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

disturbing an ornithorpeтАЩs ornate arrangement of tail feathers, and generating a chirp of
indignation from an overweight matron. She worked her way down to the open area directly in front
of the platform. The boy took no notice of her; his eyes continued to scan the uncaring crowd.
тАЬPlease, ladies and gentle beings,тАЭ the official on the platform pleaded, тАЬwonтАЩt one of you give
this healthy, honest boy a home? Your government requests it of you; civilization demands it of
you. You have a chance today to do two good turns at once; one for your king and the other for
this unfortunate youth.тАЭ
тАЬId like to give the king a good turn, all right,тАЭ said a voice from the milling crowd, тАЬright
where it would do him the most good.тАЭ
The official shot the heckler an angry glare but said nothing.
тАЬWhatтАЩs the minimum asking?тАЭ Be that my voice? Mother Mastiff thought in wonderment.
тАЬA mere fifty credits, madam, to satisfy department obligations and the boy is yours. To watch
over and care for.тАЭ She hesitated, then added, тАЬIf you think you can handle as active a youngster
as this one.тАЭ
тАЬIтАЩve handled plenty of youngsters in my time,тАЭ Mother Mastiff returned curtly. Knowing hoots
sounded from the amused assembly. She studied the boy, who was looking down at her again. The
queasiness that had roiled in her stomach the first time their eyes had met did not reoccur.
Grease, she mused, have to cut down on the cooking grease.
тАЬFifty credits, then,тАЭ she said.
тАЬSixty.тАЭ The deep voice that boomed from somewhere to the rear of the crowd came as an unexpected
interruption to her thoughts.
тАЬSeventy,тАЭ Mother Mastiff automatically responded. The official on the platform quickly gazed back
into the crowd.
тАЬEighty,тАЭ the unseen competitor sounded. She hadnтАЩt counted on competition. It was one thing to do
a child a good turn at reasonable cost to herself, quite another to saddle herself with an
unconscionable expense.
тАЬNinety-curse you,тАЭ she said. She turned and tried to locate her opponent but could not see over
the heads of the crowd. The voice bidding against her was male, powerful, piercing. What the devil
would the owner of such a voice want with a child like this? she thought.


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тАЬNinety-five,тАЭ it countered.
тАЬThank you, thank you. To you both, the government says.тАЭ The officialтАЩs tone and expression had
brightened perceptibly. The lively and utterly unexpected bidding for the redheaded brat had
alleviated her boredom as well as her concern. She would be able to show her boss a better than
usual daily account sheet. тАЬThe bid is against you, madam.тАЭ
тАЬDamn the bid,тАЭ Mother Mastiff muttered. She started to turn away, but something held her back.
She was as good a judge of people as she was of the stock she sold to them, and there was
something particular about this boy-though she couldnтАЩt say precisely what, which struck her as
unusual. There was always profit in the unusual. Besides, that mournful stare was preying
unashamedly on a part of her she usually kept buried.
тАЬOh, hell, one hundred, then, and be damned with it!тАЭ She barely managed to squeeze the figure
out. Her mind was in a whirl. What was she doing there, neglecting her regular business, getting
thoroughly soaked and bidding for an orphaned child? Surely at ninety her maternal instinct wasnтАЩt
being aroused. She had never felt the least maternal instinct in her life, thank goodness.
She waited for the expected nimble of тАЬone hundred and five,тАЭ but instead heard a commotion toward
the back of the crowd. She craned her neck, trying to see, cursing the genes that had left her so