"Norton, Andre - Solar Queen 01 - Sargasso of Space" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

common sense. Not only had the course been tough, but he had been bucking the new trend in selection,
too. Most of his classmates were from Service families--they had grown up in Trade.
Dane frowned at the back of the seat before him. Wasn't Trade becoming more and more a closed clan?
Sons followed fathers or brothers into the Service--it was increasingly difficult for a man without
connections to get an appointment to the Pool. His luck had been good there--

Look at Sands, he had two older brothers, an uncle and a cousin all with Inter-Solar. And he never let
anyone forget it either. Just let an apprentice get assigned into one of the big Companies and he was set for
the rest of his life. The Companies had regular runs from one system to another. Their employees were
always sure of a steady berth, you could buy Company stock. There were pensions and administrative jobs
when you had to quit space--if you'd shown any promise. They had the cream of Trade--Inter-Solar, The
Combine, Deneb-Galactic, Falworth-Ignesti--

Dane blinked at the tela-screen set at eye level at the far end of the bullet-shaped car--not really seeing the
commercial which at that moment was singing the praises of a Falworth-Ignesti import. It all depended on
the Psycho. He patted his money belt again to be sure of the safety of his ID wafer, sealed into its most
secret pocket.

The commercial faded into the red bar announcing a station. Dane waited for the faint jar which signalized
the end of his two-hour trip. He was glad to be free of the projectile, able to drag his kit bag out of the
mound of luggage from the van.

Most of his fellow travellers were Trade men. But few of them sported Company badges. The majority
were drifters or Free Traders, men who either from faults of temperament or other reasons could not find a
niche in the large parental organizations, but shipped out on one independent spacer or another, the bottom
layer of the Trade world.

Dane shouldered his bag into the lift which swept him up to ground level and out into the sunshine of a
baking south-western summer day. He lingered on the concrete apron which rimmed this side of the take-
off Field, looking out over its pitted and blasted surface at the rows of cradles which held those ships now
readying for flight. He had scant attention for the stubby inter-planetary traders, the Martian and Asteroid
lines, the dull dark ships which ploughed out to Saturn's and Jupiter's moons. What he wanted lay
beyond--the star ships--their sleek sides newly sprayed against dust friction, the soil of strange worlds
perhaps still clinging to their standing fins.

"Well, if it isn't the Viking! Hunting for your long boat, Dane?"

Only someone who knew Dane very well could have read the real meaning in that twitch of his lower lip.
When he turned to face the speaker his expression was under its usual tight control.

Artur Sands had assumed the swagger of a hundred voyage man, which contrasted oddly, Dane was
pleased to note, with his too shiny boots and unworn tunic. But as ever the other's poise aroused his own
secret resentment. And Artur was heading his usual chorus of followers too, Ricki Warren and Hanlaf
Bauta.

"Just come in, Viking? Haven't tried your luck yet, I take it? Neither have we. So let's go together to learn
the worst."

Dane hesitated. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was to face the Psycho in Artur Sands'
company. To him the other's supreme self-confidence was somewhat unnerving. Sands expected the best,