"Alan Dean Foster - The Man Who Used the Universe" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

reasonable aspirations. He'd ignored them. Thus far it hadn't caused him any
trouble. He wanted to be ready when the inevitable suggestion of promotion
came along.
He punched in the code on the plastic buttons set into the security
door. The code had been provided for him by the syndicate's computer. It slid
aside and he entered.
There was a single aisle running the narrow length of the store. Each
wall was a long, flat video screen. On them were displayed, elegantly lit and
arranged, the store's wares.
Despite its somewhat seedy location, the store's stock was quite
impressive. Some of the best citizens of Cluria, or their representatives,
made purchases here. The real jewelry was kept locked in a securoom somewhere
below street level and was brought up only when an actual purchase had been
consummated and credit had cleared.
 The system proved a very effective antitheft arrangement, though it was
not perfect. Loo-Macklin could have cared less. He was not there to steal.
The owner came out of a back room. It was five minutes to sunset time
and he was clearly impatient to close up. He was quite tall, well-built and
middle-aged. He'd chosen to let natural baldness develop.
As he watched Loo-Macklin, he removed the contact jeweler's loupe from
his left eye and slipped the sliver of plastic into the cleansing case he wore
as a ring on one finger. Loo-Macklin stopped opposite a floor-mounted screen
which simulated a display case. He still had his hands jammed in his pockets.
The owner was on the other side.
"Hello." Loo-Macklin spoke quietly. He always spoke quietly, never yet
having encountered a situation, which required him to raise his voice. Nobody
yet knew what he would sound like if he ever got really angry.
"Hello yourself, citizen." The owner's head nodded toward the doorway.
"If you've come to make a selection today you'd better hurry. I'm closing in a
couple of minutes." He eyed Loo-Macklin up and down, added, "The cheaper
jewelry is in the third section, right-hand wall and in the middle of the
screen."
"I'm not here to buy," Loo-Macklin informed him, "I'm here to collect."
The man's eyebrows rose and he appeared amused. He leaned forward, his
hands resting on the top of the display screen.
"I'm not aware that I owe you anything. In fact, I don't even know
you."
"That's not necessary. I'm here on behalf of someone you do know. Hyram
Lal."
The man sighed and looked bored.
"Not again. Look," he said tiredly, "I've told Lal that I'm doing just
fine on my own. There hasn't been an attempted break-in here or in my vault
for nearly half a year. Maybe he can frighten some of the other merchants on
the street into paying him protection money, but the police in this section of
the tube are reasonably honest and efficient and I haven't had any trouble.
I'd rather pay the police anyway." He smiled wickedly.
"No, that's not quite true, what I just said about trouble. I have had
a few problems. About a month ago a couple of sickly looking ghits wandered in
and threatened to smash my screens if I didn't succumb to your friend Lal's
blandishments. It was really funny, like something out of a history tape. They