"Andrew J. Offutt - Spaceways 13 - Jonuta Rising" - читать интересную книгу автора (Offutt Andrew J)

or prominent and her nose showed no hint of downward turn. She was short and
she just had to be shapely. Unfortunately she was entirely enveloped in a full
robe held out from her in a sort of cone by the tiny "hoop"' repellor units
built into its hem and her anklets. (The units had to be there, although not
even her feet were visible, much less her ankles.) The hoop-robe's rich
ultramarine color was quietly and tastefully patterned all over in an
arabesque of silvery gray. An off-white shawl, opaque but broidered in white
lace, covered her from neck to waist, with fringes extending it to a hand's
length longer. An exotic young beauty clad expensively and well-too well; clad
in the manner of one of those uptight Seks from Sekhar or as if she was
pregnant. As if she had no confidence in her figure. Or was so supremely
confident that she needn't bother to display it. 1 2 Those who saw her that
day on Lanatia could not help staring, for she was striking. Shocking. Too,
they could hardly help wondering about the color of her hair. That was
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concealed too, under an indigo wig into which were laced glowstones of azure
and pale turquoise. Carved gold "sideburns" hugged her head just forward of
the ears. They would have been harsh but for the delicate filigree of their
workmanship. From her lobes depended ever-swinging strings of cerulean
glowstones like falling tears. Her lips were neither the pale blue of cerulean
or azure nor the deep blue of indigo nor again a (natural?) pink. They
combined pink and azure, in a frosted lavender. She was obviously accompanied
by three extraordinarily watchful, almost alarmingly lithe "escorts" (only
professional bodyguards ready to kill had eyes like those three), and not at
all obviously by a fourth. That one was girlish, dressed differently, and kept
her distance. The over-clad beauty carried herself with casual grace, chin
high and eyes carefully distant. Her gaze moved over or through people without
making eye contact. And she spent stells as if she had inside information that
they were going to be deckred valueless in about ten minutes. This was the
fourth store she and her wary-eyed, sleekly lithe entourage had visited in
Lanatia's capital, and she had spent kilostells. All on herself. Nearly all on
clothing or jewelry. Frippery. Strange, for a woman whose figure was
determinedly hidden within the hoop-robe, to buy so much that was of an
indisputably exotic-erotic nature! Decorative clothing and un-clothing
designed for the delectation of men. Or a man. Some rich rajah's well-kept
pet, more than one clerk thought, but felt more inclined to call her
"Countess" than to sneer. They did neither. She gave no name, ordered
everything sent up to spaceship Hindilark docked at Dallastation. All was paid
for by the huge silent "escort" in whiskey-colored tights and doublet through
whose multiple slashes spilled silken folds of gold-hued shirt. He was
conspicuously armed. He used currency-local currency-not cred, and paid
whatever fee was named for transport up to Dallastation. 3 He never spoke. The
other escorts, a man and a woman, called her "Lady" and so clerks and
hastily-importantly onscene managers did, too. She tried nothing on. She did
have this and that tried on and modeled for her when that was possible, and
once she laughed aloud at a cybermodel. Her laughter was throaty but
surprisingly unreserved. Her entourage betrayed little interest in what she