"Tuning, William - Terro-Human - Fuzzy 04 - Fuzzy Bones 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tuning William)

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FUZZY REDUX

Chapter 1

"Tis a pity she's a whore," the Marine said.

"Don't bet your ass or your pension on it," the priest said.

The two of them were perched at the bar of the first-class passengers' lounge on the City of Asgard, outbound for Zarathustra. They sipped their drinks and chatted while the rest of the first-class passengers "ooohed" and "ahhhed" at the ever-changing panoramas of space that were presented in the observation screens around the edge of the lounge deck.

The Marine nodded toward the object of the conversation, a strawberry blonde named-correction-calling herself Christiana Stone. "That might be your first convert on Zarathustra," he said.

The Marine was Master Gunnery Sergeant of Fleet Marines Philip Helton. The priest preferred to be called The Rev.

They had hit it off immediately. The Rev was dressed like a priest-collar and all-but thought like a Marine-one who had been able to take the time to absorb and appreciate some of the galaxy's variety of culture.

You can take the boy out of the Marines, Helton had thought when he met him, but you can't take the Marine out of the boy. Retired, perhaps. Officer, maybe. Tough, yes.

The Rev snorted derisively. "Do the old Magdalene caper? Not a chance."

"Why not?" Helton said. "Souls are where you find 'em."

"Several reasons," The Rev replied, as he chewed noisily on an ice cube from his drink. "First, it's not my style. Round the souls up every spring, put The Brand on them, and drive them to market? That's a mug's game. Second; unnecessary. If that young thing is a pros tie, then I'm the Archbishop of Nifflheim."

"You sound pretty sure of yourself," Helton said.

The Rev snorted again. "My lad, I daresay you've observed just about as many whores in your profession as I have in mine. What the lady says she is and what she is don't have to come to the same thing." He wagged his finger as Helton started to interrupt. "She may, however, intend to become one when we get to Zarathustra."

"But you don't think she's a-ummmmmm- journeyman," Helton said.

The Rev slapped his hand lightly on the bar and leaned forward slightly. "Of course not! " he said quietly. "Otherwise she would have been working the ship. Lots of lonely business types in the first-class. A young lady with her looks and just the slightest amount of enterprise could rack up quite a bundle during a six-month hypertrip."

"That's where you've missed," Helton said with a chuckle. "You don't have all the data to draw a conclusion."

The Rev's face took on an expression of mock menace. "Well, son, you get to be pretty damned observant in my trade."

"And in my trade," Helton said, "I travel quite a bit of the time by commercial carrier."

"So?" The Rev was not impressed.

"So I happen to know the ship captain on this trip. His name is Hermann Kaltenbrunner and he makes the Orthodox-Monophysites look like a bunch of reckless hedonists. I was on the City of Malverton once-when the old boy was stalking his quarterdeck-and I saw him put a professional gambler out the airlock for starting up a card game on Sunday."

"Great Ghu!" The Rev gasped. "He does sound to be just a trifle on the puritanical side. Uh-what happened to the rest of the players?"

"Nothing," Helton said flatly. "They were not professional card-players. Oh, they got a sermon about evil-doing that would set fire to your underwear, but that was about it."

"So someone tipped her off mighty quick," The Rev said, "perhaps in hopes of receiving some-ahhhh-non-professional thanks."