"Michael Swanwick - Trojan Horse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swanwick Michael)

wrapping them around her briefcase. "Then let's have a drink-it's been a long day."



They had arrived at the cave. "Hey, Hans!" the lawyer shouted. "Give us some service here, will you?"



A small man with the roguish face of a comic-opera troll popped into the open, work terminal in hand.
"One minute," he said. "I'm on direct flex time-got to wrap up what I'm working on first."



"Okay." The lawyer sat down on the grass. Elin watched, fascinated, as the woman toweled the paint
 Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html




from her face, and a new pattern of fine red and black lines, permanently tattooed into her skin, emerged.



"Hey!" Elin said. "You're a Jesuit."



"You expected IGF to ship you a lawyer from Earth orbit?" She stuck out a hand. "Donna Landis, S.J.
I'm the client overseer for the Star Maker project, but I'm also avail-able for spiritual guidance. Mass is
at nine, Sunday mornings."



Elin leaned back against the cliff. Grapevines rustled under her weight. Already she missed the
blissed-out feeling of a few minutes before. "Actually, I'm an agnostic."



"You were. Things may have changed." Landis folded the towel into one pocket, unfolded a mirror from
another. "Speak-ing of which, how do you like your new look?"



Elin studied her reflection. Blue paint surrounded her eyes, narrowing to a point at the bridge of her
nose, swooping down in a long curve to the outside. It was as if she were peering through a large, blue
moth or a pair of hawk wings.



There was something magical about it, something glamorous, something very unlike her.