"Simon R. Green - Deathstalker - 3 - Deathstalker War" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Simon R)

she could help it. Before becoming a rebel, she'd been a pirate, a mercenary, and a
cloneleggerтАФand those were just the things she'd admit to. She was good with a sword
but preferred a gun, and as many as possible. Since she and Owen had discovered the
huge cache of projectile weapons in the Last Standing's Armory, Hazel had made a
point of loading herself down with as many guns and as much ammo as she could
carry. Owen thought she found the weight comforting. Owen didn't. Hazel tended to be
a bit too arbitrary about safety catches for his liking.
He sighed quietly, tapping his fingers on the armrests of his chair as he waited for the
Hadenmen computers running the ship to finish their security checks. Technically
speaking, he was trusting his life to the smooth running of the AI the Hadenmen
installed, which did absolutely nothing for his sense of security and well-being, but it
wasn't like he had a choice. Someone had to run the ship, and it sure as hell wasn't
going to be him. Keeping on top of a starship's many and various systems was hard,
skilled work, and if he'd wanted to work, he wouldn't have been born an aristocrat.
The original Sunstrider had been run by his personal Family AI Ozymandius, but Oz

file:///D|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Gree...Deathstalker%2003%20-%20Deathstalker%20War.htm (3 of 415) [7/12/2004 2:47:57 AM]
Simon R. Green - Deathstalker 03 - Deathstalker War


had turned out to be a traitor working for the Empire. It had used hidden control words
to turn Owen against his friends, and he'd had no choice but to destroy it. Even though
the AI had been his friend long before the others. He'd had to kill his mistress, too,
when she tried to kill him, on the Empire's orders. You couldn't trust anyone these days.
Maybe not even the woman you lovedтАж Owen turned his gaze away from Hazel, and
made himself concentrate on something else. At least the Hadenmen had got the toilets
right this time. Their earlier attempts had been somewhat distressing. Apparently
Hadenmen had no use for such things, which told Owen rather more about the
Hadenmen than he really wanted to know.
Hazel wandered over, drink in hand. The liquid was a pale blue in color, and looked
like it was trying to climb out of the glass. She sank into the chair opposite Owen with
an inelegant grunt and settled herself comfortably. Hazel appreciated luxuries, big and
small, mainly because there'd been so few of them in her life. She took a good mouthful
of the drink, pulled a face, but swallowed the stuff anyway. Hazel never believed in
letting a drink get the better of her. It was a matter of principle. Owen had had to hide a
smile when she'd first explained that to him. He hadn't been aware that Hazel had any
principles. He'd had enough sense not to say that out loud, of course.
"What does that muck taste like this time?" he asked amiably.
"Trust me," said Hazel. "You really don't want to know. That I am drinking it at all is a
sign of how incredibly bored I am. How much longer before we can land?"
"Not long now. Looking forward to being on your old stamping grounds again?"
"Not really, no. Mistport is dangerous, treacherous, and bloody cold, and that's on its
good days. I've known rabid rats with bleeding hemorrhoids that were friendlier than
your average Mistworlder. I can't believe I let the underground talk me into going back
to this hellhole."
Owen shrugged. "It had to be us. Someone had to represent the underground to the
Mistport Council, and we know the lie of the land better than anyone else they had to
hand. Cheer up; things won't be so bad this time. Probably. We're a hell of a lot
stronger and sharper than the last time we were here."
Hazel scowled. "Yeah. That's something else I've been wanting to talk to you about.