"Linnea Sinclair - Silent Run" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sinclair Linnea)

too closely. She tapped her lightpen on her compscreen, highlighting the same
section on his copy. That was all she wanted him to see. The commodity transport
code and time-date designation. And the fact that her client was a Mhishar science
lab.
Not the smudging of the pick-up date: last year. It had taken her twenty-five
minutes to scan and reformat the manifest file to blur the date.
The officer pursed his lips. “Just a minute.”
Her vidscreen blanked, showing only the Conclave emblem topping the logo of
Deneb Station. She edged the Lucy closer to the security beacons, drummed her
fingers on her arm pad. Her heart pounded in a similar rhythm in her chest.
Her screen blinked on again. She almost jumped.
“One of our patrol ships will escort you to Dalgra Five. The research labs use
the Owens Spaceport.”
Dalgra Five? Shit, no! She didn’t want to be dirtside. She needed access to
Deneb Station, to whatever Rinnaker ship was out on impound orbit. She--
--nodded. Smiled. Had no choice. Get past security, first. Go to Dalgra, if you
have to. They might be less concerned with you on the way out. “Acknowledged.
I’ll wait for your escort.”
Shit. What in hell was she going to unload when she got to Owens? The Lucy’s
cargo holds were empty.



V

It didn’t matter. Six armed Owens security cops met her at the base of the
Lucy’s ramp. Someone must have examined her forged manifest more closely.
“Don’t try to run,” the tallest one said and shoved her forward, his laser rifle in
her back. She held her hands away from her sides as another yanked her pistol from
her utility belt holster.
Twilight darkness eradicated the shadows. She marched across the tarmac
towards the cargo hangar office. The evening breeze was dry, dust-filled. That’s
probably what made her throat feel so parched, her chest so tight.
Shandy hated being dirtside. She hated being surrounded by sec-cops, with the
Lucy under impound. And a request for a silent run that meant she could trust no
one except the sender of the request, Cameron Talvarrin.
She knew the threats even before the tall security sergeant made them.
Revocation of her captain’s license. Loss of her ship. A definite jail sentence. A
hefty fine.
“We want answers, McAllister.”
“Hell’s patrons want ice water, sergeant.”
“You want hell? I’d be glad to arrange--”
“You’ll arrange nothing,” a deep voice said with undeniable authority.
Shandy swiveled in her chair, as best she could with her hand sonic-cuffed to
the armrest. A small flutter of anticipation trembled around her heart. For a brief
moment she thought she recognized the voice.
But when she saw the broad-shouldered man standing in the doorway, she knew
she didn’t.
She also knew why she thought she did.
He wore a dark blue Rinnaker officer’s uniform. But from the jacket gleamed