"JAMES LUCENO. SABOTEUR" - читать интересную книгу автора

me alone."
The muscular, tattooed woman blinked twice. "I'll bring your drink and leave you
alone."
Maul expanded his peripheral vision to take in the two adjoining rooms. He made
use of the mirror behind the bar to see what his eyes could not, and he drew on
the dark side to fill in the rest.
The cantina had an air of benign neglect, a smell of liquid inebriants and
greasy food. The lighting was deliberately low. Flying insects of various sizes
circled the illuminators, and children of several species ran in and out. Males
and females fraternized openly, with a sense of levity or abandon. Music was
provided by a ragtag band of Bith and fat Ortolans. Along the length of the bar
Weequays conversed with Ugnaughts, Twi'leks with Gands. Maul was the only
Iridonian in the place, but he was not the only sole representative of a
species.
If some of the residents he had passed on the street were the hunters, the manka
cats, here were the nerfs the cats fed on-the ones who gave themselves over to
intoxicants and games of chance and other vices. It was the sheer absence of
discipline that sickened him. Discipline was the key to power. Unflinching
discipline was what had forged him into a sword master and warrior. Discipline
was what enabled him to defy gravity and slow the inrush of sensory input, so
that he could move between the moments.
Maul sharpened his faculties, extending the range of his hearing to monitor
nearby conversations. Most were as prosaic as he had expected them to be,
revolving around gossip, flirtation, petty complaints, and future plans that
would never be realized.
Then he heard the word sabotage, and his ears pricked up. The customer who had
uttered it was a stout human, seated off to Maul's right in a booth along the
cantina's rear wall. Another human sat opposite him, tall and dark complexioned.
Both men wore the gray lightweight coveralls that were standard issue for
employees of Lommite Limited, but the lack of lommite dust in their hair or on
their clothes made it clear that they weren't miners.
A third man, straight-backed and robust-looking, approached while Maul watched
out of the corner of his eye. Maul took a sip of water and turned slightly in
the direction of the booth.
"I figured I'd find you two here," the new arrival said.
The stout one smiled and made room on the padded bench seat. "Step into our
office and we'll buy you a drink."
The third man sat, but declined the offer with a shake of his head. "Maybe
later."
The other two traded looks of surprise. Maul read the lip movements of the
taller one: "If he's not drinking, then something serious has come up."
The third man nodded. "The chief has called a special meeting. He wants us at
his place in half an hour."
"Any idea what it's about?" the stout one asked.
"It has to be the shuttle crash," the man opposite him surmised. "Bruit probably
has a line on the culprits."
Maul recognized the name. Bruit was Lommite Limited's chief of field operations.
The three men were probably security personnel.
"Like there was any question about the culprits," the stout one was saying.
"It's bigger than that," the third man said, lowering his voice almost to the