"Kristine Kathryn Rusch - Coolhunting" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

spiky hair, nor would she walk in a crowd, laughing.
She missed the laughter.
Coolhunting made close companionship impossible. Friendships difficult.
More and more lately she'd been thinking of retiring, of finding a flat in the
city and actually having contact with people.
Making friends.
Establishing ties.
A boy, no more than ten, air-shoed past, running six inches off the
ground. His shoes, early models, formed a cushion of air that was as dangerous
as it was once thought safe: the air cushion acted like a super high platform.
One false step and the wearer would fall.
To run in air-shoes required guts and a certain amount of I-don't-care.
She almost got up and followed him. Almost.
His spirit was unique, but she saw nothing that could be duplicated.
Nothing that she could vid and sell. Air-shoes had been on the market since
the teens, and had had their moment six months ago when the nets declared them
unsafe.
Still, she had never seen anyone run in them before.
"I'd've thought you'd have followed him." The man from the hot-dog
stand sat next to her. He smelled faintly of spicy cologne, and he had a touch
of mustard on the corner of his mouth. It made him seem more real, somehow.
"Why would I follow him?" she asked, then wished she hadn't. She knew
better than to engage.
"I'd've picked him," the man said, "if I were cool-hunting."
"Which you're not," she said.
"Who says?" He touched the shoelace in her hair.
She stood. "I do."
Her hands were shaking. She shoved them in the pocket of her tweed
pants, then headed down the asphalt walk. He hurried behind her, his feet
scuffling. She could smell him before he reached her.
That cologne was beginning to annoy.
"You know," he said softly, his torso brushing hers, his legs keep
pacing with her legs, "there's a ten million credit reward for anyone who
identifies you."
"Ten million?" she asked, a bit startled at the amount. Last she had
heard it was two million. "That low?"
He laughed, not fooled. "You're hot, girl, and some cools want to find
you."
He spoke softly as he walked with her, his words like a caress in her
ear. She didn't know how he found her, didn't know who he worked for, didn't
know what he wanted.
The not knowing terrified her.
But she didn't show it. She didn't allow anything to show on her face.
"Such a strange creature you make me out to be," she said.
"They don't call you Steffie Storm-Warning for nothing."
He had her name. Other corporate headhunters had found her before -- a
coolhunter always revealed herself in the moment of payment -- but none of
them had known who she was.
They had been dumb and obvious and she'd been able to give them the
slip.