"Bc29" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niven Larry & Pournelle)

Beowulf's Children
Chapter 29

CHILDREN OF THE DREAM

Moribus antiquis res stat Romana virisque.
(The Roman state stands by ancient customs, and its manhood.)
-ENNIUS, Annals

Two rows of electrified fences greeted them as they drove the herd toward Shangri-La.
A sheer granite expanse of mountains rose behind the base camp to the north, solid and impassive. Steps and supply caverns had been cut into it. These could also serve as shelters in an emergency. There was no deep running water to the north for nearly two hundred kilometers. The closest deep water to the camp was the river twenty klicks east--well beyond ordinary grendel range, except in rainy seasons. In winter and rain they would have to take special precautions.
The sights and smells of a healthy, active camp assailed them as they rode up, singing and enjoying themselves.
Justin waited for the first fence to shut down and the warning lights atop it to blink off. Two attendants swung the gate open, and welcomed them in.
"How was the trip?"
"Except for Stu," he said soberly, "it was great."
Long faces, nods of understanding.
A drawbridge spanned the horseshoe trench between the two fences. There was no way in or out save across the double pits, by skeeter, or up the mountainside. Every corner of Shangri-La was protected by automatic sensors with links directly to Cassandra.
A single electrified fence surrounded the forty acres of experimental farmland beyond the main encampment. The electric fence was lightly charged at all times, but the computers could switch to higher voltages in an eyeblink. Watchdogs roamed freely, their collars keyed to the fence's frequency. Irritation increased in direct ratio to their nearness to the fence. After the first week, the collars had been turned down. No dog had been hurt.
The growl of tractors, the laughter of children greeted them.
Justin moved to the far side of the drawbridge, and let the chamels through. The herd hardly protested anymore, as if the snow grendel attack had broken their spirit--or proved the good intentions of their new masters.
The sounds of happy laughter were evidence of the one thing that had caused the greatest debate between the generations. The children.
Clearly, the Star Born had the right to bring their own children with them. Although there had been debate, there were no solid grounds to deny it.
So the age of consent was set at sixteen years. There were a few Star Born between the ages of ten and sixteen who had been allowed to accompany older brothers and sisters. This was for individual families to decide.
The outer gate swung closed, and the spotting skeeters buzzed over the main pads.
Four skeeters had gone out on the run, two weeks ago.
Three returned. Justin shook his head. Snow, dammit. He hadn't thought about that, and Stu was dead, and Katya came that close. But . . . they had taken out five grendels with a single casualty.
The first grendel to enter Camelot had killed seven, and wounded many more. One grendel had nearly devastated the entire colony. But that was twenty years ago.
They were learning. They would have to learn even faster.
The chamels were herded through the second fence, and across the second drawbridge, as Justin swung down off his horse.
The rotors on her skeeter were still revolving as Katya jumped down. She spotted him as she stopped at a data post and uplinked her flight records. Then she ran at him, thudded against his chest. He threw one arm around her, feeling . . . protective?
It wasn't the kind of feeling that he had for Jessica. Perhaps that was familiarity. Family. It felt good to have Katya next to him--
"You need a refresher course," he said.
He was holding a marble statue.
She said, "It wasn't my fault."
"Tomorrow, the playtent. We'll shoot some virtual grendels together. I'll spot--"
"Spot me nothing."
The camp was all prefabricated buildings, squat one-story jobs with spacious windows and red roofs. The streets were wide, with enough room to play or wander. Herds of dogs and a few older kids ran in the streets. It was like Camelot made new. First the area was sterilized with flamethrowers, then Earth grasses were planted.
Then the dirigible created a series of supply depots along the way, along the rock islands dotting the ocean between Camelot and the continent.
One step at a time, until the proposed camp site was supplied and protected. Only then did the human beings enter to construct fences and buildings.
Jessica and Aaron ran up from the side, laughing, Chaka and Trish behind them. "Me for the mess hall," Aaron called.
Justin agreed heartily. Dinner sounded great.

Justin felt comfortable in Shangri-La. There was nobody older than twenty, and everything was made to their specifications. It was like a larger, wealthier version of Surf's Up.
When they entered the mess hall there was a roar. They hoisted Aaron up on their shoulders and carried him around the room, and he was handed a huge flagon of beer. Conversations were conducted at a yell: the walls throbbed with an Abo-Asian jazz-fusion performed by computer wave-table synthesis from scores and themes they fed to Cassandra. Someone had dubbed that the Shangri-La Symphony Orchestra.
It was raucous, and it was home.
Posted on the walls were the totals for the week's work quotas. The entire encampment, the eighty-five of them over here from the island, was broken up into six teams, each with their own duties and responsibilities. The discipline and organization was taken over by internal teams. There was play, there was revelry. There were biweekly orgies. But God help anyone who didn't meet his quota, or was too drunk, too drugged up or sexed out to take his security post, or till the fields. It wasn't an economic system for the ages, but within this small community where everyone knew everyone else, it worked well enough. There was enough to eat, and there were some luxuries, and everyone could spend at least half time on interesting work.
That night's service detail brought in the food, and the conversation died to a gentle roar.
"Well, what do you think?" Edgar asked Jessica.
"I think it looks great. More paint on the inside, and a few more decorations. The most important thing is the new buildings."
"Most important thing is that all of the quotas are met. The dirigible is coming in day after tomorrow, and we want to be certain that we're ready."