Born to run

Начало книги

When Kellan Colt reached the Underworld, it started to rain. Not very much, just a drizzle from the leaden clouds, which were lit from beneath by the neon glow of the metroplex, spattering droplets of light across the grimy windows of the Grid-Cab.

"Thank you for choosing Grid-Cab, Ms. Webley," the onboard computer chirped cheerfully as Kellan removed her credstick from the slot, her balance now a few nuyen lighter than she would have liked. The cab door hissed open automatically and Kellan climbed out. Someone else was waiting to climb in and the cab chirped, "Thank you for choosing Grid-Cab, please slot your credstick and enter your desired destination:."

Kellan looked up at the kromeglow marquees that climbed the walls to loom overhead, spelling out underworld 93. The building was a converted warehouse: huge, blocky and made of gray plasticrete, pocked with scars and chips and liberally decorated with graffiti, which only added to its character as a fixture of the Seattle nightclub scene. The line to get in already extended down the block, made up mostly of eager young corp-babies dressed up in their latest street-wear for an exciting night of slumming oh-so-close to the Puyallup Barrens, their idea of life on the edge. Mixed in were the locals, their clothes not quite so perfectly coordinated, their "look" not so practiced. Kellan spotted a couple of dwarves, a few elves looking like they'd just stepped off the runway of a fashion show, even some orks and a troll dressed in leathers and torn synthdenim.

Читать дальше →