
my
daughter
from
me
…
will
burn
the
flesh
from
your
head
…
will
never
know
the
hour
or
the
day
…
nowhere
safe
in
this
life
…
It
wasn
’
t
highly
original
,
but
it
was
heartfelt
and
articulate
in
a
way
that
was
more
worrying
than
any
of
the
vitriol
Prescott
had
shown
me
on
the
Rabid
&
Rambling
stack
.
It
also
specified
exactly
the
death
Bancroft
had
suffered
.
The
particle
blaster
would
have
charred
the
outside
of
Bancroft
’
s
skull
to
a
crisp
before
exploding
the
superheated
contents
across
the
room
.
