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

(I can’t argue.)
Not half, you can’t, thought Tocohl, amused; then she subvocalized again, (Play back the tape.)
This time Maggy made no objection.
There was no image, only the voice of a stranger. Her words were crisp, formal, and legally binding:
“Tocohl Susumo is hereby notified of case pending judgment and enjoined from her proposed run to
dOrnano to answer the charge of Tinling Alfvaen.” A single bell-like note sounded. The crisp voice said,
in signature, “Byworld Judge Nevelen Darragh,” and then there was silence, except for the night sounds
of the bay.
Tocohl drew her cloak tightly to her, not for warmth—that was amply provided by the 2nd skin—but
for gesture, as a cat lays back its ears in preparation for a fight.
(Your adrenaline is up to—)
(Shut up a minute and let me think.) Tocohl breathed deeply and, reminded of the Festival of Ste.
Veschke by spicy odors, decided that she did not need the Methven ritual for calm.
She was more puzzled than angry. A byworld judge dealt with cases where two cultures met and
clashed—tourists who got themselves in trouble through ignorance of local customs, for example—or
cases where no world claimed jurisdiction, in deep space or on worlds without a charter,
Tocohl shifted to Jannisetti and said, (As far as I know, I haven’t stepped on any cultural toes lately,)
turning the Sheveschkem cliche into a Jannisetti obscenity.
(Is that funny?) Maggy asked.
(I thought so; how did you know?)
(You smiled.)
In Jannisetti, a smile was limited to the face, so Maggy was apparently reading the implants at
Tocohl’s ear and throat rather than feedback from the 2nd skin. Tocohl touched the spot just before her
ear and smiled again, but she could feel neither the transceiver nor play of muscle. She frowned slightly
without meaning to.
Maggy said, (Then why are you worried?)
Tocohl grunted. (It could be about that “farm equipment” we sold on Solomon’s Seal; two of the
people I dealt with were third-generation Siveyn, and Tinling Alfvaen is as Siveyn as names come.—To
be honest, Maggy, it could be about a lot of things, but that would worry me.)
(I don’t understand. The manifest said “farm equipment” and that’s what we delivered.)
(Maggy, this is a little difficult to explain: they expected arms.)
(Then why would they request farm equipment?)
(To make the shipment seem legal.) To forestall the inevitable question, Tocohl said firmly, (Yes,
Maggy, the shipment we made was entirely legal, but we didn’t deliver what the customer wanted.)
(I don’t understand. If the shipment was legal—)
(What kind of charge could they bring? Price-gouging, as much as I hate to say it. They paid a lot
more for farm equipment than they intended to. And serves them right.)
Maggy made no response. This was apparently beyond her and it was clear she felt it better for
Tocohl’s adrenaline level that she not inquire further.
Probably just as well, thought Tocohl, though it led her to wonder just what files Maggy might be
checking in that silence. To distract her was a hopeless task, Tocohl knew, so she merely said, (How do
we find Nevelen Darragh? Skip the map.) The projection vanished as quickly as it had come. (Give me
verbal directions for the quickest route to Veschke Plaza.)
(That would take you through an area the Sheveschkemen consider highly dangerous after dark.)
(Fine,) said Tocohl. (Perhaps I’ll have a chance to work off some of that extra adrenaline you’re so
concerned about.)
There was a pause, almost of resignation, then Maggy said, (Turn right and follow the Rim of The
Goblet.)
Tocohl set off as directed. The silver filigree of her cloak streamed behind her and the lightness of her
stride gave no evidence of her unsettled thoughts.