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

purchased, no matter how frivolous or bold or positively, licentiously sexy.
They paid no attention when such titillating "garments," markedly brief, were
modeled for this nameless lady of means. Even the bioengineered model whose
lean legs were over 100 sems long* attracted little of their notice; they were
Watching, on watch. All ostentatiously armed with stoppers whose grips were
gilded. Scanning, ever looking this way and that as if at any moment a
dressing room or rack of clothing might erupt with an assassin or horde of
kidnappers. Judging from the sizes she chose, she was quite small as well as
short, though with a figure definitely female. Her bodyguards did take some
notice when she showed her enchantment with fitted, crested turbans of an
ancient design-the Thousand and One Nights, they were called. She bought one
for each of her three escorts. And a fourth, though she did not wear it. When
she departed each store it was to leave behind large awed eyes and delighted
smiles and hands clamped damply around generously bestowed largesse. The
leanest, lithest, and shortest bodyguard went first and reconnoi-tered
expertly. She also summoned transportation to the door. Then out swept the
lady, gliding, seeming to float within that floor-reaching robe that never
touched her body below her ribcage. On the instant clerks and managers and
shoppers fell to talking, to wondering, to opining. And pining. Who could she
be? Where might she-where could she be from! Oh, surely the haughty daughter
of one of those mighty * About forty inches, Old Style. 4 (and mighty wealthy)
clan-lords of... where was it?-oh, Jorinne. Yes. Jorinne. Surely! Ah, but
perhaps more than that! Perhaps a princess of the Blood (a Viscountess at the
very least) of Ghanj, whose nobility ruled in an enlightened neo-feudalism
(Ghanjism, for it was unique in all the galaxy and in all history), and the
daughters of Ghanji lords could afford anything. Some hyper-rich rajah's
pampered pet, a starry-eyed clerk said, almost in a whisper. "Oh, just a
high-priced whore then," her customer said, and flounced out-wishing,
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wishing. But-with that skin? No Ghanji had such skin! Ah, but with
bioengineering or subcutaneous total-dye or both one could accomplish
anything, another pointed out. And a certain male clerk at Eltamaraino's swore
to have seen an Aglayan, once, and swore that he looked just that way, in eyes
and skin-and had nearly-white hair, too! Ah, but all Aglayans off Aglaya were
slaves; everyone knew that. No no, the skin must be the product of celldye and
the eyes designer contacts or even corneally dyed by simple injection. No one
had such skin and eyes-it was almost scandalous! "Well, whoever she is and
wherever she's from, she and her spending have certainly made our day!" "Oh,
pos" (and the reply was breathless, wistful) "And would I ever love to be
her!" "Ha! Wouldn't you just! Me now . . . I'd like to be the man she's going
to wear all that sexy stuff for!" "Hmp. A lot of chance you got for that,
Palik! And what if you was him and I was her, hmm? What about that, big-eyed
Palik?" "Stop by the stockroom in about an hour when I'm checking the new
shipment of mattresses, and I'll show you!" The three obvious bodyguards moved
out around her, forming a barrier, checking, looking in every direction with
eyes never still, checking high and low, alleyways and doors, high windows and
even rooftops; vehicles mov- 5 ing and stopped. Meanwhile the unobtrusive