"Gardner Dozois & Jonathan Strahan - The New Space Opera" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dozois Gardner)

He grinned; he knew when I’d arrived, and the state I was likely to be in. I hadn’t met Pelé Leonidas Iza
Quinatoa in the flesh before, but we’d worked together, we liked each other. “Ayayay, so good you
can’t bear to lose it?”

“Of course not. Only innocent, beautiful souls have sweet dreams.”
He touched my cheek: collecting a teardrop. I hadn’t realized I was crying. “You should use the
dreamtime, Debra. There must be some game you want to play.”

“I’ve tried, it’s worse. If I don’t take my punishment, I’m sick for days.”

The intimacy of his gesture (skin on skin) was an invitation and a prom-ise; it made me smile. We walked
into the Parliament Building together, buoyant in the knocked-down gravity that I love although I know
it’s bad for you.

In the Foyer, we met the rest of the company, identified by the Diaspora Parliament’s latest adventure in
biometrics, the aura tag. To our vision, the KiAn Working Party was striated orange/yellow, nice cheerful
implications, nothing too deep. The pervasive systems were seeing a lot more, but that didn’t bother Pelé
or me; we had no secrets from Speranza.

The KiAn problem had been a matter of concern since their world had been “discovered” by a
Balas/Shet prospector, and joined the minuscule roster of populated planets linked by instantaneous
transit. Questions had been raised then, over the grave social imbalance: the tiny international ruling caste,
the exploited masses. But neither the Ki nor the An would accept arbitration (why the hell should
they?).The noninterference lobby is the weakest faction in the Chamber, quarantine-until-they’re-civilized
was not considered an option. Inevitably, around thirty local years after first contact, the Ki had risen
against their overlords, as often in the past. Inevitably, this time they had modern weapons. They had not
succeeded in wiping out the An, but they had pretty much rendered the shared planet uninhabitable.

We were here to negotiate a rescue package. We’d done the damage, we had to fix it, that was the DP’s
line. The Ki and the An no doubt had their own ideas as to what was going on: they were new to the
Interstellar Dias-pora, not to politics.

But they were here, at least; so that seemed hopeful.

The Ki Federation delegates were unremarkable. There were five of them, they conformed to the
“sentient biped” bodyplan that unites the diaspora. Three were wearing Balas business suits in shades of
brown, two were in gray military uniform. The young coleaders of the An were better dressed, and one
of the two, in particular, was much better look-ing. Whatever you believe about the origins of the
“diaspora” (Strong theory, Weak theory, something between) it’s strange how many measures of beauty
are common to us all. He was tall, past two meters: he had large eyes, a mane of rich brown head-hair,
an open, strong-boned face, poreless bronze skin, and a glorious smile. He would be my charge. His
coleader, the subordinate partner, slight and small, almost as dowdy as the Ki, would be Pelé’s.

They were codenamed Baal and Tiamaat, the names I will use in this ac-count. The designations Ki and
An are also codenames.

We moved off to a briefing room. Joset Moricherri, one of the Blue Permanent Secretaries, made
introductory remarks. A Green Belt Colonel, Shamaz Haa’agaan, gave a talk on station security. A
slightly less high-ranking DP administrator got down to basics: standard time conventions, shopping
allowances, access to the elevators, restricted areas, housekeeping…Those who hadn’t provided their