"Matthew Hughes - A Herd of Opportunity" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hughes Matt)

None paused to watch their patriarch and the two strangers make their way across the square, passing
the self-guided carryall that had collected Huffley and Bandar from the minimalist spaceport--two
unserviced pads and a rough shed--where the freighter Abron had touched down and deposited them on
the world's single continent. The carryall's prime mission had been to collect several heavy crates whose
clanking contents Bandar had assumed to be agricultural tools. The preceptor and student had had to sit
atop the cargo for the short flight across level desert to the Sequestrance, their teeth set on edge by the
whine of its untuned gravity obviators. Bandar noted that no one was bothering to unload the vehicle.

At the path's end they found a set of steps and climbed to a landing that ran the full length of the south
wall. Here the patriarch struck a pose and gestured with an outflung arm. "Thus the foul stain brought by
Rul Bazwan," he said, pronouncing the name as if it generated an unappetizing taste.

Encompassed by the sweep of Malabar's arm was a sight that Bandar found to be at sharp variance with
the austere simplicity of the Sequestrance. Below the wall was a gentle slope, from the base of which a
ramshackle sprawl of tents and mobile caravans rambled off to the south. Costumes and accents of
several worlds met Bandar's eyes and ears as he looked down on the throngs bustling along the narrow,
twisting ways and passing in and out of the flimsy buildings.

At the far edge of the shantytown a more substantial edifice was under construction. Workers were
assembling prefabricated components into the second story of the Hotel Splendor--so the sign above the
building's verandah boasted. The first story was already in full operation as a saloon, judging from the trio
of inebriates Bandar saw emerge from its swinging doors, supporting each other as they staggered a short
distance to the next establishment, a multi-poled tent whose wooden marquee featured a garish painting
of two naked women holding a sign that read: The Pleasure Garden.

Now Bandar saw a balloon-tired, open-topped charabanc draw up outside the Splendor. Its rows of
seats were quickly filled by folk, mostly men but with a smattering of women, who had been waiting on
the front porch. They chattered animatedly as the vehicle pulled away and headed south toward a range
of low hills.

"Intolerable!" said Malabar.

"Indeed," said Huffley. "Quite beyond endurance."

"And you can undo this? We must have peace for our reflections."

Huffley's hand again gave its insouciant wave. "I foresee no problems."

Bandar blinked in surprise, unaware of any expertise the preceptor might have acquired in the art of slum
clearance. Immediately, he knew his face had betrayed his reaction because he saw the patriarch's glance
touch him, then swing back to Huffley for an incisive examination of the academician's bland
countenance. "You have indeed done this before?" Malabar said. "Your message implied wide
experience and an almost facile competence."

"Times without number," said Huffley. "Institute scholars are frequently called in to handle these little
matters. In fact, unless there's more you need tell us, we shall set to."

Suspicion lingered in Malabar's downdrawn brows and lips, but he said, "It is time for the noon
reflections. Go to your work. But hurry! The disturbance bars us from the ineffable. We will not stand for