"Donald Moffitt - Mechanical Sky 1 - Crescent in the Sky" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moffitt Donald)

scurrying out of the way. Beside the driver, sitting rigidly, was a hard-looking desert tribesman who had
been taken into the Clonemaster's household to serve as a bodyguard; he wore the Clonemaster's family
crest pinned to his headrope and carried a wicked-looking automatic weapon, a flat, stubby microdart
spitter. Perched on a jumpseat facing Hamid-Jones was another servant, a crickety, skull-capped footman
who was busy attaching ivory-tipped tubes to the gold-plated spigots on the refreshment console.
The Clonemaster waved aside the mouthpiece that was offered to him but graciously urged it on
Hamid-Jones. Hamid-Jones, after a first refusal, took a cautious sip and found that it was an apricot sherbet
with a bare trace of fermentation up to the allow-able limits; truly, he thought, the Clonemaster did himself
well.
"Well, my boy," the Clonemaster said to put him at his ease, "how does it feel to have your name inscribed
on the palace's guest list?"
"Ya rayis, I don't know what to say . . . I'm very grateful. Thank you for sponsoring me."
"Nonsense!" the Clonemaster said heartily. "You've earned it. I'm very pleased with the work you've
been doing on the Winged One's genome."
"Thank you, ya rayis." It did not seem to be the moment to tell the Clonemaster that he had spoiled two
clones in a row.
"This is only the beginning, my boy. Keep up the good work. There are great things in store for you."
Hamid-Jones's heart was thumping. "I never dared to dream that I could ever be connectedтАФeven this
remotelyтАФwith . . . uh . . ." He stumbled for a euphemism. ". . . the medical clon-ing program."
The Clonemaster's lips tightened imperceptibly. "Don't al-low yourself to be overly impressed by those
palace function-aries, ya Abdul. I can tell you, without in any way denigrating our esteemed colleagues, that
our little department at the Royal Stables need not take a backseat in competence or technical expertise. In
fact, there are times whenтАФ" He broke off abruptly. "Our part in this is small. As one of the expert
witnesses, you'll be required to professionally attest to the success and the bona fide nature of the graft, and
add your signature to the qadi's scroll. You understand that this is a formality?"
"Yes, sidi."
"Good."
The Clonemaster stared ruminatively out the curtained win-dow of the sand car. Hamid-Jones looked
past the driver's shoul-der at the boulevard of the gate. The multilane traffic was narrowing to one lane as
they approached the Bab and conse-quently was thickening and slowing down. The driver leaned on his
horn in vain; others were doing the same, and the din was terrific, even in the sealed interior of the buggy.
Hamid-Jones could see other balloon-tired limousines, expensive Rolls al-arabiyas and khad al-lakhs,
stuck in the flow like flies in honey; presumably they belonged to sheiks and other notables on their way to
the New Palace. The dome of the Bab was opening out overhead, and Hamid-Jones craned his neck to
take in the di-mensions of the enonnous artificial chasm that contained this mighty artery of commerce. The
old habitations, added to since the earliest days of the settlement of Mars, leaned dizzily over-head, story
after story, many with holiday banners dangling from their balconies. At street level, a jumble of shops,
warehouses, cheap hotels, coffeehouses, and commercial arcades riddled the native rock, like holes in an
aged cheddar infested with cheese mites.
The Bab al-Dahub itself loomed ahead, two enormous air-locks able to take the largest and tallest
vehicles, and a row of small babs meant for people and animals.
The Clonemaster's driver drew abreast of one of the gate-keepers' booths to pay the toll, but
notwithstanding the fact that there was still room in the lock for another vehicle or two, was told that the
sand car would have to wait until the next cycle. With considerable presence of mind, the driver managed
to bribe the man five dinars before the inner gate slammed down, thus avoiding a delay of at least fifteen or
twenty minutes. The timing was perfect. The bribe should have been at least ten dinars, but by feigning
stupidity until the last possible moment, the driver forced the gatekeeper to weigh the chances of getting a
larger bribe from the loudly honking sheik in the sand car behindтАФ who seemed about to take his business
to the next booth overтАФ against the possibility of losing a profit entirely on this cycle of the lock.
"Good luck to you, brother," the man said sourly as he let them through.