"Michael Z. Williamson - Freehold" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williamson Michael Z)

There was a security camera mounted in one corner. It was not even discreetly hidden. Kendra stared at
it as it glared unblinkingly at her. Finally, she made an obscene gesture and ignored it. She needed to use
the toilet, and the camera obviously wasn't going to be a gentleman. Or lady. Or polite machine.

Brooding and pacing would be totally unproductive, so she brooded and paced. She had no idea of the
passage of time, and was wondering if this attempt at asylum was the right idea. So far, she had been
asked no questions, given no opportunity to speak and had no clue what was going on.

Right idea or not, she had to play it out to the end. There was no possible way she could return now and
be believed innocent.

After what seemed like hours, the door was opened. The redheaded woman was there alone, without
armor. She still carried her rifle/grenade launcher. Her combat uniform, designed to be loose, was close
in spots over firm muscles. She motioned slightly with the muzzle and said, "This way. You can see the
ambassador now." Her voice was amazingly well modulated and pleasant.

Kendra walked out, still naked, preceding her guard. She was directed when to turn and quickly realized
how large the building was. She passed a man in one of the corridors, who nodded disenterestedly. She
flushed crimson. The second man they passed swapped greetings with the guard and Kendra wished for
a swift end to her ordeal. After several minutes, she was shown into a well-lighted office with large
windows. The woman behind the desk stood, nodded briefly at Kendra and said, "Romar, please get a
robe for our guest. There's one in my suite." The guard snapped to and left.

Turning back, the ambassador continued, "Please accept my apologies. Well-disciplined guards, but not
overly familiar with Earth customs. Our climate encourages casual nudity, but I'm sure you're not used to
it. She'll be back momentarily. Coffee?"

"Yes, please," Kendra nodded, shifting her hands around to keep herself covered. While the
ambassador poured, the guard knocked, stepped in, handed Kendra a robe and moved unobtrusively
into the corner. Donning the garment, Kendra felt much more comfortable.

The ambassador spoke again. "I am Citizen Ambassador Janine Maartens of the Freehold of Grainne.
You are Sergeant Second Class Kendra Anne Pacelli of the UN Peace Force, wanted for embezzlement
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and pictured on all the news loads. I am recording. Please tell me briefly why in the name of God and
Goddess you are in our embassy?"

"I need asylum," Kendra began. "I was—"

Maartens interrupted with, "We do not grant asylum to crimin—"

"I DIDN'T DO IT!" Kendra shouted her down. "I knew nothing about it until this morning when the
MPs tried to grab me. I have little idea what is going on, but I know they need me as a scapegoat.
General Robinson probably has me rigged to take the fall as part of his cutout. My only way out is to get
off Earth."