"Norton, Andre - Solar Queen 04 - Postmarked The Stars" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

The scooter delivered him at the gate, and he looked down the offport street for some sign of the cafщ he
wanted. Xecho was a crosslane planet, a port of call for ships switching from one sector to another. Thus it
did have an off-port section of inns, eating places, and amusement holes for space crews, but it was
relatively small and tame compared to such sections ringing the ports of other worlds, consisting of a single
street of closely packed one-story buildings.

As usual, the heat of late afternoon was intense. Dane was wearing full uniform tunic and breeches, which
added to his discomfort. He must make this excursion as short as possible. He searched for any identifying
sign of the establishment he wanted. Those bright lights that would be visible at night were missing now,
and it took him several moments of survey to find it--a small place sandwiched in between a hock-lock
and an inn he remembered having eaten in the day before.

There were not many on the street--the heat kept most planetside dwellers inside. He passed only two
crewmen as he made the best speed the sultry day heat would allow to his goal, and he did not look closely
at either.

To step inside the Deneb was to step from a furnace into cool dusk and relief against the punishment of
Xecho's day. It was not a restaurant, rather a drinking place, and he was uneasy. For someone with a
package needing security insurance, to be waiting here was not normal--but then this was his first mail
run, and how could he gauge what was normal procedure. If he got voice and thumb records, then the
Queen was only responsible for the safe transportation of the article in question, and if he had continued
doubts, he need only step into the security office at the port on his way back and make an additional
recording for the complete coverage of the Queen's part in an affair that might be on the shady side.

There was a line of booths against the far wall with dials for drinks and various legal smokes. But knowing
off-ports, Dane wondered if some illegal stimulants could not also be ordered if one knew the proper code.
The place was very quiet. A crewman was in a drunken doze in the farthest booth, an empty glass before
him, his fingers still curled protectingly about it.

There was no sign of any proprietor, and the small booth beside the door was empty. Dane waited
impatiently for a moment or two. Surely the drunk in the corner had not sent for him. At last he rapped on
the surface of the pay-booth grill, the noise carrying more loudly through the room than he expected.

"Softly, softly--"

The words were Basic but delivered with a hissing intonation that slurred them into what was just a series
of "s" sounds. The curtain at the back of the booth had been pulled aside, and a woman came in--that is,
she was almost humanoid enough to be termed that, though her pallid skin was covered with minute scales,
and the growth that hung about her shoulders was not strictly hair, fine-fringed though it was. Her features
were enough like his own not to be remarkable. She was wearing an affectation of Terran sophistication
that he had last seen on that planet, narrow trousers of metallic cloth, a sleeveless jerkin of puff fur, and a
half mask of silver-copper that covered eyes and forehead and hung part way over the nose in whorls of
metal.

The dress, high-style Terran, was as out of place in this dingy hole as a drink of Lithean champagne would
be, although it served as a disguise.
"You wish--?" Again that hissing speech.

"A call was made to the mail ship, Gentle Fem, the Solar Queen, asking that a security package be picked