"Paul Preuss - Venus Prime 1 - Breaking Strain" - читать интересную книгу автора (Preuss Paul)
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ARTHUR C. CLARKE'S VENUS PRIME: VOLUME I
тАЬDonтАЩt get me wrong.тАЭ she said. тАЬI said youтАЩd make my day.тАЭ
тАЬSure, lady.тАЭ
He seemed humble enough, but he was male and naturally he was playing the odds. That was fine with
her, as long as she got within reach of civilization.
The carpenter ended up having his van drive them both all the way to the Denver shuttleport, almost a
hundred miles away. He gave her no trouble during the seventy-minute ride. He seemed grateful for
what little conversation she was willing to give him, and parted from her cheerfully with a firm
handshake.
Sparta went into the terminal and threw herself joyfully into the nearest contoured, chrome-and-black-
plastic chair in the busy lobby. To her, the noise and the winking neon ads and glaring videoplate
billboards, the diffuse green light that bounced off every reflective surface, were soothing. She pulled
her quilted coat tight around her, hugging herself, letting fatigue and relief wash over herтАУshe was back,
back among crowds of people, with access to transportation and communication and financial services,
together. She could get what she wanted without making herself memorable. And for a few minutes she
could sit right here in the open and rest, not bothering to hide, confident that nothing about her
nondescript appearance would attract the slightest attention.
Her eyes opened to find an airport cop looking down at her suspiciously, his finger poised at his right
ear, about to key his commlink. тАЬYou been out for half an hour, lady. You need sleep, use the hive in
Five.тАЭ He tapped his ear. тАЬOr you want me to call work-shelter?тАЭ
тАЬGoodness, officer. IтАЩm terribly sorry, I didnтАЩt realize.тАЭ She looked past him, startled, in the direction of
the flight announcement screen. тАЬOh, donтАЩt tell me IтАЩm going to miss this one too!тАЭ She stood up and
dashed for the nearest people-mover headed for the launch pads.
She didnтАЩt look back until she was surrounded by other passengers. There was a certain air of glumness
about the belt riders, huddled in their festive plastic-and-foil vacation clothes, probably because for most
of them the vacation was over; they were headed back to the reservation. She made a discreet show of
searching her pockets in distress before stepping off the rolling walkway at the first interchange and
heading back toward the waiting area.
She walked straight into the womenтАЩs room and peered into the mirror. She got a shock. Nondescript
wasnтАЩt the word for her; she was bedraggled. Her drab brown hair hung in greasy snakes; there were
dark circles under her eyes; her boots and pants and the skirts of her coat were splashed with dried red
mud to the knee.
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