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Bodyguard by William C. Dietz

By William C. Dietz

Max Maxon is an ex-marine who makes his dwelling with a gun. Sasha Casad is a wealthy youngster attempting to seize the following spaceship domestic. Max's activity is to get her there alive. Somebody's attempting to cease them-somebody with lots of cash and firepower. that does not trouble Max. a freelance is a freelance. opposed to all odds, he'll satisfy this one. after which he'll make an individual pay.

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He shook hands with Sasha while I tried to figure things out. “But why? ” Trask shrugged. ” “Why? ” Trask looked surprised, as if the answer was so obvious that only an idiot would miss it, which was probably true. ” Sasha entered the conversation sideways, sliding in between the two of us so smoothly that Trask didn’t notice, and I wasn’t offended. ” It was more statement than question. Trask stiffened. ” Sasha nodded. “So that explains your opposition to Trans-Solar. ” “An excellent question,” Trask replied solemnly.

She had great nipples and I had watched them as she conned the boat through ten thousand miles of asteroid-strewn blackness. ” I grew tired of it after the first thousand times or so, but pilots are a weird bunch, and it’s best to let their idiosyncrasies go. There were three ships in all. I had the point position, Lieutenant Daw was number two, and our CO Major Charles Wamba rode drag. It was a bad mission, the kind recon always gets, full of floating variables, insurmountable obstacles, and ugly ways to die.

Fine print found on the back of each Staros-3 boarding pass There were lots of things to do, like losing Trask, and getting off Staros-3, but we were tired and went to bed instead. In spite of the exorbitant amount of money we had paid for the cabin, it was little more than a shoebox. The beds folded down from the bulkhead and occupied most of what little bit of deck-space there was. That put the mattresses side by side, but I don’t mess with clients, especially when they’re almost twenty years younger than I am.

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