"Kevin O'Donnel Jr. - The Journeys of McGill Feighan 03 - Lava" - читать интересную книгу автора (O'Donnell Jr Kevin)

Safely inside his Flinger Room, he hurried to the Data console. The
display screen flashed: THRONGORN II. In the white chamber below the
window, four Terrans and one alien, a three-meter-tall Timili that looked
like an unhappy lemur, waited on the scale with a stack of boxes. Feighan
slid into his chair; the corner of the display screen glared 926 kilograms. He
touched the button on his microphone. "Good morning, folks; sorry I'm
running a bit late but you know how it goes. You are eight kilos
overweight."
The shortest Terran, a pipe-smoking woman with waist-length black hair,
said, "How much extra will those eight kilos cost?"
He suppressed an angry rejoinder. People could be so ignorant. The
signs, the manifests, the brochuresтАФthey all explained itтАФbut people never
read the fine print, so this situation arose again and again. One of these days
he would start screaming, but until then, he would remember the rules and
stay polite to the customers. "Ah, no, ma'am, that's not the way it works.
The most I can Fling is 918 kilograms; if the cargo weighs more, I can't get it
off the ground. You'll have to leave something behind."
"But I need all this!"
"Ma'am, I believe I mentioned that I'm running late?"
"Yes." Hands on her hips, she stared up at his window. "So?"
"Ma'am, my whole day is scheduled already, and the next cargo is
waiting outside. If I don't get you off real quickly, things are going to back
up something fierce. So please, cut eight kilos off your loadтАФ"
"I'll do no such thing, young man!"
Why were people so difficult? Why did they have to behave as though
they could flout the rules with impunity? "Ma'am, you've got thirty seconds
to dump the excess baggage or you will lose your time slot for good. Do you
want to get a move on?"
She stalked off the scales, raised a clenched fist, and shook it at him. "I am
Professor Katrina van der Voort of the University of the North AtlanтАФ"
He could not resist the opportunity. Closing his eyes, he concentrated,
visualized, felt, knewтАФ*PING*тАФand sent the other three Terrans and the
one Timili on their way to Throngorn II.
After adjusting the travelers' angular momentum, and setting them down
safely on the planet so many parsecs away, he said, "Professor, I really don't
give a good goddam who you are. I'm in charge here. You are legally
required to obey my instructions in regard to mass and dispersement. You
did not. I have sent the rest of your group on. You will have to make
another reservation. Good day."
"You filthy bloodsucking pig!" She threw her pipe on the floor and
stomped it; shards of plascelain skittered across the tiles. "You can't do that
to me; I'll have your ass in courtтАФ"
To his computer he said, "Program: Cite overweight option regulations;
execute."
 The screen displayed a series of numbers and letters, and beneath that,
four paragraphs of closely spaced, densely written text.
He skimmed the screen. "Professor, North American Consortium
Regulations, Section Twelve, Paragraph 93, subparagraphs (a) through (e)
specifically enable me to do what I have just done. I have neither the time
nor the inclination to read them off to you. I will simply state that Twelve,