"Daniel Keys Moran - A Tale of the Continuing Time 04 - The AI War" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moran Daniel Keys)

Trent said, "Man, I hate tourists. Let me see if I have this right; you came out here to visit the museum,
watch a couple of Bugs flicks, saw me and decided I was Trent and figured what the hell, let's pop him.
How are we on the broad outline?"

Silence.

Reverend Andy said, "Let me hit him a few times. Maybe cut off a few fingers. Or all of them."
The man's eyes widened slightly.

"You'll get vomit on your hands if you hit him," said Trent.

"OK," Reverend Andy agreed, "let's just go right to chopping off his fingers."

"Chuck Clearmountain," the man said abruptly.

Trent expected that Captain Bittan was monitoring the brig; in the event that she wasn't, Trent said
through his inskin, Captain Bittan: Assassin identifies himself as Chuck Clearmountain.
Tourist from Earth. Track him down with Belt InTourist, please. To Chuck Clearmountain
he said, "That was too easy; you have a very low Threshhold of Fear. Bad trait in an assassin. Any
reason in particular we shouldn't space you?"

Clearmountain just looked at Trent. "You wouldn't."

"Don't believe everything you audit," said Trent mildly. "All a virtuous reputation means is nobody's
caught you at anything yet. As if I didn't know already, just why did you try to kill me?"

The man flushed and looked down at the deck. "Oh, Harry . . . it was just -- " He looked back up at
Trent, said pleadingly, "Ten million Credits, dead or alive. You're Number One on the bounty listings."

"Number One with a bullet," Trent muttered.

The words tumbled out of Clearmountain. "Do you know what that kind of Credit means? I could get full
Medical for my parents, for my grandparents. I could make sure my kids and their kids never had to
worry about ending up in Public Labor. I could afford the third child license -- "

"You're going to make me cry," said Reverend Andy. "Goddamn blood money -- 'scuse me. Damn
blood money." Sometimes Reverend Andy forgot that he was a Reverend and reverted to football player
swearing. He looked over at Trent. "I say we let him suck death pressure."

Even in drop the assassin sagged visibly. It was obviously no more than he had expected.

Trent grinned at Reverend Andy. "Remember the last one? His eyes popped out just like Roger Rabbit's.
Big huge saucers," he said to Chuck Clearmountain. "Anyway, what made you think I was me?"

Clearmountain's head floated limply. He said in a dead voice, "Everyone knows you're out in the Belt.
There's some things biosculpture can't disguise; there aren't all that many twenty-eight year old hundred
ninety-odd centimeter downsiders with muscles floating around the Belt. I saw you at the Museum a
couple days ago, and you knew more about the exhibits than the curator. I asked her about you, and she
said that you were Gus Allen and Ben Parker, holy men from Gandhi CityState, and you came over there
a lot -- I figured it had to be you. You're a well-known cartoon fan," he added wearily.