"Alan Dean Foster - Flinx 1 - For love of Mother-Not" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

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Author: Alan Dean Foster
Title: For Love Of Mother-Not
Original copyright year: 1983
Genre: Science Fiction
Version: 1.0
Date of e-text: 11/28/00
Source:
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Comments: Please correct the errors you find in this e-text,
update the version number and redistribute
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Chapter One

тАЬNow thereтАЩs a scrawny, worthless-looking little runt.тАЭ Mother Mastiff thought. She cuddled the
bag of woodcarvings a little closer to her waist, mating certain it was protected from the rain by
a flap of her slickertic. The steady drizzle that characterized DrallarтАЩs autumn weather fled from
the water-resistant material.
Offworlders were hard pressed to distinguish any difference in the cityтАЩs seasons. In the summer,
the rain was warm; in autumn and winter, it was cooler. Springtime saw it give way to a steady,
cloying fog. So rare was the appearance of the sun through the near-perpetual cloud cover that
when it did peep through, the authorities were wont to call a public holiday.
It was not really a slave market Mother Mastiff was trudging past. That was an archaic term,
employed only by cynics. It was merely the place where labor-income adjustments were formalized.
Drallar was the largest city on the world of Moth, its only true metropolis, and it was not a
particularly wealthy one. By keeping taxes low, it had attracted a good number of offworld
businesses and trading concerns to a well-situated b at mostly inhospitable planet. It compensated
by largely doing away with such annoying commercial agravations as tarifis and regulations. While
this resulted in considerable prosperity for some, it left the city government at a loss for
general revenue.
Among the numerous areas that were rarely self~apportIng was that involving care of the
impoverished. In cases In which indigence was total and an individual was isolated by
circumstance, it was deemed reasonable to allow a wealthier citizen to take over responsibility
from the government. This thinned the welfare rolls and kept the bureaucracy content, while
providing better care for the individual involved-or so the officials insisted-than he or she
could receive from under funded and impersonal government agencies.
The United Church, spiritual arm of the Common-wealfh frowned on such one-sided economic policies.
But The Commonwealth did not like to interfere with domestic policies, and Drallarian officials
hastened to assure the occasional visiting padre or counselor that legal safeguards prevented
abuse, of тАЬadoptedтАЭ individuals. So it was that Mother Mastiff found herself leaning on tier cane,
clutching the bag of artwork, and staring at the covered dispersement platform while she tried to
catch her breath. One curious attendee moved too close, crowding her. He glowered when she jabbed
him in the toot with her cane but moved aside, not daring to confront her.
Standing motionless on the platform within the Circle of Compensation was a thin, solemn boy of
eight or nine years. His red hair was kicked down from the rain and contrasted sharply with his
dark skin. Wide, innocent eyes, so big they seemed to wrap around the sides of his face, stared
out across the rain-dampened assembly. He kept his hands clasped behind his back. Only those eyes
moved, their gaze flicking like an insect over the upturned faces of the crowd. The majority of