"Kathy Tyers - Firebird 2 - Fusion Fire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tyers Kathy)

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Like other telepathic Sentinels, Staff Officer Bosk Terrell could not use youth implants without crippling
his тАЬepsilonтАЭ neural system, so he looked his age: midforties, a little out of shape from twenty years of
desk service, hair freshly cut. His hands worked constantly, as always, down at his sides.

Terrell turned a wide, charming smile toward Firebird and made a small bow. тАЬMistress Caldwell. How
good to see you.тАЭ Two of his fingers twitched into a half-fist. тАЬYouтАЩre well?тАЭ

тАЬYes. Thank you.тАЭ A chill seemed to suck warmth from the quad. She stepped aside.

тАЬHow goes your composition for the clairsa?тАЭ
Leave me alone, she thought, and then blanked it quickly, hoping Terrell maintained a normal cloud of
emotion-shielding epsilon static. Rude though she felt, she didnтАЩt want him to pick up her antagonism, but
even with shields down, the Sentinel could not have picked up her vocalized thought unless he was
probing, and Firebird knew the subtle, invasive sensations of mind-access. Terrell was keeping his
epsilon energy to himself.

Firebird planted her feet squarely. тАЬIтАЩmтАж stuck on the middle section.тАЭ

She glanced at his hands. That constant restlessness hinted at energy that was barely controlled,
ambitions that had escaped his grasp. тАЬIt wants to shift back into major too soon,тАЭ she went on, тАЬand IтАЩm
afraid IтАЩll have to rewrite the whole passage.тАЭ

Abruptly she realized she had never run into Staff Officer Bosk Terrell with Brennen along. She would
have to remember to ask Brennen what he knew about Terrell, when she saw himтАФ

Which had better be soon. Glancing down at the lights on her wristband, she feigned surprise. тАЬOh.
Excuse me, Officer Terrell. IтАЩm late.тАЭ

тАЬOf course, Mistress.тАЭ

She did not look back as she strode to the clearing desk that guarded the office pod at one corner of the
quiet quad. A slender captain in Thyrian-blue shipboards sat busy at a computer screen. Firebird touched
one fingertip to the womanтАЩs long desk of bright, red-grained ironbark. тАЬGeneral Coordinator Caldwell?тАЭ

тАЬOne moment.тАЭ The clearing captain wore a line of patches and cords on her sleeve that chronicled an
honorable career in Thyrian serviceтАФand told Firebird she was not one of the telepathic few, who wore
only the Star. She glanced up as she reached across her desk toward another console. тАЬYouтАЩre looking
well, Mistress Caldwell.тАЭ Her long fingers tapped a series of panels on her left.

Easing sideways toward a deep white chair in the waiting area, Firebird exhaled her frustration. Oh, yes.
1 look wonderful. A tank looks wonderful when you need groundside defense, but that doesnтАЩt
make it pretty.

She had been slender, a few months ago, small and slight. A long curl of her auburn hair fell over her
shoulder as she leaned forward, and simultaneously she was punched soundly from inside. She
straightened. Another pair of intercept fighters came in low.

The captain glanced aside at Firebird. тАЬYou may go in.тАЭ