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

Tolya gave a half-bow; she smelled a little nervous, and her pupils were slightly dilated. "We've
been achieving interesting results, overlord, but it's an intricate question. We're thankful for one of the Race
to direct us."

Gwen smiled and shook her head. She'd been a scientist of various types—she'd started in
planetography, back around the time of the Final War—but was mainly a troubleshooter these days.

"I'm here primarily to assess and report," she said. "If things look promising, more personnel will be
assigned."

Introductions followed. A pair of adolescents bowed and presented her with flowers, some type she
wasn't familiar with, probably a local bioproduct. The blossoms had a heady scent, rather like plum brandy
with a hint of cinnamon. The two who presented them were pretty as well, a boy and girl of about sixteen in
white tunics.

"What pleasant youngsters," she said.

"Mine and Tolya's," said Glenr with quiet pride. "Tomin is already studying research infosystems,
and Mala quantum-gravitational dynamics. They'll serve the Race well."

"I'm sure they will," Gwen said sincerely. Servus were short-lived and meek and biddable, but the
best of them were just as intelligent as her kind, and possibly more creative. "I'll spend the rest of this
evening and tomorrow resting and assimilating data."

***

Gwen knew the courier's presence in the villa marked for her use before she saw him. Slightly to
her surprise, it was a Draka like herself; she could tell that from the scent, sharper and harder than a
servus's. A youngish man—no more than sixty or so, she judged—in War Directorate uniform. The
Directorates were taking this matter seriously. He rose with the leopard gracefulness of the Race and
extended the infoplaque. It was about the size of her thumbnail; far larger than necessary to carry the data,
but more convenient for handling.

"Service," she said.

"Glory," he replied, dropping the plaque into her palm.

"Received," she said, and touched the corder fastened to his wrist. "I'd better get right on to it."

The man nodded grimly; his control was excellent for someone so young, but she could sense
tightly-held fright.

"I was with the salvage crew that worked over the platform out in the Oort," he said. "Believe me,
we're dealing with the unknown here. And I'm not entirely sure that the enemy haven't been meddling."
 Gwen nodded. Contamination of infosystems was a perpetual threat, one of the few forms of
military action that could be carried out over light-years. There was always some traffic in information
between the systems, mostly scientific. The Samothracians had always been better at infosystems, just as
the Race did more with biologicals—but the InfoWeb was the skeleton of modern civilization. The
unspoken threat of retaliation with biosabotage, or simply with asteroids punched up to relativistic speeds,