"Perry, Steve - Matador 02 - Matadora" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Steven)

Horn still blasting, the ferry slid by the sailboat, with less than five meters to spare. The bow wave and side slip of the air cushion rocked the little boat as if it were a chip of wood. The mast nearly touched the water as the boat heeled over and then, miraculously, righted itself. Dirisha was close enough to see the faces of the three people on the boat. Two men and a young woman. It looked as if die three were laughing. Then the boat was past her, still bouncing wildly in the turbulence of the ferry.

Maybe she'd laugh too, if she'd just missed death.

She had only a small bag containing the few possessions she owned, so it was easy enough to walk away from the ferry into the village of Simplex-by-the-Sea. A sleepy town, she decided, with most of the inhabitants staying inside perched in front of air conditioners or exchange strips, to beat the heat.

Now what? She was here, but she had no reason to be. She could look for a local pub, she figured, and maybe get a job as a bouncer. Or maybe just enjoy the sunshine for awhile, take long walks on the beach and watch the seabirds and the fishing ships shuttle back and forth. She had enough stads to play the rich woman for awhile, at least. A vacation, a real vacation. She'd never had one of those before. There were times when she hadn't worked or hadn't been training, but those hadn't been vacations, only times between. She gripped the handle of her bag tighter and picked a direction

"Hey, Dirisha!"

She dropped the case and spun quickly, startled. She slid into a defensive stance reflexively, her hands coming up in the oldest of her fighting systems, hard-style oppugnate. Nobody could know her here !

Dirisha's green eyes widened in surprise and she grinned as she raised herself from her martial crouch. It was Bork!

The man she stared at was five meters away and walking toward her as if nothing on the planet could stop his progress. He was big, close to two meters tall, and on this world must have weighed nearly a hundred and twenty-five kilograms. His black hair had a little more gray in it, but his massive frame didn't look diminished if anything, he looked larger and more muscular than when she'd seen him last. He wore loose-weave osmotic orthoskins and a pair of spetsdods, one strapped to the back of each hand. Saval Bork, homomue, and once a bouncer in the Jade Flower on Greaves, as she had been. And a nice man.

Her smiled faded as the first question hit her: what was he (doing here? Almost as quickly, the second question crowded into her mind how did he know she was here? From his purposeful stride, it was obvious Bork did know, and that bothered Dirisha greatly.

Bork stopped next to her. "You look good, Dirisha. I'm glad to see you."

"I'm glad to see you, too, Bork, but I can't help but wonder why I am seeing you."

He nodded. Bork had the big man's temperament in a lot of ways but he wasn't stupid. "I didn't know you were coming until they told me to come collect you," he said, "but there are people who keep track of such things at the Villa."

"People? Villa?" She wasn't afraid, but she was definitely curious. There was no sense in Bork being here.

"Yes ma'am. Look, I've got a track waiting, I can tell you what I can on the way. This sun'11 dry you out if you stand around too long. What say we ride?"

Dirisha thought about it for a few moments. She shrugged. Might as well; she had a feeling whatever Bork was into was the reason she'd come to this planet. She picked up her bag.

The track was a squarish vehicle which squatted on triple rails of what looked like weathered aluminum. Inside, the air was twenty degrees cooler. There were comfortable, if thin seats, and a dispensing unit for water sat under one long window. Bork activated a control and the track moved smoothly off, gathering speed until it was travelling at a good eighty or ninety klicks per hour.

Bork turned away from the control panel and grinned at Dirisha. "Automatic driver," he said. "I really am glad you're here. Sleel and Sister will be glad to see you, too."

"Sleel is here? And Sister Clamp? Come on, Bork, what is happening?"

Bork scratched at the back of his left hand with a thick finger. "Stuff itches," he said, pointing at the plastic flesh which joined the spetsdod to his own skin.

Dirisha repressed an urge to sigh. He was going to get to it in his own time, she supposed. She pointed at the spetsdods. "Why are you wearing them? Is it dangerous here?"

Bork laughed. "Dangerous? Nah, I'm only carrying stingers. Everybody at the Villa has to wear them. Pen's second rule."

"Bork, you're giving me more questions when what I need is answers."

"Okay, it's like this. Sleel and Sister and I and a bunch of others are all working here, at the school. It's called Matador Villa and it's a kind of... training center put together in honor of a guy we used to work for, before he died." "Emile?"

Bork's grin grew larger. "There are people who'd kill to be able to say that name the way you just did. Those of us who actually knew him are looked upon as kind of blessed." "What are you talking about?" "You remember what happened on Greaves." "Of course I remember."

The rail car rounded a long curve at that moment, and the earth seemed to drop away to Dirisha's left. The sea was a hundred meters below all of a sudden, and the view was incredible; there was a pattern to the land ahead, almost like giant stair-steps to the water. She hadn't realized they'd been climbing. A series of buildings sat in the middle of one of the steps, terra cotta blocks against dry brown grass. It was hard to tell how large the complex was, there was little to scale it against, but it looked sizeable. "Nice, huh? I always like this part of the trip." "Let's get back to the story, Bork. Khadaji was part of an underground resisting the Confed on Greaves and they finally caught up with him."