"Elizabeth Moon - Serrano 1 - Hunting Party" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moon Elizabeth)

Heris Serrano went from her room in the small but respectable dockside hotel on Rockhouse
Station to the berth of her new command convinced that she looked like an idiot. No one laughed
aloud, but that only meant the bystanders had chosen to snicker later rather than risk immediate
confrontation with an ex-Regular Space Services officer on the beach.

Heris kept her eyes away from any of those who might be contemplating humor, the dockside
traffic of the commercial district. Her ears burned; she could feel the glances raking her back. She
would not have changed her military posture even if she could have walked any other way; she had
been R.S.S. from birth or before, daughter of officers, admirals' granddaughter and niece, a service
family for all the generations anyone bothered to count. Even that miserable first year at the
Academy had seemed familiar, almost homey: she had heard the stories from parents, uncles,
aunts, all her life.

And here she was, tricked out in enough gold braid and color to satisfy a planet-bound admiral
from one of the minor principalities, all because of the whims of a rich old woman with more
money than sense. They had to be laughing behind her back, those merchanter officers and
crewmen who didn't meet her eyes, who went about their business as if purple and scarlet were
normal uniform colors, as if two sleeves covered with gold rings didn't look ridiculous, as if the
rim of gold and green striped cord around collar, lapels, and cuffs didn't tell everyone that an
R.S.S. officer had descended to the level of carting wealthy eccentrics on pleasure jaunts in
something far more like a mansion than a spacefaring ship.

Commercial dockside ended abruptly at a scarred gray wall with a lockgate in it. Heris inserted her
card; the barred gate slid aside, then closed behind her, leaving her caged between the bars behind
and a steel door with a thick window. Another keyslot; this time her card produced a human door-
opener, who swung the door aside and held out his hand for her papers. She handed over the neat
packet civilian life required. Master's license, certifications in five specialties, Imperial ID, military
record (abbreviated; only the unclassified bones), letters of recommendation, and -- what mattered
most here -- Lady Cecelia de Marktos's seal of employment. The human -- Station Security or
Garond Family, Heris did not know which -- ran a handscanner over this last, and replaced the
entire pile in its file cover before handing it back to her.

"Welcome to North, Captain Serrano," the man said, with no inflection of sarcasm. "May I be of
assistance?"

Her throat closed a moment, remembering the words she would have heard if she had gone through
a similar lockgate on the other side of the commercial docks, where sleek gray R.S.S. cruisers
nuzzled the Station side by side. Where her gray uniform with its glowing insignia would have
received crisp salutes, and the welcome due a comrade in arms. "Welcome to the Fleet," she would
have heard, a greeting used anywhere, anytime, they came together away from civilians. But she

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could not go back there, back where her entire past would wrap around her. She had resigned her
commission. She would never hear those words again.

"No, thank you," she said quietly. "I know where the ship is." She would not say its name yet,