"Simon Hawke - The Nine Lives of Catseye Gomez" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hawke Simon)

were used back in the old days, except now they don't have jet engines anymore. If you were to go up in the
cockpit, and nobody but the crew gets to do that, you'd see two pilot adepts and a navigator sitting up there,
in a cockpit stripped of everything except the radio and navigation instruments. The two pilot adepts take
turns flying the plane, literally holding it up in the sky through sheer force of will. Levitation and impulsion
spells are among the least complicated of magical incantations, but there's a big difference between scooting
a taxicab or bus a couple of feet above the ground and holding up a plane at twenty thousand feet. It takes a
lot of effort, and the pilot adept has to concentrate like hell. It really wears them out, which is why there are
always two per crew, and after every flight, it takes them a few days to recuperate and get their strength
back. Airline pilots have to be at least fifth-level sorcerers, and they are among the highest-paid adepts. Much
is made of how much safer flying is today than it was back in the old days, but that was little comfort to me.
The Bureau of Thaumaturgy, under the administration of the ITC, the International Thaumaturgical
Commission, has certain rules that pertain to public transportation. It's all right for private and rental vehicles
to be powered by thaumaturgic batteries, but trucks and public transportation vehicles can only be operated
by certified adepts. It has to do with insurance, a concept that survived even the Collapse. Nevertheless, the
fact that there were two pilots in the cockpit who unquestionably knew what they were doing did not make the
flight any easier for me. Especially since the damned airline regulations required me to travel in a fucking
catbox.
I had to give Solo credit, though. He sure as hell put up a fight about it. I didn't know what kind of experience
he'd had with thaumagenes. Most people, if they didn't own one, have at least encountered thaumagenes, but
I had no idea if Solo was a pet owner or not. He'd mentioned being a loner, though, so I'd kinda assumed he
meant that literally. Nonetheless, perhaps I should've asked. I could see things getting a bit sticky if the
police commissioner had an attack-trained dobra hanging around the house. In any case, he made one hell of
a stink about their goddamned "policy," and he even made them bend a little. If they'd had their way, I
would've been tranqed and stuck back in the cargo bay. Yeah. Good luck getting near me with a needle.
Even if they'd tried one of those cute little dart guns, I would've had a surprise in store for them with Betsy.
Fortunately, that one never came up. Solo wound up buying another fare, and I got to ride with the regular
passengers, but I had to stay inside that stupid wire cage. Solo was very apologetic about it, though, and
made sure I had the window seat, which, quite frankly, I couldn've done without. He got the stewardess to put
some pillows on the seat, so the box could sit higher and I could see out through the window. At first, I
thought it might be interesting, but once we gained some altitude, I changed my mind. Yeah, it was
interesting, all right, but downright unnerving. I decided that when I'd had enough of Denver, Solo could
damned well put me on the bus.
My first sight of Denver as the plane came in for a landing told me that it was going to be a very different
scene from Santa Fe. For one thing, it was a hell of a lot bigger, sprawled out in a huge valley at the foothills
of the Rockies. The tall buildings of the downtown area stuck out like a small island in a sea of business and
residential structures that glowed like the embers of a dying campfire at sunset. The plane came in over the
runway, only not on a descending approach. The runways had been laid out in lighted grids. The air-traffic
controllers directed the pilot to the proper one and, once he was over it and had the okay to land, the plane
simply descended in a gradual drop, like an elevator. There was a shuttle waiting to take us to the terminal,
where we didn't have to wait for our luggage. Solo had only a small canyon and me, well, I travel light. I was
just glad to be out of that damned box.
We took a cab to the downtown area, where Solo had an apartment in one of the luxury towers. On the way,
he kept up a sort of running commentary, pointing things out and telling me about the town. I wasn't too
impressed with my first sight of it.
Guess I was spoiled by Santa Fe. See, the folks in Santa Fe have always had a thing about preserving the
special atmosphere and culture of their town. Development was a dirty word in Santa Fe, and there were
strict regulations about such things as the height of buildings and the style of the structures within the city
limits. In Denver, the people didn't seem to care that much about what happened to their town. The
architecture was a garish mix of old and new, and the streets had no charm about them whatsoever. Neither
did the drivers. Traffic was dense, and everybody fought for what little available lane space there was. Not