"Alastair Reynolds - Galactic North" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Alastair)

kinds of implants they were expecting. And maybe not even recognizing that they were dealing with
anything other than normal humans, Irravel thought -- especially if the pirates who'd done this
hadn't been among Seven's more experienced crew members; just trigger-happy thugs.
She examined the final casket; the one furthest from the door. It was damaged, but not so badly
as the others. The display cartouches were still alive, a patina of frost still adhering to the casket's
lid. The Conjoiner inside looked intact: the pirates had never reached him. She read his nameplate:
Remontoire.
"Yeah, he's a live one," said a voice behind Irravel. "Now back off real slow."
Heart racing, Irravel did as she was told. Slowly, she turned around, facing the woman whose
voice she recognized.
"Mirsky?" she said.
"Yeah, it's your lucky day." Mirsky was wearing her suit, but without the helmet, making her
head seem shrunken in the moat of her neck-ring. She had a gun on Irravel, but the way she pointed
it was half-hearted, as if this was a stage in their relationship she wanted to get over as quickly as
possible.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"Same as you, Veda. Trying to figure out how much shit we're in; how hard it'll be to get this ship
moving again. Guess we had the same idea about the Conjoiners. Seven went berserk when he
heard they'd been killed, but I figured it was worth checking how thorough the job had been."
"Stop; slow down. Start at the beginning. Why aren't you with Seven?"
Mirsky pushed past her and consulted the reefersleep indicators. "Seven and me had a falling out.
Fill in the rest yourself." With quick jabs of her free hand she called up different display modes,
frowning at each. "Shit, this ain't gonna be easy. If we wake the guy without his three friends, he's
gonna be psychotic; no use to us at all."
"What kind of falling out?"
"Seven reckoned I was holding back too much in the interrogation; not putting you through
enough hell." She scratched at the silver box on the side of her head. "Maybe we can wake him,
then fake the cybernetic presence of his friends -- what do you think?"
"Why am I still alive, if Seven broke into the sleeper chambers? Why are you still alive?"
"Seven's a sadist. Abandonment's more his style than a quick and clean execution. As for you, the
pig cut a deal with your second-in-command."
The implication of that sunk in. "Markarian gave him the codes?"
"It wasn't you, Veda."
Strange relief flooded Irravel. She could never be absolved of the crime of losing the cargo, but at
least her degree of complicity had lessened.
"But that was only half the deal," Mirsky continued. "The rest was Seven promising not to kill
you if Markarian agreed to join the Hideyoshi, our main ship." She told Irravel that there'd been a
transmitter rigged to her reefersleep unit, so that Markarian would know she was still alive.
"Seven must have known he was taking a risk leaving both of us alive."
"A pretty small one. The ship's in pieces and Seven will assume neither of us has the brains to
patch it back together." Mirsky slipped the gun into a holster. "But Seven assumed the Conjoiners
were dead. Big mistake. Once we figure a way to wake Remontoire safely, he can help us fix the
ship; make it faster too."
"You've got this all worked out, haven't you?"
"More or less. Something tells me you aren't absolutely ready to start trusting me, though."
"Sorry, Mirsky, but you don't make the world's most convincing turncoat."
 She reached up with her free hand, gripping the box on the side of her head. "Know what this is?
A loyalty-shunt. Makes simian stem cells; pumps them into the internal carotid artery, just above
the cavernous sinus. They jump the blood-brain barrier and build a whole bunch of transient
structures tied to primate dominance hierarchies; alpha-male shit. That's how Seven had us under