"Brian Daley - Jinx on a Terran Inheritance" - читать интересную книгу автора (Daley Brian)

too." His gaze strayed to where Weir's catafalque had been and where the late Director's remains had
been projected out into the Infinite a few hours earlier.
Floyt said something Alacrity didn't pay attention to right away. Then it sank through. "What data
station? Hey!"
Long-legged and hurrying, he caught up with the Terran as Floyt entered the dome. No one was around.
They confronted the data station.
"I know Dame Tiajo said she didn't have any information on the Astraea Imprimatur" Floyt said, "but I
thought I'd check—in case she, ah, overlooked something."
"Um. Good idea, Ho."
Floyt went to work, shooting back his floppy sleeves. A trained Earthservice info accessor, he'd quickly
made himself familiar with Frostpile's system. He slipped off his proteus and seated it in a peripheral.
But there was nothing to record.
"No registration for a ship by that name," Floyt reported.


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 [Fitzhugh 2]-JINX ON A TERRAN INHERITANCE


"What's it mean, Ho? Astraea Imprimatur!"
Floyt worked for a moment. "Latin, of course. 'Imprimatur' is permission to publish, or make known.
'Astraea,' uh … " He scanned some more. "Has to do with the Roman goddess of justice and innocence.
Also refers to the stars, naturally. It could mean 'let it be sanctioned by Astraea,' I guess."
"Let it be … huh." Alacrity shook his head. "But nothing about a ship?"
"Tiajo said Weir kept everything about it in his head, remember? I guess she was right. At least, there's
nothing unclassified about it."
"How about Blackguard?"
"Just a tick." The displays flashed. "Not much. Allusions to illegal activities. Someone calls it a
'kleptocracy' here, just like Tiajo did."
"Big help. Let's get back outside."
"Wait a second." Floyt transferred the meager data, just in case, then reached for the proteus, but
hesitated.
"What's the holdup?" Alacrity said.
"I dunno; some glitch. What's your hurry?"
"Unless you'd care to stick around here, that's my hurry, there."
Floyt looked up. The Blue Pearl was drifting in their direction, light as a soap bubble, smaller craft
making way for her, an arresting sight even in the aggregate glory of Frostpile's nighttime.
"Okay; whatever it was, it's all set now." Floyt clamped the proteus back onto his wrist.
They hoisted their bags as the Blue Pearl settled onto the roof without a jar or a whisper. Nothing
happened for a moment, then a circular hatch appeared in her lower hemisphere and a gangplank
extended itself as music, laughter, conversation, and the clink of drinking vessels drifted out into the
night air.
They jogged toward the shuttle, slowing a bit as they crossed onto the grand black and gold carpet.
"Hobart!" It came from afar. "Alacrity!"
Floyt paused. "Alacrity, did you hear what I—"
Sintilla, afoot, was just emerging onto the roof through a distant door. She had a small travel bag over
her shoulder.
"Trois fois merde!" Alacrity spat. "Run for it!"

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