"Jacqueline Lichtenberg - Those of My Blood" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lichtenberg Jacqueline)

Far to his left reporters crowded up against a guarded fence. They formed a churning
mass of humanity punctuated by the snouts of video and sound recorders. One reporter,
wearing a fashionable red fedora and reflective sunglasses like TitusтАЩs, watched-a stillness
amidst their motion.
All around, guards in World Sovereignties uniforms patrolled the fence and surrounded
the press box. TitusтАЩs adversary would be inside the guardsтАЩ line.
Off to TitusтАЩs right were clusters of squat buildings. Out on the field, launch pads held
commercial skytrucks. Project HailтАЩs skybus was on the main pad, fuming as workers
swarmed over it. TheyтАЩd be boarding soon. If anything was to happen, it would happen
now. Yet all was still.
Behind Titus was the civilian passenger terminal. Squinting despite himself, Titus saw
two stragglers emerge and cross the tarmac to join the group. He wished his group had
not been told to stand out here, in the brutal mountain sun. He couldnтАЩt see any security
advantage to loitering so near the fence, and even the layers of sunscreen heтАЩd slathered
over his skin didnтАЩt protect him from scorching.
He squatted down to search his bag for his gray silk scarf. It could shade the back of
his neck.
тАЬDr. Shiddehara! Something wrong?тАЭ called one straggler. Her voice was rich and
melodious, the accent French, and the tone that of an administrator who would now take
over. Titus rose to meet Dr. Mirelle de Lisle. She was in her mid-thirties, short and
compact, with a healthy complexion. Her hair was bound up in a hat with the Project logo
on the band, a hat just like Titus wore except that hers bore the sigil of Cognitive
Sciences. She had pushed it back rakishly so the brim framed her face. Titus wore his
pulled low on his forehead for maximum shade.
Behind her came an older man with receding white hair and a well-controlled paunch.
He carried his flight bag, and with his other hand slapped his hat against his thigh as he
walked. Neither of them was the adversary Titus expected.
Titus called, тАЬThereтАЩs nothing wrong that I know of.тАЭ
Mirelle came right into his personal space as the French were wont to do, negligently
dropping her flight bag next to his. Titus stepped back. She retreated, sketching a French
shrug, then she changed nationalities right before his eyes by simply shifting her body
language. тАЬNothing wrong? But you were scowling so. The reporters offend you, no?тАЭ
 Occasionally, a reporterтАЩs voice was heard shouting a question or asking someone to
turn for the camera. Titus shook his head. тАЬMy thoughts were elsewhere.тАЭ
She readjusted her manner and edged closer. тАЬThere are many better things to think
about than reporters.тАЭ She hardly seemed to be the same person who had lectured the
group with such austere competency on the use of translators.
And as she advanced this time, Titus found, to his amazement, that he didnтАЩt need to
step back. Formality melted away, and he felt a warm intimacy toward this woman.
Abruptly on guard, he focused his attention on her. The adversary could be a
woman-but no-Mirelle was human. Yet she was controlling his responses as surely as if
she were using Influence-the power of his people.
A rich smile of pure admiration crept over his face. Obviously, Communications
Anthropology wasnтАЩt just psychology or linguistics. It included applied kinesics developed
into a social power to which even his kind were not immune.
She returned his smile, one hand on her hat as she looked up at him. He fought the
warmth she roused in him, unsure which of the women she showed the world was the real
Mirelle de Lisle. But he wanted to find out.
The man with her touched her elbow with a proprietary gesture. тАЬDr. Shiddehara,тАЭ he
said. тАЬDidnтАЩt I hear you tell the press earlier that youтАЩre confident you can identify the