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

and they didn't dare surrender. Maybe they could make a dealтАж if they could
think of something to bargain with. Her mind worked frantically, but came up
with nothing. Unless Captain Markee had a whole pack of aces up his sleeve, the
Empire ship had them cold.

She looked across the bridge at the Captain. Terrence Markee was in his late
forties; large and solid and reliable. He'd been a pirate all his adult life and loved
every illegal moment of it. He dressed like a gaudy if somewhat dated dandy, all
flashing silks and clashing colors, and affected an aristocratic accent he had no
right to. At the moment he was scowling at his displays and growling a series of
calm, quiet orders. Slightly reassured that at least one person on the bridge wasn't
panicking, Hazel left her eyes drift round the cramped confines of the command
area. Anything was better than looking at the Empire ship.

The bridge of the Shard was a mess. Half the lights weren't working at any given
time, because bulbs were expensive and they never carried enough spares, and the
limited low-ceilinged space was crammed with work stations, computer displays,
and terminals; never mind the sensor panels and fire control station. Officially
there was room for seven crew on the bridge, including the Captain, but as usual
there were only four, including the Captain and Hazel. The Shard operated on a
bare minimum crew, with everyone holding down as many jobs as they could
handle. Half the systems weren't working, but you learned to put up with that as
long as the essentials were maintained. Repairs were hideously expensive,

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especially at stardocks. Clonelegging could provide a very comfortable living if
you were in the right place at the right time and kept up a good stock, but it was a
crowded field these days, and small independent ships like the Shard were being
forced out. Markee had been relying on the Viriminde run to restock the body
banks, and repair his fortunes and his ship. And then he made an enemy of the
Boneyard Boys, and everything went to hell in a hurry.

A thought struck Hazel, and she looked back at Markee. "Captain, how about if
we just dump everything? Throw the merchandise and body banks out the airlock
and let it all burn up falling through Virimonde's atmosphere? No evidence, no
proof."

"Nice idea," said Markee. "And if that ship hadn't been a starcruiser, we might
have got away with it. But with the kind of sensors they've got, they could identify
every organ and tissue sample independently and read the maker's name on the
body banks. Their sensors records would make damning evidence. So, we can't
dump it, and we can't afford to be caught with it. Doesn't leave much room for
maneuvering, does it?" He smiled briefly. "I suppose we could always eat the
merchandise. How's your appetite, Hazel?"

"Not as good as it was a moment ago. Basically, what you're saying is we're
screwed if we do, and screwed if we don't I suppose surrender is out of the