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

crew of twelve, and each man was necessarily responsible for more than one set of duties--there were no
air tight compartments of specialization aboard a Free Trader spacer.

"Got us a routine cargo haul to Naxos," Rip's soft voice continued. "From there," he shrugged, "it may be
anywhere--"

"Except back to Terra," Kamil's crisper tone cut in. "Better say goodbye to home for a long while,
Thorson. We won't be hitting this lane for some time. Only came in on this voyage because we had a
special run and that doesn't happen once in ten years or more." Dane thought that the other was getting
some obscure pleasure in voicing that piece of daunting information.

The scooter rounded the first of the towering cradles. Here were the Company ships in their private docks,
their needle points lifted to the sky, cargoes being loaded, activity webbing them. Dane stared in spite of
himself, but he did not turn his head to keep them in sight as the scooter steered to the left and made for the
other line of berths, not so well filled, where the half dozen smaller Free Trade ships stood awaiting blast
off. And somehow he was not surprised when they drew up at the foot of the ramp leading to the most
battered one.

But there was affection and honest pride in Rip's voice as he announced, "There she is, man, the best
trading spacer along the lanes. She's a real lady, is the Queen!"


CHAPTER TWO:
WORLDS FOR SALE

DANE STEPPED INSIDE the Cargo-Master's office cabin. The man who sat there, surrounded by files of
microtape and all the other apparatus of an experienced trader, was not at all what he expected. Those
Masters who had given lectures at the Pool had been sleek, well groomed men, their outward shells
differing little from the successful earth-bound executive. It had been difficult to associate some of them
with space at all.

But more than J. Van Rycke's uniform proclaimed him of the service. His thinning hair was white-blond,
his broad face reddened rather than tanned. And he was a big man--though not in fatty tissue, but solid
bulk. He occupied every inch of his cushioned seat, eyeing Dane with a sleepy indifference, an attitude
shared by a large tiger-striped tom cat who sprawled across a third of the limited desk space.

Dane saluted. "Apprentice-Cargo-Master Thorson come aboard, sir," he rapped out with the snap approved
by Pool officers, laying his ID on the desk when his new commander made no attempt to reach for it.

"Thorson--" the bass voice seemingly rumbled not from the broad chest but from deep in the barrel body
facing him. "First voyage?"

"Yes, sir."

The cat blinked and yawned, but Van Rycke's measuring stare did not change. Then--

"Better report to the Captain and sign on." There was no other greeting.

A little at a loss Dane climbed on to the control section. He flattened against the wall of the narrow
corridor as another officer swung along behind him at a hurried pace. It was the Com-tech who had been