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

"Why I landed here is my concern," said Chandler as the waiter arrived with another drink for Gin.
"You sure you don't want to tell me who you're after, Whistler? I've got pretty good connections. Maybe I could help you find him" -- he paused and grinned -- "for a small consideration."
"I'm not after a who, I'm after a what: information, remember?"
Gin sighed. "Have it your way. I was just trying to be helpful."
"You're not trying hard enough," said Chandler. "We've been here ten minutes and you haven't told me a damned thing."
"What do you want to know?"
There was only one piece of information Chandler actually wanted, which was how to get to Hades -- but he spent the next half hour asking numerous questions about Port Marrakech, at the end of which he knew more about the local trade in drugs, prostitution, and black market goods than he ever wanted to know.
"Sounds good," he said at last. "Things have been slow on the Inner Frontier. I'm considering setting up shop here."
"You'll have lots of competition in your line of work," said Gin.
"Not for long," replied Chandler.
Gin stared at him and nodded his agreement. "No, I suppose you won't -- not if you're half as good as they say you are."
"Could be that I'll need a driver who knows his way around, and can tell me where all the bodies are buried," continued Chandler.
"Yeah?" said Gin, his face alive with interest.
"It's possible. Think you might know anyone who'd be interested in the job?"
Gin grinned. "You're looking at him."
"You've got a job."
"On a moon loaded with killers, I like the security of working for the best killer of all."
"Well, you're pretty good at talking, I'll give you that," said Chandler. "How are you at keeping your mouth shut?"
"You can trust me, Whistler."
"If you come to work for me and I find that I can't trust you, I don't envy you your death." Chandler paused. "Do you still want the job?"
"What does it pay?"
"More than driving back and forth to the airport and taking kickbacks from bars and hotels -- and you'll get it in cash."
"I still need a figure. After all, I'll have to use my own vehicle. I gotta figure my expenses."
"How much are you making now?"
"Counting all the perks?" said Gin. "It comes to maybe six hundred credits a week."
"I'll double it."
Gin extended his hand across the table. "Deal!"
Chandler took the proffered hand. "Deal," he replied. "You're on my payroll, starting this minute."
"Great!" said Gin. There was a momentary silence. "Uh. . . what do we do now?"
"We finish our drinks and I find a place to sleep."
"And then what?"
"Eventually I wake up."
"I mean, what do I do?"
"You're on call around the clock," answered Chandler. "When I wake up in the morning, I expect to see you parked outside of wherever I spend the night. I also expect you to keep your eyes and ears open. If you hear of anyone who's looking for someone in my line of work, you tell me. Even more important: if you see anyone watching me, you let me know."
"Right," said Gin. He signaled the waiter for another drink.
"And you show up sober," added Chandler.
"You got it."
"By the way, I don't plan to confine my activities just to Port Marrakech. Have you ever been to Port Samarkand or Port Maracaibo?"
"I know 'em almost as well as I know this Port Marrakech," Gin assured him.
"Good," said Chandler. "That should prove helpful." He paused. "What about Hades?"
"You don't want any part of Hades, Whistler," said Gin. "They got nothing but these blue-skinned aliens there-Blue Devils, we call 'em. Even if you got a contract to knock one of them off, you'd never be able to tell 'em apart."
"You've been there?"
"No, but I've seen my share of Blue Devils. Ugly-looking sons of bitches."
"Do any humans live on Hades?"
"Not to my knowledge," answered Gin. He shrugged. "Hell, who'd want to?"
Chandler didn't want to display too much interest in Hades, so he let the subject drop and spent another twenty minutes asking questions about the other two moons before he decided it was time to leave.
He checked into one of the better rooming houses, paid for a week in advance, and went to his room, confident that he'd made a decent start; he was in no hurry to get to Hades until he learned more about it. He'd go through the motions of setting up business on Port Marrakech, and in a day or a week or a month, Gin or someone else would tell him what he needed to know about Hades and the mysterious Oracle. In the meantime, he might even accept a contract or two, just to provide authenticity to his cover story.
He had shaved and showered, and was just about to nod off to sleep when the vidphone blinked.
"Yeah?" he said, staring at a blank screen.
"You are the Whistler, are you not?" said a voice that might or might not have been human.