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

avoided names or ranks.



The pilot vented an intrigued "Hm," and smirked, apparently contented.



He settled back with a tight smile. The huge transfer station fell away silently behind them, shrinking into a mad childТs

toy, then into a few glints of light. "Excuse me. IТm a little tired." He settled down further into his seat and closed his eyes.

"Wake me up when we dock, if I fall asleep."



"Yes, sir," said the pilot respectfully. "You look like you could use it."



He acknowledged this with a tired wave of his hand, and pretended to doze.



He could always tell, instantly, when someone he met thought they were facing "Naismith." They all had that same stupid

hyper-alert glow in their faces. They werenТt all worshipful; heТd met some of NaismithТs enemies once, but worshipful or

homicidal, they reacted. As if they suddenly switched on, and became ten times more alive than ever before. How the hell did

he do it? Make people light up like that? Granted, Naismith was a goddamn hyperactive, but how did he make it so freaking

contagious?



Strangers who met him as himself did not greet him like that. They were blank and courteous, or blank and rude, or just

blank, closed and indifferent. Covertly uncomfortable with his slight deformities, and his obviously abnormal

four-foot-nine-inch height. Wary.



His resentment boiled up behind his eyes like sinus pain. All this bloody hero-worship, or whatever it was. All for

Naismith. For Naismith, and not for me . . . never for me. . . .