"Bradley, Marion Zimmer - Best Of Marion Zimmer Bradley" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bradley Marion Zimmer)

these 'lost1 colonies to develop along scientific and social lines which made
their reclamation by the Terran Empire an imperative political necesнsity. ..."
From J. T. Bannerton: A Comprehensive History of Galactic Politics, Tape IX.
The Official Residence of the Terran Legate on Megaera was not equipped with a
roofpost for landнing the small, helicopter-like carioles. This oversight, a
gesture of bureaucratic economy from the desk of some supervisor back on Terra,
meant that whenever the Legate or his wife left the Residence, they must climb
down four flights of stairs to the level of the rarely used streets, and climb
again, up the endless twisting stairs, to the platform of the public skyport a
quarter of a mile away.
Matt Ferguson swore irritably as his ankle turned in a rut - since no Centaurian
citizen ever used the streets for walking if he could help it, they were not
kept in condition for that purpose - and took his wife's arm, carefully guiding
her steps on the uneven paving.
"Be careful, Beth," he warned. "You could break your neck without half trying!"
"And all those stairs!" The girl looked sulkily up at the black shadow of the
skyport platform, stretched over them like a dark wing. The street lay deserted
in the lurid light of early evening; red Centaurus, a hovнering disk at the
horizon, sent a slanting light, vioнlently crimson, down into the black canyon
of the street, and the top-heavy houses leaned down, somber and ominous.
Wavering shadows gloomed down over them, and a hot wind blew down the length of
the street, bearing that peculiar, pungent, all-pervasive smell which is
Megaera's atmosphere. A curious blend, not altogether unpleasant, a resinous and
musky smell which was a little sickish, like perfume worn too long. Beth
Ferguson supposed that sooner or later she would get used to Megaera's air, that
combination of stinks and chemical emanations. It was harmless, her husband
assured her, to human chemistry. But it did not grow less noticeable with time;
after more than a year, Terran Standard time, on Megaera, it was still freshly
pungent to her nostrils. Beth wrinkled up her pretty, sullen mouth. "Do we have
to go to this dinner, Matt?" she asked plaintively.
The man put his foot on the first step. "Of course, Beth. Don't be childish," he
remonstrated gently, "I told you, before we came to Megaera, that my success at
this post would depend mostly on my informal relations - " "If you call a dinner
at the Jeth - sans informal - " Beth began petulantly, but Matt went on, " - my
inнformal relations with the Centaurian members of the government. Every
diplomatic post in the Darkovan League is just the same, dear. Rai Jeth - san
has gone out of his way to make things easy for both of us." He paused, and they
climbed in silence for a few steps. "I know you don't like living here. But if I
can do what I was sent here to do, we can have any diplomatic post in the
Galaxy. I've got to sell the Centaurian Archons on the idea of building the big
space station here. And, so far, I'm succeeding at a job no other man would
take."
"I can't see why you took it," Beth sulked, snatchнing pettishly at her nylene
scarf, which was flapping like an unruly bird in the hot, grit-laden wind.
Matt turned and tucked it into place. "Because it was better than working as the
assistant to the assistнant to the undersecretary of Terran affairs attached to
the Proconsul of Vialles. Cheer up, Beth. If this space station gets built, I'll
have a Proconsulship myself."
"And if it doesn't?"
Matt grinned. "It will. We're doing fine. Most Legнates need years to find their