JК
Crashlander :: Нивен Ларри
Страница: 178 из 199How was Feather living? Did she have a job? Something I could track? With her training she might be better off as a thief.
Yeah! I tumbled out of the sleepfield and tapped out my needs in some haste. She hadn't been caught at any capital crime, but any jail on Shasht would record Adelaide Graynor's retina prints. The caller ran its search …
Nothing.
Okay, job. Feather needed something that would allow her time to take care of a prisoner. She had to have that if she had Sharrol, or in case she recaptured Sharrol, or captured Beowulf.
So I looked through some job listings, but nothing suggested itself. I turned off the caller and hoped for sleep. Perhaps I dozed a little.
Sometime in the night I realized that I had nothing more to say to Carlos.
Even Sharrol's escape wasn't information unless she stayed loose. Feather was a trained ARM. I was a self-trained tourist; I couldn't possibly hunt her down. There was only one way to hunt Feather.
It was still black outside, and I was wide awake. The caller gave me a listing of all night restaurants.
I ordered an elaborate breakfast, six kinds of fish eggs, gulper bacon, cappuccino. Five people at a table demanded that I join them, so I did. They were fresh from the coral isles via dirigible, still time-lagged, looking for new jokes. I tried to oblige. And somewhere in there I forgot all about missing ladies.
We broke up at dawn. I walked back to the hotel alone. I had sidetracked my mind, hoping it would come up with something if I left it alone; but my answer hadn't changed. The way to hunt Feather was to pretend to be Feather, and hunt Sharrol.
Stet, I'm Feather Filip. What do I know about Sharrol? Feather must have researched her; she sure as tanj had researched me!
Back up. How did Sharrol get loose?
The simplest possible answer was that Sharrol dove into the water and swam away. Feather could beat her at most things, but a woman who had lived beneath the ocean for thirty years would swim just fine.
Eventually a boat would find her.
Eventually, an island. Penniless. She needs work now. What kind of work is that? It has to suit a flat phobe. She's being hunted by a murderer, and the alien planet around her forces itself into her awareness every second. Dirigible stewardness is probably out. Hotel work would be better.
Feather, days behind her, seeks work for herself, but the listings will tell her Sharrol's choices too. And now I was back in the room and scanning through work listings.
Yeah! I tumbled out of the sleepfield and tapped out my needs in some haste. She hadn't been caught at any capital crime, but any jail on Shasht would record Adelaide Graynor's retina prints. The caller ran its search …
Nothing.
Okay, job. Feather needed something that would allow her time to take care of a prisoner. She had to have that if she had Sharrol, or in case she recaptured Sharrol, or captured Beowulf.
So I looked through some job listings, but nothing suggested itself. I turned off the caller and hoped for sleep. Perhaps I dozed a little.
Sometime in the night I realized that I had nothing more to say to Carlos.
Even Sharrol's escape wasn't information unless she stayed loose. Feather was a trained ARM. I was a self-trained tourist; I couldn't possibly hunt her down. There was only one way to hunt Feather.
It was still black outside, and I was wide awake. The caller gave me a listing of all night restaurants.
I ordered an elaborate breakfast, six kinds of fish eggs, gulper bacon, cappuccino. Five people at a table demanded that I join them, so I did. They were fresh from the coral isles via dirigible, still time-lagged, looking for new jokes. I tried to oblige. And somewhere in there I forgot all about missing ladies.
We broke up at dawn. I walked back to the hotel alone. I had sidetracked my mind, hoping it would come up with something if I left it alone; but my answer hadn't changed. The way to hunt Feather was to pretend to be Feather, and hunt Sharrol.
Stet, I'm Feather Filip. What do I know about Sharrol? Feather must have researched her; she sure as tanj had researched me!
Back up. How did Sharrol get loose?
The simplest possible answer was that Sharrol dove into the water and swam away. Feather could beat her at most things, but a woman who had lived beneath the ocean for thirty years would swim just fine.
Eventually a boat would find her.
Eventually, an island. Penniless. She needs work now. What kind of work is that? It has to suit a flat phobe. She's being hunted by a murderer, and the alien planet around her forces itself into her awareness every second. Dirigible stewardness is probably out. Hotel work would be better.
Feather, days behind her, seeks work for herself, but the listings will tell her Sharrol's choices too. And now I was back in the room and scanning through work listings.