"Nancy Kress - Crossfire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kress Nancy)

relieved that Jake had been brief. A coordinator took the mike and began directing the first group
aboard the Ariel.
Jake watched the various groups, as separate here as most of them wished to be on Greentrees, rise
from the sere grass and cling to each other before their long cold sleep. The Quakers, almost two
thousand of them. The deposed Arabic royal family with its enormous retinue, the women veiled and
sitting separately from the men. The Chinese, meekest of the contingents, obeying their leaders
without question. Larry Smith's dubious tribe of "Cheyenne," a thousand strong and possibly the
craziest of all. Gail's huge extended family, convinced that Earth had only one more century as a
life-sustaining biosphere. Plus the scientists, adventurers, star-lottery winners, and
miscellaneous millionaire eccentrics.
And Jake Holman, uncaught criminal.
My God, I did it.
"Ready, Jake?" Gail said. Her brown eyes shoneтАФunusual for the efficient and pragmatic Gail. Jake
looked at her sun-scarred, middle-aged face (no genemods for beauty here), at the triumphant
stance of her strong body. Feet apart, torso tilted forward, chin lifted. Like a boxer just before
a match.
He smiled at her. "More than ready, Gail. For a long, long time."


1

Gail Cutler loved the Ariel. That astonished her, because after Lahiri's death she had not
expected to genuinely love anyone or anything again.
As Gail walked the narrow passageway that led past the tiny sleeping chambers to the wardroom, she
shot out one hand and stroked the gray metal bulkhead. It was a quick, tentative stroke; she
didn't want anyone else to know how she felt about the ship. For one thing, it was damn silly,
this affection for a huge hunk of metal. For another, the Ariel would be disassembled and
converted once they reached Greentrees. Who could love, say, a sewage-purification vat?
"You seem to be in a cheerful mood, Gail," Faisal bin Saud said as she entered the wardroom. The
others were already seated at the lunch table, except for Captain Scherer and his officers. "Good
news from Earth?"


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"No news," Gail said briefly. After two entire years, she still wasn't sure she liked Saud. He was
too polished, too artificial. He seemed to embody too many contradictions: a Muslim who prayed
several times a day facing Sol, a Martian-educated connoisseur of Terran Elizabethan folios. His
women lived the segregated lives of the andarun, yet he dealt with Gail as a financial and
political equal. Also, he was unfailingly tactful and accommodating, surprising in one who had
been a prince.
"There must be some news," Ingrid Johnson said belligerently. "They don't waste quee link on
nothing, Gail."
Gail gazed calmly at the geneticist. There was no ambiguity about her reaction to Ingrid: Gail
detested her. It was a point of pride, however, to keep this contempt well hidden. In the dosed,
confined environment of a long-duration space voyage, she and Jake had written in the guidelines
for the Board of Governors, courtesy and tolerance will become as important as keeping
productively occupied.
"Yes, of course, you're right," Gail said to Ingrid, "there was some news. The United Atlantic