"Anderson, Poul - 1965 Flandry 05 - Agent of the Terran Empire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anderson Poul)

Warriors From Nowhere!
"Crime," said Captain Dominic Flandry of the Terran Empire's Naval Intelligence Corps, "is entirely a matter of degree. If you shoot your neighbor in order to steal his property, you are a murderer and a thief, and will be psychorevised and enslaved. If, however, you gather a band of lusty fellows, knock off a couple of million people, and take their planet, you are a great conqueror, a world hero, and your name goes down in the history books. Sooner or later, this inconsistency seeps into the national consciousness and causes a desire for universal peace. That is known as decadence, especially among historical philosophers who never had to do any of the actual fighting. The Empire is currently in the early stages of decadence, which is the most agreeable time to inhabit: peace and pleasure, and the society not yet rotted so far that chaos sets in. One might say the Empire is a banana just starting to show brown spots."
He was not jailed for his remarks because he made them in private, sitting on the balcony of his lodge on Varrak's southern continent and enjoying his usual noontime breakfast. His flamboyantly pajamaed legs were cocked up on the rail. Sighting over his coffee cup and between his feet, he saw the mountainside drop steeply down to a green sun-flooded wilderness. The light played over a lean, straight-boned face and a long hard body which made him look anything but a petty noble of a sated imperium. But his businessЧmaintaining the status quo of a realm threatened by internal decay and outside aggressionЧwas a strenuous one.
His current mistress, Ella, offered him a cigarette and he inhaled it into lighting. She was a stunning blonde whom he had bought a few weeks previously in the planet's one city, Fort Lone. He gathered that she was of the old pioneer stock, semiaristocrats who had fallen on evil times and been sold for debt. With such people he sympathized, but there was nothing he could do about the system; and she could have worse owners than himself.
He took another sip of coffee, wiped his mustache, and drew a breath to resume his musings. An apologetic cough brought his head around, and he saw his valet, the only other being in the lodge. This was a slim humanoid from Shalmu, with a hairless green skin, prehensile tail, and impeccable manners. Flandry had christened him Chives and taught him several things which made him valuable in more matters than laying out a dress suit. "Pardon me, sir, Admiral Fenross is calling from the city."
Flandry cursed and got up. "Fenross! What's he doing on this planet? Tell him toЧno, never mind, it's anatomically impossible." He sauntered into the study, frowning. There was no love lost between him and his superior, but Fenross wouldn't call a man on furlough unless it was urgent.
The screen held a gaunt, sharp, red-haired face which dripped sweat past dark-shadowed eyes. "There you are! Put in your scrambler, combination 770." When Flandry had adjusted the dials, the admiral said harshly: "Furlough canceled. Get busy at once." With a sudden break in his voice: "Though God knows what you can do. But it means all our heads."
Flandry sucked in his cheeks with a long drag of smoke. "What is itЧsir?"
"The sack of Fort Lone was more than a raidЧ"
"What sack?"
"You don't KNOW?"
"Haven't tuned the telescreen for a week, sir. I wanted to rest."
Fenross snarled something and said thickly, "Well, then, a barbarian horde streaked in yesterday, shot up all the defense posts, landed, and in three hours had put the place to the torch and looted all the available wealth. Also took about a thousand citizens, mostly women. They made a clean getaway before the nearest naval base was even alerted. No telling where they came from or where they went."
Flandry cursed again, vividly. He knew the situation. The Taurian sector of the Empire was meant as a buffer; beyond it lay the wild stars, an unexplored jungle swarming with barbarian hordes who had gotten spaceships and atomic blasters too soon and used them only to plunder. There was always war on these marches, raids and punitive expeditions. But stillЧan attack on Varrak! He found it hard to believe.
"That's not our department, sir, unless we're wanted to track down just who did it," he ventured. "The Navy does the fighting, I'm told. So why pick on me?"
"You and every other man in the sector. Listen, Flandry, the barbarians have made away with her Highness, the Lady Megan of Luna, princess of the blood and the Emperor's favorite granddaughter!"
"HmmmЧso." Not a muscle stirred in Flandry's countenance, but he felt his belly grow tense and cold. "IаЕаsee. What clues have you got?"
"Not many. One officer did manage to hide in the ruins and take a solidographic filmЧjust a few minutes' worth. It may give us a lead; perhaps the xenological division can identify the raiders from it. But stillЧ" Fenross paused, it obviously hurt him to say so, but he got it out: "We need you."
"I should say you do, dear chief." Modesty was not a failing of Flandry's. "All right, I'll flit directly over. Cheers." He cut the circuit and went back onto the balcony. Chives was clearing away the breakfast dishes and Ella sat smoking. "So long, children. I'm on my way."
The girl watched him with eyes like blued silver. "What is it, Nick?" she asked quietly.
Flandry's mouth twisted. "I'm not sure yet, but I think I've just been condemned to death."

