"Lynn,.Elizabeth.-.Sardonyx.Net" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lynn Elizabeth A)

Dana's heart made a funny little jump in his chest. His mouth grew dry. He pulled the pitcher to him, poured himself a glass of the clear liquid in it, and drank. It was cold water, as he had hoped.
"Is this conversation being recorded?" he said.
"Of course," the Skellian said. "But you are in no danger, Starcaptain. There are no Hype cops on the Net."
Dana nodded. He wanted to help; the trouble was, he didn't know very much. "Who wants this information, really?" he said.
"Family Yago."
Dana wondered what they wanted to know. "What are they prepared to pay me?" he said. It was always a sensible question.
"Five hundred credits," Leiakanawa said promptly.
Five hundred credits would repay him for what he'd spent on that damn cooling unit, at least. Dana licked his lips. Damn, his mouth was dry. He drank more water, wishing Tori Lamonica were sitting here in his place. "Suppose I say I don't want to talk to you?" he said.
Leiakanawa folded her hands in her lap. She reminded Dana of Terran bears he'd seen in a zoo on Pellin: possessed even in repose of a fluid and terrifying strength. "It's not wise to offend Family Yago," she said.
Dana knew very little about Family Yago. Four Families ran Chabad: the Yago Family was one of them. But they ran the Auction; they owned the Net. They bought dorazine.
It wouldn't do to seem too eager to talk.
"Six hundred credits," he suggested.
"Is your information worth that much?" she said dryly.
"In the business I'm in, it's bad practice to be buyable."
"So you want to set a high price. All right. Six hundred credits."
Dana said, "I'm going to Chabad to pick up a shipment of nightshade."
"I need to know your buyer's name and the name of your contact in Abanat."
"You don't need to know my buyer's name. My buyer isn't even in Sector Sardonyx. I don't know my contact's name. I've never met him. I'm supposed to meet him in a bar. A friend of mine -- I won't say who -- gave me a set of recognition signals that he always uses." He went on interlacing nonsense with truth about a run he'd made in Sector Cinnabar half a year ago. "How the hell do I know this'll stay private?" he said suddenly.
"Why shouldn't it?" said Leiakanawa.
"Listen, I know it's all going down on tape, every word I'm saying. How do I know you won't just sell me to the cops?"
"You forget," said Leiakanawa, "our offer of money for information makes the Net an accessory to everything you're saying."
"Well, I don't know." He clasped and unclasped his hands, pretending nervousness. It was only part pretense. It's this damn ship, he thought. Built like a metal sausage.
The door opened without warning. A man walked in. Leiakanawa, who had started to say something soothing, fell instantly silent. The man moved like a Hyper, all grace and strut. He was lean, not very tall, with russet hair held in a silver clip at the back of his head. He had tremendous, top-heavy, muscular shoulders, and striking, amber eyes. He said, "Starcaptain, you missed your vocation. You should have been an actor."
Dana stared at him blankly, held the stare, and then decided to get angry. Theatrically he clenched his fists, pushed the chair back, and stood. He was slightly taller than the other man. "Are you calling me a liar?"
"Yes," said the intruder. "Verdian nightshade comes from a plant that can't be grown on Chabad, Starcaptain. You aren't buying it here. There's a cooling unit for dorazine sitting in your ship."
"I was getting to that -- "
"Never mind. If you're trying to buy dorazine on Chabad, you'll be disappointed. The supply is scarce. You came from Nexus? I don't suppose you'd like to tell me who you're buying for on Nexus. Some one-shot user? It won't pay much, but that name might be worth, oh, two hundred credits."
"Go to hell." Dana said. "If you don't like what I told you, make the rest of it up. I don't sell out my customers. I'm shinnying. Get out of my way."
He started for the door. Seated as she was, the Skellian could not move fast enough to stop him. But the russet-haired man stayed smack in his path. Dana slashed at him with the edge of his hand. It was a good blow, a trained blow, and it might have done some damage if it had landed. But the man closed one hand around his wrist as it reached him, and twisted downwards with inexplicable and frightening power. Pain arced up Dana's arm to the elbow. The grip forced him to his knees. A fist like a hammer hit the side of his head from behind. He fell, half conscious, and the Skellian lifted him in her huge arms.
She put him back in the chair, holding his shoulders so that he couldn't move. The russet-haired man looked at his head, flashed a light twice into his eyes, and probed at the muscles of his neck with gentle authority. "You'll have a headache," he said. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to skop with Skellians?"
