"Bruce Sterling - Crystal Express" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sterling Bruce)

ultraviolet. It was the light the Investors preferred, and they were not about to change it for one
human passenger.
"You have not done badly," the alien said magnanimously. "You are the kind of race we like
to do business with: young, eager, plastic, ready for a wide variety of goods and experiences. We
would have contacted you much earlier, but your technology was still too feeble to afford us a
profit."
"Things are different now," Afriel said. "We'll make you rich."
"Indeed," the Investor said. The frill behind his scaly head flickered rapidly, a sign of
amusement. "Within two hundred years you will be wealthy enough to buy from us the secret of
our starflight. Or perhaps your Mechanist faction will discover the secret through research."
Afriel was annoyed. As a member of the Reshaped faction, he did not appreciate the reference
to the rival Mechanists. "Don't put too much stock in mere technical expertise," he said.
"Consider the aptitude for languages we Shapers have. It makes our faction a much better trading
partner. To a Mechanist, all Investors look alike."
The alien hesitated. Afriel smiled. He had appealed to the alien's personal ambition with his
last statement, and the hint had been taken. That was where the Mechanists always erred. They
tried to treat all Investors consistently, using the same programmed routines each time. They
lacked imagination.
Something would have to be done about the Mechanists, Afriel thought. Something more
permanent than the small but deadly confrontations between isolated ships in the Asteroid Belt
and the ice-rich Rings of Saturn. Both factions maneuvered constantly, looking for a decisive
stroke, bribing away each other's best talent, practicing ambush, assassination, and industrial
espionage.
Captain-Doctor Simon Afriel was a past master of these pursuits. That was why the Reshaped
faction had paid the millions of kilowatts necessary to buy his passage. Afriel held doctorates in
biochemistry and alien linguistics, and a master's degree in magnetic weapons engineering. He
was thirty-eight years old and had been Reshaped according to the state of the art at the time of
his conception. His hormonal balance had been altered slightly to compensate for long periods
spent in free-fall. He had no appendix. The structure of his heart had been redesigned for greater
efficiency, and his large intestine had been altered to produce the vitamins normally made by
intestinal bacteria. Genetic engineering and rigorous training in childhood had given him an
intelligence quotient of one hundred and eighty. He was not the brightest of the agents of the
Ring Council, but he was one of the most mentally stable and the best trusted.
"It seems a shame," the alien said, "that a human of your accomplishments should have to rot
for two years in this miserable, profitless outpost."
"The years won't be wasted," Afriel said.
"But why have you chosen to study the Swarm? They can teach you nothing, since they
cannot speak. They have no wish to trade, having no tools or technology. They are the only
spacefaring race that is essentially without intelligence."
"That alone should make them worthy of study."
"Do you seek to imitate them, then? You would make monsters of yourselves." Again the
ensign hesitated. "Perhaps you could do it. It would be bad for business, however."
 There came a fluting burst of alien music over the ship's speakers, then a screeching fragment
of Investor language. Most of it was too high-pitched for Afriel's ears to follow.
The alien stood, his jeweled skirt brushing the tips of his clawed birdlike feet. "The Swarm's
symbiote has arrived," he said.
"Thank you," Afriel said. When the ensign opened the cabin door, Afriel could smell the
Swarm's representative; the creature's warm yeasty scent had spread rapidly through the starship's
recycled air.
Afriel quickly checked his appearance in a pocket mirror. He touched powder to his face and