Steelheart Read Online Free PDF Page B

lined its twisty streets were as gray as the sky above.
    Mary had company now. In ones, twos, and threes people made their way down intersecting streets, emerged from alleys, and drifted toward "E" gate. There was little to no conversation because all of them were competitors and potential enemies.
    Some carried bags of trade goods, baskets of carefully hoarded food, and other more unusual objects.
    One couple shared the weight of a pole-supported sling, which, in spite of the tarp that covered it, almost certainly supported a Mothri egg. Most people boiled them and sliced the contents into "steaks."
    Mary had tried one, but had been unable to eat what she knew to be an unborn sentient, and had thrown up. Others had no such qualms, though, especially during a food shortage.
    Other marketgoers led genetically engineered mutimals or pulled wagons loaded with firewood and, in one case, tiles looted from forerunner ruins. Most were armed, and for good reason. The trip from home to market was long and potentially dangerous.
    The crowd thickened, swirled, and divided itself into four distinct lines, each leading through what looked like a door frame but was actually a weapons detector. Anonymous behind their visors, the Guild security personnel were quick and efficient. Everyone knew the drill, and the line moved quickly.
    Mary stepped through the detector. A security guard peered at his screen. "Knife, left forearm, otherwise clean." He gestured toward the next station. Mary moved forward, passed the riot gun to a woman, and watched as she placed a seal on the trigger housing. A man taped the knife into its sheath.
    The last guard accepted a 12-gauge shotgun shell in lieu of scrip, and handed her a flyer that featured "Dr. Anson's pain-free dental work" on one side and a public health tract on the other.
    Mary tucked the paper away. Not for future reference, but to start a fire with, or to use as toilet paper.
    Mary had been to the Zid quarter many times over the last year or so, and headed in mat direction again. The main street, better known as "The Scam" to full-time residents, was eternally crowded.
    It was early yet, which meant it was quieter than usual, and a lot less crowded.
    A graffiti-covered construction droid whirred by. The guard posted on its bumper spoke volumes.
    Children played hide-and-seek through the stalls, laughed when merchants scolded them, spilled out onto the street. They reminded Mary of Corley, or how she wanted Corley to be, and the thought brought a smile to her lips.
    The market had an invigorating effect on Mary, and the roboticist breathed it all in. There was the smell of wood smoke, slowly simmering mush, and yes, the faintest whiff of ozone. A sure sign that machines were at work.
    Mary turned off the main street and made her way down an alley that catered to bars and flophouses. One sign read, "We accept major painkillers," while another promised that "Our guards will ensure that you're alive in the morning."
    A man saw Mary, stepped out of a doorway, and paused when the riot gun swiveled in his direction. The roboticist watched him out of the comer of her eye, but reserved most of her attention for the drunk who lay toward the middle of the street. Was he truly unconscious? Or part of a two-man trap?
    The seemingly unconscious form started to rise. Mary ran forward, kicked the faker in the head, and spun around.
    The first man had closed half the distance since the last time she'd looked at him. He saw how her finger rested on the bright blue security seal, the way the riot gun was lined up with his chest, and froze. "Sorry, my mistake."
    "You got that right," Mary said grimly. "Turn around and run like hell."
    The man did as he was told. The roboticist waited till he was a full block away, ignored the second man's moans, and continued on her way.
    A full three minutes passed before her hands started to shake. Mary swore and hid them in her pockets. It would take strength to find