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

though it was her new command.... She had grown up with ships named for battles, for monsters,
for older ships with long histories. She could not yet say she commanded Sweet Delight.

North, on all Stations, defined the environs of aristocracy. Wealth and privilege could be found
anywhere, in the R.S.S. as well as the commercial docks, but always near something else. Here
was nothing but wealth, and its servants. This deck had carpeted walkways, not extruded plastic
sheeting; the shops had no signs, only house emblems. Each docking bay had its own lockgate,
enclosing two large rooms: one marked "Service Entrance," lined with racks and shelving for
provisions delivered, and the other furnished luxuriously as a reception salon for going-away
parties. Heris's card in the slot produced another human door-opener, this time a servant in livery,
who ushered her into the salon. Heris made her way between overstuffed sofas and chairs covered
in lavender plush and piled with pillows in garish colors, between low black tables and pedestals
supporting what were probably priceless works of art, though to her eye they looked like globs of
melted space debris after a battle.

The actual docking tube lay unguarded. Heris frowned Surely even civilians had someone
watching the ship's main hatch, even with the security of a lockgate on the dock itself. She paused
before stepping over the line that made the legal division between dock and ship. The lavender
plush lining of the access tube hid all the vital umbilicals that connected the ship to Station life
support. Unsafe, Heris thought, as she had thought on her earlier interview visit. Those lines
should be visible. Surely even civilians had regulations to follow.

Underfoot, the lavender plush carpet felt five centimeters thick. A warm breath of air puffed out of
the ship itself, a warm breath flavored not with the spice she remembered from the interview, but
with the sour stench of the morning after a very large night before. Her nose wrinkled; she could
feel her back stiffening. It might be someone else's ship in principle, but she did not allow a dirty
mess on any ship she commanded -- and would not now. She came out of the access tube into a
family row; the tube's privacy shield had kept her from hearing it until she stepped across the
barrier. Heris took in the situation at a glance. One tall, angular, gray-haired woman with a loud-
voice: her employer. Three sulky, overdressed young men that Heris would not have had on her
ship, and their obvious girlfriends... all rumpled, and one still passed out on a lavender couch that
matched the plush carpet and walls. Streaks of vomit stained its smooth velour. As she came
through the barrier, the chestnut-haired youth with the ruffled shirt answered a final blast from the
older woman with a whined "But, Aunt Cecelia -- it's not fair."

What was "not fair" was that rich spoiled brats like him hadn't had the nonsense taken out of them
in boot camp, Heris thought. She smiled her normal good-morning-bridge smile at her employer
and said, "Good morning, milady."


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The youths -- all but the unconscious snorer on the couch -- stared; Heris could feel her ears going
hot and ignored them, still smiling at Cecelia Artemisia Veronica Penelope, heiress of more titles
than anyone needed, let alone more money.

"Ah," said that lady, restored to instant unruffled calm by the appearance of someone to whom it
meant something. "Captain Serrano. How nice to have you aboard. Our departure will be delayed,