hands grip my shoulders tighter and the goon leans on me real hard, hard enough to even make a difference Up Here. Mead just stares at me, this totally dumbfounded expression on his pugly. He looks at me for about half a minute, then sits back and shakes his head. He waves a hand at the goon who hesitates, then releases me and leaves the room. I start to shuck out of my suit.
“Stop that,” snaps Mead, like I’m a child. Well, duh.
And suddenly sure I feel all foolish and the like. I’m making no great claims to rational thinking at this time. Futile dumb toddlerbabe gestures can’t be the best I can do. I’ll skip the tantrums and go with dignity, boy. But whatever the hell is going to happen, I’m still going to make him work for it. I refasten my suit and sit there.
He puts down the datapad and folds his hands. Then he looks me over with a disapproving kind of frown.
“Rough day?” he asks.
Okay, so I’m rumpled and wrinkled. You’d be too. And I’m a little irked. “Rough week. What’s the story? You can’t toss me. I got valid chits.”
Mead sits back and presses a button on the desk. A computer screen flashes on. “Joseph Dagwood Hill,” he reads, “born in Syracuse, NY. Attended Brown University. Majored in engineering but dropped out midway through junior year. Formed a band called Diaspora then disappeared from the music scene a year later. You reappeared at Brahe City under the name Joe Hill but go by Digger while on the Concourse. You’ve been here for over four years and nine months which makes you the longest-lasting civilian transient on the station.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
