"Piers Anthony - Bio of a Space Tyrant 02 - Mercenary" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anthony Piers)

"No, you can't," I agreed.

His lips quirked. "You can tell?"

"Yes. It's my talent, too. Understanding people. I will go with you."

He laughed. " 'Sokay, Hope! But remember I warned you: Picking's tough work. This is just to tide you through till your card comes and you can go for a decent job."

"Yes, thanks."

We checked in at the alien registration office where the bored clerk made a note. I would have to check in at weekly intervals, no oftener, until my replacement card was issued. Meanwhile I was on my own.

We walked the concourse again. I call it walking, though actually it was more like floating. Leda is the smallest outer moon of Jupiter, only about five kilometers in diameter, so it's strictly trace-gravity on the surface. Leda is really no larger than a major city-bubble, but of course it's solid instead of hollow, so must have a hundred times the mass. It serves mainly as an anchor for a series of rotating domes, each dome generating Earth-normal gravity by its spin, at the edge. Traveling between domes tends to be stomach-wrenching until you get used to it. Maybe that was part of my problem. Certainly I did not feel well, and so I suffered myself to be moved along by this well-meaning stranger.

This was, I think, the true beginning of my military career, which is why I commence my narrative at this point. But the progression was not clear at the time. That often seems to be the way with fate: We perceive its devious channels only in retrospect.

At any rate, Joe brought me to the bus. This was an old space shuttle with its guts gutted. It had been fitted with tiered bunks in the center of its cylindrical shell. Thus a ship designed for perhaps thirty passengers could house a hundred and twenty. There were a number of men hunched about the bunks, and one somewhat more solid, self-assured man near the entrance.

"This is Gallows," Joe told me, bringing me to the solid man. "He's hard but he's fair." He turned to the man. "This is Hope. He's not a regular picker; he got rolled, so he needs some time."

"How's he going to pay his fare?" Gallows asked.

"I'll cover it," Joe said. "I've got a little to spare."

"It costs money?" I asked, startled. "I don't have-I can't-"

"There ain't no free lunch, kid," Gallows pronounced.

"I said I'd cover," Joe said, producing some bills.

Gallows accepted them. "Better teach him the ropes, too, Joe, if you don't want to be stuck." He checked his list. "Bunk forty-nine."

"I'll repay-" I said, embarrassed. "I didn't realize-"

"Here's the bunk," Joe said, indicating the one marked 49. "We'll have to split-shift it. You sleep four hours, I'll sleep four. I couldn't afford two bunks. It'll work out."

"Yes, certainly," I agreed. "I'm sorry you had to pay anything for me. I'll try to make it good as soon as-"

"I know you will, Hope," he said easily. "I told you, I have a feel for people. I know what it's like to be in trouble."

"Trouble!" a man exclaimed a few bunks down the line. "Kid, if you like trouble, Joe's your man!"

"That's Old Man Rivers," Joe said. "Him and me, we see eye to eye on-"

"Nothing!" Rivers agreed jovially. "Kid, you better know right now you hooked up with the biggest rabble-rouser in the Juclip! Watch he doesn't incite a riot with your head in the middle!"

"You two are friends?" I asked, perplexed, for I perceived that there was an edge to this banter. I also had a moment's hesitation about the word Juclip; I have defined it here, but this was my introduction to it.

Joe laughed. "Friends? Never! But what Rivers says is true. I'm a union organizer. That's why they gave me my song."