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

up for shipment."

"Your ident, Gentle Homo?"

Dane held it out, and she bent her head a little as if the elaborate mask made it as hard for her to see as it
was for others to view her face.

"Ah. Yes, there is such a package."

"You are the sender?"

"Please to come this way." She evaded his question, opened the front of the booth as if it were a door, and
beckoned Dane beyond, looping the curtain for him to pass through.

There was a very narrow corridor, so narrow a vent that his shoulders brushed the wall on either side. Then
a second door, one set in the wall, rolled aside as he approached it, probably set on an entra beam.

The room into which he went was in contrast to the dinginess of the Deneb's open serving section. It was
paneled in plasta sheets, which melted into one another in a never-ending view of wide sweeps of alien
landscapes. In spite of the beauty of the walls, however, there was an assault on Dane's nostrils that almost
made him gag. He could see no source of that terrible stench--it just was, though the furnishings of the
room were luxurious and its general aspect one of taste with plenty of credits to gratify it.

A man sprawled in an easi-rest. He did not rise as Dane came in nor greet him with more than a stare. The
woman paid no attention to him but swiftly went past Dane to the other side of the room and picked up a
box of dull metal, a square cube as large as two palms' width.

"This you take," she said.

"Who signs?" Dane looked from her to the man, who still stared at him so steadily that the Terran felt
uncomfortable.

The man said nothing at all, though there was a small period of silence as if the woman waited for some
order or move from him. Then she spoke.

"If it is needful, then so will I do."

"It is necessary." Dane brought out his recorder and leveled the lens at the box.

"What you do?" the woman cried out with urgency as if he proposed to shoot the package out of her hand.

"Take an official recording," he told her. She had the box pressed tightly between both hands, the fingers
outstretched so that she appeared to be trying to cover as much of its surface with her own flesh and bone
as she could.

"You ship that," Dane continued, "and you must go by the rules."

Again it was as if she waited for some sign from the man, but he had not moved, nor did his eyes drop
from their survey of Dane. Finally, with visible reluctance, she put the box on the edge of a small table and
stepped back, though she hovered close by, her hands even outstretched, as if ready to snatch it to safety if