"SD Gottesman - Firepower" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gotlieb Phyllis)

THE ENTIRE CITY of New Metropole was jammed into the vast Square of the Living
Statues that evening for the ultimate proclamation from Admiral of the Fleet
Fitzjames concerning the taking-over and the new order to be established.
Though, of course, some historians would say that there was nothing . new about
it, but that it was a very old order indeed.
There had been erected against the superb backdrop of the living statues a great
booth-like affair from which the Admiral would make his speech, a speech to be
heard simultaneously by every living human and colonial extraterrestrial alive.
There was even declared a temporary amnesty on extraterrestrials; for this
evening they might walk the streets-- but only to and from the Square.
The booth was, of course, weaponproof. Voss had been most particular about that.
Crowds had begun to assemble early in the afternoon; if there was to be a new
order they would make sure that they would be its earliest and heartiest
boosters. By dusk the press of people had grown so great that there was no room
to turn around, let alone draw a weapon, so Fitzjames could have no fear on that
score. The only free place was the platform of the booth, flush with the great
transparent base on which the living statues moved on in their endless
perfection.
When night had fallen they turned on the floodlights normally used to illuminate
the statues, removing the color-wheels. The crowd was picked out in glaring
detail by the pitiless glow. As far as the eye could see there was a meadow of
faces upturned, each sharp and distinct by itself. The statues were in the dark,
their sole remaining lights being tussled on the booth. The very music had been
subdued so that the amplifiers would lose no word of what the Admiral would say.
It was a memorable occasion in many unsuspected ways.
Ten o'clock sharp enter the Admiral, dropping from the heavens in an ornate
lighter which was then immediately dispatched. Fitzjames was afraid that his
hour of triumph might end tragically should a spanner fall from the craft and
crack his skull.
With him, Of course, were Voss and the guard of honor.
Five past ten Voss stepped to the mike. "Friends," he said, "it is my proud duty
to present to you the man who has liberated us from the yoke of the All Earth
Exec--Fitzjames The First!"
There was an astounded hush from the audience, and then a protesting murmur. The
wildest fancy they had indulged in hadn't included anything like a monarchy!
Fitzjames The First stepped to the mike as Voss bowed low. He said: "My loyal
subjects, I greet you."
The guard of honor fidgeted. It had been a well-kept secret. The young ensign
strolled over to Voss, who was surprised to feel a handgun's muzzle pressed into
his ribs.
"Excuse me?" he said strainedly. "Are you sure you're quite sane, young man?
Take that thing away."
"I'm not only sane," said the Ensign, "I'm Bartok. When that silly ass fired at
me in the lighter he missed, of course. So I switched clothes in three minutes
flat, Babe made up my face with the kit that every Intelligence Wing man
carries, then we blew the face off the ensign of yours. He was unconscious. A
pity."
"--magnificent demonstration of the reversion to childlike faith in the will of
providence and the divine right of kings--" the Admiral was droning.
Voss, a slender, slimy, active man, dived into the shadows as Bartok's attention