"Brad Ferguson - To Tell The Troof" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ferguson Brad)

Edith considered it. “Some achy, kind of tired, but nothing too bad.
Better than I have a right to. How long was I asleep?”
McAleer looked at the clock. “A bit more than twelve hours. Want some
coffee? There’s some ready.”
“Coffee. What a wonderful idea. Yes, please.”
“I hear voices,” came a high-pitched voice from upstairs. Edith’s
eyebrows raised.
McAleer smiled. “That’s Zweebl. He’s my assistant.” Walking to the
doorway of the study, he said loudly, “Come on down if you want to,
Zweebl. Our patient’s awake and feeling fine.”
“Be down in flash, Father.”
“‘Father’?” Edith said. “Oops. But of course — you said this was a
mission. Called you ‘mister’ before, didn’t I? Sorry. I’m still a little slow, I
guess — ”
McAleer laughed. “Miss Daney — ”
“Edith.”
“Edith, don’t worry about it. It’s not important. Okay?”
Edith smiled. “Thanks. Now, where’s the coffee?” “Kitchen. I’ll get it.”
“I’ll help.”
After two quick cups of McAleer’s coffee, both the pilot and the priest
felt a great deal more human. Zweebl, content with a cup of suffra milk
cut with water, sat quietly and listened to their conversation.
For his part, McAleer was fascinated. He’d already found out that Edith
Manus Daney had been born Presbyterian but hadn’t been a churchgoer
since her early teens, and that she’d also been born Manus; she’d ditched
Daney in an uncontested divorce action three years before.
McAleer also found out Edith was a small-time smuggler. Edith told
that to McAleer only after she decided she could trust him. It hadn’t taken
long, though.
“Smuggling?” McAleer asked, surprised. “Really?”
“Sure,” Edith shrugged. “I had to make a living. I went partners with
the guy I took up with about a year after the divorce. Jimmy, his name
was; he had the ship when I met him. Drugs, weapons, furs, gems, liquor,
electronics, luxury foods — you name it, we brought it in.” Edith paused.
“Jimmy got killed on some piece of shit called Matter of Fact a year and a
half ago. Some bastard took him down in a bar for no damn reason at all. I
went solo after that.”
McAleer nodded.
“The stuff I had aboard was bound for Conrad; somewhere along the
way, my exchanger fused and the backups failed. She was an old ship;
Jimmy was forever trying to hold her together, and I wasn’t as good at
maintenance as Jimmy was. Anyway, after she went bad on me, I came
out of warp and spent eight days solid trying to get here, environmental
controls gone and the ship in near-vacuum all the way. Didn’t get more
than ten or fifteen minutes of sleep at a time. Best damned flying I ever
did, you’ll pardon me. Um, I hope you don’t consider smuggling a sin or
something.”
McAleer thought about it, running a hand through what was left of his
hair. “Render unto Caesar, you know. But I’m no judge.”
“Going to turn me in?” Edith asked calmly.