"Alastair Reynolds - Beyond the Aquila Rift" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Alastair)

"I understand," Greta said. "Suzy and Ray. They're still asleep, aren't they? Still in their surge tanks?"

"Yes," I said, guardedly.

"Keep them that way until you're on your way." Greta smiled. "There's no sense worrying them about
their families, either. It's kinder."

"If you say so."

"Trust me on this one, Thorn. This isn't the first time I've handled this kind of situation. Doubt it'll be the
last, either."

I stayed in a hotel overnight, in another part of Saumlaki. The hotel was an echoing multilevel prefab
structure, sunk deep into bedrock. It must have had a capacity for hundreds of guests, but at the moment
only a handful of the rooms seemed to be occupied. I slept fitfully and got up early. In the atrium, I saw a
bib-capped worker in rubber gloves removing diseased carp from a small ornamental pond. Watching
him pick out the ailing metallic-orange fish, I had a flash of deja vu. What was it about dismal hotels and
dying carp?

Before breakfast—bleakly alert, even though I didn't really feel as if I'd had a good night's sleep—I
visited Kolding and got a fresh update on the repair schedule.

"Two, three days," he said.

"It was a day last night."

Kolding shrugged. "You've got a problem with the service, find someone else to fix your ship."

Then he stuck his little finger into the corner of his mouth and began to dig between his teeth.

"Nice to see someone who really enjoys his work," I said.

I left Kolding before my mood worsened too much, making my way to a different part of the station.

Greta had suggested we meet for breakfast and catch up on old times. She was there when I arrived,
sitting at a table in an "outdoor" terrace, under a red-and-white striped canopy, sipping orange juice.
Above us was a dome several hundred meters wide, projecting a cloudless holographic sky. It had the
hard, enameled blue of midsummer.
"How's the hotel?" she asked after I'd ordered a coffee from the waiter.

"Not bad. No one seems very keen on conversation, though. Is it me or does that place have all the
cheery ambience of a sinking ocean liner?"

"It's just this place," Greta said. "Everyone who comes here is pissed off about it. Either they got
transferred here and they're pissed off about that, or they ended up here by routing error and they're
pissed off about that instead. Take your pick."

"No one's happy?"

"Only the ones who know they're getting out of here soon."