"Resnick, Mike - Oracle 2 - Oracle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

"My name is Chandler."
"You are the Whistler," repeated the voice tonelessly. It paused for a moment. "A word of advice, Whistler: go home."
"Who is this?" demanded Chandler, trying without success to bring up an image on the screen.
"I will not repeat my warning, Whistler," said the voice. "I know who you are, I know why you are here, and I tell you that your mission is destined to fail. If you are still here tomorrow morning, your life is at hazard."
Then the connection went dead, and Chandler allowed himself the luxury of a satisfied smile.


4

Gin was waiting for him outside the rooming house when Chandler emerged the next morning. He had traded his company vehicle for his own somewhat battered landcar.
"Where to?" he asked as Chandler climbed into the back of the vehicle.
"Twice around the block."
Gin merely grunted and did as he was told. When he had finished, and was once again parked in front of the rooming house, he turned to Chandler.
"No one's watching us."
"No one's following us," Chandler corrected him. "There's a difference."
"What's up?" asked Gin.
"Nothing much," said Chandler. "I got a message last night. Someone doesn't want me here."
"That figures," said Gin reasonably. "A man with your reputation shows up, you're going to cost someone some business."
"They'll have to learn to live with the disappointment."
"I told you someone at the spaceport would spot you," continued Gin. He paused. "So where do I take you now?"
"Around."
"Around where?"
"Just around. I can't go into business if people don't know I'm here."
"They know," responded Gin. "Whoever tried to warn you off has probably told half the people he knows by now. I say we go get a drink and think about this."
"I'll let you know when you become an equal partner," said Chandler. "Just start driving."
Suddenly Gin grinned. "You're not advertising," he said emphatically. "You're trolling! You want whoever you spoke to last night to move against you so you can take him out!"
"Drive."
"Just a minute," said Gin, withdrawing a sonic pistol from beneath the seat. He turned it over and checked its charge.
"Do you know how to use that thing?" asked Chandler as Gin pulled out into traffic.
"Maybe not as well as you," came the answer, "but I can usually hit what I aim at."
Chandler paused. "Don't aim it at anything unless I tell you to," he said at last.
Gin nodded and tucked the pistol into his belt. "Okay, boss," he said. "Where are we going?"
"It's your city. You decide."
"Well, I can take you to where the rich folks hang out, or I can take you to where the people they hire hang out."
"First one, then the other."
Gin stared at a poorly dressed man with bulging pockets who was standing on the slidewalk, staring at them, and as he did so the landcar came up fast on another vehicle. Gin swerved just in time to avoid an accident.
"You keep your eyes on the road," said Chandler. "I'll watch for potential enemies."
"Ain't nothing potential about it," muttered Gin. "By noon you could have half a hundred of 'em out for your scalp."
"Don't let your imagination run away with you," replied Chandler as they began encountering heavier traffic.
"Don't let your confidence run away with you," said Gin. "The more I think about it, the more I think this isn't such a good idea."
"Thinking's not in your job description," said Chandler. "Until it is, I suggest that you leave the thinking to me."
Gin shrugged. "Whatever you say."
"That's what I say," answered Chandler. Suddenly he tensed. "Pull over and stop."
The landcar came to a halt.
"Did you spot someone?" asked Gin, reaching for his pistol.
"That alien," said Chandler, staring at a bald, blue-skinned humanoid who was standing across the street. "Is that a Blue Devil?"
"Yeah. So what?"
Chandler stared at it for another moment, then leaned back and relaxed. "Okay, start driving again."
"You didn't answer my question," persisted Gin. "Why do you care about Blue Devils?"
"I've never seen one before."