"Linda Nagata - Hooks, Nets & Time" - читать интересную книгу автора (Nagata Linda)

Looking at him, Zayder grinned in sudden relief. No wonder the shark had been pumped into a manic
state. Tiburon had smelled game in the water. And just where had this stray fish come from? He could
guess. The garbage trawlers had brought bodies in before -- though never live ones. The trawler tentacles
were designed to detect and avoid living organic structures. But Zayder knew that clothing could confuse
them.
Just then, the shark rammed the wall of the pen again. The deck shuddered. "Not this time, you
man-eating bastard," Zayder muttered.

He dropped to his belly and reached out a hand to the foundering stranger. The water was a meter and a
half below. "Here," he barked. "See if you can reach me. I'll pull you up."

The kid shook his head, his mouth twisting in pain. "Can't," he panted. "Hands are bound."

Zayder scowled. And who had bound his hands and dropped him into the sea? Maybe it was better not
to know. Zayder didn't want to get sucked into the personal affairs of men like Ryan.

The stranger seemed to read his thoughts. He closed his eyes, leaned back farther in the water and
stopped kicking, as if waiting for Zayder to decide whether he would live or die. Zayder cursed softly.

Men like Ryan might have a choice. But he wanted never to be a man like Ryan. Quickly stripping off his
shoes, he slipped over the side of the deck and into the water.

The ocean's cool and pleasant hand enfolded him, quenching his doubts. He stroked to the stranger,
hooked an arm across his chest and dragged him along the pen wall, nearly sixty meters to a maintenance
ladder. He tried not to see the huge shadow that cruised back and forth, back and forth, just a few
meters away on the other side of the steel mesh. But he could feel the kid watching.

Zayder didn't blame him. The mesh wasn't designed to inspire confidence. It had a gauge wide enough to
allow Zayder to wriggle through if he had to. The shark seemed appallingly near.

To distract the kid, he asked: "How'd you get the trawler to let you go?"

The kid's eyes squinched shut. Then in hoarse English, dignified with a slight British accent, he explained:
"I was floating motionless in the water when the trawler took me... It grabbed me around the chest, and
dragged me. It was moving so fast, I couldn't fight it. I thought I was going to drown. Then it stopped
here. I twisted and kicked until it let me go...why? Motion... characteristic of living organisms. The
trawler's...not supposed to be hazard to sea life...so I suspect motion... stimulated my release."

Zayder began to regret asking the question. Who the hell was this kid?

He reached the ladder, then hooked an arm around the lowest rung, heaved the kid over his shoulder and
climbed out. "I think I can walk," the kid gasped. Zayder didn't believe him. He laid him carefully on the
deck, then checked for Tiburon. The fish was cruising out toward the center of the pen again, so Zayder
took a moment to check the bindings that held the kid's arms pinioned behind his back.

He discovered two ropes: one at the elbows, one at the wrists. The kid's palms were pale and wrinkled
from exposure to water. A lacy network of blood seeped across them from his finger tips. His finger tips?
Zayder felt a chill across the back of his neck. This kid had no finger tips. His fingers were torn, bloody
stubs, taken off at the first joint. "Holy mother," he whispered. "Who did this to you?"