Dana said nothing. His ribs hurt, his elbow ached, and his brain felt jellied from the Skellian's blow.
The russet-haired man said, "Thank you, Jo. That's all." The Skellian left. Dana swallowed back the blood in his mouth.
"Well?" he said.
The russet-haired man said, "I'm Zed Yago, commander of the Net."
Dana said, "I'm not pleased to meet you." But despite the bravado behind his words, he was afraid. Chills shook the base of his spine.
The Net commander smiled, a corner of his mouth quirked. In an odd, almost affectionate gesture, he ran two fingers along the line of Dana's jaw, and then stepped back. "Would you like to tell me, Starcaptain, what your true business is in Abanat?"
Dana said, "No. I'd be cutting my own throat. I could never work Sardonyx Sector again, and when word got around -- and it would -- no other sector either. Forget it." He took a deep breath, trying to ease the pain in his side, and straightened slowly.
Zed Yago said gravely, "You don't yet understand your situation." He walked to the table, and leaned from Dana's view. When he came back, he was holding something in his hand: a printout. Dana took it in his left hand. His headache made it hard for him to focus. Finally, he puzzled out the meaning of the legal terminology. He was looking at a slave contract for ten years, from Chabad.
His name was on it.
He went cold. Zed Yago took it from him. "You are a drug smuggler, Starcaptain, though you've not yet been tried or convicted. The cooler in your ship proves you traffic in dorazine, which is a Federation crime. Transporting dorazine inter-sector is illegal, punishable by a high fine and a prison term, which in Sector Sardonyx translates to -- this." He held up the contract. "This is an actual contract; it even has your retinal pattern on it. I made a record of the pattern when I checked your eyes. I can tear it up, take it off the computer, return your ship to you, and let you go to Abanat to watch the Auction ... if you talk to me. _If_."
Dana flexed the fingers of his right hand, trying to work feeling back into them. "I don't believe you," he said. "Having a cooler isn't legal proof of anything. Transporting dorazine inter-sector is illegal, sure, but you can't prove I did it. You can't even get a conviction on the charge unless your evidence is cleared by the Hype cops. I'm damned if I'll tell you anything. You're bluffing." He put both hands to the arms of the chair and tried, uselessly, to rise.
Zed Yago said gently, "You're wrong, you know. You didn't look closely enough. This contract was made up by LandingPort Narcotics Control, and it's already signed." Before Dana could speak, he reached forward and pressed a gel capsule against Dana's neck. It was cool. Dana felt it dissolve. "You're going to sleep, now, Starcaptain," said Zed Yago in that gentle voice. With one hand he freed his hair from its clip. Loose, it brushed his shoulders. "When you wake, we'll talk."
Wait! Dana Ikoro tried to say. Wait, let's talk now.... But his mouth was numb; his lips wouldn't work. He couldn't even blink. The door opened. He sat paralyzed as tears dripped to his cheeks. He couldn't even lower his eyelids. Zed gave some orders. Two crew members appeared and lifted him between them, not roughly. He felt their hands pick him up. They asked Zed where he was to go, and Zed answered, "A holding cell." But I didn't -- I wasn't -- he tried to speak and could not. He could barely feel his own breathing; he listened, and was infinitely reassured to hear the steady huff-huff of his lungs.
The walls danced passed him; he was being moved. "Careful," said Zed Yago's voice. As the crew carted him from the room, Dana felt fingers brush against his face. With a look as tender as a lover's, the Net commander stroked Dana's eyelids down over his smarting eyes.
He lay in a room on a bed.
The room had curving walls. He tried to turn his head to follow the curve, but his head would not move. With great effort, he could open and close his mouth and his eyes. Maybe the paralysis was wearing off. He was naked, slightly chilly but not unbearably so. His bare feet looked distorted and very far away. He could move nothing below his waist. He sensed, without seeing them, that his wrists were strapped down near his sides.
He heard a hum. He heard voices; in a hallway, he guessed, outside the room door. He heard his heartbeat, regular, strong; he heard his breathing. He thought he could hear the blood washing through his veins.
He heard footsteps.
The room door opened.
Zed Yago walked in. He sat down on the edge of the bed. Dana felt it dip. He looked intent and happy. Lightly, he cupped one hand under Dana's chin, holding it rigid, his thumb lying under the ear against the soft flesh below the jaw. "Do you feel that?" he said. "Don't try to speak. I can see you do."