"(ebook-txt) - Larry Niven - Crashlander" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niven Larry)

He had no doubts: he knew me. I said, "Hide. Hell of a tale to hide, Ander."

"Not anymore."

I shouted, "Yeah. Right. Are you with anyone?"

"No, on my own."

"Come watch the game with me. I think there's an empty seat next to mine." There'd better be.

He was still staring. Whatever he'd known, whatever had brought him here, he hadn't expected what he was seeing.

I hugged that thought to me. He was seeing me for the first time in twelve years. I dared to hope that Ander hadn't prepared for this meeting. There was no backup. Just him.

As we passed the booths, his hand closed on my upper arm. He might not think it likely that I'd dive into a transfer booth and vanish, but he wasn't risking it. He shouted, "Why a phone booth to use a pocket phone?"

And I showed myself astonished at his stupidity and bellowed, "Noise!"

Then the crowd roar drowned out any hope of conversation, we moved onto the slidebridge, and I had a few moments to think.

***

There's only one spaceport on We Made It, and the ships don't land every day. Some of us kids used to watch them take off and land. I'm the only one who became a pilot.

What I noticed about the tourists was muscle.

I wasn't undermuscled for a local. Some of the tourists hailed from worlds no more massive than mine, but we got Jinxians and flatlanders, too. They walked like they expected us to shy away from their moving mass. We tall, narrow, fragile crashlander men and women did as they expected, and resented it a little.

Nakamura Lines ran their ships at one Earth gravity. I had to train hard just to walk around on my own ship. Thus trained, I was a superbly muscled athlete by We Made It standards. It was still true that too many passengers looked at my albino pallor and tall, skeletal frame and saw a sickly ghoul.

I'd gotten used to that. Maybe it had left me touchy.

Visceral memory had come flooding back when Ander's hand closed on my arm like a predator's jaws. I hadn't known Ander well. I'd seen him twice in fourteen years, for periods of intense activity of a few weeks each. Now I needed a story to tell to Ander Smittarasheed; but what I remembered best was that I'd disliked him on sight.

***

Sharrol's seat was empty. Ander settled into it. "You really like these water wars? What guild do you favor?"

"No, Ander, it's not like that. You've seen my homeworld. There's only one ocean on We Made It, and it's all one storm. Nobody swims."

"So what are we doing here?"

I had come here following a woman's whim, but Ander shouldn't know that. "I don't care who wins. I just get a kick out of watching how good they are."

But I'd listened to enough of Sharrol's prattling. Water war derived from a game the kzinti played on the continent, on land. In both forms the game is local to Fafnir. No offworld tourist would know of it. I need only open my mouth and let Sharrol speak.

"They all swim like dolphins, don't they? But the dolphins can't grab the prey, they can only push the other players around, except that the Structure Team dolphin has hands. It's an option. But the rig is slowing her down; can you tell? Do you know anything about strategy? They're down to seven teams, looks like --" I saw that he was only waiting for me to stop talking. "Ander, what are you doing on Fafnir?"

"Looking for you."