"Elizabeth Moon - Familias 05 - Rules of Engagement" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moon Elizabeth)

said. "These neuro-enhanced jobs take forever."
Esmay felt a wave of cold dislike rise from the seated squad, and
hoped they were aiming it at the clerk, and not her. "Excuse me," she
said to them all.
"Of course, Lieutenant," said the woman who had asked her the
question. She had green eyes, startling in her dark face. Then she looked
beyond Esmay to the clerk, and Esmay was not surprised to hear the
clerk's breath catch.
She hadn't had a full neuroscan since she entered the Academy,
and it was still as boring as ever, being stuck in the dark maw of the
machine following orders to think of this, or that, or imagine moving her
left little finger . . .
Finally it was done, and the last yellow line led her back to the
desk where her duffel lay waiting for her, along with a handful of ID tags
she would need for the facilities she was authorized to enter.
"Junior officers' quarters and mess that way, sir," the sergeant
said, and gave a crisp salute as he passed her through. Esmay returned it
and stepped onto the indicated walkway. She had missed out on
command training, once she'd chosen technical track, so now she would
be taking back-to-back courses—more school! Her own fault, she
reminded herself, and yet not a fault to spend much time on. Her
Altiplano conscience worried about the quickness with which her
retrained neurons pushed away that momentary pang of guilt, and she
grinned mentally at it. Her Altiplano conscience, like her Altiplano family,
could stay where it belonged . . . on Altiplano.
She signed into the officers' quarters and the officers' mess,
showing her clearance tags each time, picked up a duty roster, then a
class schedule. She slung her gear into 235-H, one anonymous cubicle
in a row of anonymous cubicles, and then headed for the mess. Even if it
was between mealtimes for the school, they should have something for
officers arriving from different time zones.
The dining room was almost empty; when she walked in, a mess
steward peered out from the galleys and then came toward her.
"Lieutenant?"
"I just came in," Esmay said. "Our ship was on . . ."
"Fleet Standard. I understand Lieutenant . . . you're overdue for .
. . midday, right? Do you want a full meal or a snack?"
"Just a snack." She would get herself on the planet's schedule
faster this way, but she felt hollow as a new-built hull at the moment.
He seated her at a table a discreet distance from the two that
were occupied, and left to bring the food. Esmay glanced casually at the
others, wondering if they would be in her class. A young woman in
fatigues without insignia, her curly blonde hair cropped short, sat
hunched over what looked like a bowl of soup. Beside her, an older
man in a lieutenant commander's uniform who, from his posture, was
laying down the law about something.
Esmay looked away. Unusual to chew someone out while they
were eating, but it would be rude to observe. Could this be father and
daughter? At the other table, three young men wearing exercise clothes
who were, she realized, watching her. She met their gaze coolly, and