"E. E. Doc Smith - D' Alembert 7 - Planet of treachery" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith E. E. Doc)

Observing his handiwork and deeming it good, the double silently tucked the blaster into
its holster, turned, and walked confidently back to the pirate base.

"On the whole," Lady A said to her admiral, "you've done a most creditable job."

Admiral Shen Tzu smiled and touched the fingertips of both hands together in front of him
to form an arch over his chest. "You'll pardon me I'm sure, milady, if I choose not to fully
savor that remark. I've learned that compliments beginning with `on the whole' usually
have a substantial `but' attached."

The two conspirators were alone in Admiral Shen's office, buried deep within the complex
of the pirate base, seated opposite one another across the admiral's desk. Even a
casual observer could have told that the two people were neither friends nor equals.
Lady A had neither, nor did she wish any.

Lady A was not a large woman, of only medium height and build, but she nonetheless
dominated any group she was in. She had a classically beautiful body behind which lay a
soul of ice. She projected an air of calculated superiority, and coldly cultivated the
impression that she was distinct from those who worked for her. She was dressed


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meticulously in a black cat suit with a tight-fitting hood and boots, and a tool belt around
her waist. Tucked into the belt was a coiled whip, and none of her subordinates could be
quite sure whether it was intended to be functional or merely ornamental.

As she looked across the desktop at her underling, she reviewed his qualifications in her
mind as though he were merely another entry in a computer file. She was constantly
revising and updating her opinions of her subordinates; she refused to tolerate
inefficiency, and the moment anyone ceased to do his job the way she wanted it done,
she got rid of him and found someone else who could.

Admiral Shen, though, was still high on her list of favored employees. He was a big,
beefy man with multiple chins and a large belly. He had a long thin mustache that
drooped well down past his chins, and braided forelocks on either side of his face. His
hands were fat, his fingers like sausages, and he had a deep, booming laugh. He
laughed often, this big man, but Lady A did not hold that against him. She judged a man
by his performance, not his outward characteristics; she had read Shen's soul, and found
him more than satisfactory.

One of Shen's weaknesses was a love of affectation. He was currently playing the role
of a Mongol warlord, dressed in a long black coat trimmed with sable over baggy black
velvet pants whose cuffs were tucked into embroidered red leather boots. He had a
pointed leather cap, trimmed with white fur, on his head, and a scimitar-whose handle
was really a disguised blaster-at his belt. An enormous gold medallion covered most of
his chest like a shield.

The decor of his office matched his presumed persona. The walls and ceiling were