"Keith Laumer - Retief !" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laumer Keith)

in doing so? He was as strong as a bull, but no man his age could be a match for the youthful
power of the blond fighter. Fitzraven was worried; he was fond of this old warrior. He would hate
to see him locked behind the steel walls of Fragonard Keep for thus disturbing the order of the
Lily Tournament. He moved closer to the barrier, watching.
The tall man in black strode through the chattering officials, stopped before Retief, motioned
his two guards forward.
He made a dismissing motion toward Retief. "Take him off the field," he said brusquely. The
guards stepped up, laid hands on Retief's arms. He let them get a grip, then suddenly stepped
back and brought his arms together. The two men cracked heads, stumbled back. Retief looked at
the black-clad man.
"If you are the Master of the Games," he said clearly, "you are well aware that a decorated
battle officer has the right of challenge, under the Imperial Charter. I invoke that prerogative
now, to enter the lists against the man who holds the field."
"Get out, you fool," the official hissed, white with fury. "The Emperor himself has
commandedтАФ"
"Not even the Emperor can override the Charter, which predates his authority by four
hundred years," Retief said coldly. "Now do your duty."
"There'll be no more babble of duties and citing of technicalities while the Emperor waits,"
the official snapped. He turned to one of the two guards, who hung back now, eyeing Retief.
"You have a pistol; draw it. If I give the command, shoot him between the eyes."
Retief reached up and adjusted a tiny stud set in the stiff collar of his tunic. He tapped his
finger lightly against the cloth. The sound boomed across the arena. A command microphone of
the type authorized a Battle Commander was a very effective device.
***
"I have claimed the right to challenge the champion," he said slowly. The words rolled out
like thunder. "This right is guaranteed under the Charter to any Imperial battle officer who wears
the Silver Star."
The Master of the Games stared at him aghast. This was getting out of control. Where the
devil had the old man gotten a microphone and a PA system? The crowd was roaring now like a
gigantic surf. This was something new!
Far above in the Imperial box the tall gray-eyed man was rising, turning toward the exit. "The
effrontery," he said in a voice choked with rage. "That I should sit awaiting the pleasure . . ."
The girl at his side hesitated, hearing the amplified voice booming across the arena.
"Wait, Rolan," she said. "Something is happening. . . ."
The man looked back. "A trifle late," he snapped.
"One of the contestants is disputing something," she said. "There was an announcementтАФ
something about an Imperial officer challenging the champion."
The Emperor Rolan turned to an aide hovering nearby.
"What is this nonsense?"
The courtier bowed. "It is merely a technicality, Majesty. A formality lingering on from
earlier times."
"Be specific," the Emperor snapped.
The aide lost some of his aplomb. "Why, it means, ah, that an officer of the Imperial forces
holding a battle commission and certain high decorations may enter the lists at any point, without
other qualifying conditions. A provision never invoked under modern . . ."
The Emperor turned to the girl. "It appears that someone seeks to turn the entire performance
into a farcical affair, at my expense," he said bitterly. "We shall see just how farтАФ"
"I call on you, Rolan," Retief's voice boomed, "to enforce the Code."
"What impertinence is this?" Rolan growled. "Who is the fool at the microphone?"
The aide spoke into his communicator, listened.