"Weis, Margaret & Perrin, Don - Mag Force 7 02 - Robot Blues (b)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weis Margaret)

found conveniently in the lobby.
A long line of restless people had gathered at the au-
tomatic motel registration, which machines may have
been convenient but were, unfortunately, not working
properly. There were three registration machines. One
was out of order. An alien with credit problems was
tying up number two, arguing loudly with the machine.
The third machine was functioning, but at sublight
speed. When a real live motel employee made the mis-
take of showing up, he was immediately mobbed and
disappeared precipitously.
The woman took her place at the end of the line for
the sublight registration.
The man took his place in the line behind the alien
arguing with the machine, ensuring that he would proba-
bly be able to remain in the same place for as long as
necessary. The woman would move along more rapidly,
but that was all right. The man didn't need much time.
He just needed proximity and a clear shot.
The woman shifted the computer case to a more com-
fortable position, yawned, blinked her eyes, rubbed
them, and yawned again. She looked groggy, exhausted.
Those jump-flights were killers. When you finally get to
sleep, a steward wakes you up to tell you the ship is
going into hyperspace and would you please make cer-
tain your webbing is fastened, don't eat or drink any-
thing for the next hour, and try to relax and ignore the
fact that your insides feel like they're now on the
outside.

The man knew what flight the woman had taken. He
counted on the fact that she wouldn't be operating at
one hundred percent efficiency. Odds were that she
would not have noticed him anyway, but he didn't rely
on odds, never took chances.
She arrived at the front of the line and did precisely
what the man had been expecting her to do. She placed
the overnight bag on the floor at her feet, shoved the
computer case to the back, brought her purse to the
front. She reached inside her purse to retrieve her plas-
tic. Sliding the card into the machine, she leaned forward
to let the machine scan her eyeball, and said "Darlene
Mohini" in a sleepy voice. She repeated her name when
the machine announced tersely that it hadn't under-
stood her.
"Darlene Mohini," she said again, irritably.
The machine asked Ms. Mohini if she had
reservations.
"Yes." She yawned again. "One night."
The machine found this agreeable, indicated that it