"H. Beam Piper - Time Crime" - читать интересную книгу автора (Piper H Beam)

"You think I'm crazy enough to let those bandits out of here with two thousand obusтИТтИТforty thousand
Paratemporal Exchange UnitsтИТтИТof the Company's money without knowing what we're getting?" the other
parried. "They're all rightтИТтИТnice, clean, healthyтИТlooking lot. I did everything but take them apart and inspect
the pieces while they were being unshackled at the stockade. I'd like to know where this
CoruтИТhinтИТWhatshisname got them, though. They're not local stuff. Lot darker, and they're jabbering among
themselves in some lingo I never heard before. A few are wearing some rags of clothing, and they have
oddтИТlooking sandals. I noticed that most of them showed marks of recent whipping. That may mean they're
troublesome, or it may just mean that these Caleras are a lot of sadistic brutes."

"Poor devils!" The man called Dosu Golan was evidently hoping that he'd never catch himself talking about
fellow humans like that. The guard captain turned to him.

"Coming to have a look at them, Doth?" he asked.

"You go, Kirv; I'll see them later."


Time Crime 2
 Time Crime
"Still not able to look the Company's property in the face?" the captain asked gently. "You'll not get used to it
any sooner than now."

"I suppose you're right." For a moment Dosu Golan watched CoruтИТhinтИТIrigod and his followers canter out of
the yard and break into a gallop on the road beyond. Then he tucked his whip under his arm. "All right, then.
Let's go see them."

The labor foreman went into the house; the manager and the guard captain went down the steps and set out
across the yard. A big slatтИТsided wagon, drawn by four horses, driven by an old slave in a blue smock and a
thing like a sunbonnet, rumbled past, loaded with newlyтИТpicked oranges. Blue woodsmoke was beginning to
rise from the stoves at the open kitchen and a couple of slaves were noisily chopping wood. Then they came
to the stockade of closeтИТset pointed poles. A guard sergeant in a redтИТtrimmed blue jacket, armed with a
revolver, met them with a salute which Kiro Soran returned: he unfastened the gate and motioned four or five
riflemen into positions from which they could fire in between the poles in case the slaves turned on their new
owners.

There seemed little danger of that, though Kiro Soran kept his hand close to the butt of his revolver. The
slaves, an even hundred of them, squatted under awnings out of the sun, or stood in line to drink at the
waterтИТbutt. They furtively watched the two men who had entered among them, as though expecting blows or
kicks; when none were forthcoming, they relaxed slightly. As the labor foreman had said, they were clean and
looked healthy. They were all nearly naked; there were about as many women as men, but no children or old
people.

"Radd's right," the captain told the new manager. "They're not local. Much darker skins, and different
faceтИТstructure; faces wedgeтИТshaped instead of oval, and differently shaped noses, and brown eyes instead of
black. I've seen people like that, somewhere, butтИТтИТ"

He fell silent. A suspicion, utterly fantastic, had begun to form in his mind, and he stepped closer to a group of
a dozenтИТodd, the manager following him. One or two had been unmercifully lashed, not long ago, and all
bore a few lashтИТmarks. Odd sort of marks, more like burnтИТblisters than welts. He'd have to have the