"S. M. Stirling - Draka 04 - Drakon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stirling S. M)

"Visual, optical, maximum." Three-quarters of the hull disappeared to the eye, leaving only the
power and drive systems in the deck behind her opaque. "Lift, course to Reichart Station, speed . . ." She
considered. "Four hundred kph, height five hundred meters." The craft had orbital capacity, but she wasn't
in a hurry. "Call, to legate Tamirindus Rohm."

The wedge lifted, turning and heading southeast down the valley. A square of space before her
opened and showed quiet moving colors. Then it flashed to display, only the lack of scent and moving air to
distinguish it from a window.
 "Service, Tamirindus," Gwen said.

"Glory, Gwen."

The legate was floating in zero gravity—Gwen recognized the background, an office at the GEO
end of the Kenia beanstalk; the blue-and-white shield of Earth covered the window behind her, with the
northeast corner of Africa visible and the long curve of the Stalk vanishing into the distance below.

Duty. The Directorates wouldn't have called her unless something important needed her attention.

The younger woman—she was only a little over two hundred, half Gwen's age—looked enough like
her to be her sister. Hair bright copper rather than mahogany, and a slightly more slender build: apart from
that they had the shared likeness of their respective generations of Homo drakensis. Deepscan would
have shown more differences, of course, despite periodic DNA updates that kept Gwen roughly current,
and she doubted the youngster had ever bothered with the full set of combat biomods. The Draka hadn't
had much use for them in her lifetime.

"Not my idea of a vacation," Tamirindus went on. "Glad the bears didn't eat you."

"Mostly hibernating, in winter," Gwen answered. "I ate one of them. Believe me, you appreciate the
finer things more if you go without for a while. Now, the wild ghouloon packs, they can be really dangerous
. . . and I think I spotted sign of humans, ferals."

Tamirindus's eyebrows went up. "Still?"

"Oh, they're not quite extinct. It's not an elegant species, but it's tough and they breed fast." She
stretched. "Speaking of which, how's the reproduction going?"

"Brooders about ready, doing fine."

"Not using an orthowomb for your eggs?" Gwen made a tsk sound. "And you with the Technical
Directorate."

Tamirindus grinned. "Tradition has its place. Besides, I like to watch them swell and feel the baby
kick in their bellies. The brooder's a pet; the Rohms've used her line since the first century. Her
great-grandmother brooded me."

The aircraft extended a cup of coffee; Gwen took it and sipped with slow pleasure. Conversation
and coffee were things she'd missed in the wilderness too. Shapes drifted outside Tamirindus's office
wall-window, habitats, fabricators, an Earth-orbit to Luna shuttle, the bell-tube-globe shape of an
interplanetary craft. Further away they were bright dots against the black of space and the unwinking glow
of stars, and in the middle distance the huge frame of the next interstellar colony ship under construction.