"Simon R. Green - Deathstalker - 3 - Deathstalker War" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Simon R)

enough things to worry about.
"Hello, Sunstrider II," said a tired voice from the comm panels. "This is John Silver,
head of starport Security. Don't adjust your equipment, we've lost visual again. When I
find the pirate that sold us these systems, I'm going to tie his legs in a square knot.
Welcome back, Hazel. Don't steal anything big and try not to kill anyone important this
time. You can put your ship down anywhere you fancy; there's hardly anything on the
pads. Not a lot of traffic comes our way these days."
"Understood," said Hazel. "Cheer up, John, we've got a cargo bay crammed to the
ceiling with really nice surprises for you; namely, more projectile weapons, ammo, and
explosives than you can shake a really big stick at. Just the thing for expressing your
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Simon R. Green - Deathstalker 03 - Deathstalker War


displeasure with Imperial spies and troublemakers."
"You always bring the nicest presents, Hazel. Now pardon me if I leave you all to your
own devices. As head of Security, or what's left of it, I'm being run ragged at the
moment. The precogs have been going crazy the last few days, insisting Something Bad
is in the air. We can't get any details out of them that make sense, but either way I don't
have the time to waste on a single ship, no matter how friendly."
"In case he's forgotten," said Owen, "remind him we're not just outlaws on the run this
time. We represent the Golgotha underground."
"I heard that," said Silver. "Might have known you'd be aboard, Deathstalker. We
haven't forgotten the mess you made on your last visit. Someone will meet you once
you're down, but don't expect a brass band or the key to the city. We had to pawn the
instruments and the key never did work anyway. Have a nice stay. Don't start anything.
Now clear the channel so I can concentrate."
"Is that a typical Mistworld welcome?" asked Jenny Psycho, after a moment.
"Pretty much," said Hazel. "They've raised paranoia to a fine art in Mistport. With good
reason. The Empire has a long history of sneaking in dirty tricks to try and undermine
or destroy the starport. It wasn't that long ago they started an esper plague here, using a
disguised vector called Typhoid Mary. A lot of people died before Security finally
tracked her down. They're still recovering."
"They've been through a lot," said Young Jack. "We'll just have to convince them of the
importance of our various missions here. We must have Mistworld on our side if we're
to win the rebellion. Their espers will be an invaluable asset."
"Glad someone's keeping an eye on the big picture." said Owen. "But I would go easy
on the exposition when you get down there. Mistworlders aren't big on speeches."
"You should know," said Hazel.
The landing pads were practically deserted, with only a handful of smugglers' ships,
huddled together at one end of the field as though for comfort. The Sunstrider II settled
comfortably onto the pad set aside, marked by flaring oil lamps. The tall steelglass
control tower was the only sign of high tech at the starport, its bright electric lights
blazing through the thick, swirling mists. Owen had the ship's computers shut down
everything except the security systems, then led the way out of the ship and onto the
landing field.
The cold cut at them like a knife as they filed out of the airlock, searing their exposed
faces and burning in their lungs as they all huddled in the thick furs the ship had

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