"Simon R. Green - Deathstalker - 1 - Deathstalker" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Simon R)

the highest of the high, those with breeding and position and a not too small
fortune. Couldn't have the lower orders leading long and healthy lives; there were
far too many of them as it was, even with the newly colonized worlds opening up
vast new territories for settling. Besides, it might give the lower orders ideas
above their station.

But unofficially, if you had enough money and knew the right (or more strictly
speaking wrong) people, you could get whatever part of you was failing replaced,
either by cloning your own tissues, or by illegally obtained organs from body
banks. There was never any risk of rejection with a person's own cloned tissues,
but surprisingly often the original organs turned out to have built-in defects, or

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there were other problems that made direct cloning impossible. That was when the
bodysnatchers came into their own. And then no one was safe, living or dead.

Most planets cremated their dead, by order of the Empress, to ensure that donor
organs would only be available to the right sort of people, but backwater planets
often cultivated illegal secret graveyards and mausoleums. Never knew when the
crops might fail, or business turn bad, and you might need a little cash in the bank,
so to speak. So the cloneleggers made the rounds, and everyone made a little
money. The cloneleggers made a lot. Demand was high. All they had to do was
maintain a full stocklist and wait for someone to come knocking tentatively at
their door.

Only it isn't always that simple. Cloning is a delicate business with all sorts of
things that can go wrong. Cloning wears out an organ fast, and then it has to be
replaced in stock. The body banks have a voracious appetite. And the hidden
cemeteries are few and far between, often with exclusive contracts to one
particular set of cloneleggers. So sometimes the bodysnatchers go out in disguise
to walk among the living, looking for those who won't be missed too much. A
shame, of course, but you can't make an omelet, and all thatтАж

When Hazel joined the Shards crew four planets back, the Captain had assured her
they were graverobbers only. Except when things got really bad. Get in quick, dig
up enough merchandise to fill the body banks, and then get the hell out of there
before someone sold them out for an Empire reward. There's always someone.
Only this time it had all gone wrong. The Boneyard Boys had got in first and
contaminated the merchandise with a really vicious virus that hadn't shown up on
any of the usual tests. Now every organ they had was worthless, and they had
contracts to fill with people who weren't known for their patience or
understanding.

So Captain Markee had gone cap in hand to the Blood Runners out in the Obeah
systems and begged a favor. Hazel still shuddered when she thought of what she
and the rest of the crew had had to promise in return for the information the Blood
Runners provided. Nothing could be allowed to go wrong with this deal. There