"Foster, Alan Dean - Flinx - Bloodhype" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

was perfectly proportioned?inclined plane of a jaw, no?nonsense nose
sensuous thin lips, red hair with just the right amount of casual wave. He
cut an exotic figure in sea?green foxfire fur vest over matching turquoise
silks. His appearance was as good as money could buy. As good, he
reflected, as any tridee star.

Honed in Repler's most exclusive gyms the body was muscular without running
to extremes. Though his appetite for gourmet meals kept the physiological
techs at constant war with an incipient pot.

A pity they hadn't been able to do anything with his personality.

At the moment he was lolling in the main debarkation lounge of Replerport,
eyeing the recent off?planet arrivals. A ventilator pulled the smoke from
the Jimson Kelp in his pipe roofward.

Kingsley was a chap who liked variety. He'd already gone through most of
the country beauties in Repler City. Some willingly, when his looks and
money served; some unwillingly, where his father's name served.

The back?country types held little attraction for him. Too much trouble
attendant to bouncing from small town to small town. And the food! Ghastly!
Besides, the backwoodsmen were too remote to be impressed by the Kingsley
name. They were apt to shoot despite thundering threats of retribution.

The passengers off the first ship had been disappointing. Thus far, the
second hadn't provided anything better, with the possible exception of that
blonde stew. Well, better than nothing. He felt in his jacket pocket to
make sure the slip of paper with the number on it was still there.

A flash of color near the end of the first?class line caught his eye. He
straightened, smiling. Well now, this was more like it!

The girl had paused at the gate to talk to the debarkation officer. That's
why he hadn't spotted her till now. An off?planet citizen, obviously. Even
better.

She was dressed in a bright yellow jumpsuit that clung to her like lemon
icing. A simple band of some silvery metal on one wrist was the only
jewelry. Not that a ring would have made a difference to Kingsley, but he
preferred things simple to complex. A dun?colored bag was fabricatched to
her right thigh. Jet?black hair was gathered together by a yellow band. It
fell in a single thick braid to just above her waist where it was held in
place by another band and knotted. Kingsley pursed his lips disapprovingly.
Minoan had gone out months ago.

Eyes deep blue complexion deep tan, little makeup. The eyes were sharply
slanted, cheekbones high and prominent. At lease half chinee or mongolian
ancestry, he thought. What he could see of the body was exquisitely
proportioned, if not voluptuous. It deviated from the perpendicular in all