"George R. R. Martin - The Plague Star" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

standards was veering toward inadequacy when Kaj Nevis approached me. I have bent all my efforts to
accommodate you aboard this craft which you so malign, to the extent that I have given over my ship’s
living quarters to your collective needs and made my own poor bed in the control room. Despite my
undeniable need, I am now coming to deeply regret the foolish and altruistic impulse that bid me take this
charter, especially as the payment I have received was barely sufficient to refuel and provision for this
voyage and pay the ShanDi landing tax. You have taken grievous advantage of my gullibility, I fear.
Nonetheless, I am a man of my word and will do my best to convey you to this mysterious destination of
yours. For the duration of the voyage, however, I must require you to tolerate Mushroom and Havoc,
even as I tolerate you.”
“Well, I never!” Celise Waan declared.
“I have no doubt,” said Haviland Tuf.
“I’m not going to put up with this any longer,” the anthropologist said. “There’s no reason we all have to
be crammed up inside one room like soldiers in a barracks. This ship was not nearly this small from
outside.” She pointed a pudgy arm. “Where does that door go?” she demanded.
“To the hold and cargo compartments,” Haviland Tuf said evenly. “There are sixteen of them. Even the
smallest, admittedly, has twice the space of my meager living quarters.”
“Aha!” said Waan. “And are we carrying any cargo?”
“Compartment sixteen is packed with plastic reproductions of Cooglish orgy-masks, which I was
unfortunately unable to sell on ShanDellor, a situation I lay entirely at the door of Noah Wackerfuss, who
undercut my price and deprived me of my small hope of profit. In compartment twelve I store certain
personal effects, miscellaneous equipment, collectibles, and bric-a-brac. The rest of the ship is quite
empty, madam.”
“Excellent!” said Celise Waan. “In that case, we will convert the smaller compartments into private
rooms for each of us. It should be a simple matter to move our bedding.”
“Quite simple,” said Haviland Tuf.
“Then do it!” snapped Celise Waan.
“As you wish,” said Tuf. “Will you be wanting to rent a pressure suit?”
“What?”
Rica Dawnstar was grinning. “The holds aren’t part of the life-support system,” she said. “No air. No
heat. No pressure. No gravity, even.”
“Ought to suit you just fine,” Kaj Nevis put in.
“Indeed,” said Haviland Tuf.


Day and night are meaningless aboard a starship, but the ancient rhythms of the human body still made
their demands, and technology had to conform. Therefore the Cornucopia, like all but the huge
triple-shift warships and transcorp liners, had its sleep cycle—a time of darkness and silence.
Rica Dawnstar rose from her cot and checked her needler, from long force of habit. Celise Waan was
snoring loudly; Jefri Lion tossed and turned, winning battles in his head; Kaj Nevis was lost in dreams of
wealth and power. The cybertech was sleeping too, though it was a deeper sort of sleep. To escape the
boredom of the voyage, Anittas had parked on a cot, plugged into the ship’s computer, and turned
himself off. His cyberhalf monitored his biohalf. His breath was slow as a glacier and very regular, his
body temperature down, his energy consumption cut to almost nothing, but the lidless silver-metal
sensors that served him as eyes sometimes seemed to shift slightly, tracking some unseen vision.
Rica Dawnstar moved quietly from the room. Up in the control chamber, Haviland Tuf sat alone. His lap
was full of gray tomcat; his huge pale hands moved over the computer keys. Havoc, the smaller
black-and-white cat, was playing around his feet. She had gotten hold of a light pencil and was batting it
to and fro on the floor. Tuf never heard Rica enter; no one heard Rica Dawnstar move unless she wanted
them to hear.
“You’re still up,” she said from the door, leaning back against the jamb.