It was like a scene from hell.
Against a tumbled, blazing background of ruin, the barbarians were raging in an armored swarm: huge burly men in helmet and cuirass, some carrying archaic swords. The picture was focused on a dais where a dozen young women were huddled, stripped alike of clothing and hope, the wildness of terror fading before despair. Some of them were being carried off toward a disc-shaped spaceship, others were still in the middle of the horde. They were being sold. Great gems, silver and gold, the loot of the city, were being tossed at the gnomish unhuman figure which squatted on the dais and handed down each purchase to a grinning conqueror.
The film ended. Flandry looked past the shattered walls of the building where he sat, to the smoking desolation which had been Fort Lone. Imperial marines were on guard, a relief station had been set up, a heavy battlewagon hung in the skyЧall of which was too late to do much good.
"Well," snapped Fenross, "what d'you make of it?"
Flandry turned the enlarger knob, until one of the solid-seeming images stood gigantic before him. "Definitely human," he said. "Except for that dwarf creature, I'd say they were all of Terrestrial race."
"Of course! I know that much, you idiot. They must be from some early colony out here which got lost and reverted to barbarism. There have been such cases before. But which one? Is it even on record?"
"The spaceship is an odd design. I think there are some beings in the Merseian hegemony who still build that type, but it's not what I would expect barbarians imitating our boats to have."
Fenross gulped and his knuckles whitened on the table edge. "If the Merseians are behind thisЧ"
Flandry gestured at the dwarf. "Tall, dark, and handsome there may offer a clue to their origin. I don't know. I'll have to consult the files. But I must say this raid has a strange pattern. Varrak is light-years inside the border. There are plenty of tempting spots closer than this to the Wilderness. Then, the raiders knew exactly where to shoot and bomb to knock out all the defenses. And, of course, they got the princess. Looks very much as if they had inside help, doesn't it?"
"I thought of that too. Every survivor of the garrison is being hypnoprobed, but so far none of them have known anything."
"I doubt that any will. Our enemy is too smooth an operator to leave such clues. If he had collaborators in the fort, they left with the raiders and we'll list them as 'missing, presumed disintegated in action.' But what's the story on her Highness?"
Fenross groaned. "She was taking a tour of the outer marches. Those meatheads back on Terra should have known better than that! Or maybe the Imperial whim overruled them. The Lady Megan has the Emperor around her little finger. Anyhow, she went incognito, with a secret-service detachment to guard her, of course. But the raiders just smashed down the walls of the place where she was staying, shot all her guards, and made off with her and her servants."
"Again," said Flandry, "it looks like inside information. Why else should they hit Varrak, except to get the princess? The looting was just a sideline. And apparently they knew precisely where she was housed." He took out a cigarette and inhaled nervously. "What d'you think their motive is? Ransom?"
"I hope to God it's just money. But I'm afraidЧThese barbarian kings aren't stupid. I'm afraid her ransom will be political and military concessions which we can ill afford. Especially if the raiders, as you suggest, are really Merseian agents. The Emperor will give it to them, regardless." Fenross laid his head on his clenched fists. "This could mean the beginning of the end for Terra."
"I suppose his Majesty has not yet been informed?"
"Of course not! I know him. His first act on learning the news will be to have everybody who could possibly be responsible executed. That includes you and me, in case you don't know. I think we can suppress the information for a couple of weeks, maybe a month, but certainly no longer. If we don't get her back before thenЧ" Fenross drew a finger across his throat.
Flandry scowled. He was uncommonly fond of living. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"Alerting all our agents. We'll comb the Wilderness. We'll fill the whole damned Merseian Empire with spies. ButЧI'm afraid we haven't time to do anything. Space is too bigЧ" Fenross turned angry eyes on his subordinate. "Well, don't just sit there! Get going!"
"No sense duplicating effort, darling sir." Flandry calculated his insolence deftly. "I've got a notion of my own, if you'll give me a free hand to play with it. I'll want access to all the files, including the most confidential."
"Go ahead," mumbled Fenross. "Enjoy yourself while you can."
Flandry got up. "It might stimulate my mind if a small reward were offered," he said mildly.

The lodge was as good a place as any to begin his work. Telestats from the central files could be sent directly to him there, on scrambled circuit. A monitor in his receiver, responding to the Secret order, printed the material in code on tapes which would disintegrate within an hour. Flandry sat in dressing gown and slippers, wading through meter after meter of information; much of it had cost lives, some of it was worth an empire. It was the job of Intelligence to know everything about everyone in the attainable galaxy. Chives kept him supplied with coffee and cigarettes.
Ella stole up behind him near dawn and laid a hand on his head. "Aren't you ever coming to bed, Nick?" she asked.
"Not yet," he grunted. "I'm on the track of a hunch. And if my notion is right, we have to move fast; there'll be less than the two weeks beloved Fenross, may he rot in hell, is counting on. Our enemy will see that his august Majesty gets the news before then."
She nodded, the light sliding down her long gold hair, and sat down at his feet. Slowly the sun rose.
"Stars and planets and little pink asteroids," muttered Flandry at last. "I may have the answer. Electronic cross-filing is a wonderful invention."