"H. Beam Piper - Lone Star Planet" - читать интересную книгу автора (Piper H Beam)

"Capella IV," I repeated, trying to remember something about it. Capella was a GO-type, like Sol; that
wouldn't be so bad.

"New Texas," Kl├╝ng helped me out.

Oh, God, no! I thought.

"It happens that we need somebody of your sort on that planet, Mr. Silk," Ghopal said. "Some of the
trouble is in my department and some of it is in Mr. Kl├╝ng's; for that reason, perhaps it would be better if
Co├╢rdinator Natalenko explained it to you."

"You know, I assume, our chief interest in New Texas?" Natalenko asked.

"I had some of it for breakfast, sir," I replied. "Supercow."

Natalenko tittered again. "Yes, New Texas is the butcher shop of the galaxy. In more ways than one, I'm
afraid you'll find. They just butchered one of our people there a short while ago. Our Ambassador, in
fact."

That would be Silas Cumshaw, and this was the first I'd heard about it.

I asked when it had happened.

"A couple of months ago. We just heard about it last evening, when the news came in on a freighter from
there. Which serves to point up something you stressed in your articleтАФthe difficulties of trying to run a
centralized democratic government on a galactic scale. But we have another interest, which may be even
more urgent than our need for New Texan meat. You've heard, of course, of the z'Srauff."
That was a statement, not a question; Natalenko wasn't trying to insult me. I knew who the z'Srauff were;
I'd run into them, here and there. One of the extra-solar intelligent humanoid races, who seemed to have
been evolved from canine or canine-like ancestors, instead of primates. Most of them could speak Basic
English, but I never saw one who would admit to understanding more of our language than the 850-word
Basic vocabulary. They occupied a half-dozen planets in a small star-cluster about forty light-years
beyond the Capella system. They had developed normal-space reaction-drive ships before we came into
contact with them, and they had quickly picked up the hyperspace-drive from us back in those days
when the Solar League was still playing Missionaries of Progress and trying to run a galaxy-wide
Point-Four program.

In the past century, it had become almost impossible for anybody to get into their star-group, although
z'Srauff ships were orbiting in on every planet that the League had settled or controlled. There were
z'Srauff traders and small merchants all over the galaxy, and you almost never saw one of them without a
camera. Their little meteor-mining boats were everywhere, and all of them carried more of the most
modern radar and astrogational equipment than a meteor-miner's lifetime earnings would pay for.

I also knew that they were one of the chief causes of ulcers and premature gray hair at the League capital
on Luna. I'd done a little reading on pre-spaceflight Terran history; I had been impressed by the parallel
between the present situation and one which had culminated, two and a half centuries before, on the
morning of 7 December, 1941.

"What," Natalenko inquired, "do you think Machiavelli, Junior would do about the z'Srauff?"