Mainline Read Online Free PDF Page A

Lines. She consciously slowed her breathing, trying to study the intruder while staying concealed behind the strut.
    He was abnormally tall and wore a buoybelt, a flotation device for offworlders who sink because their bodies are denser than water. As he turned to face her way, Reva realized the red and black pattern she had mistaken for a bodysuit was his natural skin coloration. An alien, then. His face was hidden behind a breather, but she realized at once who this must be. Yavobo, the Advisor's new bodyguard. He was not mentioned in Murs' dossier; she had learned of him on her own. He was said to have a nasty temper, and the speargun he carried attested that he was ready for trouble.
    Yavobo slowly swam the length of the hull, checking it out, looking for something amiss. He looked closely, carefully, and Reva was glad she hadn't planted the IDP yet. The device lay warm against her body, sticking to her skin, waiting to be used. All she had to do now was keep out of sight of the bodyguard until he was done with his inspection of the vessel.
    She bobbed closer to the surface than she cared to be. She was out of sight of the alien, sticking close to the hull. More relaxed now than she had been a moment before, Reva slipped into time-trance. Pushing herself along the hull, she stayed as far from Yavobo as possible as he made his circuit underneath the skiff. She used her foresight to see when she should move, and when to remain in place. Her subtle dodge was soon finished. She heard the alien splash to the surface, and she sank again below the concealment of the underhull.
    Cold water flowed against her chest as she pulled the time patch from its hiding place. Bodysuit resealed, she could live with the chill for her short time left underwater. One hour, twenty minutes before departure. She activated the adhesive backing with a stroke of her fingers, and laid the time patch against the hull. She smoothed it down, pressing it firmly into place, then drifted back a few meters to look at the patch.
    Yavobo couldn't have missed it, not looking as closely as he had. Coincidences like that couldn't be helped, but they nettled Reva just the same. This time, at least, she didn't have to Lineshift to get out of trouble.
    With a final grin at her handiwork, the assassin swam downward into the marina bay. She had time to get ashore, have dinner, and make a codecall. There ought to be an interesting lead story on the Selmun net in the next few hours. It would be a nice touch if her client could catch the vidnews himself.

XI
    The Advisor's skiff was at 800 meters and descending toward Bolan Dome when the strut mount failed.
    The first warning was the groan and screech of tortured alloy, yielding to the pressure of the deep water. A klaxon signaling hull breach went on automatic alert. Power conduits shorted and orange emergency lighting kicked on inside the vessel.
    Murs leapt from his jump seat, turned to his bodyguard.
    "What is it? What's going on?" he demanded, managing to block the copilot's path as that officer rushed to assess damage. The woman shoved Murs rudely aside and ran aft past Yavobo.
    "Blowing ballast tanks," the pilot reported tersely, barely heard over the strident alarm.
    The Aztrakhani pulled away from Albek's grasp, turning aft where cold waters spewed madly up between deck plates. There had been no shock of impact: no missile or explosion. The bodyguard immediately dismissed the possibility that it was a natural accident, a failure in hull integrity. They had been hit. In spite of his precautions, they had been hit.
    Aztrakhan was a desert world. Its natives were used to the thought of death by thirst, by desiccation, by the rending of a maddened herd beast or one's own clanmates during the Frenzy. But never a death by drowning. Few Aztrakhani could swim. Fewer had ever seen more water than that contained in an isolated watering hole, or the meager streams called rivers by Imperial surveyors.
    A death by drowning