"Janat Kagan - Hellspark" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kagan Janet)

eased her gently to the floor. As she did so, the braids fell away from the off-worlder’s ear and exposed
two bright bits of cloisonne: earpips.
(Definitely a surveyor,) Tocohl said. (Surveyor-grade 2nd skins are fairly common but earpips aren’t.
On holiday, I suppose, though this is an odd place for it.) She bent for a closer look at the earpips.
The first identified the woman’s profession as serendipitist, which caused Tocohl to raise an
eyebrow. To those who believed in espabilities, and Tocohl did, a serendipitist was one who brought
luck to herself and those around her. This is serendipity? thought Tocohl; if so, it certainly takes a peculiar
form.
The second pip was a medic alert. (Maggy, what does this mean?) She raised the emblem slightly to
give Maggy a clear view.
(The wearer suffers from Cana’s disease—)
(In layman’s language, please,) said Tocohl, to forestall a spate of medical jargon that would be of no
practical use.
(—A parasitical infestation that acts like a super-yeast,) Maggy continued. (It converts sugar into
alcohol. Cana’s disease can be controlled in the human but not cured. Under stress, the victim appears to
be—is—drunk.)
(Contagious?) said Tocohl.
(If it were, I would have said so. The parasite undergoes alternation of generation and is only
transmissible through a blood-sucking mammal native to Inumaru, in the system of which it is a symbiont.)
(Sorry,) said Tocohl, reacting more to tone than content. (Is there anything I should do for her?)
(She’ll have her own medication for that, and I’ve sent for a doctor.)
The woman stirred and, without warning, struggled violently from Tocohl’s arms. “Laiven!” she
gasped, “laiven la’ista!
Siveyn, thought Tocohl, and responded in the same language. “Gently. The wild beasts”—she used
the literal meaning of la’ista—“have had their claws pulled.” Tocohl offered the fisher’s knife, hilt-first, as
proof.
The Siveyn blinked pale green eyes at her, and touched the knife lightly but did not take it. Then she
relaxed with a long shuddering intake of breath.
Torchlight flickered through the darkness beyond the splintered door. Tocohl came to her feet,
stepped across the Siveyn, ready for more trouble.
(Police,) said Maggy. (When the lookout called for help, I did too.)
Tocohl relaxed, made a reassuring motion to the Siveyn. (I didn’t ask for police,) she said, (or a
doctor, come to think of it.)
(You didn’t say not to call them. Was I wrong?)
(No, you did just fine.) Tocohl walked to the door and waved broadly to the little knot of uniformed
Sheveschkemen who filled the mouth of the alley. “In here,” she called in Sheveschkem.
She glanced at the splintered door and said, (Thanks, Maggy. If you hadn’t adjusted my spectacles, I
wouldn’t have seen that coming. You saved me quite a headache!)
(You’re welcome,) said Maggy primly. (Next time, though, pull up your hood too.)
The police doctor stooped to the fallen fisher. “She’ll live,” he said; and, without a further word, he
crossed to examine the Siveyn.
The stumpy lieutenant in charge of the local authorities grunted sourly. A brusque wave of his hand
brought two officers to guard the fisher. Then he turned to Tocohl. “Captain, may I have a word with you
in private?”
“Of course,” said Tocohl, and the two of them stepped into the alleyway. Tocohl leaned against the
rough stone, beneath a freshly kindled torch.
“Lieutenant t’Ashem,” he said, offering his hand.
His voice held no accent, but his stance did: Tocohl judged him a northerner still unused to southern
kinesics, despite long residence. Instead of grasping the hand, she touched palms, northern-fashion, as
she gave her own name. His eyes widened slightly, but more than enough to confirm her judgment, and