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

their money. What's a guy to do?"
Malcolm grinned. "The way I hear it, you two split the take."
Sven only looked hurt. Ann laughed aloud. "What a horrid rumor." She
winked.
"Care to join us? We're heading over to the Down Time to cool out and grab a
bite to eat."
Malcolm was well beyond the stage of flushing with embarrassment every time
he had to turn down an invitation from lack of funds. "Thanks, but no. I think
I'll see the departure through, then head up toward Primary and try to line up
some prospects from the new arrivals. And I've got to fix this blasted sandal
again. It keeps coming loose at the sole."
Sven nodded, accepting his face-saving excuses without comment. Ann started
to protest, then glanced at Sven. She sighed. "If you change your mind, I'll
spot you for a drink. Or better yet Sven can pick up the tab from my
winnings."
She winked at Malcolm. Sven just crossed his arms and snorted, reminding
Malcolm
of a burly bulldog humoring an upstart chickadee. "By the way," she smiled,
"Kevin and I were thinking about inviting some people over for dinner tomorrow
night. If you're free at, oh, say about sixish, stop by. The kids love it when
you visit."
"Sure," he said, without really meaning it. "Thanks."
Fortunately, they moved off before noticing the dull flush that crept up
Malcolm's neck into his cheeks. If Ann Vinh Mulhaney had pre-planned a dinner
party for tomorrow night, he'd eat his sandal, broken strap and all. Her
gesture
warmed him, though, even as he rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, "I've
got to get a fulltime job with someone." But not with Time Tours.
Never with Time Tours.
He'd starve first.
Tourists over at Gate Six had started to climb the ramp, each one in turn
presenting his or her Timecard to have the departure logged properly. Excited
women could be heard clear across the Commons, shrieking and giggling as they
plucked up the nerve to step through the open portal. That ritual never
varied,
either. Scuttlebutt had it, Time Tours had sound-proofed the exits on the
other
side of all their gates, rather than hush the tourists. He had to chuckle. He
couldn't really blame them. Stepping through that first time was an unnerving
experience.
Inevitably-this time about three quarters of the way through the
departure--someone fumbled a load of poorly tied baggage. Parcels scattered
across the catwalk, creating a major hitch in the traffic flow. Three separate
guides, glancing wildly at the overhead chronometer, converged on the mess and
snatched up baggage willy nilly. A fourth guide all but shoved the remaining
tourists through the open gate. The edges of the gate had begun to shrink
slowly
back toward the center.
Malcolm shook his head. With years of experience behind them, Time Tours
really ought to manage better than that. He grunted aloud. That's what comes