"Linda Evans - Time Scout 1 - Time Scout" - читать интересную книгу автора (Evans Linda)

Most clutched souvenirs. Some clutched each other. Guides had to remind most
of
them to slide credit-card-sized Timecards through the encoder at the bottom of
the ramp. Malcolm grinned again. The ritual never varied. The ones who
remembered to "clock out" of Porta Romae were experienced temporal travelers.
The ones clutching each other had discovered a deep-seated, unexpected fear of
temporal travel, either because it was too dirty and violent for their taste
or
because they'd spent the trip terrified of making a mistake the guides
couldn't
fix.
The ones that looked dazed and ill either hadn't enjoyed the gladiatorial
games as much as they'd thought or were still attempting to overcome the
effects
of too much boozing and not enough attention to proper diet and rest. Malcolms
clients never returned up time looking like they needed the nearest hospital
bed. Of course, people with the sense to hire a private guide, even for a
package deal like Time Tours offered, rarely had the poor judgment to get hung
over after a two-week-long binge on lead-laced Roman wine.
Not for the first time, Malcolm permitted himself a moment's bitter
resentment of Time Tours and their whole slick, money-milling operation. If
not
for their shady, underhanded tricks ...
"Penny for 'em," someone said at Malcolm's elbow.
He started and glanced around to find Ann Vinh Mulhaney gazing up at him.
He
relaxed with a smile. She must have come straight from the weapons range when
the klaxon sounded. She hadn't bothered to unholster the pistols at her belt
or
loosen her hair from its confining elastic tie. At five feet, five inches, Ann
was a little shorter than Malcolm, but evenly matched with Sven Bailey, who
strolled up behind her. He, too, was dressed for the weapons range.
They must've just released a new class, probably the one scheduled for
London. Sven, who out massed dainty little Ann by at least two to one despite
their matched heights, nodded politely toward Malcolm, then watched the
departing tourists with a despairing shake of his head.
"What a miserable bunch they were," he commented to no one in particular.
"Stupid, too, if you're still here." He glanced briefly toward Malcolm.
He shrugged, acknowledging the well-meant compliment, and answered Ann's
question. "I'm just watching the fun, same as everyone. How are you two?"
Sven, TT-86s recognized master of bladed weapons, grunted once and didn't
deign to answer. Ann laughed. She was one of the few residents who felt
comfortable laughing at Sven Bailey. She tossed her ponytail and rested slim
hands on her hips. "He lost his last bet. Five shots out of six, loser picks
up
the tab at Down Time."
Malcolm smiled. "Sven, haven't you learned yet not to shoot against her?"
Sven Bailey regarded his fingernails studiously. "Yep." Then he glance up
with a sardonic twist of the lips. "Trouble is, the students keep trying to
lose