"Andrew J. Offutt - Spaceways 09 - In Quest of Qalara" - читать интересную книгу автора (Offutt Andrew J)

whose other end entered the crate and then the bag, that point of entry long
ago meticulously sealed. Pulling up the mini-sprayer's red top until it made a
little snicking sound, he gave it a one-eighty turn, counted five, pressed the
top down into its proper position though reversed, and counted off four
seconds. Only then did he insert its little snout into the end of the yellow
tube. He had given it the required three-second burst just as the cargo door
was opened from outside. The ruddy light of Franji rushed into the pod, along
with city-sounds. The green-clad man picked up the other man's breathing mask
and popped in the sprayer. He kept it there with his left thumb. He rose to
greet the Franjese workers who had come to unload the shuttle. Both wore
orange helmets and yellow CCC patches on their coveralls, which were
orange. The shuttle-pod's "pilot" was just behind them, looking
anxious. Actually she was a highly paid watcher of the con, the green-clad man
knew, since the shuttle piloted itself. But unions were unions. The word
"featherbedding" was lost in the upheavals and linguistic reforms of the past,
but the practice remained on Franji. "Ah," she said. "Are you all right?" 20
"Firm," the man in the cargo hold told her, and looked at. the cargo
handlers. "I am to accompany the seven crates from Terasaki to their
destination. In your track's cargo hold, I mean." "That's against the rules,
Terasak," he was told, with a xenophobic sound highly unusual along the
spaceways. "Can't letcha do it," another said. "I'll be riding in the back of
the truck with the crates," the man in green said, and he moved toward
them. "Uh-but it's against the-" A sharper stevedore said, "You unload it if
you ride with it." The green-clad man ignored the traculence. "Right. I'll
unload it at the other end." The cargo-handlers looked at each other, shrugged
with a "humor the dumb offplanet fobber" look and stepped back while the dumb
offplanet fobber came down out of the pod. Then they went to work. He watched,
unobtrusively testing his muscles against their planet's gravity, which was
twenty percent lower than the galactic standard but only .07 lower than the
usual shipboard G. He also noted that blue-dyed hair and blue wigs were still
popular in Velynda. He rode in the back of the truck, which had to detour
around the parade of a few thousand welfare recipients on strike. Somewhere
between the shuttle station and the cargo's destination, he vanished. The
cargo-handlers' attitude was natural enough: Who gave a shit? (By that time
his adjusted holoprojector made him seem a Franjese in a "standard" Franjese
suit, blue-haired and surly-looking. The stevedores probably wouldn't have
given a shit about that, either. It didn't have anything to do with their job
and wasn't their responsibility.) They weren't around when the crates were
opened, of course. By that time, several days later, Velynda and 21 much of
Franji were in quite an uproar. Planetary president Mujazia had been murdered
by an unknown assailant. The conservative running mate Mujazia had put up with
only in order to be elected had been sworn in. As a matter of fact he had
already replaced Mujazia's personal bodyguard with a dozen dedicated career
professionals, and had already accepted the resignation of every cabinet
officer but one. He set about trying to get the planet into shape again,
without mentioning TMSMCo and Murph. As a matter of fact, TMSMCo soon signed
contracts with two separate Franjese companies, which was a more than welcome
boost to the staggered economy. The new president would not have to put up
with that demagogue who headed the LPAF for life, because that life had ended
abruptly on the evening of the same day as Mujazia's. Mujazia's death was