"Anthony, Piers - Bio of a Space Tyrant 01 - Refugee" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anthony Piers)

A burly, bearded man appeared, garbed in soiled yellow pantaloons, a black shirt, and a bright red sash. He needed no space suit, of course; the merged air lock mechanism made exit into the vacuum of space unnecessary. Most striking was his headdress: a kind of broad, split hat like that of the classical buccaneers. There is a lot of conscious imitation of the past, so archaic costumes are not unusual.

Buccaneers. I had been uneasy before; now I was scared. I was aware that not all of those who emulated buccaneers in costume were playing innocent games. Some took the part more seriously, particularly in this region of the system. "We've got to hide, Faith," I said, in our natural Spanish. The translation of course is not perfect, and neither is my memory; allowance must be made.

Her clear brow furrowed. "Why, Hope?" she asked. "I want to meet the traders. Maybe they have soap." She had been unable to wash her luxuriant tresses, and so she fretted. It was the way of pretty girls.

"They're not traders," I snapped. "Come on!"

She frowned. She was three years older than I, and did not like taking orders from me. I could hardly blame her for that, but I really feared the trouble that could come if my suspicion was correct. I took her by the arm and drew her along with me.

"But you said-" she protested as she moved.

It was already too late, for several more brutish men had crowded through the open port, and they were armed with clubs and knives. "Line up here on the main floor!" their leader cried. I found it mildly anomalous that he did not use the proper term, "deck." Maybe he did not consider our little bubble to be a true spacecraft.

The refugees looked at our navigator, who seemed to be the most likely authority in a situation like this. He looked suddenly tired. "I think we must do as they say," he said. "They are armed and we are not."

"Stay back," I whispered to Faith. "Stand behind me. Try to-you know-make yourself inconspicuous."

"Oh, no!" she breathed. She had a very feminine way of expressing herself, even when under stress. She had the business of being pretty down virtually to a science. "You don't think-?"

"I think they're pirates," I said, trying to speak without moving my lips as I faced the intruders, so they wouldn't know I was talking. "They're going to rob us." I hoped that would be the limit of it.

We moved slowly to merge with the mass of people forming on the designated portion of the deck. Fortunately the bubble's spin was high at the moment, so there was enough centrifugal gravity to hold us firm. Our concentration at this spot did cause the bubble to wobble slightly, however.

"Now, I'm called the Horse, because of the way I smell," the red-sashed leader said. "I run this party. That's about all you need to know about me. Just do what I say, and no one will be hurt too much." He chuckled, but none of us saw any humor in this. We were frightened.

The pirates spread out around the bubble, around the curve of the deck, poking into things. The leader and several others attended to the refugees. "All right, come on up here, you," the Horse said, beckoning an older man.

"What?" the man asked in Spanish, startled.

The pirate leaped and grabbed him by the arm, hauling him roughly forward. "Move!" he shouted.

The man recovered his balance, nonplussed. "But, Senor Horse-"

Deliberately, yet almost carelessly, the pirate struck him on the head, backhanded. It was no token blow; the man cried out and fell to the deck. A trace of blood showed on his lip as he put one hand to his face.

"Check him," the Horse said brusquely. Two others stepped up, hauled the old man to his feet, and searched him roughly. They found his wallet and a small bag of golden coins, his fortune. They dumped these in a central box and threw him to the side. I think the violence upset him and us more than the actual robbery did. We were plainly unprepared for this.

"You," the Horse said, pointing to a middle-aged woman.

She screamed and shrank back into the crowd, but he was too quick for her. He caught her by the shoulder and dragged her into the open. "Strip!" he ordered.

Horrified, unmoving, she stared at him.

The Horse did not repeat his order. He gestured to the two assistant pirates. They grabbed the woman and literally ripped the clothing from her body, shaking it so that all objects in her pockets fell to the deck. These were mostly feminine articles: a comb, a mirror, a vial of perfume, and a small change purse. The pirates took the change and cast her aside, naked and sobbing.

Now the pirate's eye fell on Faith. My effort to conceal her had been unsuccessful; there were too many of the intruders scattered around the bubble. Also, the curve of the deck meant that those of us who stood behind the group actually were more visible than those near the center, because the curve had the effect of elevating us. "Here's something better than money!" he exclaimed, beckoning her.

Faith shrank away, of course. My father shoved his way out of the crowd. "She has nothing!" he cried.