"Terry Dowling - Roadsong" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dowling Terry)

wrong, as if a stronger signal had been dampened or spoiled, attenuated by careful tech. In ship-talk and
battle gestures Tom signed for Full Crew and Stations. Overtly it was different.
"Give us the gods, Ben!" Tom cried as he let Rim take the helm, then used a deck-scan to survey the
surrounding desert. Old Scarbo went laughing and wise-cracking to the kite-lockers and assembled a
wonderful canopy, sent it piece by piece out into the bright morning sky: Chinese Hawks and Demis,
Hakkakus, Sode Stars and Levitors, with a higher mantle of racing footmen and - buried in their shapes -
four death-lamps spinning like angry diamonds. When those were up and gorging on sunlight, Tom
accepted the inevitable return of his guests as cheerfully as he could manage.
"We have teeth," Ty said, noting the lamps, remarking on it to her companions as the Ladies and the
Nationals reached the quarterdeck again.
"We have clear at all points," Tom told them. "The satellites are on alert. We're getting fifteen minute
updates on that from Chargan and San-Mar. Berengar is on its way and should reach us by early
afternoon."
"Not sooner?" Ti said, frowning. Her ship, Berengar, a defining integer in this fragile power-play,
personal advantage, part of a story she would later tell. I saved Rynosseros.
"No, Lady. Unless we slow. Speed is our best strategy now."
"I would prefer to wait for Berengar," Ti said.
"Yes," Ty agreed, and darted a glance at the creop. "Well, Lady?"
"Thank you, Ty," the creop replied. "I know how difficult it is for you and I am grateful."
"Not at all," Ty said. "Please, what do you suggest?"
"Please," Ti echoed, as if only now remembering this restante creature's status and the strategic value of
civility.
"Ladies, you have far more experience with ships than I. This is my first journey in nearly forty years. I
long ago decided to leave the running of ships to captains." Which was too self-effacingly said to seem an
insult, though the Restante Lady took no chances. "If Captain Tyson would tell us our situation . . ."
Tom inclined his head in the direction of the brass container.
"It may not be Berengar. The code was as you gave it, Lady Ti, but the response signal was dampened,
possibly by a stronger one much closer."
"Ha-Ha!" Tamas Hamm cried, an absurd comic pronouncement, earning a quick reproachful look from
Ti, a cool indifferent one from the dowager who turned to face the Blue Captain.
"Does he have such tech?" she asked.
"He easily could have," Tom said. "If that was Starman Guy on the quay, it all seems likely."
"But the 'sats!" Ti cried. "Chargan and . . ."
"Can be misled. It's how these highwaymen survive."
"Outlaw tech!"
"Of course. Most pirates are supplied by outside organizations."
"Tosi-Go?"
"Yes, Lady Ti. Tosi-Go, Chandrasar, Mikel, entertainment co-operatives too."
"What! Still?"
Tom regretted his words; he was usually more careful about drawing attention to some of the ways the
National economy survived. Now he was forced to answer.
"I'd say so. It makes sense."
The creop's voice entered the silence that followed, and for an instant all looked for the speaker once
again.
"We run for Inlansay. We've called ahead. Ships will be re-directed. The Chargan is even moving
down-tether to increase yield. You are honoured."
"My husband's kinsman, Chargan," Ti told her white-clad companion.
But the dowager was unconvinced, her brows drawing down so the Tarasin inset glinted. "Simpler to
slow for Berengar. Narrow the gap. I feel I must insist." Ty gazed directly at the creop but there was no
contradiction.