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

He stifled a twinge of dread, knowing what he was about to face. Bel Thorne, the ArielТs captain, would be another one.

Friend, officer, fellow Betan, yes, a tough test, well enough. But Thorne also knew of the existence of the clone, from that

chaotic encounter two years ago on Earth. They had never met face to face. But a mistake that another Dendarii might dismiss

in confusion could trigger in Thorne the suspicion, the wild surmise. . . .



Even that distinction Naismith had stolen from him. The mercenary admiral, publicly and falsely, now claimed to be a

clone himself. A superior cover, concealing his other identity, his other life. You have two lives, he thought to his absent

enemy. I have none. IТm the real clone, damn it. CouldnТt I have even that uniqueness? Did you have to take it all?



No. Keep his thoughts positive. He could handle Thorne. As long as he could avoid the terrifying Quinn, the bodyguard,

the lover, Quinn. He had met Quinn face to face on Earth, and fooled her once, for a whole morning. Not twice, he didnТt think.

But Quinn was with the real Miles Naismith, stuck like glue; he was safe from her. No old lovers this trip.



HeТd never had a lover, not yet. It was perhaps not quite fair to blame Naismith for that as well. For the first twenty

years of his life he had been in effect a prisoner, though he hadnТt always realized it. For the last two . . . the last two years had

been one continuous disaster, he decided bitterly. This was his last chance. He refused to think beyond. No more. This had to

be made to work.



The pilot stirred, beside him, and he slitted open his eyes as the deceleration pressed him against his seat straps. They

were coming up on the Ariel. It grew from a dot to a model to a ship. The Illyrican-built light cruiser carried a crew of twenty,

plus room for supercargo and a commando squad. Heavily powered for its size, an energy profile typical of warships. It looked

swift, almost rakish. A good courier ship; a good ship to run like hell in. Perfect. Despite his black mood, his lips curled up, as he

studied that ship. Now I take, and you give, Naismith.



The pilot, clearly quite conscious that he was conveying his admiral, brought the personnel pod into its docking clamps