"Charles Ingrid - The Sand Wars 04 - Alien Salute" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ingrid Charles)

"You run a sloppy ship."

The pilot twisted his head to peer at the tall manтАж seeming even taller
now that he stood in the bulkhead framing. Sandy blond hair swept back
from his brow and his faded eyes reflected disapproval. The ship shuddered
with the vibration of engines thrusting the vehicle nearer and nearer warp
velocity. Harkness grumped and slumped lower in his chair. "And if I do,
it's my business," he said.

Around the chipped and battered plastic table, the navigator and
engineer got up quickly and left. They did not look the intruder in the face
as he moved to let them shrug past the bulkhead.

Harkness' voice sounded thick and lumpy as if it needed to be strained
through a filter before issuing out of his mouth. He pointed at the interloper.
"I'll chart no interference from you," he said. "Or you'll be chilled down yet
and shipped like the rest of the stiffs. This is a cold ship transport and don't
you forget it."

The intruder had eased a wide shoulder against the bulkhead. He smiled
pleasantly. "You've already tried it once," he said. "You have other worries.
We slipped out of Bythian space easily enough, but you're a sitting target
coming out of decel, and there's a good chance the Thraks will be waiting for
us. There's a war on now."

Harkness' eyes narrowed. He reached for his bag of whiskey and poured
a level glassful. "I took out a contract to lift a shipload of evacuees and return
тАШem to Malthen. I did not take out a contract to listen to your mouth."

The man's smile did not vanish, but neither did it warm his clear blue
eyes. "Not yet," he said. "But you will." The man lifted his shoulder, shifted
his weight, and removed himself gracefully from Harkness' vision.

The pilot scowled before lifting his drink. Too full, it washed over his
fingers before he got it to his mouth. With a curse at his shaking hand, he
slogged the whiskey down.



Jack walked the cryogenic bays where his friends and fellow soldiers lay
asleep yet not asleep, their pale bodies seemingly devoid of life under sterile
white sheets. He stopped at the plastic shield of a privacy cr├иche and paused
to look inside at Amber, lying there, her dark honey colored hair a-tumble
about her face. The sheet covered her from ankle to neck, but it could not
hide her beauty which was all the more exotic for the bizarre tattooing.
She'd said she wanted it removed the minute she got to Malthen, if it could
be done. Jack looked at the dialysis shunt in her ankle, preparatory to the