"Garbage Day" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mccarthy Wil)

proceedings. Made it sound like their side of it had some validity.
Which it did; this wasn't a jail, strictly speaking, but neither were the boys
free to leave, or to do as they pleased while "guests" of the camp. Which might
be great if you were ten or something, but sucked hugely when you were old
enough to want female companionship and other assorted contraband. But there was
no one to complain to, no cops or social workers to call, no one here at all who
was not in the immediate employ of Camp Friendly, and therefore an extension of
the parents who'd banished them here.
So here in the twenty-ninth decade of the Queendom of Sol, on a miniature planet
orbiting in the middle depths of the Kuiper belt, far from the Sun and planets,
young men were forced Ч literally forced Ч to live out scenes from an earlier,
less civilized time. So it made perfect sense for them to respond in an
uncivilized way.
"You kids are in a lot of trouble," Rock cautioned. From his tone he was worried
for them as much as because of them. He wasn't going to offer any further
resistance Ч couldn't win if he tried.
On the horizon, twenty meters away, three more counselors materialized. One
Conrad recognized but didn't know Ч he worked with the younger groups on the
other side of the world. The other two were D'rector Jed, both copies holding
the electric cattle prod he'd often warned about.
"What's going on here?" one of him demanded officiously. The other just stood
there looking stern. It said a lot about D'rector Jed, Conrad thought, that he
liked to go everywhere in twos. Did he enjoy his own company that much, or was
he simply concerned that the Universe outnumbered him?
"Cessation of involuntary confinement," Bascal called back without missing a
beat. "This man illegally tried to detain us."
The distance was not too great to see a veil of caution drop across D'rector
Jed's features as he recognized Bascal's voice. He seemed to have trouble
actually picking Bascal out of the crowd, though Ч before starting they'd
smeared their faces with dirt and mussed up their hair, mainly as a way of
psyching themselves up, but also, Conrad now saw, to blur the lines of identity
which made them accountable.
"Your Highness," one of the Jeds said, and you could see him still mentally
backpedaling, rethinking his approach. "Prince" was a funny word, a funny
concept really; the child who would someday rule.
(If his parents weren't immortal.)
How did one treat a child, educate or punish or even reward a child, who would
someday stand higher, enormously higher, than the educator himself? A tricky
business indeed, and one which Bascal, in Conrad's limited experience, twisted
constantly Ч perhaps reflexively Ч to his own advantage.
"Highness," the other Jed tried, "you and your friends have been entrusted to my
keeping. I will not hesitate Ч "
"You will hesitate," Bascal shouted back, taking a large symbolic step in the
Jeds' direction. "In fact, you'll stand aside entirely, or my merry men here
will beat you both senseless. This is not a joke; they're escorting me for a
call to Child Welfare Services, with whom I have a total legal right to
consult."
This was news to Conrad; three minutes ago, the plan had been, "Come on! Let's
show these bastards!" But this sounded better, more refined. Legitimate, almost.
"I've sounded the alarm," Jed told him. "It isn't just me you'll have to deal