"Kristine Smith - Kilian 1 - Code Of Conduct" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Kristine)

The facades of the one- and two-story polystone homes would have appeared
familiar to most humans, but a careful observer would have noticed the subtle
alterations. Smaller, fewer windows. No doors opening out to the street. Blank walls
facing the human side of town. For humanish ways are strange ways, and godly
idomeni avert their eyes.
The low clouds opened. Cold rain splattered down. Jani yanked the hood of her
weatherall up over her head, but not before looking around to see if she was being
observed. She wouldn't be welcomed here. The made-sect Haarin, like their more
disciplined born-sect counterparts, preferred that their humanish neighbors keep their
distance.

Except when it comes to business. The Haarin were nonviolent criminals and other
idomeni social anomalies, their manufactured sect the pit into which the born-sects
dumped their misfits. Even though Jani understood the Haarin better than most, she
still couldn't be sure whether they settled on human worlds because they enjoyed
aggravating their governing Council or because they actually liked the neighborhood.
They definitely enjoyed learning concepts like float-rebound accounting. They liked
dealing, and possessed a disrespect for Commonwealth rules and regs that was
almost colonial in its fervor.

They're probably all at the gathering hall, waiting for Tsecha's speech. The
reopening of formal diplomatic relations between the Commonwealth and the Shera
worldskein, and the subsequent reevaluation of trade and taxation laws, concerned
them as much as it did Jani's bosses in the
Merchants' Association.

I foresee busy times ahead for documents technicians. Jani squinted as the rain
pelted harder and
thick fog wended around homes and down the empty street. Then a shadowed
movement in the
murky distance caught her eye; her stomach clenched as it always did when she saw
a NorthPort
Haarin. Their born-sect forebears had been Vynsharau and Pathen, and the strains
had remained undiluted. The approaching Haarin was rope-muscled, slender, and
two meters tall. His yellow-orange skin, which screamed jaundice to humans, in
idomeni reality marked the races that originated in
Sherd's desert regions.

It's only Genta. Jani's anxiety subsided. The shuttle dealer walked toward her with
long, loose-limbed strides. His dark green overrobe clung wetly to his matching
belted shirt and trousers, the hem catching
on the fasteners of his knee-high boots. Clothing drenched, fine brown hair plastered
to his scalp, the Haarin appeared completely at ease. With his narrow shoulders,
age-grooved jowls, and wide-spaced yellow eyes, he bore more than a passing
resemblance to a bored cheetah.

"Nia Chaw-ree." Genta crossed an arm over his chest in greeting. His right arm, palm
facing inward.
A sign of regard, if not respect. "You ar-re noth ath a holoVee, watching speeches?
That is wher-re all idomeni ar-re, watching speeches." The English words tumbled