"Jane Lindskold - Endpoint Insurance" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lindskold Jane)

the game is well-known in some circles, I sometimes have trouble getting into a
high-stakes game. If any of my local acquaintances recognized me, they’d figure I
was looking for a hot game. If I was lucky, they’d even pretend not to see me.
Courtesy, you know.
I was deep into a game of seven card stud, the Fyoly-nese version that offers some
real challenges when calculating the odds, when I heard the distant rumble of a large
ship landing out in the field. I didn’t think anything of it. Many large ships arrived
after dark. It’s all one and the same to the ship’s pilots and eases things for system
traffic control by decreasing the amount of competition from routine daytime air
traffic.
Several hands later, I noticed an increase in the amount of activity outside the gaming
parlor. “Parlor” was really a courtesy title. The place I was frequenting was little
more than a tent. As the night was warm, the side-flaps were up to let in some fresh
air.
“New visitors,” grumbled one of the other players, a stately, plump young man who
had introduced himself as Buck. “Wouldn’t think there was anyone left on Bath to
fight the war.”
Buck’s use of the euphemism “visitor” rather than the blunter “refugee” labeled him
a Batherite, as did his accent. As he had obviously gotten out of the system rather
than fight, I thought his criticism less than fair, but didn’t say anything. One of the
other players-a weathered older woman-was more vocal.
“You sound like you want the war to continue,” she said, her voice rusty with
exhaustion. She had introduced herself as Cookie and carried with her the scent of
curry, onions, and sugar.
“I don’t!” Buck protested, glancing at Cookie, then back at his cards. “I was just
making a comment.”
“Are you in?” asked one of the other players, his eagerness betraying a good hand.
“I am,” Buck said. Cookie nodded, pursing her lips into a thin, angry line.
Play went on for several hands without further comment. The Batherite War wasn’t
something the system’s natives liked talking about. It wasn’t just a political thing.
Some of the weapons the Absolutist fanatics employed embarrassed even those who
favored their cause.
The cards were with me, but the increased activity outside of the tent distracted me
from my game. I misplayed what should have been a sure thing and pushed back
from the table.
“I’ll quit while I’m about even,” I said. Actually, I was ahead, but they didn’t need
to know. Cookie grunted something that might have been good-bye. No one else
seemed to notice my departure.
Outside, the market was busier than it had been for several days. It seemed as if all
the Bathtub had turned out to see the new arrivals who, their arms filled with bundles
or small children, hurried down the road toward the registration center. A few pulled
small wagons, but such were rare.
Apparently, most of the refugees had been limited to what they could carry on their
persons.
“No need to rush!” called someone from the market, following the comment with a
good-humored laugh. “The cen-ter’ll keep you waiting long enough.”
The sense of this seemed to get through to some of the new arrivals. While the
majority continued pushing their way toward the center, a few peeled off from the
flow. Most of these headed for the food stalls, doubtless tired of ship’s rations.
Some drifted about asking after the location of friends and family. I noticed that the