"Serrano Legacy - 01 - Hunting Party" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moon Elizabeth)

someone watching the ship's main hatch, even with the security of a lockgate
on the dock itself. She paused before stepping over the line that made the
legal division between dock and ship. The lavender plush lining of the access
tube hid all the vital umbilicals that connected the ship to Station life
support. Unsafe, Heris thought, as she had thought on her earlier interview
visit. Those lines should be visible. Surely even civilians had regulations to
follow.
Underfoot, the lavender plush carpet felt five centimeters thick. A warm
breath of air puffed out of the ship itself, a warm breath flavored not with
the spice she remembered from the interview, but with the sour stench of the
morning after a very large night before. Her nose wrinkled; she could feel her
back stiffening. It might be someone else's ship in principle, but she did not
allow a dirty mess on any ship she commanded -- and would not now. She came
out of the access tube into a family row; the tube's privacy shield had kept
her from hearing it until she stepped across the barrier. Heris took in the
situation at a glance. One tall, angular, gray-haired woman with a loud-voice:
her employer. Three sulky, overdressed young men that Heris would not have had
on her ship, and their obvious girlfriends... all rumpled, and one still
passed out on a lavender couch that matched the plush carpet and walls.
Streaks of vomit stained its smooth velour. As she came through the barrier,
the chestnut-haired youth with the ruffled shirt answered a final blast from
the older woman with a whined "But, Aunt Cecelia -- it's not fair."
What was "not fair" was that rich spoiled brats like him hadn't had the
nonsense taken out of them in boot camp, Heris thought. She smiled her normal
good-morning-bridge smile at her employer and said, "Good morning, milady."
The youths -- all but the unconscious snorer on the couch -- stared; Heris
could feel her ears going hot and ignored them, still smiling at Cecelia
Artemisia Veronica Penelope, heiress of more titles than anyone needed, let
alone more money.
"Ah," said that lady, restored to instant unruffled calm by the appearance of
someone to whom it meant something. "Captain Serrano. How nice to have you
aboard. Our departure will be delayed, but only briefly" -- here she looked at
the chestnut-haired youth -- "until my nephew is settled. I presume your
things are already aboard?"
"Sent ahead, milady," Heris said.
"Good. Then Bates will show you to your quarters." Bates materialized from
some angle of corridor and nodded at Heris. Heris wondered if she would be
introduced to the nephew now or later; she was sure she could take that pout
from his lips if given the chance. But she wouldn't get the chance. She
followed Bates -- tall, elegant, so much the butler of the screen and stage it
was hard to believe him real -- down the carpeted passage to her suite. She
would rather have gone to the bridge. Not this bridge, but the bridge of the
Rapier or even a lowly maintenance tug.
Bates stood aside at her door. "If the captain wishes to rekey the locks
now... ?"
She looked at that impassive face. Did he mean to imply that they had thieves
on board? That someone might violate the privacy of her quarters? The
captain's quarters? She had thought she knew how far down the scale she'd
fallen, to become a rich lady's yacht captain, but she had not conceived of
needing to lock her quarters.