"BUJOLD, Lois McMaster - Vorkosigan 10 - Mirror Dance" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bujold Lois McMaster)

Not quite alone. There was another damned mirror in here, for the convenience of patrons wishing to check their

appearance before transmitting it by holovid. His dark-ringed eyes flashed back at him malevolently, then he ignored the

image. He emptied his pockets out onto the countertop. All his worldly resources fit neatly into a space little larger than his

two spread palms. One last inventory. As if counting it again might change the sum . . .



A credit chit with about three hundred Betan dollars remaining upon it: one might live well for a week upon this orbital

space station for that much, or for a couple of lean months on the planet turning below, if it were carefully managed. Three

false identification chits, none for the man he was now. None for the man he was. Whoever he was. An ordinary plastic pocket

comb. A data cube. That was all. He returned all but the credit chit to various pockets upon and in the jacket, gravely sorting

them individually. He ran out of objects before he ran out of pockets, and snorted. You might at least have brought your own

toothbrush . . . too late now.



And getting later. Horrors happened, proceeding unchecked, while he sat struggling for nerve. Come on. YouТve done this

before. You can do it now. He jammed the credit card into the slot, and keyed in the carefully memorized code number.

Compulsively, he glanced one last time into the mirror, and tried to smooth his features into something approaching a neutral

expression. For all his practice, he did not think he could manage the grin just now. He despised that grin anyway.



The vid plate hissed to life, and a womanТs visage formed above it. She wore grey-and-whites like his own, but with

proper rank insignia and name patch. She recited crisply, "Comm Officer Hereld, Triumph, Dendarii Free . . . Corporation." In

Escobaran space, a mercenary fleet sealed its weapons at the Outside jumppoint station under the watchful eyes of the

Escobaran military inspectors, and submitted proof of its purely commercial intentions, before it was even allowed to pass.

The polite fiction was maintained, apparently, in Escobar orbit.



He moistened his lips, and said evenly, "Connect me with the officer of the watch, please."