"Shane Tourtellotte - String of Pearls" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tourtellotte Shane)

To his relief, there was another human, standing by one of the public sinks and holding a sign. Within two
minutes they were aboard the fellow's flitter, lifting into the sky and turning southeast.

The driver spent a moment making a call. "Bunwadde will meet us at the field," he said with a quick look
at the back seat.

"Okay." Marcus had expected to go straight to his home, but Bunwadde was, in all senses, the boss.

They angled toward a landing field on the northern outskirts of Aghrelowa, not approaching the broad
spread of the city or the river it abutted. Two buildings near the field had Bunwadde's company's name in
story-tall ideograms. They drifted past those buildings, and settled onto a corner of the field.

Marcus's door popped open. "There he is," his driver said. "Good luck, sir."

He took the dismissiveness in stride, grabbing his bags and getting out of the flitter. He soon spotted the
teardrop-shaped land car, parked off the edge of the landing field, with a figure standing beside it.
Marcus walked over, through a buffeting of wind as the flitter took off a bit too early for comfort.

"Marcus Parrish!" the figure by the car said, easily audible over the flitter's departure.

Now Marcus was sure it was Bunwadde. The entrepreneur was big even for Kevhtre Union males, and
had the voice to match. His two-belted robe was solid red, bold against his powder-blue complexion,
and he wore a broad, shady hat. Gray bristles ran down his cheeks and neck, well-groomed. His
prominent nose and the natural hunching forward of his head added to his bulldog appearance, like some
old-time British Lord.

Marcus marched right up to him, getting an extra jolt of surprise at how tall two meters twenty really was
close up. "A pleasure to finally meet you, Bunwadde Pesh Nuluk Mur-Aghrelowa. Thank you for inviting
me to your home."

It was a canned greeting in Vetra, checked ahead of time for grammatical felicity. Using Bunwadde's full
name on first meeting was properly polite. Bunwadde had done the same calling to him: Marcus's middle
name embarrassed him, and it wasn't in official records.

"You compliment me by accepting my hospitality," Bunwadde said. "I hope you're not too fatigued by
traveling."

"My trip here was comfortable," Marcus replied, using another prepared statement.

The driver had stepped out, and was putting Marcus's luggage into the car trunk. "Then let's not waste
time with the last part of it," Bunwadde said. He opened a car door for Marcus, who stepped inside.
Bunwadde himself got into the seat ahead of Marcus, doffing his hat, while the driver slipped back into
the small steering compartment at the nose of the car.

Marcus nearly commented on the seating arrangement, but curbed his tongue. "I understand you're fluent
in English," he said in English. "That will make communication easier still, for both of us."

Bunwadde tipped his head. "No doubt it will." He slipped back into Vetra. "But we should stay with my
language. I'm sure you need the practice more than I do with English."